Page 13 of The Lady's Guide to Well-Endowed Dukes
Almost imperceptibly, Rockley winced. “I had an inkling you’d have experience to draw upon.”
Estela could hardly take umbrage at his insinuation, given her forwardness of the night before.
“Come now, do spit it out, or I shall grow bored of you. A woman likes a man to be decisive. You may think of that, if you will, as my first marriage tip.” With a certain smugness, she took up more of the asparagus, polishing off the stems and her yolk.
His gaze dropped to his coffee cup. “To put it bluntly, I’m exceptionally well-endowed. It’s vulgar to mention such things, but there we are.”
“As all men of nobility should be.” Estela pushed aside her now empty egg shell. She drew the next plate forward, which contained a selection of cold meats. “A rich estate and a portfolio of wise investments are nothing to be ashamed of. I’m sure Miss Maitland will be delighted.”
“You misunderstand me.” Rockley picked up his cup, then replaced it abruptly upon its saucer. “When I speak of my endowment, I don’t just mean financially.”
Poised to pierce a skinny little Barese sausage, Estela paused. “The most attractive asset of all.”
“I do not consider this an advantage. Quite the opposite. If you understood how difficult…”
“Now, now.” Estela lifted the sausage on her fork, giving it a thoughtful twirl. “All men believe they have enormous appendages, and that women are frail flowers who will be crushed if you exhibit your true desire. Let me see…some actress, or an opera singer perhaps, has convinced you that your truncheon is frighteningly large. ‘Oh, Your Grace, you are too, too huge! However will I…?’. All the while, her legs were clamped firmly about your ducal buttocks, urging you on.”
He looked alarmed, glancing about the room. The salon remained empty but for themselves and the Maître d’, who was adjusting a floral arrangement on the far side of the room. Still, Rockley answered in a hissed whisper. “Keep your voice down and stop playing about with that sausage; either put it in your mouth or set the thing down.”
Estela grinned. Depositing the slender Barese, she replaced the morsel with a particularly fat bratwurst, nestling on the plate next to salami and mortadella. “Is this more like it? Quite girthy, but certainly manageable.”
“You’re impossible!” Rockley passed a hand over his brow. “Forget I said anything. In fact, forget that we ever met. I shan’t disturb you again.” Looking peeved, he made to rise.
“Don’t be such a child!” Estela rapped sharply on the table with the handle of her cutlery. “Another marital tip for you; women like a man who perseveres. Tantrums are for infants. Are you telling me that you believe you’re so large in that department that your bride won’t be able to…”
Rockley narrowed his eyes, but remained where he was. “Accommodate me? Yes.”
She could tell he was gritting his teeth.
“It’s always been a problem. Even with…” He diverted his eyes again, clearly too embarrassed to articulate the obvious.
“Even with ladies who are well-used to accommodating every sort of customer, and every sort of request?” Estela—enjoying herself immensely—nibbled the top of the bratwurst. “I suppose one has to protect the tools of one’s trade. But, surely, there must have been someone brave enough to give you a go.”
He could hardly be so colossal that not a single night-butterfly in the whole of London would take him on. As a regular visitor to the soirées of the demi-monde, she was acquainted with plenty of women who would see his supposed ‘affliction’ as an enticing challenge. Her own interest was being piqued along much the same lines.
He was blushing. “Attempts were made. In my younger years, I didn’t realize the size of the… ah…the anomaly.”
The situation was growing ever more irresistible. A thought occurred to her—so wildly shocking that she almost choked on the tidbit she was chewing. Rockley’s status and desirability were unquestionable. In spite of these displays of annoying shyness, he would be tantalizing to women of all ages and persuasions; attractive to his own sex in the majority of cases too, she’d wager.
Was he really telling her that he’d never done the deed?
That he was, to all intents and purposes, a virgin?
By the sound of it, he’d experimented sufficiently to have some sexual experience. But to have never managed penetration! She was incredulous.
And he thought she could help?
He must believe her the biggest trollop on the continent if he had hopes of her succeeding where seasoned whores had failed.
The cheek of it!
She turned blazing eyes upon him. She ought to slap his face good and proper, or stick him with the fork—which she was still clutching, and rather tightly too.
“I haven’t any notion of you obliging in that way.” He looked suitably alarmed. “I’ve long accepted that I shall never ‘know’ a woman fully, in the Biblical sense. There are other things that are possible, and I must be content with those. Indeed, some of them are extremely pleasurable…” He gave a self-conscious cough. “It is only that, my first duty to my wife must be to give her a child. She will want a family, and—though there are any number of male cousins ready to take the title upon my demise—it would be agreeable to think that a son of my own line would have that privilege.”
Estela looked him dead in the eye. “You do understand how a woman comes to be carrying a man’s offspring? That certain things are necessary?”
“The mechanics are within my grasp. I simply thought that you might have a notion or two on how the grain”—he coughed again—“might be delivered, as it were, into the belly of the ship, without a thorough reach into the hold.”
