Chapter 3.

London, Wednesday 18th April, 1821.

“Jacob! Oh Jacob! Don’t stop Jacob! Don’t stop!”

Those are the sounds heard through the walls of one of the lodgings of Lord Jacob Wilson, Duke of Orford.

“Oh Bridget! You are so…so…”

A guttural cry suddenly erupts from inside him, as he spills his seed. Pleasure ripping through him.

Breathing heavily, both lovers still shaking from the enjoyable ordeal, Jacob places a kiss on Bridget’s already puffed lips, before he rouses himself to a sitting position.

Carefully, he takes out the sheep’s bladder that serves as a protective sheath, dropping it to the floor. He palms his face with his hands to fall back his bed tussled, darkish brown locks, which has fallen over his face.

Exhaustion climbing over him from the parliament meeting he attended late into last night. Though he rarely attends these meetings, since he became a duke.

However, after the incident last year at Queen Caroline’s trial, where a heavy fine was imposed on any absent Lords, he started attending some of the meetings. Not like the fine would have affected him, considering his wealth.

However, he has a reputation to maintain with the Prince Regent, (being one of Jacob’s patrons) and the entire royal family, with their close family ties.

Reaching for the snifter of brandy on the ornate side table and taking a long sip, Jacob tries to relax.

Before heading off to drop Bridget and subsequently going to his private errand at Dover, Kent.

He sneaked her out of her house, after the parliament meeting late last night in his discreet carriage, knowing he would be going on this short trip to Dover. And now he needs to drop her off, before her servants wake.

They've done this countless times that he knows the hour the servants in her home awake, like the back of his hand.

And then he can proceed on his way.

The job is scheduled for Saturday and he needs to be there promptly.

Bridget’s breathing, still finding its footing, comes tickling his left side as she draws closer to him.

“Jacob.” She calls softly, leaning into his thigh to kiss it.

Jacob gives a soft grunt in response.

“You promised me that once you were the Duke, you would come and ask my father for my hand. It’s being three years now since you became the Duke.

Don’t you think it’s time you announced your intentions to marry me?” Bridget says, her voice pleasant.

Jacob swirls the glass of amber liquid in his hand. His eyes gaze down at her, gauging her words.

Lady Bridget Sundry, daughter to the Earl of Carnarvon, Lord Philip Sundry, is a beautiful girl, who has passed her debut, three years back.

When she first had her come out, a seventeen-year-old girl at the time, she was the most beautiful girl he had ever seen. Her beauty, like the sun, catching the eyes of every eligible bachelor in the ballroom.

Lady Bridget, a lady of average height, her curves in all the right places. Her flaxen hair as golden as an ear of wheat. Her lips, the color of peach on her very, fair skin. A girl for every man. But not Jacob.

Sure a challenge in bed, yet he can’t find the connection that would make her his.

Oh, the ton would accuse him of ruining the girl’s reputation if their secret affairs come to light, especially since he knows that they would never suit.

But who is to blame him. The girl wasn’t wholly intact when he first slept with her. A revelation, which took him by surprise and which she felt grave guilt.

When she bashfully confessed to have had carnal relations with one of his peers. A Lord Hewitt, the Earl of Ashburnham.

But Lady Bridget vehemently claimed to have fallen in love with Jacob, the instant they were properly introduced by Lady Jersey, at Almack’s a month after her debut.

A confession which Jacob knew was a lie. Because the instant they were introduced, it was rumored that she subsequently ignored the attentions of Lord Hewitt. Obviously, no woman shunned the attention of a wealthy Duke for an Earl, rake or not.

Except for love. And as for the love she claims she bears for him, he is well aware that she isn’t in love with him in any way. He sees it in her eyes, whenever they are together.

The love for his title. His wealth. He saw it in her the day they were introduced.

“I love you, Jacob. Won’t you do right by me and save my face?” Jacob hears her small voice say from beneath his face.

An undercurrent of desperation in her voice. He focuses on her and smiles.

“Why haven’t you ever confessed that you love me too, Jacob?” She grumbles.

Her question drawing his amusement.

Sighing, he drops his cup on the table. Hauling her onto his laps. Her naked flesh smelling of the aftermath of their lovemaking moments ago. If she had been sincere with him, he might have considered marriage to her.

Especially with how great they are in bed. But her lack of truth makes him reluctant to proceed with a proposal. She'd be dishonest as a wife. He's certain of it.

Because one thing he found out, before he pursued her was that she and Lord Hewitt had been madly smitten. And even now that he is with her, he is aware that she still secretly meets Lord Hewitt.

He has his reliable sources.

“Bridget.” He calls, staring deep into her extremely beautiful eyes.

His eyes searching her face for any modicum of truth in her claim. But all he sees is deception. Ignoring the temptation to call her out for her dishonesty, Jacob smiles. Choosing to play this out as long as she wants. After all he isn’t as faithful to her.

“Your father, Lord Carnarvon, would have my balls, if I walked to your door this instant, asking for your hand.” Jacob slyly smiles.

He knows his reputation among the ton as a rake and a reprehensible Lord of the realm.

But what Bridget and most of the conservative members of the ton don’t know is to the degree Lord Jacob Wilson's depravities stretch.