Claire thought her shame had been complete when she'd left her home. She followed the solicitor out to the Ducal carriage while every villager watching from their windows, witnesses to her shame. Her father had still been abed, sleeping off the excess of drink and gaming. She would not be there in the morning to pour his bath or bring his breakfast.
He had sold her.
Once at the mansion, her humiliation grew. The maids washed and brushed and plucked, as if her common origins made her too dirty to even be touched by a lord. Their fingers cleaned her intimately, but they only spoke to give her a command.
Stand up. Raise your arms. Spread your legs. Bend over.
No part of her body remained her own.
Then a footman – a
man
– arrived at the room. The maids relinquished her, clad as she was in only thin sheath through which every curve and color of her body was visible. As if that weren't bad enough, it ended mid-thigh, exposing her legs completely. The footman made no pains to hide his perusal of her.
A smirk was his verdict.
More following, this time through carpeted hallways and gilded wall panels. The air was cool in the hall, pricking her skin, as if her exposed skin wasn't already obscene.
At last they arrived at the two closed doors. Perversely she was almost eager for it. She would service the duke and be done with it. He may want to use her in the future, but she had no expectation that she would hold his interest. He could have any woman he wanted, just as he had bought her. She had a fair enough face and a spritely enough figure to attract attention in the village, mostly unwanted though it was, but the duke visited London, where any number of fairer faces and finer figures were for sale.
She wasn't afraid of the pain. It could hurt no less than her father's angry tirades. She would survive it.
The doors opened, but instead of a bedroom, there was large sitting room. It held a few sofas and chairs, but sparingly. It seemed odd to her, to leave so much empty space, but then her entire home could fit into this room. No, it was her home no longer. She had no home.
The doors clicked behind her just as a smaller door opened to the side. A man, the duke, walked in. But he wasn't alone. A beautiful woman hung on his arm, fully dressed in a beautiful brocade gown – laughing, elegant, stately. Everything Claire wasn't.
They took no notice of her as they strolled to the largest divan and settled down. He sat with his arms splayed across the back of the seat, his legs spread – at once both casual and commanding. The woman flounced down beside him, cooing over him with her décolletage spilling near his face. Claire fidgeted in front of the door. Had she come to the wrong place? Had they not seen her?
But then the duke's icy grey eyes snapped to her. Not as if he hadn't seen her, but as if he would deign to take notice of her now. His eyes trailed over the curves and into the crevices of her body. The woman also stilled and took her measure of Claire's body.
A knowing half-smile spread across the woman's painted face. "You have a new girl," she said.
A predatory gleam darkened his eyes. "Yes. A new pet, my dear." He turned back to Claire. "Who said you could stand?"
Claire's heart thumped wildly in her chest. She did not want to anger him, but she didn't know what he wanted. "Should I...sit?"
A storm crossed his features, marring his smooth brow.
"Your grace," Claire added anxiously, stringing her fingers together. She bobbed an awkward curtsy just for good effect. She had never spoken to a duke, not to any royalty, though she knew the rules as any educated girl would. It was only her nerves making her act a fool.
He relaxed back, but his face still looked stern. "Kneel. You are my pet, and pets belong on the ground."
Claire gaped at him. He wasn't jesting.
This wasn't what she had been brought here for...was it? The man had made it sound as though she were to be used for carnal purposes. She didn't understand.
"Down," he said, his tone allowing for no argument.
She felt her knees hit the hard floor.
"Good girl," he said approvingly.
Her body was flushed hot and chilled cold all at once. It had betrayed her.
"Now," he said, "crawl over to me."
Thoughts raced through her mind, thoughts of escape, thoughts of defiance, but where would she go. What could she do? She had no choice but to obey.
She slowly crawled across the floor, her eyes on the smooth planks just below her, the wood cold under her hands and bruising to her knees.
The woman tittered a laugh as Claire approached. "She's a pretty little thing, isn't she?" she asked. "Might I have a go at her?"
"I'm looking forward to it," he said. "After me, of course."
"Of course, your grace," she said, her voice lower, more breathy. Then there was a pause where Claire heard only soft wet sounds and rustling. She dared not look up. When she reached him, she kept her pose on all four limbs, staring at her distorted reflection in his boots.
His hand came into view and snapped. She looked up. The woman had her arms wrapped around his neck, and she looked to be...nibbling his neck. The duke's eyes had darkened, but not from anger this time.
"Come," he said, patting his leg.
Claire inched forward, unsure what he wanted. He grasped her hair and tilted her head sideways. She gasped but didn't fight. He looked over her face thoughtfully.
"Yes, very pretty," he muttered. Then louder he said, "You will be my pet. My sweet bitch. You will obey my every command and anticipate my needs. If you fail or displease me in any way, I will sell you to a gutter whorehouse in St. Giles, where you will die an ugly death. Do you understand?"
His fingers tightened, pulling the hair painfully from her scalp. "Yes, your grace."
"Good girl." He released her. "The most important skill you will learn is to suck my cock."
Claire gasped at the thought. She knew what he meant. She'd heard enough leers and calls from the local boys, but she hadn't thought she'd ever do it. In her naivete, she'd assumed all she'd have to do was spread her legs.
"Release my pants, and we will measure your natural talent," he said.
Her entire being recoiled at the command. All except the very small part of her focused on self-preservation. She would have to do it, she knew. The alternative he described would be far worse. Her father had brought less and less coin for her to purchase food with, until she was thin and tired all the time. When he had run out of even that, he had used her as his gambling marker – and lost. She had nowhere to go. There were worse fates than a rich lord's whore.
She tried to ignore the way her hands shook as they reached up to his placket. The woman beside him giggled.
Claire fumbled with the buttons, finally opening his pants, only to encounter his underclothes. She fiddled with them, afraid he would scold her for taking too long, but he just watched her from hooded eyes.
His manhood grew and hardened underneath the fabric as if it had a mind of its own. Certainly his face, hard set with slashes of shadow, showed no sign of arousal or pleasure. When the underclothes were released, his member sprang out at her and she jumped back. The woman thought this was dreadfully funny.
"Touch it," he said softly, and she knew his patience was thin.
Her fingers tentatively touched him – he was soft and hot and hard. A spark of interest stirred in her. This was the first time she had ever touched a man. Her father had touched her occasionally, in ways she knew wasn't appropriate for a father and a daughter. He had come into her room at night and put his hands beneath her nightgown.
Be a good girl,
he'd told her. And she had lay still, been a good girl for him, even when he pinched or pulled or poked. But he had never asked her to touch him in return. She was thankful for that, but now that she had this duke in her hands, she was...something. Curious, that was all.
It was only natural to be curious about this thing that essentially owned her. Technically it was the duke who owned her, but it was his cock that kept her there. So long as she pleased it she was safe. A palm-full of heavy, warm flesh controlled her entire life.
"Kiss it," he told her.
She leaned forward and pressed a small kiss on the tip.
He groaned. "Again."
She did and he gripped the back of her head to hold her there, her lips pressed to him. A small tickled her nose, a sort of musky, male smell, like the kind she might smell when men were sweaty and laboring. Except deeper, more elemental, and it came from him, his privates. Only they weren't private anymore.
"I love it when they're like this," he gasped. "New and innocent –
Jesus!
"
The woman laughed and resumed her stroking of him. She curled her bright red fingernails through his hair, down his chest over his shirt. "Yes, darling. She is a delightful little piece. She will grow tiring after a while, I am sure, not knowing what to do, but for now you
should
