Forbidden Pleasure

_{Chapter 4}

Emily hurried downstairs. Devlin was waiting for her in Gran's old-fashioned parlor, which was across from the more modern living room. It was filled with the furniture that had been in the house when Gran was a girl. "How do I look?" she asked as she came into the parlor. She was wearing a violet-sprigged cream-colored dress with a fitted bodice, and a flirty, floaty skirt with a scalloped hemline. She twirled to give him the full effect. He had made love to her a second time this afternoon, and then they had napped together in his bed. It had been even better the second time, and Emily was feeling more relaxed than she had ever felt in her life. Making love was quite a revelation, yet she couldn't help but wonder if it would have been different with another man. Better, or worse?

The green eyes looked her over admiringly. Then he said, "Are you wearing panties and a bra, Emily?"

"Of course. We're going out," she replied.

"No," he said, shaking his head. "I thought I made myself clear this morning. When you are with me you do not wear undergarments. Take them off."

"We're going to be in a public place, Devlin," she protested.

"What if I want to pull over on our way home to make love to you in the car?" he asked. "If you want to question me, Emily, then perhaps you should find another lover."

"Damn it, Devlin, I don't want another lover! Where would I find one in this town? And I most certainly don't want people gossiping about me and some local. You're the perfect lover. You live in the city. Besides, you understand my dilemma and the reason I've taken you for a lover. You're not going to go all postal on me when I say I've learned enough from you and tell you to go away," Emily said.

"Then trust me enough to do what I say," he told her. "If you want me for your teacher then you have to obey me. I will never harm you, angel face. In fact, I'm going to teach you something right now about passion. Take off the panties and bra, Emily."

Reaching up, she unhooked the bra through her dress, sliding one strap off under the fabric, then the other, and drawing it out through the short sleeve, laying it aside on a balloon-backed burgundy-colored velvet chair.

"You do that like you've done it before," he told her with a grin.

"Shut up," she said. "It's the quickest way to take a bra off when you get home, and every woman in the world knows that." She reached beneath her skirt and pulled her panties off, flipping them onto the chair next to the bra. "Satisfied? God, I hope no one can see through this dress," Emily muttered nervously. "Can you?"

"No," he said, but he lied. The faint shadow of her slender legs was very visible.

"Can we go now?" she asked him.

"Nope," he replied. "Pull up your skirt and let me see your pussy."

"Devlin!" Her tone was shocked.

"Pull up your skirt," he ordered her in a hard tone.

"It's vulgar," Emily said, and then she squealed as, gripping her wrist, he pulled her facedown over the high rolled arm of the settee, yanked up her dress, and began to spank her, his other hand now on the small of her back to hold her down.

"You are a very, very, very bad girl, Emily Shanski," he said, each word punctuated by his hand on her bared bottom.

She was more surprised than harmed by his actions, and if the truth were known it was rather exciting too. She felt a distinct tingle in her clitoris.

"Now tell me you're sorry, and you won't be such a bad girl again," Devlin said.

"Won't!" Emily replied, getting into the spirit of the game, and wanting him to spank her some more. "And you can't make me either!"

He grinned, delighted that she had caught on so quickly. "Yes, I can!" he told her, and his hand began to fall on her flesh again until her buttocks grew pink, and she finally begged him to cease. "Stay exactly as you are," Devlin ordered her.

"Yes, sir," she mocked him. Then she heard the faint sound of his zipper, and the tearing of a condom envelope. "Ohh," Emily whispered. "You're going to fuck me."

"Do you want to be fucked?" he asked, and, grasping her hips in his hands to steady them, he slid into her vagina in a single smooth stroke. She was very wet, and the spanking had obviously made her very lustful, he noted as she wiggled her buttocks against his groin. "Do you? Say it, Emily. Say, 'I want to be fucked.' " He remained perfectly still within her.

