The Devil and the Duke – A Regency Romance
Lady Catherine Dalton turned the small slip of paper over in her delicate hands for the hundredth time since she had received the note. She had recognized the writing right away, the slanting letters looking as they had been written hastily. But she knew Dominick never wrote quickly, his handwriting was simply woefully poor.
Catherine sat in her room, having just gotten dressed for her short journey. She was wearing a gown of blue with white baubles sewn into the skirt, which shimmered when they caught the light every time she took a step. The neck was low, enough to expose the top of her rounded breasts, shoved upwards by an uncomfortable corset that had been strapped to her by Bethany, the servant who she had known since she was just a baby, nineteen years ago.
She just managed to sit on the edge of her four-poster bed and pull on her shoes, ankle length boots of a sort, with small heels upon them. She stood then, and looked down, using her palms to smooth out the skirt of her dress.
“You look great,” a voice said from her doorway. Catherine looked up to see Rebecca, her oldest sister standing there. She had her arms folded across her chest.
“Thank you,” Catherine said in a voice she had hoped was pleasant.
“Where are you going? It’s almost dark,” Rebecca said.
And indeed, it was. Behind Catherine lay a window, and she turned her head to peer out of it. The sky was a brilliant orange, painted that way by a sun which was practically falling from the sky, aiming to hide itself behind the horizon. There were clouds, but they were nothing more than silvery wisps in the sky, few and far between.
“I won’t be long,” Catherine said.
“Mother wouldn’t want you to go out,” her sister said.
“Mother doesn’t know I’m going out,” Catherine replied, a little more heatedly than she should have. Sometimes, Rebecca simply had that way about her, a way which made Catherine respond quite negatively.
“I don’t want you going out,” Rebecca tried.
Catherine stepped forward, sweeping out of her room, the sides of her wide skirt brushing against the skirt of her older sister’s dress.
“And you aren’t mother,” Catherine said over her shoulder, and she moved down the hall towards the staircase. Rebecca didn’t bother following.
Outside, the air was growing chill, and Catherine mentally cursed herself for not thinking to grab a shawl to wrap around her mostly bare arms. There was a horse and carriage outside the front door, as father always liked from sun up to sun down, just in case anyone needed to get somewhere in a hurry. The driver was an older man named Samuel with a limp in his right arm.
“Evening, Lady Catherine,” the old man said, sweeping his hat from his head and bowing.
“Samuel,” Catherine replied.
“Need me?”
“Not this evening, it is just a short walk I am after,” Catherine replied, and she couldn’t help but notice the look of relief which swept over Samuel’s face. It was so close to evening, and she knew the old man was tired and his leg was aching from a day of mostly standing, and then being cramped up in his driver’s box as he chauffeured the family around town. It was so close to nightfall, and he would be pulling the carriage around to the back of the house, and handing the horse off to the stable boys there, and then going to his own home, a small one-room home of sorts built of wood that lay situated at the very back of her father’s land.
Catherine left the grounds and turned right, towards town, but, of course, they lived some distance away from the hustle and bustle of the city. Here there were long stretches of land, and a curving river of cool and clear water, which cut through the fields and the small spattering of wooded area that grew up here and there.
It was the river she was after, or at least a small dock situated upon it, not even a quarter of a mile up the road from her home. The river was called the King’s River, and it was just wide and deep enough for a smaller sized ferry, and her father and some of their neighbors had supplies floated to them from town, instead of making trips in.
She had first met Dominick there, in the small shed, which housed boating supplies and stretched out over the river on waterlogged wooden struts green with algae. They had been eight then, both of them born in the same month, September, of the same year. He had been rough and dirty, his pants dirty, his knees scraped. She had been a Lady then as well, of course, and took it upon herself to stay away from mud and dirt, and things that may scrape her knees. But she couldn’t resist such passions when she was around Dominick, and when she had returned home the evening of that first day, she had been dirty, her dress had been ripped, and her father had swatted her bottom with a leather switch. She had cried and cried, her backside had been red and painful, but she mostly cried because she had wanted to be still with Dominick.
Even years later, over a decade, that same feeling had not dissipated. She wanted to spend time with Dom, as she had grown to call him, and if the days stretched on and she still did not see him, she grew sad. Everyone knew about their friendship, and when they were younger, everyone had often joked about what it would be like when they got married.
But that was nothing but jests, and everyone had known that as well, all except for Catherine, it had seemed. She wouldn’t be marrying Dom. She would be marrying Duke Andrew Rotham. He was older, almost thirty. He was a handsome man, that was true enough, but he wasn’t the man Catherine loved. Sadly, she had no choice in the matter.
