Deepest Desires of a Wicked Duke(41)

“Then why did it matter so much to you?” Her heart raced. Would he confirm any of her conjecture? Would he reveal a tragedy in his life?

He hesitated. “That I can’t explain,” he said.

Her heart sank. But did that mean he just couldn’t reveal his past to her—or did it mean there was no tragedy that had driven him to blank out his heart and soul with erotic activity?

“So you really want to see it?” he asked.

“Why shouldn’t I?”

Even though she couldn’t see around or over the men to view what was happening, she realized she could hear things. The rustle of clothing. Sighs. Whimpers. Moans.

She hadn’t been focusing on them before. The sounds, even the softest ones, seemed to spear through her.

“All right. You can take a peek, angel.”

Saxonby looked shocked. “Sin, you should prevent this. Take her upstairs away from harm.”

But Sinclair shook his head. “I have no right to dictate to her.”

“Her innocence is a remarkable thing,” the other duke protested. “She joins that orgy, even watches it, and that innocence is gone forever.”

“I am tired of missing out on life to protect me and my innocence,” she threw out.

“You can’t mean that,” Saxonby sputtered. He was going to stop her, she knew, but Sinclair stopped him.

And then Sinclair moved aside. She looked, filled with confidence, until she saw—

The handsome, raven-haired Earl of Rutledge lying on his back on the floor, his trousers pushed down to his boots. His coat, waistcoat, and shirt dangled from the backs of chairs. From the side, Portia could see his long legs, splayed apart, the smooth, sculpted torso. A leaner frame than Sinclair’s, but with remarkably defined lean muscles.

He appeared to be holding a bat—

Oh. Oh dear.

That was his erection. Portia couldn’t forget his boastful words in the dining room. The thing was huge. Remarkably thick at the base, tapering to a smallish head. Thick dark hair surrounded it—

Sadie, as naked as the day she’d been born, sat over the earl’s face, and she held up her full breasts, so they plumped up like peach-colored cushions. The Elegant Incognita, also nude and displaying a curvaceous form with a nipped waist, generous hips, and a large bottom, knelt between the earl’s long, well-muscled legs and—

And half the length of his . . . thing disappeared into the Elegant Incognita’s mouth.

As Portia stood, frozen in place, the other earl, the auburn-haired one, a Sporting Corinthian type, ripped open his trousers and roughly massaged the Incognita’s dangling breasts, which were tubular shaped and topped with large brown nipples. The nipples grew startlingly long—longer than thimbles and rather closer to pinecones—as the earl played with them.

The Incognita bobbed on Rutledge’s shaft. The Corinthian grasped her hand and wrapped her fingers around his—his part, jutting out of his open trousers. Then he slid his fingers up the skirts of the Wanton Widow, moving his hand beneath the silks. The widow squealed and moaned, and the young, dark-haired courtesan in the costume moved around behind Sadie. She held something up—a long white wand. Licked it and sucked it. Then Sadie grabbed it and she slid it into her privy place. Balancing it on Rutledge’s chest, she bounced on it and smacked his face wildly with her large breasts. While the dark-haired, peacock-costumed courtesan slid her fingers into . . . into Sadie’s bottom. And touched herself with her other hand.

“Oooh, yes, Nellie,” Sadie cooed. Others moaned. Some made deep, throaty sounds, some squeaky sounds.

Drugging, rich smells filled the air.

“I know where I want to shove my cock,” Willoughby said. At once, he dropped his trousers. He got behind the Incognita, behind her rounded bottom, all plumpness and smooth, lovely skin. Willoughby patted her cheeks, took his erection in hand, and pointed it at her from behind. He thrust his hips forward and the Incognita let go of Rutledge to cry out, “Oh yes, fuck me arse with your huge staff.”

Portia made a little strangled sound.

Then Willoughby looked up. He looked right at her. He grinned and crooked his finger, inviting her to join.

That was what it took to make her run.

Leaving Sinclair and Saxonby, Portia sprinted out of the room. Once she reached the hallway, she realized what she’d done.

Given herself away!

She’d run like a panicked innocent. Everyone who saw must now know that’s what she was. She didn’t even know why she had run. Those people didn’t care that she saw them. That was the point.

She had known an orgy was about people in a group doing intimate things that were supposed to be enjoyed in private by a husband and wife.