She felt him palpably. He was very big, thick, and long. He throbbed hungrily against the walls of her body. "I want to be fucked, Devlin!" she told him without hesitation. Ob, yes! She did indeed want to be fucked bent over the arm of Great-great-great-grandmother Mary Anne's velvet settee. "Do it to me!" Emily hissed, and then gasped. His penis began to move, and it had touched something inside her that sent shock waves of sensation rolling through her body. "Oh, my God! What's happening?" Nothing had ever felt so good! "Don't stop! Don't you dare stop, Devlin! Ohh, God!"

He had found her G-spot, and he worked it hard. She was bucking and sobbing with the passion that was beginning to roll over her. His penis flashed back and forth, back and forth, driving her along. Her cries of delight increased his own lust until he thought he would burst, but he held back, giving her time. And then it happened.

Emily felt herself close to losing consciousness. Her body seemed to explode from the inside out. Waves of tremors racked her body, filling her with the most incredible feelings, and she knew: So this was orgasm! Wonderful! Wonderful! "Come, damn you, Devlin!" she cried out. "I want us together this first time!"

"Ready?"

"Go!" she almost shrieked.

He did, and for a brief time it seemed as if it would go on forever for both of them. But at last he collapsed atop her. They were both gasping for breath. Then slowly he pulled himself off of her. "You all right?" he asked, his tone faintly concerned.

"I will never be all right again," Emily said. "That was incredible!" She pushed herself up. "God, what must my ancestors have thought of us?" And she laughed softly, gazing at three portraits on the parlor wall.

"I suspect the arm of this sofa has been used in the past for such sport, angel face," he told her. "Those Victorians were very lusty people, despite their protestations otherwise. Well, if I wasn't hungry before I sure as hell am now," he said.

"Me too," she admitted. "Give me a few minutes for a quick cleanup, and you might want to get rid of that," Emily said, pointing to the full condom on his penis.

"Agreed," he said with a faint smile. "You do bring out the best in me, angel face."

"You're just a horny fellow, Devlin," she told him, and then hurried off.

Fifteen minutes later they were tucked into his Healy and pulling out of her driveway. The porch light had been left on for their return. Following her directions he piloted them onto a lovely two-lane country road that ran along an expanse of blue water that was Egret Pointe Bay. The yellow-green May foliage was lush along one side of the road. He noted osprey platforms with nests already inhabited with tenants. It was lovely country, and he wondered if he could find a summer rental in Egret Pointe. It seemed a quieter place than Montauk was going to prove come summer.

They spoke very little as he drove. He wasn't sure what the protocol was for an editor who had spent the entire day fucking his author. And how quickly Emily was learning. She had understood his subtle prompts in that semibondage scene that they had just played out in the elegant little parlor of her house. He was intrigued with and fascinated by her. The thought of spending summer weekends working with her caused his cock to twitch. He forced his thoughts to something less volatile.

"Better start slowing down," she suggested. "East Harbor Inn is on our right just around the next bend, Devlin. Parking lot is on the edge of the road."

The Healy banked around the curve and swung into the parking area. He got out and hurried around the low-slung sports car to open the door for her. East Harbor Inn was charming, very Colonial, with touches of Laura Ashley. The dining room had beamed ceilings, and lots of candles, from those in the pewter chandeliers hanging from the beams to those on the tables. To Emily's relief it was not crowded, and she didn't recognize anyone from Egret Pointe. So far, so good.

"Not busy tonight?" she said to the waiter who came to take their order.

"Heavy bookings late," he said. "First performance of the spring musical at the Egret Pointe Playhouse. We'll be crowded after ten thirty. May I suggest the lobster? They just came off the trawler at our dock in midafternoon."

They ordered. Devlin wanted raw oysters as a starter, and then the lobster and the baby field greens. Emily ordered a fruit compote with a miniscoop of homemade strawberry sherbert, a spinach-and-cheese ravioli, and salad. The waiter suggested a Lenz Blanc de Noir, and Devlin ordered a bottle. The service was leisurely, but they were never left waiting long between courses. When the dessert menu came they both ordered the homemade crème brûlée and coffee.

