Bertrice Small - The Duchess

"What do you pray for?" he asked her, curious.

"For us. For you. For our family. For children," she said. "We must strive harder, Quinton, for our children."

"Madame, I am more than willing to answer your prayers," he said with mock seriousness.

She giggled. "Do not be sacrilegious," she tried to scold, but she suddenly found herself being kissed as he cradled her beneath him. "Ohh, Quinton!" She sighed, and kissed him back fervently.

Lilacs. She always smelled of lilacs, and it intoxicated him. His hand caressed her heart-shaped face. "Whatever made me believe I would not fall in love with you, Allegra? How could I not love you, my darling?" His silvery-gray eyes devoured her. "I have learned that I could not live without you, Allegra. You have become the very reason for my existence." His lips descended upon hers again, and he felt her melting into his arms. His fingers undid the ribbons on her nightgown's neck, loosening it, and his hand slipped between the fabric and her skin as he moved to cup one of her small breasts in his palm. He fondled her, and felt her heart beat more quickly.

She loved him, Allegra thought as his hand aroused her passions. Oh yes, she loved him, but when she tried to tell him she could not quite manage the words. Oh, she had said it to him once, but she wanted to tell him more, except her tongue became tangled. He could not live without her? She could not live without him. She could not even imagine her life without Quinton Hunter. Allegra pushed her thoughts aside, and concentrated on the wonderful feelings that he could kindle within her. She sighed, and moved against him, letting him know that she loved everything that he was doing to her, and that she wanted more. For a moment she struggled from his embrace, and pulled off her nightgown and cap. Then she lay back against their pillows, her look inviting.

He responded in kind, drawing his own nightshirt off, then leaned forward to kiss her adorable breasts. One hand kneaded her while his mouth attached itself over the other nipple and he suckled. She writhed and murmured beneath him, stoking his passions until he knew exactly what he wanted from her tonight. Something he had never dared to do with her, but he needed to initiate her completely into this passion. Raising his dark head from her milky white breasts he said, "I don't want you to be afraid, Allegra." Then his head dropped again and he began to kiss her body.

His lips moved slowly, slowly over her torso. Sometimes his tongue snaked out to lick at her warm flesh. She murmured with pleasure. The dark head moved lower and lower down her lush young body. He cupped her dark mont in his palm. The thick dark curls were soft against his palm. Releasing her from the intimate grip he fingered her nether lips, teasing, and playing with her until she began to squirm slightly and grow moist beneath his touch. The ball of his forefinger found the tiny bud of her sex. He caressed it until she was moaning aloud. He slid his large body down until he was firmly between her open thighs.

"Quinton?" Her voice registered fear.

"Don't be afraid, Allegra," he pleaded, and then leaning forward he began to tongue that quivering little nub of flesh.

Her body arced up in shock, but he held her tightly so she could not escape him. She was at first scandalized by what he was doing. She had never in her wildest imaginings conceived that this… this was part of passion. And yet she very quickly decided that she liked it. Oh yes! She liked it very much. Her body quivered. That tiny part of her that she hadn't really known existed tingled and tingled until it seemed to burst into a blanket of deliciousness that covered her and left her weak and breathless. "Oh, please," she murmured helplessly.

He pulled himself up, covering her trembling form, and slowly pushed himself into her love sheath. "God, Allegra," he groaned. "I want you so desperately!"

He was so hard, she thought. She could feel each stroke of his manhood with every fiber of her being. She felt herself tightening about his lance, trying to keep him from leaving her. "Don't stop!" she begged him. "Ohh, Quinton, I want you so very much!" Her nails dug into his muscled shoulders, and she pushed her tongue into his ear. Her legs wrapped themselves tightly about his straining form. "Ohhh, sweet! Sweet!" she cried as they together approached nirvana.

"Ahh, you precious witch, you have unmanned me!" he told her as his boiling tribute poured forth, and they collapsed together in a tangle of arms and legs. They lay still entwined for several long minutes amid the wreckage of their bedclothes, their breathing finally slowing and calming. And then the duke sneezed.

"Oh, lord." Allegra scrambled from their bed, and grabbed up his nightshirt. "Put this on, Quinton, else I kill you with my love." She caught up her own night garment and quickly pulled it over herself.

He began to laugh as he complied with her order.

"What is so funny?" she demanded, climbing back into the bed, and pulling the covers up over them.

"I am so damned happy," Quinton Hunter told her. "A year ago when the four of us decided we must find wives and finally settle down, my darling Allegra, I never imagined, no, I never even dared to hope that I should be this happy. I have never been happier in my whole life, and it is all due to you, my darling. It is all due to you."

"You are a fool, Quinton," she told him, but her own heart was soaring with happiness.

"I love you," he said. "And you love me."

"I suppose I do," she grudgingly admitted.

He laughed again. "Say it, you adorable witch! Say you love me, and you will never love anyone else but me."

"I do, and I won't," she teased him mischievously.

"Say it, damnit." He rolled over to face her, his look fierce.

Her heart melted then and there. "I love you, Quinton Hunter, and I always will," she said softly. "I expected a comfortable arrangement and a mutual respect. I never expected to know this phenomenon that is called love. I still don't understand it, but I seem to love you dearly, Quinton. Now are you satisfied, and will you go to sleep before you become truly sick?"