Dominick was already waiting for her when she arrived, dressed in his best suit and standing at the edge of the covered dock, looking down at the water. Her footsteps caught his ear, and he turned to see her. She smiled, as she always did when she saw him, but he did not.
“What is it Dominick?” she asked, going to him. He reached out and took her hands in his. His hands were large, rough and masculine in a way that Catherine doubted Duke Rotham’s were. Dominick stood some inches over Catherine, and she looked up into his eyes. She could sense something was wrong; she had been able to tell when he hadn’t returned her smile.
“I leave tomorrow,” Dominick said softly.
“Leave?”
“My whole regiment,” the young man explained. Dominick was a soldier though his father was in good enough standing in the community, and rich enough, that he had never been far from home.
“To war?” Catherine asked. She hadn’t heard a word of any battles raging, but the skirmishes these men could cook up, they were apt to spring up overnight.
Dom laughed and shook his head. “Thank the Heavens,” he said, “no.”
“Then, where?”
“I do not know exactly, but I’m led to believe that it will be some sort of training, perhaps to bring my regiment closer together. You know how they love to call us brothers in arms.”
“How long will you be gone?” Catherine asked, and even as she spoke she felt the sharp sting of tears in her eyes.
Dominick let go of her hand with his right, and traced his thumb under one of her eyes, where a single tear had escaped over her eyelid and ran down her cheek, leaving a wet trail like a snail on a garden path. “Six months, maybe more.”
Catherine couldn't suppress the gasp that came from between her open lips. “Half a year?” she said, holding her free hand to her chest.
“Yes,” Dominick said.
“I don’t understand,” Catherine said, shaking her head.
“It’s that new commander,” Dominick said, referring to an old man with a hard demeanor named Colonel Croft. “You know the reputation my company has,” the young man went on.
Catherine nodded because that was true enough. The group of soldiers to which Dominick belonged was thought of as weak and soft, spoiled young men with fathers rich enough to keep them out of harm's way. It seemed as if Colonel Croft was anxious to dispel that notion since taking over the regiment.
“So they’re sending you away for six months, maybe more? It may as well be war.”
“Don’t say that,” Dominick said quickly, shaking his head once from side to side.
Catherine lowered her eyes, embarrassed. As soft as his company may have been, she knew he had found himself once in the midst of a bloody battle, a skirmish that sprang up where none had been expected. He had declined ever to speak with her about the matter, and she hadn’t pressed, if only because she saw the dark shadow that crossed over him when it was brought up.
“It’s not as bad as war,” the young man said finally. He had dropped her other hand now, and she yearned for him to take them both again, but he didn’t. “However, six months is a long time and the wedding…”
It usually went unspoken between them, Catherine’s upcoming nuptials. She knew it was as painful for Dominick as it was for her. But now, with him leaving, it couldn’t remain an issue that gnawed at their minds silently.
“I won’t be married that quickly. No date has been set yet. The Duke doesn’t seem to want to push me before I am ready. The arrangement is good enough for him.”
“So when do you think you’ll be ready?” Dominick asked, not bothering to hide the disgust from his tone.
“That’s not what I meant,” Catherine said as she looked down once more. “Oh Dom, I shall never be ready for that.”
Dominick sighed and nodded. He placed a hand under the young woman’s chin and tilted her face up so he could see her eyes. They were still wet, full of tears. “I’m sorry to have upset you, Catherine,” he said. “I only wanted you to meet me so I could say goodbye.”
She nodded, and when he lowered his head to kiss her, she didn’t stop him. They had kissed before of course, as children the first time as would be lovers after. Her lips were plump and full, his thinner but hungry. They kissed, and his hand went to the side of her face, his strong fingers tracing along her jawline. They kissed, and his other hand went to her chest, two fingers hooking the top of her dress, brushing against her ample cleavage. He began to tug the dress down.
Catherine broke the kiss, took his hand in both of hers. “What are you doing?” she asked.
“I’m leaving tomorrow,” Dominick said, as though that was all he needed to say, and that it had explained everything.
“Dom,” Catherine started, but she didn’t know how to finish her sentence. She and Dom had kissed, and done more, but they had never laid together. She was untouched in that way, no matter how many times Dominick had tried to convince her to lay with him. She wanted to, of course, but the shame she would feel, being unmarried, being soiled on her wedding night instead of pristine and untouched for her husband, she never could.
“Dom,” she said again. “I can’t.”
Dominick changed in a flash, his brows knit and pulled low over his eyes, his mouth turned downward into a cruel sneer. She had seen it before, had accepted it as a flaw in the man she loved, how quickly he could turn angry.
“Fine,” he said. “I’ll be gone, and you can have your Duke.”