"If it were July I'd get the plum cake," Emily said. "It's outrageous. They make it only when the plums are fresh from one of the local farms."

"I'll have to try it then," he said. "I've been wondering, Emily, if you know of a summer rental around here. I was planning to go to Montauk, but Egret Pointe is more my style. Quiet. No faux celebrities, and no bother of getting through the Hamptons just to get there."

"Won't you be coming to me on the weekends?" she asked him.

"I'm taking most of August off," he said. "You've been making a very concerted effort all weekend not to be seen with me, and you're not going to be able to keep that up for too long. An editor coming on the weekends to work with you is one thing, and we can probably get away with that reasonable explanation even when one of your neighbors finally notices the Healy in your drive every weekend. But if I spend several weeks with you, your reputation is going to be compromised, angel face."

"I'll ask Rina," Emily replied. "She knows everything."

And Rina did. She came up with the perfect solution as she and Emily sat talking over coffee on Monday morning. "Aaron and Kirk's cottage," she said, reaching for a jelly stick. "The boys are going to Italy in August. They've rented a place in Tuscany for a couple of weeks on a friend's recommendation. And Aaron wants to go to Capri for a few days. Kirk says it's a zoo in August, but you know how he indulges my brother's little whims. I'll call Aaron today, and then he can call Mr. Hot Stuff. They can make their own arrangements. And speaking of your editor, when is he coming again?"

"He's coming every weekend for the time being. Not next weekend, though. It's the long one, and he's flying to London to check up on his tenant. He has a house there, and he's let it out to an American for a year," Emily explained.

"Will you miss the sex?" Rina asked frankly. "Oh, Sam says you dodged the bullet this time, but to be careful, and start on the pill."

"I won't have time to miss anything," Emily told her friend. "I have to start writing. Today. And please thank Dr. Sam for me." She leaned over and hugged the older woman. "And thank you for not telling me what an idiot I am."

"The grans never said a thing to you?" Rina was surprised. Katya Shanski was, of course, a reserved woman, but Emily O hadn't seemed like that at all.

"Sex was definitely taboo in both houses. I think they were still trying to get past the fact that their kids had sex once, and I was the result. They were both pushing fifty when I was born, and the grandfathers were over fifty. It had been a bad year too. Joe's big brother had been killed in 'Nam, and Grandpa Frank went into a decline that killed him before I was three. I don't even remember him."

"Yeah, Frank Shanski really loved his older son. Nothing Joe did after that pleased him either. I remember Frank was always saying, 'Well, Frankie would have done it better, or faster,' or whatever. The truth was, Frankie was a big dumb jock, and it was Joe who had all the brains. Water under the bridge." Rina sighed. "So how did you learn what little you knew about sex?"

"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, AF@BrowneFischer.com. She went to the next page. Prologue. And then she began the backstory of how Caroline, Duchess of Malincourt, became Lavender, a daring woman who rescued the oppressed from the Reign of Terror in Revolutionary France. It was dark before she had finished.

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?"

"Dull," he replied, and then he feigned a yawn. "We might have dinner here in your chambers, madam. I should not like to tax your strength. Is there a chance you might be breeding? Malincourt could use an heir, as I have none."

"That is not entirely so," the duchess replied. "There is your sister's son."

"He will not do," the duke told her. "Mary! That is your name, isn't it?"

"Yes, milord," Mary said, bobbing a curtsy.

"Go and tell Cook her ladyship and I shall dine here. But not for an hour. No one is to disturb us until then. Do you understand, Mary?"

"Yes, milord," Mary said, blushing to the roots of her yellow hair. Then she turned and ran out of the room.

"Really, Trahern, that was not particularly subtle," the duchess said.

