"We had to take a health ed class in high school," Emily said. "I found it embarrassing. I just learned what I needed to pass the course, and then forgot it."
"You weren't curious beyond that?" Rina was amazed. It had been all she could do to keep her kids from asking and reading about sex. And doing a little hands on investigation as well.
Emily shook her head. "I was afraid of being like Katy and Joe and disappointing the grans," she admitted.
"Well," Rina said with a sigh, "they did a wonderful job raising you, even if they weren't perfect. And Michael Devlin must be one hell of a lover, sweetie. I've never seen you glow like you are right now."
"Rina," Emily said slowly, "what if I fall in love with him?"
Rina shrugged. "Then you do," she said fatalistically. "What's the worst that could happen? You end up with a broken heart. Hearts mend. Trust me. I know."
"I don't think I could have sex with him if I didn't like him. And, Rina, I really do like him so much," Emily said softly.
"Don't let him know that, sweetie. The second you go all mushy on a guy like your Mr. Devlin, he'll panic, bolt and run. He's a wily bachelor, a ladies' man. Only if he tells you that he likes you first can you suggest that the feeling might-just might-possibly be mutual," Rina advised.
Emily went home. She climbed up into the widow's walk of the house, where she had her office and library. She used a computer as a word processor, but wasn't connected to the Internet. Now she sat in front of the large flat-paneled screen and stared. Finally, knowing that the only way to start a novel was to put her fingers on the keyboard of her PC and write, she did so. She centered the title:
The Defiant Duchess. Then she scrolled down and typed out on the lower left side of her paper,
A novel by Emilie Shann, c/o Aaron Fischer, Browne and Fischer, 500A Park Avenue, New York City 10022. (212) 477-1548,
For the entire week and into the first official weekend of the summer, Emily worked. Essie, her housekeeper, saw that she was fed, and even left food in the freezer for the weekend. To her annoyance Devlin called only twice: on Monday morning to thank her for the weekend, and on Thursday to tell her he was off to England and would give her a ring on Tuesday when he was back in the office. He told her to thank Rina for her suggestion: He had rented Aaron and Kirk's cottage August through Labor Day, when they would be away in Italy.
"Don't you want to know what I'm doing?" she asked him Thursday.
"Working that cute little butt off on your book, I hope," he said.
"I'm in bikini panties, and a lace bra," she said teasingly. "The ones you made me take off last Saturday before we went out to eat. Remember?"
"Umm, I have a faint recollection," he admitted. "Pull the panties down, Emily." They were on his cell, and he felt safe speaking with her this way.
"Why?" she asked softly.
"Because I want you to play with that naughty little clit of yours, and tell me exactly what you are doing and how it feels," he said in a husky voice.
"I've got them off, Devlin," she murmured low. "I'm brushing my right hand over my pubic curls. It's almost, but not quite, as if you were here."
"Touch yourself," he told her. "Tell me which finger you're using."
"The middle finger. Ohh, I'm getting wet already, Devlin. I wish it were your tongue there. Ohh. Ohhh, that is so nice. Are you getting a hard-on?"
"Yes," he admitted.
"And I'm not there to soothe it away," she murmured. "Will you teach me to suck your cock next time, Devlin? Ohhhhh. Ummmm. That feels soooo good. Not quite as good as your tongue, but it will do for now."
He groaned. "When I get my hands on you, Emily, you will regret teasing me like this," he threatened.
"I've taken my bra off, Devlin. I'm totally naked up here in my office. I'm cupping my tits in my hands, and the nipples are all puckered because I'm imagining you sucking on them."
"Put your hands back on your cunt," he said. "Play with yourself again, Emily. I want you to come. I want you to think about my cock inside of you, thrusting and thrusting, hitting that little spot that sets you afire, making you scream. I'm going to bring you a present from England to help you relax when I'm away from you. There's a shop in London that carries some very wicked sex toys, and I'm going to find a special one just for you, Emily."
"Ummmmmm." She sighed into the telephone as she gave herself a delicious little clitoral orgasm. "Nice, Devlin, but not as nice as you," she told him. "Yes, bring me a toy. I've never had one."
"Good-bye, angel face," he said, and the line went dead.
Irritation had raced through her. She had wanted more dirty talk from him. She hoped his hard-on lasted for half an hour, Emily thought, piqued. And now it was two a.m. Sunday morning, and she missed Devlin. And she missed the unbridled sex that they had enjoyed last weekend. Getting up, she went downstairs to her bedroom and, finding the channel changer, picked it up. She had ordered the Channel for the entire weekend earlier in the day. Because she was a single woman she could get it like that. There was no danger of some young girl flicking it on and finding her fantasy in her face before she was ready for it. Emily hit the correct numbers and clicked enter. She was immediately within the candlelit bedroom.
Yes, it was perfect, she thought, but shouldn't the velvet curtains be green, and not red? And with the thought the curtains and bed hangings were a perfect forest green, with heavy tasseled gold ropes holding them back. She was wearing pants and riding boots, and her cape was wet with the rain outside the windows.
"Oh, m'lady!" The duchess's maid ran into the room. She was a young girl, as opposed to an older, more seasoned woman. "The duke arrived an hour ago. I told him I didn't know if you would be down to dinner, as you weren't feeling well."
"Well-done, Mary!" the duchess replied. "Help me out of these wet garments."
"Was the trip to France successful, m'lady?" Mary asked. She was in on the secret of what her mistress did to aid others, and admired her tremendously for it. Indeed, she helped her mistress with the refugees when they arrived in England, dealing with any servants who might have been rescued with them, comforting the children.
"Indeed it was," her mistress replied. "We rescued the Duchesse d'Almay, her sister, and their children right from under the nose of Madame la Guillotine. Monsieur Robespierre will have some explaining to do to his citizens committee." She laughed as she pulled off her boots and wet stockings.
"I have a hot bath ready for you, m'lady," Mary said. "You're always punctual, even when the roads are bad."
The duchess removed her garments and climbed into the tub that her maid had set up before the fire in her bedchamber. She was no sooner ensconced than the door to the room opened and the duke walked in, lifting his quizzing glass to gaze at her curiously.
"Mary said you were not feeling up to par, madam, yet I find you in your bath," Justin Trahern remarked, his green eyes flicking over her lazily.
"I have been quite fatigued most of the week, milord," the duchess answered him. "But it does not prevent me from keeping myself clean. Actually, I shall feel better for a bath, and may even join you for dinner. How are things in London?"