“Dominick, it isn’t like that,” Catherine said, but the man was already brushing past her, heading out from under the cover of the dock, into the night. He didn’t say anything, and Catherine watched him go with more tears coming to sting her eyes.
****
When Catherine returned home, she had only been in her room for what seemed like a few minutes when her sister was at her door. Catherine hadn’t bothered to dress for bed; she had just flopped onto the mattress in her dress. The only comfort she had allowed herself was leaning down and pulling those ankle high boots off and letting them drop to the floor.
“How is Dom?” Rebecca asked her.
Catherine sat up. “How did you know I went to speak with Dom?”
Rebecca laughed. She had dressed for bed in a simple white nightgown. Her bare feet took her across her sister’s room where she sat on the edge of the bed and put her hand on Catherine’s knee.
“Little sister, the only time you’ve ever snuck out of the house at night is to see Dominick.”
“I didn’t sneak out,” Catherine said, a bit of defensiveness in her voice.
“Sure,” Rebecca said, content to let her sister believe that if she so wanted. “How is Dom?”
It was no secret that Rebecca didn’t much care for Dominick, but Catherine had always believed it was simply because her oldest sister was jealous. Rebecca didn’t look like Catherine, or their sister in the middle, Samantha. Where the two younger were slight and delicate, with ample bosoms, Rebecca was tall, taller than most men, and as flat as the boards which made up the side of a barn. She was pretty, her face with nice features, but her frame was simply longer, taller than most men might like. She had been lonely, and the attention her younger sisters got surely bothered her.
“He’s leaving tomorrow. His whole regiment is being taken on some sort of exercise. For half a year, at least.”
Rebecca nodded softly. “You have the Duke; maybe this will be good for you, to focus on what you should be focusing on. Without that boy here, you can turn your eyes to the man they should be turned upon.”
Catherine sighed, but she didn’t say anything. She wasn’t sure she had the energy to argue with Rebecca, and so she let her say what she wanted. When her older sister realized Catherine was content to concede so early, she stood and bent, kissing Catherine on the forehead.
“Things will look better in the morning,” she promised, and then she left Catherine’s room.
Catherine lay in her bed, looking at the canopy above her bed. It was a soft pink color and felt almost like silk. She reached up, her fingers brushing along the material, which fell from the canopy to surround her bed. Sometimes it brought her comfort, sometimes it reminded her of years past, better years when she wasn’t promised to some man she hardly knew when she thought she would marry Dominick. That night, however, it brought no comfort.
The next morning Catherine was woken by the morning light, warm and yellow and lying in a rectangular shaft over her eyes. She blinked and sat up, still dressed in the same gown she had worn to see Dom. She called for a bath, and then undressed while the servant girls went to ready it. One came back in, a young girl with hair the color of straw and a mousy face. She was named Diana, and Catherine liked her very much. She knew the twelve-year-old girl had a crush on one of the boys who worked in the stables.
“Have you spoken with Horace of late?” Catherine asked, and the girl blushed.
“No, Lady Catherine,” Diana whispered as she held a robe up.
“Diana, please, call me Catherine,” the older woman said, and the girl nodded. It was something she had often been told, and something she wasn’t very likely to do. Catherine pulled the robe over her body and allowed Diana to lead her out of her room and to the washroom, where a large tub had been filled with hot water. She dropped the robe to the floor and stepped into the tub, grimacing as the water nipped painfully at her flesh until she was submerged to her neck, and she began to grow accustomed to the heat.
Diana stood nearby, in case the Lady would need anything.
“If you like the boy, you should tell him,” Catherine said, closing her eyes and leaning her head back against the edge of the tub.
“He would never like me,” Diana said sadly. “Not when there are others around.”
Catherine opened her eyes and looked to the girl. “Come here,” she said, and Diana stepped forward obediently. Catherine took her small hand with her own wet one. “Never think yourself inferior,” Catherine told the girl. “There will always be someone prettier, or smarter, or better at something. That said, you will always have something better than them. You’re a beautiful young woman, Diana, and you would do well to remember that.”
The young girl nodded, and Catherine smiled to her, and then, to ease the mood she made a silly face and sank completely into the tub. When she surfaced, she could hear the girl giggling, and she reached for a towel to dry her eyes.
After her bath, Catherine and Diana returned to her room, and two other servant girls came in to help Catherine dress. She chose a gown of lilac, with a white lace that ran along the skirt, and a shawl to drape over her arms, because it was growing a bit chilly as the fall came on strong.
Just as she was finishing up being dressed, there was a knock upon her door.