"I am not of a mind to be subtle, madam. The most delicious women in London have been importuning me, yet I want no woman but my wife. I am forced to return home to Malincourt. A shocking state of affairs, madam, wouldn't you agree?" He removed his bottle-green linen tailcoat and laid it aside. He undid his wide white cravat and laid it atop the coat. Then he slowly undid his frilled shirt and set it with the coat and cravat. Sitting down, he pulled off his beautifully polished riding boots, then stood again.

"Trahern, what are you about?" the duchess demanded of her husband.

"I mean to fuck you, my dear," he answered pleasantly, undoing his tight riding breeches, pulling them down and off along with his drawers. "I am not ready to keep a mistress yet, and you have not given me an heir. Once you have produced two sons, Caro, I shall leave you to your own devices, if that is what you wish. Until then I will curtail my own social life, devoting myself to you and the production of our nursery.

"I know why your father married you to my late uncle. It was to protect you and your fortune from his own impecunious brother. And it was my uncle's wish that I take you for my own wife when he died and I inherited. As there was no other woman in my life I felt suited to be my duchess, I agreed. I waited through a year of mourning, Caro, and we wed. Your first marriage was a celibate one. But this union is not, nor is it meant to be such a marriage. In an effort to consider your sensibilities I have been patient. I do not mean to be patient any longer. Now, get out of that tub, madam!"

"I have not denied you your rights, milord," the duchess said coolly.

"But neither have you joined into our bed sport with any enthusiasm," he complained to her. "You lie beneath me like a board. Do you feel nothing of passion? Is your heart a stone? Do you even have a heart?"

The duchess arose from her porcelain tub. The water sluiced down her lush body. "I have a heart, milord," she told him. "I am just not ready to fill a nursery. The three years I was married to your uncle I spent nursing him. Then I spent another year mourning him. I was married to you but a month after my mourning ended. We have been wed but six months. You spend much of your time in London. I prefer the country. Am I not entitled to a few months of peace for myself, milord, before I must take on the great responsibility of our family? And how, she wondered silently, can I allow myself to become enceinte when I spend my time traveling back and forth between England and France in order to rescue the innocent?

"Damn it, Caro, I am in love with you," the duke said. "I always have been, since the day my uncle introduced you to me as his new wife. The old duke knew how I felt. And he also knew that neither of us would ever betray him. We never did. He realized that you would be safe with me after he was gone. That was why he gained our promise to wed then. He wanted you to have a normal life. The kind of life a woman should have. And he wanted me to have you." The duke lifted a large towel from the rack by the fire and, coming close to the duchess, wrapped her in it, lifting her from the water. "It has been almost two years since my uncle died. I want children, and I want them now!" He dried her roughly and then, picking her up, carried her to her bed.

"Trahern!" she protested. "You are behaving like a barbarian.

"I am behaving like a husband who desires his wife," he said through gritted teeth. "Do you dare to refuse me, madam?"

Do I want to write the scene like that? Emily wondered to herself, and then she awakened to find herself in her bed. Should he admit to being in love with her? She glanced at the clock on her bedside table. It was just four a.m. Well, so much for the Channel. She would have to clock in earlier tonight. Yes, the duke should admit to loving his wife. It had to be her passion to revenge herself that kept her from admitting that she was in love with him. Yes, that felt right. Turning over, she punched her pillow and attempted to sleep.

She had slipped out of the Channel just as Trahern was about to make love to his duchess. But for the first time she had not simply been an observer. She had been in the duchess's skin. She had been Caroline Trahern. It had been an interesting experience. It had been exciting, and yet she had not been ready to make love with the duke. It was ridiculous to think as she was, but she felt as if it would have been cheating on Devlin. But the duke looked just like Devlin. And the Channel was a fantasy, not reality, wasn't it? Or was it that she was just a little shy about making love within the confines of the Channel, and then transcribing the experience onto the pages of her book? Yet she certainly could write what she and Devlin had been doing.

