Duke Daddies (Dirty Daddies Anthologies #11)

Chapter 1

Chapter One

I pout at myself in the mirror, wondering if I should put more rouge on my lips and cheeks.

Madame Atout says that the gentlemen will like my freshness, but the lack of heavy makeup sets me apart from the other tarts at her house.

I am here to make my way in the world, after all, and she has one of the most exclusive brothels in London.

Many of her girls have gone on to become wealthy courtesans to the nobility.

Turning my head this way and that, I fluff my dark curls and widen my eyes, which are a bright blue against sooty lashes. I look like a little doll and I know it. Though my mother wanted me to become a seamstress like her, I have no talent nor taste for the trade.

I did it, to make her happy, but she died last year and though I mourned her, I also felt as though I could finally make my own way without her judgement hanging over me.

At nineteen years of age, I’m still in the first blush of youth and, more importantly, a virgin.

Madame Atout says that fact alone can set me up for life with her clientele, so I mentally thank my dear late mother for keeping my virtue so well protected.

A quick knock at my door is all the warning I have before it is flung open and Madame Atout comes barreling in.

Supposedly, she used to be the mistress to the Duke of York.

It is hard to imagine such a thing, looking at her now, and since she will never provide any details about her time with him nor even speak of when she was supposedly his mistress, the rest of us whisper our theories that it is a lie she tells to make herself more important.

But there is no denying that men of wealth, power, and status come to her brothel, regardless of the truth of her qualifications.

“Bettina! Good. You are dressed.” Madame Atout rakes her critical gaze over me, taking in the pale white dress I’m wearing.

The fabric is very thin and the neckline low-cut enough that my nipples threaten to burst free from the stays pushing my breasts up.

“That will have to do. Take off that makeup though. I told you, no lip rouge, especially for this duke.”

“Duke?” My heart leaps in my chest. “A duke wants to meet me?”

“He has sent someone looking for a virgin,” Madame Atout corrects me.

“His demands for his courtesans are rather… specific. No girl has lasted for more than one contract with him, but you’ll be very well taken care of during that time and the price you earn will more than pay for what you owe me and beyond. ”

It would pay her well too, from the smug expression on her face.

I do not mind that though. Eventually, I will not need her.

A duke!

“Why did the other girls not last?” I ask as I turn to the washbasin and dampen a cloth so I can carefully wipe the makeup from my skin without rubbing myself red.

She hesitates.

“As I said, His Grace is very particular about what he wants from his courtesans. If you’re picturing parties or going to the theater or anything like that, you can let that fantasy go.

He keeps his courtesans close to home.” There is something she is not telling me.

Her demeanor is the same as when she is questioned about the Duke of York.

But it does not matter.

A duke!

I care very little for parties and outings.

Madame Atout has done her best to school us in being charming and polite, but I find the entire process tedious.

I would never pass for a lady, but I can at least make tolerable conversation and speak a few words of French.

Most of speaking to gentlemen is asking about what they like, anyway.

Let them ramble on and lend a listening ear. Or, at least, pretend to.

Being a mistress to a duke, even for a short time, will surely secure my future. If he prefers to stay at home, I can certainly do that.

“Good enough. I do not want to keep her waiting,” Madame Atout says, grabbing my hand and pulling me away from the washbasin. I toss the cloth back at it, wondering at her demeanor. I have not been here very long, but I have never seen her rush like this.

Then again, I have never known a duke to call upon the brothel before.

“Her?” I ask as Madame pulls me into the hallway. She is not dragging me so much as the different in our heights makes it difficult for me to keep up when she is moving at such speed.

“His representative. He has a woman looking for him. It is not unusual for such gentlemen to send someone in their stead.”

I would have to take Madame’s word for that. Though I was unsure how to go about impressing a woman rather than a gentleman.

Madame trained us to beguile gentlemen, not ladies.

But I will do whatever I have to in order to land a duke as my first contract.

Coming to a halt in front of a door, Madame looks at me and lowers her voice.

“Be a good girl. Just be silent and biddable and it will go well.”

Silent and biddable are two words that have hardly ever been used to describe me, but I can playact when there’s good reason for it. This certainly seems like good reason.

Demurely, I lower my head and put my hands together in front of me, pretending to be shy. Madame had told me that gentlemen would like that, especially since it lent a certain air to my virginal status.

“Good.” She nods her head and opens the door, sweeping in ahead of me. I follow meekly behind her, peeking from under my eyelashes at what’s waiting for me.

A severe-looking woman wearing a black dress with a stiff white collar and a white bonnet over her hair is sitting on a red-brocade couch, looking extremely out of place.

Compared to the lush decorations of the room, her severe attire and expression seem even more buttoned up than they would have somewhere else.

Her gaze immediately went to me and something about it made me want to quail in a way that Madame Atout often attempted, but never succeeded in. Where Madame Atout was a shiny, gaudy attempt at confidence and power, this woman actually was through and through.

“This is her?” she asks, getting to her feet.

“Yes, ma’am,” Madame Atout says hastily. “This is Bettina. She’s been with me three weeks and had the usual training in comportment and such, though she remains a virgin.”

“Mmm.” The woman begins to circle around me, looking me up and down.

I look up as she passes, meeting her gaze for a moment and feel the heat grow in my cheeks before I cast my eyes back downward.

There is no playacting needed for that moment.

My blush is real, as is my inability to maintain my gaze with hers.

There is something about her, and not just her height or her broad shoulders. It is the way she holds herself. Her surety. I feel… small. And I am not certain I like it.

“Undress her.” The command comes out sharp and quick, and Madame Atout jumps forward to do her bidding.

I am not certain what to do because the command had clearly been directed at Madame and not myself.