“Come in,” Catherine said, turning so Diana could lace the back of the dress up. The door opened, and another servant came in, an older woman named Helen whom Catherine had known since she was a small child.
“Lady Catherine,” Helen said, in her shaky voice. She had been sick of late, and Catherine was beginning to worry about her health.
“Hello Helen,” Catherine said. “Care to sit down?” she added, motioning with one hand to a chair which sat pushed into a small writing desk.
“No ma’am,” Helen said. “I’ve come to tell you Duke Rotham has called upon you. He awaits you in the drawing room.
Catherine smiled and nodded on her exterior, but inside, she felt a cold hand seize her, possibly grabbing her heart. As she stood there, being laced up, Dom was surely on his way out of the city while the man she was being forced to marry was right beneath her feet, in her home. Tears threatened to come once again, in an instant, but the young woman willed them away.
“Please tell him I’ll be right down,” Catherine said, and Helen bowed her head and went out.
“Perhaps I will love a man and marry him the way you love and will marry the Duke,” Diana said in a hopeful voice. It pained Catherine, but she nodded. “I’m sure it will be so,” she said.
****
Duke Rotham was a tall man but with a wiry frame, thin and lean. Where Dominick was large and muscular, built seemingly for strength, the Duke was built for speed. He was lithe, and though athletic, he could never hope to best someone like Dominick in a test of physicality.
Rotham stood from the parlor chair in which he had been sitting when Catherine walked in. She went up to him without hesitation, and he took one of her hands and bowed his head so that he may kiss it.
“My dear Lady Catherine,” he said.
“Duke Rotham,” Catherine said, bowing slightly. “What brings you here?”
“Well it isn’t much of a nice day, I must admit,” the Duke said, nodding his head towards the nearest window. “I’m afraid the cold winds are coming a bit sooner than I would like, but I am going on a trip and wanted to extend an invitation to you.”
“A trip?” Catherine asked, and for one wild moment she thought for some reason that Duke Rotham would be going where Dom was.
“A hunting trip,” the Duke said. “Fox of course. At this time of the year, they are simply teeming on the countryside.”
“You wish me to hunt?” Catherine asked, somewhat shocked. The Duke laughed.
“No, my dear, I wish you to come along. Many of the men have their wives come, or the ladies they fancy. There is a series of cabins, we all stay in when hunting out past Westerfield. The women befriend one another, and manage to fill our bellies when we return each evening after a long day.”
Catherine was already shaking her head, and he saw that and stopped speaking.
“I’m sorry, Duke,” she said. “Hunting…. I abhor it… to even be around such cruelty, I must admit my stomach would not be strong enough for it.”
Duke Rotham smiled, but the young woman could see the disappointment in his eyes, there was no way he could hide it.
“There is no cruelty when I hunt,” Rotham said. “It is a match of wits and speed,” he went on. “To catch a fox, you need both.”
“And dogs to rip it apart,” Catherine said, suddenly emboldened, but by what she didn’t know.
Duke Rotham shook his head softly. “I’m sorry you feel that way.” He paused. ”You know, I would ask that young man who you are so in love with about cruelty,” he said.
“Dominick?”
“Yes, the young soldier.”
“I’m not in love with him,” Catherine stuttered, and the Duke laughed, not in a spiteful or mean way, he was simply genuinely amused.
“Of course you are, my dear,” he said. “But I would implore you to ask him about his past. Ask him about Ginger Street.”
Catherine looked up at the Duke, trying to decipher what he was speaking of. She knew Ginger Street. That was the small street in a town some distance from here, where Dom and his regiment had been set upon by the locals suddenly, three years ago. And that was all she knew.
“What do you speak of?” Catherine asked, wishing the Duke would just be plain with her.
He shook his head. “It is not for me to say, it is for him to tell you,” he said. “But I assure you, I am not a cruel man, and I will make you happy when we are married. I don’t think your soldier can say the same. He can say it, but he can’t live it.”
“I will marry you because it is expected of me,” Catherine said in a low, soft voice. “But I will not love you.”
And with that the meeting was at an end, and Duke Rotham turned and exited the room. Catherine watched him go, her head, and heart, a ball of confusion.
The days stretched on without Dominick, and Catherine found herself often sad, often on the verge of tears, without ever really understanding why, or having something happen to her which would make her feel that way. There was just an uncomfortable sadness that rested upon her shoulders, as though she had draped herself in a blanket wet with cold water.
One day, after a light lunch in the garden with her mother and sisters, Catherine remained at the table after it had been cleared and the others had gone.
The garden was her favorite place to be on the grounds, with it’s thick and prickly green bushes, and flowers of any color one could imagine. It was growing cold, however, and none of the flowers were in bloom, and it made Catherine’s mood only grow sourer.
