Chapter 2
Chapter Two
“My name is Mrs. Fairfax,” the woman says once we’re in the duke’s coach.
I know it is his coach because there was a coat of arms on the door, done in gold.
Real gold. Inside, the surroundings are just as rich, just as luxurious.
I barely pay attention to Mrs. Fairfax – how can I when I’m surrounded by all of this?
When I finally look at her again, she has a knowing gleam in her eye.
I drop my gaze.
“My name is Mrs. Fairfax, and you’ll be under my care when you’re not with the duke,” she says as the carriage rolls along.
“Like… like a lady’s maid?” She does not resemble any lady’s maid I’ve ever seen, but I do not understand what else she could mean.
“Not exactly, but the duke will want to explain.” She smiles, putting her hands one atop the other over her lap. For all that she’s dressed so severe and buttoned up, she’s actually rather pretty when she smiles. “You will not have to wait long.”
I nod my head, both relieved and a little anxious that I will not have a long wait.
Now that I am no longer in the safety of Madame Atout’s house, I am feeling a little less confident.
I have my training, and I have seen the amount I will be getting in return for being the duke’s mistress which is all I need to know I want to do this, but the unknown is still unsettling.
There are heaps of questions spinning round my head. The answers do not matter so much, because I will do my job regardless, but I cannot help the curiosity.
“Is the duke very old?”
“Older than you, certainly.” The corner of Mrs. Fairfax’s mouth curves up. “But he is not an old man. I believe he is nearing forty. In many ways you are rather lucky, by and large he is considered a very handsome man.”
That sounds rather old to me, but I am young. What do I know? Handsome sounds nice. Madame Atout had warned us we could not expect our patrons to be attractive. It was our job to make them feel incredibly so, regardless.
Not having to pretend would be easier for my first time though.
“Is there anything in particular I should do or say when I meet him?” I had expected to meet my first patron at Madame Atout’s, under her watchful eye.
Perhaps it is silly to be worrying about these things now when I have already signed the contract and decided on my path, but I have always been impulsive. My mother said I act before I think.
I know I have done it this time as well, but it is for a good cause.
“No, he will direct you on what he wants.” Mrs. Fairfax looked out the window at the passing houses. They are getting bigger and fancier with every block, and even I can tell we are going into the fashionable part of London. Everything is brighter, shinier, cleaner.
Excitement stirs in my chest.
Perhaps I am not so interested in parties and the like, but I can still appreciate the fancy houses and parks.
The house that the carriage pulls up to is the biggest, most splendid house I have ever seen in my life. We do not stop in the front, of course, but rather pull behind it to the mews. Still, I cannot help my shock.
“I thought mistresses stay in their own houses.” Surely this cannot all be mine. It has to be the duke’s home.
“The duke does things differently,” Mrs. Fairfax said briskly, getting to her feet as the carriage door opens. “You will see. You will have your own area within the house and on his estate.”
I wish Madame Atout was there for me to question, because this was very different from what I had been told to expect, but there’s no other choice than to go forward. Perhaps I should have asked more questions before signing the contract.
At least then I would have had more of a chance to set my expectations.
My mother would sigh and shake her head at my impetuousness.
I follow Mrs. Fairfax out of the carriage and up to the back door of the house. Standing beside it, I feel even smaller. It is so much larger than Madame Atout’s, I cannot imagine how many people could fit inside.
Mrs. Fairfax sweeps along the halls and I scurry to keep up with her.
We pass maids and footmen, all of whom barely glance at me, though a few cast a speculative gaze my way.
My dress is far more low-cut than any of the maids’ and I find myself blushing.
I tug on the neckline, trying to pull it up a bit, but it is of no use.
The halls become more richly decorated as we go, until Mrs. Fairfax comes to a halt in front of one of the closed doors.
The rug beneath my feet is thick and plush enough that I can feel it through my worn soles.
Paintings and tapestries decorate the walls and there are vases and other decorations scattered along the hallway between them, including a suit of armor that gleams in the flicking lamplight.