Am I supposed to help? Stand there? I do the latter, letting Madame strip me down to nothing.

It is not the first time I have been naked in front of others – that was part of the training.

Men have seen me naked as well, though none of them touched me.

If I had not been a virgin, I would have received ‘handling’ as part of my training, to ensure that I did not panic at a man’s touch. Since I was a virgin, Madame told me that some natural panic was to be expected.

I do not feel panic now, but my heart begins to flutter rather rapidly in my chest as the woman circles around me again.

As she moves to my back, her hand snakes out and smacks against my bottom, making me squeal and jump at the sharp sting of unexpected pain.

My hands automatically go behind me, covering my buttocks as my eyes widen in shock and outrage.

I am too surprised to speak, and Madame Atout glares at me, pinching her fingers together beside her mouth in a reminder to be silent and biddable. Pressing my lips together, I rub the spot where the woman swatted me, shifting back and forth on my feet.

“Very good.” The woman sounds pleased and it takes all my willpower to hold my tongue.

A duke, I remind myself. I can tolerate whatever she wants to do in order to gain a contract with a duke.

Moving back to my front, she cups my breasts and gives them a squeeze.

No longer pushed up by my stays, they are still quite pert and perky, filling her palms nicely.

She pinches my nipples, watching my face as she does so.

My mouth drops open at the pressure, which hurts but also makes my insides squirm.

With my hands still over my bottom, I do not reach to try and stop her, especially with Madame Atout glaring at me over the woman’s shoulder.

I drop my gaze down again as she releases my breasts.

“Spread your legs,” she orders, tapping on the shaven mound of my pussy.

Something that Madame Atout insists on for her girls.

There are merkins that we can wear to cover ourselves to make it more appealing for the clients, but this woman says nothing about my bare mound.

I spread my legs apart to a wider stance and my eyes widen as she crouches down to look at me.

Madame Atout had inspected me rather closely as well, when I first arrived. As I did then, I stare up at the ceiling, pretending it is of no matter to me what is going on between my legs.

Her fingers touch me, probing, moving. I have a bit of slickness gathered there and she rubs it around a little spot that makes me gasp as my leg muscles quiver in response.

Madame Atout has spoken of the pleasure that women can find from the act of fucking, but I am not allowed to experience it yet.

That little flash makes me hungry for more, but the woman pulls her fingers away and stands.

I watch in shock as she licks the tips of her fingers thoughtfully.

“Sweet,” she comments after a moment, and my cheeks flush again, as I realize she is talking about the taste of my pussy. She looks at Madame Atout. “She is a virgin everywhere?”

Madame Atout bobs her head like an eager sparrow.

“No one has touched her,” she assures the woman. I frown at both of them and the woman notices me, turning and raising her eyebrow.

“What is it?” she asks.

I know I am supposed to be silent, but I cannot help my curiosity. I keep my voice as meek as possible, though, trying to follow Madame Atout’s directions, especially as I can tell she is already peeved at me for speaking.

“What do you mean everywhere?” I ask quietly.

“Your mouth and your bottom are virginal as well?”

My mouth drops open and my hands clap against it to cover it as I stare at her in shock. Behind her, Madame Atout laughs coarsely.

“You see?” Madame says, snorting. “She did not even realize such things were possible.”

I had not. No one had told me. My understanding was that men want what is between our legs.

My mouth and bottom?

A duke.

Well. If this duke wanted an innocent, I had just proved myself to be one.

The woman smiles. “I think she is perfect.”

A few minutes later, I am dressed again, and we are in Madame Atout’s office with the contract.

Excitement buzzes all along my insides. I am going to be a duke’s courtesan!

The sum he is offering for a six-month contract nearly makes me faint.

I truly can live on that for the rest of my life, if I so choose.

Or I can leverage it into even more, especially if I find another patron quickly after this contract ends.

Visions of endless wealth and a future of luxury and leisure dance in my head.

Unlike my mother, I will not need to work myself to the bone until I die.

A few years catering to men’s desires and whims, and I will be set.

“Now, we should go over the duke’s expectations,” the woman says. I wave my hand. Apparently my mouth and bottom, along with my pussy, are part of the bargain, but I do not care. For that sum of money, whatever he wants to do with me, I will find a way to handle it.

“I am fine with signing now.” That was another part of Madame Atout’s training. I cannot read, but I can sign my name. “Whatever the duke desires, I am sure I can provide.”

Madame Atout sighs and starts to open her mouth, but the woman shakes her head at her and she subsides. At least one of them respects my decision. I smirk at Madame Atout as I bend over the desk and sign my name along the line, feeling some satisfaction at the ability to do so.

“Well then. That’s that. Come with me, Bettina,” the woman says, gathering up the papers. She looks back at Madame Atout. “I will have your copy with the duke’s signature returned to you.”

“Very well. Good luck, Bettina,” Madame Atout says. “You’re going to need it.”

Something about the way she says it makes me pause.

She actually sounds as though she means it.

Like she’s… worried about me? But why? She was the one encouraging me to take the contract.

Even if there is something she is not telling me, I cannot imagine what cause she would have to say such a thing.

I frown at her.

“Come along, Bettina,” the woman snaps out, appearing beside me again.

Rather than grabbing my wrist the way Madame Atout would have done, she smacks my bottom again, making me jump and squeal.

I start moving, directing my glare at the ground.

The duke has not signed the contract yet, after all, so I need to keep her happy with me until she delivers me to him.

I am very much looking forward to meeting the duke and being done with her.

In six months, I am going to be wealthy beyond even what I had imagined. No matter what I have to do for this ‘particular’ duke with specific desires, it will be worth it.