He wasn't due back in New York until Tuesday. He wouldn't be in Egret Pointe until Friday night. She had plenty of time to write her first explicit love scene before he wanted to see what she was doing. But no! The story line wouldn't be to that point by Friday night. But perhaps she could show some of the early sexual tension between Caro and Trahern by then. Give Devlin an idea of where she was going with it. And make love with him. Emily hadn't realized that, once she had savored sex with a man she liked, how much more she would want to keep repeating that same experience. But she did.

She missed the feel of his bulk against her in the night. She missed his weight on her, the incredible sensation of his penis inside of her, his mouth exploring her sensitive flesh. Emily shivered. She needed to sleep. She needed to escape her thoughts of their naked bodies against each other. Did all women feel like this with their first affair? She climbed out of her bed and, going into the bathroom, opened the narrow floor-to-ceiling medicine closet to pull out the aspirin bottle. Dumping two of the extra-strength tablets into her hand, she gulped them down with some water. She was obviously too keyed up to sleep. The aspirin would soothe her jangled nerves. Taking two antacid tablets to buffer her stomach against the aspirin, Emily went back to bed, lying on her back, her palms open and flat so the tension in her would drain out.

When she awoke it was almost noon, and the rain was coming down in sheets outside of her bedroom window. It was obviously a day to hole up in bed. But first she needed sustenance. Climbing out of bed she went down to her kitchen. She opened a can of meat ravioli in sauce, dumped it into a grab-it, and nuked it. Essie kept the ravioli for when her grandchildren stopped by. However, comfort food was comfort food. If Emily couldn't have wild sex with Devlin, then ravioli and marshmallow cookies would have to suffice. Putting the bowl on a tray, she rifled through her pantry closet and found the greatest sin of all-something she always hid away for an emergency. She set the double box of Mallomars on the tray, and pulled two small bottles of Pellegrino from her fridge. Napkins. Fork. A little shaker of Parmesan. She carried the tray upstairs.

As she sat in bed consuming the contents of the tray, she wondered if Devlin liked eating in bed. She would serve them an outrageous meal to be eaten here in her bedroom when he came out next weekend. Raw oysters on the half shell, all briney with hot sauce. Lamb chops with asparagus vinaigrette. Fresh local strawberries dipped in dark chocolate, and a bowl of whipped cream for dipping. And they would drink a bottle of Pindar Long Island Spring Splendor, and then make love. Oh, God! She was off on that tangent again. How long until the Channel opened up again? Almost eight hours-worse luck. She'd sleep, and when she woke up again she'd consume the other box of Mallomars for supper, along with her other bottle of Pellegrino. It was a plan.

It was still raining hard when Emily awoke again. The light outside of her bedroom windows was gray. Rolling over, she looked at her clock. Just after seven. Less than an hour until the Channel kicked in. Was she brave enough to let the story flow tonight? She would set her mind to the month before Trahern and Caro married. No. That wouldn't do. She could write a scene like that with her eyes closed. She would set the scene for their wedding night. Caro's first sexual encounter with the sophisticated Trahern. Yes! That would allow her a sexual experience to take the edge off of her own lust for Michael Devlin. But would it? Well, she would soon find out, Emily decided.

Trahern looked like her editor. Emily's subconscious had made him so. But there was just the faintest sense of roughness about the duke that wasn't at all like the smooth and elegant Michael Devlin. The duke was very much a man of his own time period, which was as it should be. There was a hint of danger in the green eyes. He was a man who was very comfortable with who and what he was. And he was a man who would have his own way. Emily shivered. But that was as it should be too. She had made all of her previous heroes far more civilized and urbane than Trahern was. Trahern was almost a throwback to another century. But she liked him, and she knew her readers would fall in love with him to a woman. Bad boys were always far more interesting than good men. Michael Devlin certainly was, she thought with a little grin as she finished consuming the second narrow container of Mallomars. They were half the size Mallomars used to be, she thought, annoyed. But then, she had to suffer only half the guilt because of it.