“Something troubles you, sister,” Rebecca said as she returned to the garden and sat across from the younger woman.
“What are you speaking about?” Catherine asked.
“A blind man could see it,” Rebecca said with a laugh, and the sound was so mirthful, so happy, that Catherine couldn’t help but join in herself.
“It’s that obvious?” she asked.
“Indeed. I would even wager a guess as to what the problem is.”
“Let’s hear it.”
“Well,” Rebecca began, “the love of your life has been gone for going on a month, now, and has many more to go. Meanwhile you’re betrothed to a man you don’t love, and worry that your nuptials will be forthcoming.”
Catherine smiled and nodded. “Quite right, about it all.”
“Would you care to hear my advice?” Rebecca asked.
“No, but I believe you’ll tell me anyway.”
Rebecca smiled. “Right. Forget about Dominick. He is a nasty boy with nasty thoughts. The Duke is a true gentleman. A man of honor.”
Catherine shook her head slowly. “If only it were that easy,” she said, and then she stood and moved from the table.
With days less than three months left until Dominick returned home, Catherine was given the news she had feared was coming. Her father called her into his study, and when she entered she was surprised to see Duke Rotham sitting across from her father, with a small table between them, on which sat two glasses of sherry.
“My dear,” her father said as he stood. He was a round man, tall and strong but gone soft in the middle. His face was fat and red most of the time, but almost always cheerful. It helped that he was often drunk, and as he kissed his daughter on the cheek she could smell the alcohol on his breath.
“Duke,” Catherine said shortly, with a slight bow. If it offended the Duke, he did not show it, and her father made no mention of it at all, so the conversation began.
Her father wasted no time telling her the news.
“You two shall be married, on April the fifth,” her father said.
“What?” Catherine said, her face full of shock. She turned to the Duke. “I’m not ready! I thought there would be time.”
The Duke smiled softly, and reached out and took his betrothed’s hand. “My dear, I would wait forever if not for your father. He yearns to see a daughter married, and I shouldn’t hold that from him any longer.”
“It will be a grand wedding,” her father said, slapping the Duke informally on the back.
Catherine felt tears well in her eyes, but she was determined not to let them fall. She didn’t want the Duke to see her cry.
****
The Months passed slowly, and each new day brought a new wave of pain. Until, finally, the day came where Catherine woke and was excited. There had been word late that night that Dominick’s regiment had come back in the middle of the night. Diana had been the one to tell Catherine, waking her up in the dead of night. Catherine didn’t think she'd be able to go back to sleep, but she had, just an hour before dawn.
She was dressed quickly and then went out to get the carriage before her father could. Samuel was there already since the sun had been hanging in the sky for just under an hour by then. She climbed into the carriage after relaying her desired destination, and they set off.
Dominick lived on his father’s land, in a small cottage on the corner, near the river. The carriage pulled in front of the house, and Catherine dashed out before it had even fully stopped. She knocked on the wooden front door and waited impatiently for Dominick to answer. He took so long in doing so that she was worried Diana had heard incorrectly, but then the door was opened, just a sliver, and Dom was peeking out.
“Dom!” Catherine shouted, forgetting the fact that Samuel sat waiting on the carriage, and she leaped forward, forcing the door open, and threw her arms around the young man. She pressed her lips to his
“Catherine!” Dom said, trying to pull her off.
“What is it?”
“Samuel.”
“Oh, who cares, he’s not even looking,” She said, glancing over at the old man. In fact, he was busying himself with eating an apple, and looking off into the distance. He was a particularly good servant and knew how to look away when he was really paying attention.
“How did you know I was home?” Dominick asked, and it occurred to Catherine that he was speaking lowly, in a voice barely more than a whisper.
“I had heard… that you arrived last night. Why are you acting strangely?”
“I’m not acting strangely,” Dominick said. For the first time, she noticed that he was dressed hastily.
“You don’t seem excited to see me,” Catherine said.
“I can see you later, I’m just tired,” Dominick said, but then another voice spoke up, from inside Dom’s small cottage. It was a woman.
“Come back to bed,” the woman called. Dominick looked as though he had just been punched in the stomach, and for a moment Catherine balled up her fist and considered doing just that, but then instead she remembered herself, and she spun without a word and marched back to the carriage. She climbed inside and spared a look back at Dominick, expecting him to be coming after her, but instead she saw he was simply standing in the same place he had been, and her anger grew so great it felt as though she could breathe fire.
