Page 11 of The Duke of Desire
Most women or couples contacted him in writing and arranged a meeting. Occasionally, they approached him at a social gathering, but he always asked them to contact his secretary.
“Let us move to a more discreet location.” West gestured toward a small sitting room off the hall.
Once they were away from the bustle, West said, “You’d like me to sleep with your wife?” He allowed his gaze to sweep Mrs. Fowler. She was on the shorter side, with a generous bosom and dark, glossy hair. Pretty, but he was unmoved when all he could see was coppery-gold hair and bright green eyes.
She answered. “Yes, Your Grace. We think it would help…things. It seems that you are unattached at the present, so we were hoping you could accommodate me during the party.”
West looked toward Fowler, who seemed rather uncomfortable, yet eager at the same time. A muscle in Fowler’s jaw quivered while his gaze was steady and earnest. “What do you hope to gain?” West asked.
They looked at one another again, each clearly hoping the other would speak. Mrs. Fowler’s cheeks flushed scarlet, while Fowler’s were a slightly lighter shade. He met West’s eyes, but only briefly. “We would hope to, ah, enliven our marital bed.”
“I see. Anything specific I should be aware of? For instance, do either of you enjoy sex now?”
Mrs. Fowler’s eyes widened, and she turned away, the color in her cheeks deepening.
West could see this would be a difficult assignment if he accepted it. Which he wasn’t inclined to do. He had the sense that Fowler wanted to pursue this and that his wife was not as eager. This didn’t work if the wife wasn’t fully committed. West wasn’t interested in seducing the unwilling.
Except, apparently, beautiful companions who’d struck a chord.
He walked over to the mantel, where shepherd figurines stood sentinel over the small chamber. An edge of discomfort brushed over him. Miss Breckenridge was an altogether different situation. He saw a woman who needed to let go, to lose herself in joy. He worried that if she didn’t, she’d grow even more strident. Why did he even care? Because she’d overcome some great calamity and persevered. He wanted her to do more than persevere—he wanted her tolive.
“Do you wish to know anything else?” Fowler’s tentative question broke into West’s thoughts.
He turned from the mantel. “Normally, yes, but I have grave reservations about your commitment to this.” He looked at Mrs. Fowler and gently said, “You have to want to have sex with me, and I’m not sure you do.”
Her gaze dropped, and West felt sorry for her. He hadn’t meant to cause trouble in their marriage with his comment to Fowler earlier in the day, but he was afraid he had. It was an odd thing—the fact that he disliked causing marital disharmony, but it was true. At least it had become true after the first few, which had been entirely because he was young and eager to prove his prowess.
Since then, when he had an affair with a married woman, it was because her union was such that liaisons were universally conducted by both parties or, and this was his preferred instance, because a woman wished to learn how to satisfy her husband and demand he satisfy her in return. He’d successfully aided many couples, and that made him happy.
“Perhaps the two of you should discuss this further,” West said. “In any case, I won’t be starting a new liaison during the house party. I’m on holiday, if you’d like to think of it that way. If you’re still interested in pursuing this path, why don’t you contact me in the fall?”
“We’ll do that, thank you.” Fowler turned toward the door and brushed his hand along his wife’s back. She still hadn’t lifted her gaze from the floor.
When they reached the threshold, West said, “Fowler, a moment, if you please.”
Fowler whispered something to his wife. She moved into the hall while he returned to West. “Yes?”
“If I might offer a suggestion. Try stimulating your wife with just your hand. Focus on that little nub as much as you do her sheath—perhaps even more so.”
“I’ve tried that. She can never seem to let go.”
“Tie her to the bed.” West held back a chuckle when Fowler widened his eyes. “And blindfold her. Also, use your mouth. It will take time, but she will come around.”
“And if she doesn’t?”
“Then talk to me in the fall.”
Fowler nodded. “Thank you, Your Grace.”
West inclined his head, and the older man turned and departed.
Exhaling, West rubbed his hand along his cheekbone. Mrs. Fowler would be a challenge, it seemed. But not the kind of challenge he wanted. At least not right now.
Feeling the burn of frustration once more as Miss Breckenridge entered his thoughts, he made his way to the gentlemen’s parlor and went directly to the sideboard where Wendover’s best liquor was on display. He poured the finest whiskey he could find.
“Going straight for the good stuff, I see.” Axbridge walked up beside him and refilled his glass from the same bottle.
“I’m no fool.”