Emily got up and took the tray downstairs, rinsed the grab-it, and stuck it in the dishwasher. She dumped the evidence of her Mallomar consumption in the garbage, and recycled the two green bottles. Then, returning upstairs, she took a lavish bubble bath, pulled on a clean sleep shirt, and, grabbing the channel changer as the upstairs hall clock struck eight o'clock, she turned on the television. Almost at once she saw a gray stone country church. The scenery about the church proclaimed it full high autumn. The oak and the ash trees were gold and red. The ducal coach drew up before the church. A footman jumped from his perch and hurried to open the door on the right side of the vehicle and let down the steps. Then he handed out Caro Trahern.

She was dressed in a gown of pale blue watered silk. The full skirt had a pleated hemline that hung just off the ground. The fitted bodice and skirt formed a single garment. While the neckline was low, the bride wore a delicate lace fichu that was fastened in front with a beautiful brooch of pearls and gold. The sleeves of the dress were fitted to the elbow, and from them hung the same delicate lace as the fichu. Her shoes were flat-heeled and embroidered with rounded toes. On her head she wore a broad-brimmed hat trimmed in lace and ribbons. And in her hand she carried a posy of rosebuds and lavender tied with matching blue ribbons and lace.

Emily reached out and pressed the enter button on the channel changer as the duchess began to walk into the small church. Music swelled from the small organ that was being vigorously pumped by a rather beefy lad she recognized as the blacksmith's son. Once again she had put herself into the skin of her heroine. The duke awaited her inside the church vestibule. Their eyes met. She took his arm, and together they traversed the center aisle of the little church to where the Reverend Mr. Playfair awaited them. The congregation, Emily noted, was made up of villagers and servants. Caro's second marriage would not be a grand affair, given the fact that she had been widowed for only thirteen months. The ceremony was the simple Anglican one, and over quickly. The bridal couple traversed the aisle.

Outside the Duke and Duchess of Malincourt greeted their villagers, who cheered them off as the open coach awaiting them took them back to Malincourt Hall. The day was so beautiful that Emily felt her eyes fill with tears. Her new husband noticed, said nothing, but put his hand on hers. She looked at him and smiled a weak smile.

"What are you thinking?" he finally asked her.

"Of the day I wed your uncle at St. George's in London," the duchess answered him. "It was June, and the king and queen came. My father hadn't even given me a season, but he and your uncle insisted upon a grand society wedding. They were making a very strong public statement so that my uncle Richard would have no basis for a claim on my inheritance. Of course, I didn't know then that my father intended to kill himself. Your uncle Godric was very good to me, Trahern. But I think if I am to be honest with you, I must say I prefer this wedding day to the other. I am not a woman for show."

"I hope you also prefer this groom to the other," he replied. "And tonight you will have a true wedding night. Something you did not have with my uncle, I know."

The duchess blushed prettily. "Sir, you are too bold," she half whispered.

He leaned over and murmured in her ear, "Surely you know how much I want to make love to you, Caro, my darling. I know you are an innocent, and I shall be patient and gentle. But come tomorrow morning you will be a woman in every sense of the word. I am not my uncle Godric. I am a man in the full flush of his manhood. I desire you very much, Caro. I only hope you desire me too." He kissed her ear softly.

Her cheeks felt very warm. "I have no knowledge of what you expect of me, sir. I would not have you disappointed, but in matters of the heart I am lacking in education."

"And it will be my supreme pleasure to educate you, my darling," he told her.

She could not stop blushing, and was quite relieved to reach the house. There a light repast had been set out for them in the magnificent dining room. They ate in silence, and when they had finished repaired to the family salon. It was late afternoon. The servants had seen to the fires, and the room was comfortable.

"Why do you not repair to your chamber and take a little nap?" the duke suggested. "I am going to read. I will join you later."

She stood up quickly and curtsied, saying, "The day has been fatiguing, milord. I shall take your good advice."