She had Samuel take her to Duke Rotham’s manor, instead of her own home. He was home, and was let in by a servant, and he met her in his parlor. He offered her a drink, but she didn’t speak. She walked up to him, more boldly than she had ever done anything in her life, and she pressed her lips to his. He was surprised for a moment; she could feel his body tense against hers, but then he gave into it, and his arms went around her, and her kissing him became them kissing each other.
There was a lounge sofa there, long with an arm on one end and along one side, and Andrew Rotham lost himself. He had been surprised; he had only meant to kiss her, but then he was taking her up into his arms and lifting her to the sofa. He sat her upon it and then sat beside her. Their kisses were passionate, deep and long. Their tongues danced together, and he tasted her, a taste of strawberries and cream. He tasted like a man should; like Dominick never had. Bourbon, a hint of cigar smoke. It was intoxicating.
The parlor was open, anyone of the servants could walk in, and Andrew often had guests, but neither of them seemed to care at that moment. She lay back, pulling him along. He was atop of her. But then he broke away.
“We shouldn’t… the wedding night…” he breathed.
“Now,” she said. “I want to now.”
No man could resist a woman as beautiful as Catherine Dalton saying that, and so Duke Rotham didn’t even try. His hand went to her bosom, there were buttons there, but he simply grabbed the material and pulled, and the buttons popped off, and her breasts came spilling out. His hands were strong, his fingers long and packed with sinew. He groped at her, and she felt her nipples harden against each of his palms.
He bent his head and moved his hands, and his lips replaced one hand. He licked in a slow circle around one rosebud nipple, the deep red of rich wine. Catherine threw her head back. She moaned. He caught the sound with his mouth, stifled it. Her hands were at his waist, and she fumbled to open them there. Finally, she did, and his member came forth, engorged and hard and throbbing in the air along with his heartbeat.
Her delicate fingers wrapped around him, and he groaned in her ear. “Are you sure?” he whispered, and she nodded.
He didn’t need to be told twice. Andrew took a hold of her gown, pushed the skirt up over her hips. She wore hose, but they only went to her thigh so that they could be left on. Her smallclothes were another story, and these he pulled down quickly.
Her mound was exposed, slick with desire, a pink line in the midst of her pubic hair, the same auburn color as her hair. He positioned himself between her legs and then used his hand to guide himself in. He went slowly and looked down into her eyes. She looked uncomfortable, bit her lip when she felt a slight pain.
“Are you alright?” Andrew asked his bride to be, and she nodded.
“Don’t stop,” she said, her voice on the edge of pleading. And so he didn’t.
He went slowly at first, pushing into her, and then pulling out. Her hands were on his back, and then one was on his head, gathering a fistful of his hair.
He couldn’t keep the slow pace, though. She was so tight, so pristine, it excited him and his hips began to move more quickly. Catherine had never felt such pleasure, and it wasn’t long before a wave of pleasure ripped through her body, starting at her loins and then spreading to her lower stomach. Her stomach spasmed, her vagina tightened, gripping onto Andrew's cock more tightly than it had been before, and then he couldn’t hold back, and he was coming. His mind raced, and he pulled out of her as he came, and thick strings of semen erupted from the tip of his penis and landed on her exposed stomach. Andrew reached down, taking himself in his hand and finished, a quick tug on his penis and more sperm was there, sitting in a mess on her belly.
He helped her clean up, and they spent the day together. It was wonderful, Catherine couldn’t argue that. They ate lunch and rode horses afterward. He read her his favorite poetry, and she told him her favorite bawdy joke though she didn’t tell him Dominick had told it to her years ago.
At night, they lay in bed together, after their second round of lovemaking in the day. Catherine was hot, her body covered in a slick sheet of sweat. Once again, Andrew had refused to ejaculate in her, though this time she had used her hand to finish him off, and he had shifted so that his sperm would land on her breasts. In all, it was rather exciting.
“What made you change your mind?” Andrew asked her as they lay, trying to catch their breath.
“I just grew up,” Catherine said, not wishing to get into the real reason.
“Well, we shouldn’t have done that once, much less twice. It won’t do to have a pregnant bride on her wedding day.”
“You finished outside of me,” she said softly. “It will be fine.”
“That it will. Still, I think it best if we refrain from that until the wedding night. As much as it pains me to say it.”
“You’re right, Duke Rotham,” Catherine said.
“Call me Andrew,” he said, taking her hand and kissing it.
He turned over and snuffed the lamp on the small table next to the bed, and was quickly asleep. But Catherine couldn’t sleep. She lay awake in the inky darkness, staring up at the ceiling, and wondering if she had made a mistake. By the time the morning light came streaming in through the window, she knew she had. She had only wanted to make Dominick jealous. The way she had been jealous. When Andrew awoke, she made an excuse to leave, and he allowed her to take his carriage home.
