Chapter 23

Jane

I t is late evening, and Betsy has just finished brushing out my hair. I say goodnight and dismiss her, then climb into the large bed, the luxury of which I am rapidly getting accustomed to. I ponder my next actions. It is too soon for sleep, and moreover, there has been much on my mind today.

I wrote my letter to Mr Smithson, telling him in the strongest terms that henceforth, he was to address all correspondence pertaining to my funds directly to me at Penhale Manor and never to involve my uncle in such matters again. I also instructed him to reinvest the interest back into my funds. I shall have no need of it at present, though it is greatly reassuring to know that once I am finally released from my captivity here, I shall have a generous income to live on with Chloe. We will not be rich, but we will be comfortable.

I glance at the book that lies on the table beside my bed. I ought to read, as I generally do before I sleep. Then I gaze ahead to the large screen on the wall before me. Remembering first to raise the covers to my neck, I say my command, “Connect Broek. Onscreen .”

A moment later, I hear the click of our connection and his voice instructing, “ Onscreen .” My screen comes alive, showing me Broek, also in his bed. But there, the similarity ends, for while I am covered to my neck, he sits with his back to the bed board, the sheet loosely draped in his lap. His chest is bare. In fact, I am beginning to suspect that he is not wearing any clothes at all, for I cannot see the edge of any drawers peeking from where the sheet lies atop him.

My breathing halts as I stare. Such a broad chest. So manly with all that dark hair. Firm brown nipples, peeking through the hair. Muscular arms, their skin a golden glow. Oh my gracious Lord!

Finally, my breath returns in a great big gasp. “Broek, you are not dressed,” I chide.

“Should I be?”

“Well, of course,” I declare with great certainty.

“It is not as if you have not seen it before, Jane, and this is how I sleep at night. Would you prefer I shut off the screen?”

Quickly, I cry, “No! Do not.” Then, more softly, “You are right. A man’s chest is nothing new to me. I was simply taken aback, that is all.” I take a deep breath and start again. “Broek, I have been thinking.”

He purses his lips. “What now?”

I sigh. “Broek, now that I have found out about my aunt’s doings, I do not believe I could ever live in proximity to her. A cottage in Frome would not do for me and Chloe at all.”

His lips curve almost into a smile. “Then it is a good thing you did not purchase that cottage,” he replies smoothly.

“Yes, quite. But now that I am in comfortable funds, I must think where Chloe and I are to live.”

He regards me steadily through the screen. “There is no need to tax your mind over the matter. You are to live here.”

“Broek,” I say, assuming my most reasonable tone, “I cannot stay here, and well you must know it.” I hold up a hand to stop his speech as I continue, “I do understand, truly I do, why you are fearful and mistrusting. If my word is not good enough for you to trust that I will reveal nothing of what I know, then maybe we can come to some other arrangement.”

He crosses his arms to his chest and scowls. “What other arrangement?”

I lean my elbows forward on my raised knees and say confidingly, “In order to win trust, one must first give trust. So, this is what I propose. I shall give you something, some compromising material, that you may hold as leverage over me. Perhaps it could be an incriminating letter that would destroy my reputation if ever it were made public. With that evidence in your hands, you would ensure my silence.” I smile winningly, impressed with my great idea.

“No,” he says flatly.

“You will not even consider it?”

“No,” he repeats.

I begin to plead. “Broek, my dear friend, for that is what you have become. I cannot live like this in perpetuity, unable ever to leave these walls. It would drive me to madness. I cannot allow Chloe to grow to adulthood like this. What future would there be for my precious girl? Please, Broek, I beg you to listen and see sense.”

His scowl deepens, but he does not at first respond. I can see that he is considering my words, that he feels the weight of them. Hope springs in my breast. He will see sense. He must. “There is one way out of this dilemma,” he grits finally and fixes me with his dark eyes. “You must marry me.”

I blow out a very frustrated breath. “How would marrying you solve anything? I would still be forced to stay here.”

His expression hardens. “Here is hardly a penance, Jane. You would have all the advantages any lady in society gains through marriage—the protection of a husband, a comfortable home, good public standing. Once we are wed, you will be allowed to go to church and mingle in society, if that is what you wish. And Jane, you will also gain something else.”

“What would that be?” I query.

Very deliberately, he pulls the sheet away from his lap and shows me. My suspicions were correct. He is not wearing any clothes at all, and bared to me now is his massive male appendage, fully erect. I stare in fascination while my heart races. In a husky growl, he states, “You will have a man fuck you to satisfaction every night , and I will finally get to bed you.”

My mind is fuzzy. The words will not come. Eventually, I manage to whisper, “Satisfaction?”

“Have you ever felt satisfaction during sexual intercourse, Duchess?” he asks softly.

“I—I do not know what you mean.”

“Then I will show you,” he promises. “Drop that sheet from around your neck, Jane.”

I hesitate. “It would not be proper,” I mutter.

“We have gone well beyond proper already, Duchess. Forget about the outside world. No one but us is here. Drop the sheet.”

With nerveless fingers, I do as he says. Beneath, I am wearing a white cotton shift. “Now take off your shift,” he instructs. “Reveal yourself to me as I have to you.” His fierce gaze holds mine as he spits out, “Do it, Jane. And do not feel an ounce of shame.”

I fumble with the garment and pull it over my head with hands that shake, then drop it on the bed. A shiver runs through my body, even though the room is perfectly warm. I am bare to Broek’s gaze. Hesitantly, I look across at him. He stares at me intently. “I wish I could touch you,” he says huskily.

“W—where would you touch me?”