"It will probably be one of the few times you do, Caro," he replied, a twinkle in his eye. Then he chuckled at her expression of surprise. "Run along, my dear."

Well, Emily thought as the duchess hurried upstairs to her bedchamber, you are turning out to be an interesting man. My duchess will have to be very clever to avoid her husband discovering what mischief she has been up to for almost three years. Poor Godric had never known, but then he was old and sick, and only wanted his comforts. As long as he had them, and Caro visited him when home from London, which was where she always claimed she had been, Godric Trahern was contented. He had married her to protect her, and she certainly had never realized that he would see to her future when he was gone. But he had, arranging first with his nephew and heir, and then with her, that she would marry Justin Trahern after a single year of mourning.

"No longer, Caroline," he had said. "You are a very wealthy woman in your own right, and your father did not want you taken advantage of; nor do I. You know little of the world, my dear. You must be protected."

Yes, her first duke had been a good man.

Emily shifted her mind-set back to the duchess, who reaching her own chamber, had her maid, Nancy, help her to disrobe. Bathing in a basin of perfumed water, she let the young girl help her into a delicate pale peach silk negligee.

"I shall not need you again tonight, Nancy," she said as she lay down to rest. "When the duchess was once again aware of herself, the sky outside of her bedchamber window was dark. She heard the door connecting her room with the duke's open, and she turned over to see him in the light from the fireplace.

"Do not get up," he said quietly. "I have come to join you, Caro."

The duchess swallowed hard. Of course, this husband would want to claim his connubial rights as soon as possible, and it was their wedding night. "You will have to lead me, sir. As I have previously told you, my experience is nil." She saw in the firelight that he was wearing a red paisley silk robe, but she suspected that beneath was naught.

"Under the circumstances of your first marriage I would not expect you to have had any experience, my dear. I know you are a virgin. My uncle assured me of it before he died." He slid beneath the coverlet next to her. "There are many men in my position who would take from you what they believed was their due without so much as a by-your-leave. But I have found a woman who enjoys the act of copulation is a far better partner in bed sport." He pressed her gently back among the pillows and touched her lips with his. "Tonight I will make love to you slowly and with great care, Caro. And tomorrow night I will begin to teach you how to respond in kind." He kissed her gently again, his tongue tracing the outline of her mouth.

"Oh!" the duchess murmured softly.

He raised himself up, balancing upon an elbow, and carefully undid the ribbons at the neckline of her negligee. The garments opened to reveal her snowy-white bosom. The duke's dark head bent, and he began to kiss the flawless flesh. His free hand pushed the fabric aside further, his mouth closing over a perfect little pink nipple. His tongue licked. His teeth carefully worried the sensitive nipple.

She could sense it all, Emily realized, delighted. She felt everything her duchess was supposed to be feeling: a tiny, almost imperceptible tingle between her legs, a longing she had not understood before. Her arms wrapped about the duke. "Oh, Trahern," she murmured in his ear. "What is this magic you are making with me?"

In answer he ripped the delicate silk of her negligee open so he might have total access to her lovely body. A hand cupped her breast. He nuzzled it, and kissed the sharply pointed nipple. "I adore you, Caro!" he murmured against her ear. "I only want to give you pleasure, and more pleasure."

She found her hands fumbling with the tie about his robe. "Take it off, Trahern," she begged him. "I find your kisses and caresses have made me curious for more. For everything! Hurry, milord!"

He untangled himself from her briefly in order to shrug the robe from his muscular body. And while he did Caro pulled the shreds of her negligee from her own body and threw them carelessly on the floor. Then, gathering her into his arms, he began to kiss her until her head was spinning. "Do you know what I am going to do to you, my adorable bride?" he asked her low.

"You are going to fuck me," she whispered back. "And I want you to, Trahern! Oh, how very much I want you to fuck me!"