She avoided everyone for the day, taking her meals in her room, under the pretense that she felt sick. What she had done grew on her conscious, a big pit of guilt that resided in her stomach, the same place her orgasm had settled.
****
The night after she had slept with Andrew, Catherine was woken by a tapping on her window. She sat up in bed and pushed the canopy out of the way. She couldn’t believe her eyes. There, at her window, so many feet in the air, was Dominick. She rushed to let him in, not caring that she was in her nightgown. He climbed in through the window.
“What are you doing?” she asked as she shut the window once more.
“I had to see you,” he said. “I felt terrible about the morning last,” he said. “I’m not a smart man, but I’m smart enough to know I need you in my life. I can’t let that Duke take you from me.”
“We have no choice!” Catherine said,
“Be with me now,” Dominick said, taking her hand. “Let us worry about it in the morning.”
Catherine pulled her hand from his. “The Duke, he tells me he knows something about you. Something horrible, something about Ginger Street.”
Dominick sighed. “It is my burden,” he said. “Believe me when I say that. Come now, I’ve missed you.” He bent and kissed her, and she let him.
“I’m terribly upset,” she said. “Mad at you.”
Dom looked at his childhood friend, his love. “Catherine, with everything in my power, I will make it up to you.”
Catherine nodded, and she couldn’t keep a small smile from turning up the corners of her mouth. He kissed her again, and this time she returned it. And then she took his hand and pulled him to her bed.
Dominick needed nothing else than that; he took control, practically ripping the nightgown from Catherine's body. He tossed the torn material to the ground, and then his hands and mouth were on her breasts. Where the Duke was gentle, slow and sweet, Dominick was like a hungry wolf. He pawed at her, bit her.
He stood up suddenly and undid the front of his pants, and then let them fall to the floor. His penis was hard, jutting out in front of him. He took Catherine by the arm and pulled her off of the bed, and then pushed her to her knees. His penis bobbed in front of her, and she looked up to him. She knew what he wanted, but she had never thought to do that before. She had used her hand on him before, and he had rubbed her breasts, and that was the extent of their physical relationship to that point. Now she had been deflowered, but this was new to her.
He thrust his hips forward, and the head of his penis rubbed against her lips. She parted them slowly, and he went inside her mouth. It wasn’t unpleasant, not like the way she thought it might be. There was a bitter taste at the back of her throat, and then he was pulling out of her mouth. He held her there, a hand in her hair at the back of her head, and he controlled the movement with his hips. Finally, Dominick couldn’t take it anymore, and he pulled out of her mouth and bent, lifting her up and all but tossing her onto the bed.
He climbed atop her, and she opened her legs to him. He slid inside.
“Does it hurt?” he asked.
She was wondering whether he would be able to tell that she was no longer a virgin, and since he didn’t seem able to, she winced and nodded. “It’s alright,” she said, and that was the only time he asked.
The lovemaking was fast and rough. He moved atop her like a rabbit, not like a tender lover. He was finished before she was, not bothering to pull out of her as he ejaculated. The experience was a good one, but not as good as the night with Andrew had been. Still, Dom was the man she loved.
“I have a plan,” he said as he caught his breath as he laid next to her on the bed.
“We can run away together,” she said.
“We can duel. I’ll duel him,” Dominick said.
“He said you have no honor.”
Dominick digested that information, and it left a sour look upon his face. “He said that about me?”
“Yes,” Catherine said. “He may not duel you; dueling is for honorable men.”
“And you don’t think I’m honorable?” Dominick snapped, too loudly.
“I did not claim that, and be quiet, if my father were to wake.”
Dominick nodded and took a deep breath. “I’ll challenge him. A sword fight. I can beat him. If I win, I’ll tell him the marriage will not happen. If he thinks I have no honor, I’ll show him.”
Catherine just nodded as they lay in the darkness though she wasn’t sure Dominick's plan was the best one they could come up with.
In the morning, the young man was gone. Just after lunch Duke Rotham called upon her.
“You’ve changed your mind?” he asked, when they were alone, strolling arm and arm through the garden.
“I love him,” Catherine said.
“I’ve accepted his request,” Andrew told her. “A Gentleman cannot refuse.”
“He’ll kill you!” Catherine said. “You cannot!”
“I can, and I have. He is a formidable fighter, quite the boxer I’ve heard. But sword fighting, it’s another thing altogether. I’ve fenced for many years; my foil is sharp.”
“He’s strong.”
“You don’t believe me to be strong?”
Catherine shook her head. “No, I know you are, but he’s stronger.”
They stopped walking, and Duke Rotherham looked to her. “Fear not for me, and if he allows it when I have bested him, I will leave him alive.
