Page 34 of The Duke’s Unwilling Bride

My head whips about, checking to see if the others can hear. When they remain engrossed in their conversations, I turn back to Cynthia. “What do you know?”

“I asked you first.”

“We shouldn’t talk about such things. It’s improper.” The very last thing I need is for Foxford to think I’m correcting someone, especially a friend of the family.

“Well, of course it is. Which is why I’m speaking to you here and not in front of my impressionable friends.”

“I- I know the basics as with animals. I can assume they are the same, however, seeing as I’ve not been in a position to participate in an experiment, I cannot say for sure.” Is she trying to trap me somehow? To have me confess to yet one more thing I didn’t do?

Once more, she looks around before preparing to unfold her paper. “Once you see this, you will be bound to possibly scream. But please refrain, since I do not want to attract attention.”

When she opens the paper, I stare down at the drawing for several moments. My brain tries to make sense of what I’m seeing, and in some ways, I have a sinking suspicion, but I cannot tell for certain. It’s similar to what I’ve seen on animals, yet different in so many ways.

All I know is that just gazing at what I can assume is a male member makes my insides flip about and that odd dampness starts to gather between my thighs. The only thing that gives me pause, however, is the odd ring of flesh at the base. I pull the paper closer and stare at it for several moments before handing it back.

“This is a male phallus. Right? Is this drawing anatomically correct? What is that growth? A tumor of some sort?” In truth, the scandalous drawing causes more questions than it does answers.

“I cannot reveal my sources of this drawing, but it’s as accurate as the artist can create. And no, this bit of flesh is not an artist’s mistake. It’s apparently a part of…” she trails off for a moment, her face turning bright pink. “It’s part of the apparatus, shall we say. I still have no clue how it works or why, but it’s not an injury or defect.”

“What help can I be? I have not seen one to compare or know what’s correct or not. I fear you’ve shown me this great secret for nothing, for I have no answers for you.”

“Yet.” Her eyes twinkle as she grips my hands in hers and gives me a conspiratorial smile. “You are to be wed. You are in the perfect position to reconnoiter and report back to those of us not yet privileged with a husband.”

So that’s why she was so happy to see me when I came into the room. It wasn’t just because I was a potential new friend, but because she knows I’ll have information that’s been kept away from us women.

I can’t fault her. Seeing as I am of a scientific bent, I’d most likely want to befriend someone who could do the same. But at the same time, it stings just a bit. For once, I would like someone to want me for just me and not the things I can offer them.

“I will consider your request. But what, pray tell, will you do with such knowledge? I mean, besides spreading the news? To what end? How will this help others?”

“Are you not curious? Does it not bother you that things are kept from us merely because we are women?”

“Of course, but that’s how it is. It’s how it’s always been.”

“Yes, but we can change that. You can be a pioneer, a trailblazer for other women.” I look away, my brow furrowing as I puzzle through both her request and my own personal feelings. “I would still like to be your friend,” she continues, her voice soft and low. “Despite what your answer is.”

And that’s what settles it for me. In fact, my heart stutters for a moment with pure joy at the thought of actually doing something underhanded. Besides, Foxford already thinks me a nefarious wretch. Perhaps it’s time I actually do something to warrant his disdain.

“What exactly do you need from me?”

“Well, how well can you draw?”

A soft smile curves my lips as I think back to the scientific diagram I did of the flower in this very room. Not that long ago, in fact. “I’m passible.”

“Perfect.”

CHAPTER 17

Teresa

My heart thunders in my chest as I look at myself in the mirror. The silvery sheen to the wedding gown glints just as brightly as my hair, and with how much the maid brushed the silken strands, they’re just as blinding. It wraps around me in a way that’s just shy of the confines of propriety, but I dare not make a fuss. Not this close to saying I do.

What can be done? Nothing. And if I dare say, for the first time, my breasts seem to look ample in the gown. Hopefully, it will entice the duke to cast his eyes upon me and draw him away from the lusts of the flesh that reside in that club he threatened me with last night. I cannot deny I’m a vision, and hopefully, that will make my new jailer happy in his conquest.

Honestly, my only regret at this moment is that my parents are not here to see this day. What would Mother have said about the ornate fabric? So different from the humble dresses I’m used to wearing. What would Father say about me being forced to marry a man who has no love nor brains to recommend him?

My mind whirls about with questions and what-ifs as the maid’s nimble fingers sweep the strands of hair into something fashionable, so unlike the unruly mess I’d prefer it to be. If only I could walk down the aisle in a simple dress, my hair pulled back out of my face, secured with a simple leather thong. But no. As part of my punishment, it seems as if Foxford is forcing me to look my absolute best, his ideal bride, having me pinned in and made up to show off to everyone.

His doll.