But he was true to his intent. He began to kiss every inch of her body available to him. He turned her this way and the next, his lips caressing, his tongue licking her flesh until she was afire. She gasped when his finger invaded her body, a tiny bit of fear touching her nerves, but he sensed her anxiety, and soothed her even as a second finger joined the first, and he began to move them back and forth.

She was burning with a desire she had never known existed. "Oh!" she cried. "Oh!" as the fingers slipped from her, and the tip of one of them touched the rosebud hidden between the folds of her nether lips. The fingertip worried the sensitive little nub until she was almost weeping with the burning hunger she felt.

He mounted her naked body, his big hands first pushing her milky thighs open, then guiding his lover's lance into her body. Her virginity quickly gave way, and he rode her fiercely. His big cock flashed back and forth within her, and her low moans grew in intensity until she was almost screaming with the pleasure he was giving her. Then, just as the world exploded around her, the duke bent low and whispered in her ear, "I promised you, Emily, that we would begin a grand adventure, and we now assuredly have, my darling."

Her orgasm came in hard, hot bursts even as her eyes flew open and widened at his words. "Trahern!" she cried, and then fell into unconsciousness as his own lust spurted forth in the great jets of his love juices. And when she opened her eyes again she was in her own bed. The dawn was beginning to break outside of her windows, and the screen of the television was blank with snow.

Emily Shanski lay quietly on her back. Her sleep shirt was up to her waist, and she was sticky and wet between her thighs. My God! What had happened to her? She had slipped into the duchess Caro's skin, or so she thought. But the duke had known that she was there. And in that moment of perfect pleasure he had told her so by addressing her by name. Briefly she was frightened. Perhaps it was not such a good idea to interact with her characters. But she had to admit that she felt more relaxed now than she had when she had turned on the Channel eight hours previously. Her sexual tension had completely vanished.

Emily climbed out of her bed and, barefooted, hurried out into the hall and up the stairs into her office. She had to get the scene she had just played out with the duke down on paper before it faded. With luck she could have the story line right up to that scene before Devlin arrived Friday night. Would he be pleased with her? God, she hoped so! Her career was the one thing in the world now that meant everything to her. If she had to write explicitly sexy love scenes to save it, then she was going to learn how to do it. And now, Emily realized, she had two lovers to learn her craft from.

She turned on her PC, and sat down. Two lovers. Of course, Devlin was going to take full credit for her metamorphosis, she chuckled to herself. Well, let him. The Channel was something special that belonged only to women. Men didn't have to know about it. At least, that was what Rina had told her when she had introduced Emily to it. It was a delicious and dirty little secret, and while Emily had enjoyed being an observer as she imagined her novels in order to make certain they were believable, she had to admit that being an active part of the fantasy was even more fun. And for the first time in her life Emily decided that she wanted to have fun. She began to write, and it wasn't until four hours later that she came down from her aerie.

The day was as clear and warm as the previous had been rainy and chill. She was hungry, and decided to fix herself a Sunday style breakfast even if it was Monday. Rina and Sam were coming by to take her to the Memorial Day parade, and then they were all going out to the club for lunch. French toast! That was what she wanted. French toast with lots of butter and syrup and sausages. She had begun to pull the ingredients together when the phone rang. Answering it, Emily heard Devlin's voice, and her heart beat just a little faster.

"I took the red-eye home. London was lonely. I think I needed you with me," he told her. "How about if I take Friday off and come out Thursday night, angel face?"

"Only if you'll eat lamb chops and asparagus in bed with me," she said with a happy smile. "And local strawberries. I dip them in dark chocolate laced with Grand Marnier. And we'll have a bowl of whipped cream."

"I won't promise to confine the whipped cream to the strawberries," he told her.

"Where do you want to put it?" she asked. She could almost hear his grin.

"All over you, and then I'll slowly lick it off," he said.

"Come early," she told him.

"I will." He chuckled, and then he rang off.

Reality was better, Emily decided happily as she turned her sausages in the frying pan. He had missed her. Well, she had sure as hell missed him too.