Page 14 of The Lady's Guide to Well-Endowed Dukes
Estela didn’t know whether to laugh or cry for him; the man looked horribly agonized. “If we are to discuss this, we can’t be talking about copulation in nautical terms.” She fought to keep a straight face. “Cock and cunny shall do, or sheath if you prefer,and Miss Maitland—Heaven help her—will be carrying your child in her womb.”
He blew out his cheeks in a long breath. “Quite right. Better to speak plainly. But the question is, do you have any suggestions?”
Though it was not a subject Estela had ever considered, her instinct was to rise to the challenge. Furthermore, there was no way upon Earth she was going to pass up the chance to take a look at this supposed leviathan of a member.
It was not her fault that her wicked nature conceived several other things she wanted to do besides looking. Miss Maitland was not yet his duchess, after all—and, if Estela was successful in finding a solution, it would be Miss Maitland who would benefit.
One could not be expected to go out of one’s way to help without some sort of profit to oneself. Only nuns and missionaries were that altruistic, and Estela doubted even they were totally selfless.
Estela drained the last of her coffee. “Cabin twenty-seven in half an hour. I shall be waiting.” Without looking back, she made her exit, in full confidence that His Grace was following the sway of her bustle, and that he would not be even a minute late.
CHAPTER 6
The passageway was empty.All was quiet, but for the low hum of the electrical lights.
Rockley paused before knocking. What was he about to do? He was far too attracted to the woman waiting for him. As for her interest, it could be in little doubt. She was a seductress, used to having her own way. He didn’t intend to fall in line with those plans, but he was flesh and blood.
She might well be the one to find a solution—but at what cost?
Being at anchor, there was no noticeable movement from the ship. He might be in the corridor of any London hotel. An image assaulted him of a future in which he might stand many times as he did now. How often would he come to the door of someone who wasn’t his wife, seeking comforts he couldn’t ask for in the marital bed?
A knife twisted in his gut.
Was that how it would be?
For all Miss Maitland’s decent qualities, his instinct told him he never would desire her in that way. Told him, too, that she felt no such attraction towards him. It was a miserable thought.
Hitherto, his life had been so full that he’d given little consideration to marriage. When it had crossed his mind, he’d conceived the idea through rose-tinted spectacles. Someone who shared his adventurous spirit, and was unafraid to stand her ground, yet was also loyal and compassionate. Someone with a wicked sense of humor, tenacity, and strength of will, but who was also softly compliant, letting him worship her in the bedroom. An enthusiasm to fulfil his every filthy fantasy would be the cherry he would eagerly consume.
Such a woman did not exist.
Even if she did, it didn’t mean he deserved her. The nature of his work often took him from the country, placing him in danger.
Miss Maitland might truly be glad to be left to her own devices for months on end, but the woman he imagined as his soulmate would want to never leave his side. How then would she feel, seemingly abandoned?
Rockley rested his forehead upon the door.
These were idle daydreams. Moreover, he was procrastinating—putting off the moment when he intended to knock and give himself into the hands of the fascinating Mrs. Bongorge. Something told him she was his best hope and, if he walked away now, he would regret it.
He only hoped he could navigate the temptation she presented.
As the door opened,Rockley fell forward, finding himself almost nose to nose with the lady. He was steadying himself against Mrs. Bongorge’s shoulder, which stopped him toppling altogether; his other hand had planted firmly upon her bosom.She was no longer wearing her jacket, so that his palm cupped her left breast through the thin muslin of her blouse.
“Rather forward of you, Lord Rockley. It might be an idea to wait until I’ve pushed shut the door before greeting me quite so energetically.” A mischievous glint lit her eyes.
He retracted both hands, mumbling apologies.
It wasn’t like him to be clumsy, or to be left-footed, but something about her set him off-kilter.
Ushering him in, she clicked the door quietly closed. She’d guessed, he could tell, that he’d been lingering outside.
“Do sit.” She indicated the chaise, while positioning herself opposite upon a padded stool.
The room was tidy enough, though filled with female paraphernalia. Bottles of fragrance and lotions ranged the dressing table behind her. Hanging from a hook upon the wardrobe door was a gown in some frothy stuff. He’d seen someone else wearing a similar gown of late, though he couldn’t think where. The design must in vogue, though it was unusual in being such a dark shade of green.
To one side sat the hat she’d been wearing earlier, and the jauntily striped jacket.
There was a rustle of fabric as she arranged her skirts. “If you’re hoping to spot a pile of underthings or a flimsy nightgown hanging upon the bedpost, I’m afraid you’ll be disappointed. My maid is quite meticulous.”
