Page 19 of Mistletoe Minx

Frances swallowed hard, then retrieved two shillings from her reticule and pressed them into Glory’s hand. “You are very kind.”

The ebony-haired maid grinned as she slipped the coins into her apron pocket. “I can see we are going to get on famously. Anything you need, day or night, ma’am. Now, put on this veil so I can walk you to the parlor. Lady W wants a word.”

The black veil reached her waist, the embroidered tulle as heavy as a shroud, but with Glory’s steady hand guiding her, Frances walked without incident into the house. Until the sight of Dashford in the warm yet rather cavernous entrance hall, leaning against a pillar and drinking brandy with Lord Warenne, made her stumble.

Oh God. Oh God. Oh God.

Had he seen her? Would he recognize her, even covered with the veil?

Glory laughed. “Excellent taste, ma’am. Yes, that is the legendary Dash; he is close friends with Lord and Lady W. The rumors are absolutely true, he fucks like a beast, but only one woman each party. If he is matched with you…ohhhhhh…you’ll be waddling like a duck with the brightest eyes and smuggest smile this side of the Thames. Dash doesn’t bed servants but is very generous to his and his lover’s maids, so it would be a treat for us both. Come along now, let’s get you to Lady W.”

They continued down a hallway and into a spacious parlor, decorated in shades of peach and more of the exquisite gilt-framed Parisian paintings.

Lady Warenne was alone sipping wine on an embroidered chaise, but rose to her feet with a warm smile when they approached. “Welcome, Madame Jones! You may remove your veil while in here.”

Frances lifted the front of the heavy tulle and settled it atop her head. “Good evening, my lady. Thank you, once again. And for Glory as well.”

The countess winked. “She will be equally delighted with your match, I think.”

“Is it Dash?” Glory squealed. “Huzzah!”

“Hush, hush, you’ll cause a stampede. Now, Madame Jones. Listen carefully. This is the last time you’ll wear your own dress. Green gowns, demi masks and a stylish red wig await you in your chamber. For now, you shall rest and refresh after your travel, but at eight o’clock you must be in the grand ballroom to meet Dash, your match. I believe he’ll align very well with the preferences you confided to me, however be assured that like every master present, he respects the concerns and uncertainties of a novice. There will be no surprises. No force…unless asked for. And if you wish to stop, play stops immediately. Do you understand?”

“Yes,” Frances whispered. “I understand, my lady.”

“Bon. Glory will escort you to your room and bring a supper tray to sustain you. Feel free to nap or read. But remember, eight o’clock in the ballroom, I do not tolerate tardiness.”

Frances curtsied a trifle unsteadily. This was it. The greatest risk she’d taken since agreeing to marry Dashford, and equally important to her future.

No turning back, it was time to begin.

CHAPTER 6

Who had Juliette matched him with?

Dalton studied the ever-growing crowd of men and women in the brightly lit and lavishly decorated ballroom, his foot tapping impatiently. It was difficult to truly appreciate his surroundings, even though Juliette’s décor choices were, as always, impeccable. He stood within a winter wonderland of white silks and red ribbons, fragrant greenery and clever ice sculptures, which only made the absolute rainbow of guest gowns and jackets and jewels more vibrant. A string quartet played in one corner, but they could scarcely be heard over the excited chatter and laughter of those lucky enough to be admitted through the gates. The Warenne house party was a shining star on the society calendar—especially when those ten brave and hopeful novices were brought out and matched with their master or mistress. After that, the fun truly began.

God damn it, who was to be his lover?

In truth, he was growing ever more alarmed; while there were many, many beautiful women here of all heights, sizes, hair color, and play preferences, not one had really captured his interest—and that had never happened before. A part of him actually wanted to leave and go to Frances…but he needed to fuck. To gorge himself on the particular hedonistic pleasures he enjoyed so in future he could be the gentleman his wife deserved. To dedicate himself in a proper, respectful way to the task of siring an heir. Such a fine duchess warranted nothing less.

“Dash, mon cher, if your shoe heel gouges a hole in my ballroom floor, I will toss you from an upstairs window.”

Guilt heated his cheekbones at the amused, French-accented warning. “My lady would never. Besides, it’s your own fault, making me wait. English dukes do not wait, it is written somewhere in the Magna Carta.”

Juliette, now resplendent in a gold silk gown and the Warenne rubies, snorted. “You of all men know the power of anticipation, but I shall show mercy and offer a boon: the heartbreaking tale of an obedient little morsel who yearns to submit to a stern yet generous master.”

Dalton leaned closer, his interest piqued. “Heartbreaking? Why?”

“Madame Jones aches to be restrained, specifically to have her wrists bound. To suck a rampant cock, take a toy in her derriere, and be fucked very, very hard. Pleasure spiced with a little pain, if you will. Alas, the husband whom she cares for, will not oblige her.”

He stared in shock. Mr. Jones had a wife who wanted such acts and he denied her? “What? Is the man deranged? Too old? Just a bumbling fool?”

Juliette’s lips twitched. “It is not for me to judge the marriage of others, cher. I simply matchmake so all my guests know the rapture of fulfilled desires. Madame Jones lacks confidence and is inexperienced, but responds very well to detailed instructions. She is a natural submissive. I feel…no, I firmly believe, that you would be the perfect master to teach her. What do you think?”

Dalton nodded slowly, his cock starting to throb. “I’m intrigued. Tell me, what does Mrs. Jones look like?”

“See for yourself,” his hostess replied, waving a careless hand toward the ballroom entrance. “Noah is leading them in now. She is the last one, novice number ten.”