“Oh Duchess, there would not be an inch of your skin that would not feel the touch of my fingers, my lips, my tongue.” He groans and palms his jutting shaft. “I would start with your perfect little breasts. Touch your hands to them.”

Slowly, I bring my hands up to cup my modest bosom. “Like this?”

He breathes heavily. “Squeeze them. Feel their softness give under the press of your fingers, like plump little cushions.” I do as he says, a thrum of excitement building within me at my wantonness. “Mmm,” he grunts deep in his throat. “If I were with you, Jane, I would pinch one peak between my fingers, and the other, I would put in my mouth and pinch with my teeth.”

Involuntarily, I feel my fingers pinch the tips of my breasts. He purrs in approval. “Oh yes, my beauty, like that. Do it again.” So, I do. “Good girl,” he rasps in praise. Eyes burning with ardour, he asks, “Do you know what I would do next?”

“W—what?”

“I would suckle that luscious peak like a babe at your breast.”

“Oh!” I cry, both shocked and aroused. As he says these wicked things to me, I notice he is touching himself in quick jerking motions along his thick shaft.

“And when I have suckled my fill of one breast, I will devour the other,” he growls. “Would you like that, Jane?”

“Yes, I think so,” I say on a breath.

“Let me see how much you would like it.” At the confusion in my eyes, he explains, “Part your legs for me, Jane, and show me your cunt.”

I do not know what devil is driving me, but I do as he says. Slowly, I draw my legs apart, exposing that very intimate part of me to his gaze.

“Touch yourself there,” he instructs gruffly. My eyes not leaving his, I slide a hand down my belly and through the soft tuft of hair on my mound. He growls deep in his throat. “Mmm. Keep going, Jane. Touch that moist flesh.”

My hand slides lower still until it dips into the soft flesh hidden beneath. “Are you wet there, Jane?” he asks roughly. I nod, feeling shy. “Bring up your hand, show me how wet,” he barks. I can only obey that commanding voice. I slide my finger along the moist flesh then bring it up in the air for him to see. It glistens in the soft light of the room. “Oh yes, my sensuous girl,” he declares with a gleam in his eyes. “I think you will like it very much when I suckle your breast.” I feel a little quiver run through me at the salacious nature of his words.

“Touch your cunt again,” he rasps. I bring my fingers back to the moist flesh at the juncture of my thighs. “Just above the entrance to your cunt, Jane, there is a small protruding nub of flesh that is pleasurable to touch. Find it.” I start circling my fingers searchingly, finding my slick opening, then moving upwards. A small protruding nub? I cannot find such a thing, I think to myself, as I move my hand impatiently over the area. “Slow,” booms Broek’s voice. I slow my questing fingers, reaching back to the opening of my cunt then following a path upwards with gentle taps. “Oh,” I gasp.

He purrs in satisfaction. “You have found it, clever girl. Keep touching yourself in that spot. Feel how it pleasures you.” I do as he says, pleasantly surprised at just how pleasurable it is to touch my fingers there.

Broek continues with his licentious talk. “After I ravish each perfect peach of a breast, do you know what next I shall devour?” I shake my head. He frowns at me in disapproval. “Of course you do.” His eyes trail down to my fingers, stroking over the sensuous nub.

“You would put your mouth there?” I ask uncertainly.

“Oh, yes, Jane. I would kiss and lick and suck you there. Would you like that?”

My fingers quicken their motion, unconsciously echoing the jerking movement of his hand on his swollen shaft. “Would you, Jane?” he demands again.

“Yes. Oh, yes, Broek. I think I should like that very much.”

“Keep stroking yourself there,” he rasps. “Close your eyes and pretend it is me devouring you with my tongue.” I close my eyes and imagine him caressing me there. My own flesh is swollen and throbs with each stroke of my hand. It feels so wonderfully good. A feverish sensation is building within me, swelling with the motion of my fingers, getting stronger and stronger. “I cannot wait to taste you,” Broek continues. “First chance I get, Jane, I will bury my face in your cunt and feast on you.” He groans. “Great Yol, but I know you will taste like heaven. Keep stroking, sweet girl. Keep going and do not stop until you reach your pinnacle of pleasure.”

I can feel it, feel myself reaching up for that pinnacle. I hear his grunts of encouragement, interspersed with tender praise. “Broek,” I whimper.

“Yes, sweet girl. You are nearly there. Keep going. You can do it.”

Something is happening. I feel my body throb and convulse. I know instinctively that I have reached that pinnacle. I am gripped by a sharp burst of ecstasy. And then it is over, like a wave that has risen high then crashed to the shore, though I continue to feel the reverberations. I still my hand and pant breathlessly.

“Good girl,” croons Broek, and I am filled with pride at his praise.

I breathe deeply and try to slow my racing heart. Then I open my eyes and seek Broek with my gaze. I notice there is a pearly streak of fluid painted across his belly. “You reached your pleasure too,” I murmur.

“How could I not, watching you, sweet Jane?” Once more, I am filled with pride at the knowledge that ordinary little me has managed to bring this magnificent man to pleasure. Perhaps later, I may feel shame for this wanton behaviour, but not now. He sits forward on his bed and looks at me intently. In a low voice, he growls, “Feel what we did just now, Jane, and imagine how much sweeter it will be when I am with you in the flesh. Marry me, Duchess, and every night, you shall have this pleasure.”

“I—I.” I cannot answer.

His voice is gruff. “Go to sleep, Jane, and think on it. Offscreen .” And then he is gone.

Wearily, I murmur, “ Offscreen ,” to stop transmitting to his chamber, then I reach across the bed for my shift and pull it back on. I settle under the covers once more then command, “Lights out.” Darkness descends, and though I have much to reflect on, I feel myself sink into exhausted—and contented—sleep.