Catherine looked at the man, and her heart was so torn, and her mind so full of fear, she couldn’t speak to him.
****
They met for the duel that same evening, as the sun was sinking in the sky, turning the clouds that had formed a soft pink. They were dueling in front of Duke Rotham’s manor. He stood with a few servants, dressed smartly, choosing a foil from a choice of five. After he had selected his, the servants moved to Dominick, and he chose one without nearly as much consideration as Andrew had put into it.
The two men faced each other, and they bowed.
“A fight to the death then?” Dominick asked.
“If it comes to that,” Andrew replied. A small group had gathered to watch, including Catherine and her father. The Duke went on. “But I hope it does not come to that. First to yield is the loser.”
“I won’t yield,” Dominick said angrily. “I love her.”
“So do I,” Andrew said, his eyes flickering over to Catherine. She felt her heart hammering in her chest, so hard that she thought for one wild moment, it would leap up the canal from her chest and out through her mouth.
And then the duel began.
Both men came together, and with a flash of silver their swords clanged. They both moved quickly, their feet taking them back and forth. The crowd reacted to each near miss, backing up when need be. The Duke caught Dominick on the arm and drew blood, and the crowd gasped, but the young men refused to yield, and he went forward, pressing the attack on the older gentleman.
Andrew was experienced, that much was plain, and if they were going by just skill, he would be the winner. But Dominick fought with something else, something other than skill. He had fury. He was angry, and though his blows missed and were easily parried, they were strong and brutal. When his blade met Andrew’s, the roar of the metal striking metal was almost like a beast screaming out in pain.
Dominick went on the offensive, and he hammered the Duke back. Over and over his foil clashed against Andrew’s. And just when it looked as though Dominick might get a blow past the other man's guard, Andrew dashed out with a wild thrust, which pierced Dominick’s stomach and made him lose grip of his weapon.
“No!” Catherine yelled, and she almost stepped forward, but her father put his hand on her shoulder, keeping her back.
Dominick’s shirt was stained crimson as his blood poured freely. He fell to his knees, and Duke Rotham stepped forward, holding his blade at the boy’s neck.
“Do you yield?” he asked.
Dominick looked up to him. “You’ve taken everything from me, what is my life?”
“If she knew the man you were, if she knew the truth, she wouldn’t want to be with you,” Rotham said.
“What does he mean?” Catherine called, stepping away from her father. Dominick looked to her, sitting on his knees with his hand on his wound. Blood poured from between his fingers.
“I could never tell you,” he said.
“Tell me, or I could never love you,” Catherine countered.
“If I tell you, you will never love me.”
“Let me be the judge.”
Rotherham stepped back, allowing the young man and the young woman a bit of privacy though the crowd pushed in to hear.
“Ginger Street. We were upon it, and some man, a blacksmith I think it was, he came at us. We never learned why, but some people hate the army. Some slight perhaps, or maybe his son was killed in battle. He came, and we killed him. Not me, but one of us. We are brothers. After that, the street, just this one little street in one little town, it erupted, and the people who lived there, they attacked us. I had to kill some of them.”
“Why would that make me hate you?’ Catherine asked. None of it made sense. It was certainly a horrible story, but not one who made her think any less of Dominick.
“My company stayed there. We were ordered to. That night, on that street, after the skirmish, we found these three girls. The blacksmith’s daughters. They were young, thirteen at the least, and sixteen at the oldest. We hated them upon finding them. Three of our own company had died in the fight. We… we took it out on them. We had our ways with them, one girl with two or more men on them sometimes… and then after, we killed them.”
Catherine put her hand over her mouth. She couldn’t believe what she was hearing. It was all too horrible, so much worse than she could ever imagine.
“I’ll leave,” Dominick said, and he stood and turned. He left drops of crimson on the stone behind him as he walked. Catherine watched him go.
“You can go after him; the marriage can be off,” Duke Rotham said, he was suddenly beside her. “I want you to marry me because you love me, not because your father loves my title.”
Catherine looked up at the man, and then back to Dominick. When she turned away from Dom, she knew it was the last time she would ever see him. That thought saddened her greatly, but she knew it was the right decision. She wasn’t sure if she would ever come to regret it, but somehow, she didn’t think she would. He had lied to her, had kept such dark things from her. If he could do that, for so long, maybe it was true that she never even really knew him.
And the Duke. He was an honorable man. He had been patient and had weathered her childishness with maturity. Images from that day on the long sofa rushed into her mind, and she felt his lips upon hers, his gentle movements inside her.
She put her arm around Andrew’s and led him to his manor.
“We have a wedding to plan,” she said.
*****
THE END