Page 19 of The Duke's Pet

The duke was silent at his easel. She could see him from the corner of her eye, working on his painting, occasionally leaning close to the plant he was portraying to study it.

She found herself relaxing, her breaths steadying and her nerves abating.

She closed her eyes, the lack of sleep the night before creeping up on her. Soon she was drifting. Warm and comfortable in this big, quiet room, she let her thoughts scatter and her dreams steal her away. They were calm dreams of the meadow and deer, birds and the breeze in trees.

She stayed that way until her body shifted, the soft cushions of the sofa near her head dipping.

“What the...?” She jerked upright and glanced around, her heart thudding. Where was she?

“Shh.” He stroked her hair. “You’re quite safe here.” He’d sat in the space next to her and wore a gentle smile. “Sleep if that is what you need.” He patted his lap. “Place your head here.”

She hesitated, wondering what his plan with her was.

“Do as I said. Rest here.” Again he patted his lap.

Knowing she had to comply, she placed her cheek on his hard thigh and once again stared at the fire. He’d added two more logs and they were quickly being engulfed.

“You mustn’t be frightened of me.” He stroked her hair, smoothing it back from her brow and cheek. “I will care for you, I will not harm you.”

“Thank you, Sir.” She swallowed, hoping he was true to his word.

“For what kind of owner would I be if I was to allow you to be hurt or scared?”

“I don’t know, Sir.”

“Not a very good one.” He continued to stroke her hair, his hand straying to her shoulder from time to time. “I’m not saying you won’t be disciplined if you misbehave, you will be, but you mustn’t fear that grave harm will come your way at Hillcrest.”

She nodded and allowed her hand to rest on his leg. His thigh was warm and hard beneath his breeches and heat from it radiated onto her cheek and palm.

His caresses moved lower, stroking over her lower back, to the waistband of her petticoat. He gently traced the material, then slid over the slight curve of her hip and the dip of her waist. When he reached her chest he once again cupped her breast. It was sloping due to her position, but still he massaged and teased her nipple.

Jemima was surprised how pleasant a sensation it was. She’d expected to be tense and frightened when being touched this way. But the duke didn’t make her feel like that. There was a calmness about his demeanor and a gentle if stern way to him.

“I have been alone for a long time,” he said quietly, almost a whisper. “I’m glad you are here.”

“I am glad too, Sir.” As she’d said it, she realized she was. If this was the course she’d chosen for her life, then it was better to be here than at The Rose and Thorns with the leering, smelly drunks who would line up to bed her.

“That pleases me.” He tugged her nipple, stretching it long.

She gasped.

“Shh, purr for me.”

Purr?

“Little kitten.” There was a slight warning in his tone.

She remembered the noise he’d liked and repeated it, letting it vibrate through her throat.

He continued to tug and tease her nipple, his movements firm but slow.

A new type of heat was growing between her legs. Her stomach was tense and her skin felt alive with sensation. Her breaths were quickening.

I like him doing that.

That revelation washed over her and she sighed and purred some more.

“Sweet little thing,” he said. “You are doing so well.”

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