"Yes, Duchess," he said, and then taking her hand in his, he finally fell asleep.

WINTER AND SPRING 1796
A DANGEROUS GAME

The day had arrived for Allegra's at home reception. Not one of the two thousand invitations that had been sent out had been refused. Allegra was relieved that it was midwinter, for if it had been the height of the season, she might have had double or triple the acceptances. People were expected to come, remain for fifteen minutes, no more, and leave their cards if they could not personally manage to greet the duke and the duchess, which most would not. Since no refreshments or music would be required, there would be little preparation except for the tall footed columns with their urns of flowers scattered about the gracious foyer and public rooms. Roses and sweetstock, lilies, tulips, narcissus, iris, and daffodils, all brought up from Lord Morgan's greenhouses in the country. The arrangements were lush and colorful.

The Earl and Countess of Aston, in the company of Lord and Lady Walworth, had arrived early. Quinton Hunter was recovered from his chill, which had required several days of intense nursing on his wife's part to resolve. And during that time they had remained in the house, keeping to themselves while their meals were brought to them.

"Will you be well enough for the theatre this evening?" Marcus Bainbridge, the Earl of Aston, asked his old friend.

"We were beginning to be seriously worried," Adrian, Lord Walworth said. "I've never in all the years of our friendship known you to be sick more than overnight, Quint."

"Allegra took wonderful care of me," the duke said with a smile in his wife's direction, and a wink to his friends.

"Why you devil," the earl chuckled. "Just how sick were you?"

"Not very," Quinton Hunter said, "but Allegra was so enjoying nursing me, I hated to spoil her fun."

"Or your own," Lord Walworth replied with a grin.

Allegra had taken a great deal of care with her gown today. She knew her appearance and the house would be the focus of the gossip that would follow her reception. Her gown was relatively simple as this was an afternoon gathering, but rather than the usual white, Allegra had decided to be both bold and original. The bodice of her dress was gathered, and of pale lilac silk brocade. Its neckline was most fashionably low, and edged with a teasing lace ruffle. The silk sleeves had pale lace oversleeves dyed to match the bodice. The bouffant skirt was of lilac and cream striped silk. Its hemline was just off the ground. The waist of the gown was short, and tied with a deep violet velvet sash. Her low-sided violet silk slippers had small jeweled bows on each toe. Her hair, which had been piled upon her head, was a mass of mahogany ringlets decorated with bejeweled cream-colored bows. She wore pearls in her ears, and her wedding pearls with its diamond heart lying upon her chest, its tip pointing to her décolletage.

The duke wore gray pantaloons to the knee with snow-white stockings. His shoes were black and had silver buckles. His coat was dove gray, his shirt and stock white. His black hair was cut short. A quizzing glass hung from a narrow gold chain about his neck.

Allegra had hoped that the guests would arrive slowly, but everyone was so anxious to meet the Duchess of Sedgwick that it would seem they all came exactly at the hour of three o'clock. Berkley Square was filled with carriages that circled about it dropping off their passengers, and then continuing to circle until they could be picked up again. This made it difficult for more carriages to get into the square, and some of the guests exited their vehicles and walked, only to have to wait in line to get into the house.

The duke and duchess, seated in the main drawing room of the house, greeted those guests who could reach them. Mr. Brummell casually pushed his way past the line of guests snaking up the wide staircase of Morgan House, and entered the salon.

"Duke," he said, greeting Quinton Hunter, and then he turned to Allegra. "My dear duchess, you are a succès fou once again. You know how much I both admire and appreciate originality. Your gown is a triumph! I am pleased to see you make your own fashion rather than stooping to the bad taste of others." He bowed to her, and kissed her hand.

"As do you, Mr. Brummell. You have a new haircut, I see. It is deliciously becoming. What is it called?" Allegra asked him.

"À la Brummell," he replied dryly. "Do you really like it? It isn't too short?"

"For someone else, perhaps, but not for you. You have such an elegant head, Mr. Brummell," Allegra told him.

"And here in England it will remain upon my shoulders," he chortled. "Good day, Duchess." He bowed again, and then moved off.

"He has such exquisite manners," Allegra murmured to her husband.

"He is a fop," Quinton growled back. "And I didn't like his hairdo. I will admit, however, black evening clothes are damned smart."

"We won't have to worry once we are back in the country," she reminded him with a small smile.

It was well past six o'clock in the evening when the doors to Morgan House were closed to visitors.

"Let us not go to the theatre tonight," Allegra pleaded with her friends. "We can go tomorrow night. Besides, the curtain has already risen anyway. I hate to miss the opening."

"Only if you agree to give us a decent tea," the Countess of Aston said, and she sat back upon a silk settee, kicking her slippers off.

"Marker," Allegra called. "Tea."

"At once, Your Grace," the butler answered as he hurried off.

"Did the Duchess of Devonshire come?" Eunice asked.

"She never made it up the stairs, but here is her card," Allegra said gleefully. "I'm amazed she came at all. She is up until dawn gambling. One wonders when she sleeps."