The door is thick enough that I cannot hear a response after Mrs. Fairfax knocks on it, but there must have been an answer because she opens the door a moment later. Glancing over her shoulder to ensure I am watching, she crooks her finger, indicating that I should follow her.
I do quickly, curiosity driving me as we step into a small room lined with bookshelves.
There is very little in the room other than the books, a single leather chair with a small table beside it, and in the center of the room a large wooden desk behind which a man is seated.
Just beyond him is a huge window that looks out over a small garden.
Trees help to obscure the house beyond it.
But I do not pay much mind to the view from the window, I am far more interested in the man.
The Duke. I have no doubt who he is. Just one glance and he could not be anyone else. Even seated, he has an air of royalty, of power and prestige, hanging about him. Three heavy rings adorn his fingers, one on his left and two on his right, with jewels the size of grapes.
He has dark hair that is swept back from a hard face. A heavy brow and strong jawline would have had the other tarts at Madame Atout’s sighing and then fighting over who would service him. Mrs. Fairfax had called him handsome, but the word did not do him justice.
Just one glance from his dark gaze had my belly quivering and my knees knocking, even more than Mrs. Fairfax’s presence had.
I hastily cast my eyes downward and curtsied when Mrs. Fairfax did, going as low as I dared without risking falling over.
I swear I can feel his eyes moving over my skin, like a hot breeze.
And I am supposed to strip and let this man put his cock in me? In more than one place, apparently.
The very idea makes me shiver.
“Mrs. Fairfax.”
“Your Grace.” She gracefully rises from her curtsy.
I bob up as well, doing my best not to wobble, but I keep my gaze cast down at the thick rug we’re standing on, taking quick peeks at my benefactor as I do so.
“This is Bettina. I believe she will meet all your requirements, and she has already signed the contract.”
I find myself holding my breath as Mrs. Fairfax moves forward and places the sheaf of papers on his desk. He glances at me and then looks down at them, picking them up one by one and looking through them until he comes to the last page. The page that I signed.
He looks up at Mrs. Fairfax. “She did not request any changes?”
Something about the way he asks the question makes my stomach flip over. Mrs. Fairfax shakes her head and sighs.
“She did not even read it or allow Madame Atout to read it to her. She has no idea what is in it.” Mrs. Fairfax’s disapproval radiates out from her and it’s all I can do not to stick my tongue out at her.
If she’d had my life, she would know that whatever this duke wanted, it was worth the price he was paying for it.
He shakes his head.
“When will they learn?” he murmurs as he picks up his quill and dips it in the ink before signing with a flourish. I watch, fascinated by his quick and easy movements and the curling letters.
His signature is much prettier than mine.
Putting the quill down, he pushes the papers to the side of the desk where Mrs. Fairfax is standing and looks up at me. Even though I want to drop my gaze again, I am caught by his eyes, which are boring into me and I find that I can not only not look away, but I can scarcely breathe.
The slow smile that spreads across his lips is not reassuring.
“Come here, little Betty,” he says, pushing his chair back, though he does not get to his feet.
“Bettina,” I correct him even as I make my feet move.
I walk around the side where Mrs. Fairfax is standing, feeling somewhat comforted by her presence, though I could not say why.
Perhaps because she is a fellow woman. Or perhaps because she is the most familiar thing in this very unfamiliar room, despite our short acquaintance.
“Oh, no. It is little Betty now.” He smiles at me, holding his hand out, and I hesitantly reach out to put mine in his. My fingers are much smaller, much slimmer, and I can feel the strength in his hand, especially when he suddenly pulls me toward him.
Crying out, I stumble, my free hand trying to catch my fall, but there is nothing to hold onto.
I end up over his lap, his broad thighs against my stomach and tucked under my breasts. He releases my hand and curves his fingers around my side, holding me in place when I try to push myself back up. My hands are on that soft carpet, but just barely and there is no strength to my attempt.
“Stay still, little Betty,” he orders, and I feel air on my legs as my skirts are flipped up.
“Bettina!” I do not know why I keep repeating my name, but it’s like my brain has frozen. It is the only thing I can think of to say. I do not know what he is doing or why he is doing it, but I do know my name and it is not Betty.