REGENCY: Loved by the Duke (Historical Billionaire Military Romance) (19th Century Victorian Short Stories) (55 page)

Chapter 6

10 Months Later..

“Come here, my love.” Caelin growl as he swept his wife off of her feet and into his arms, carrying her up the stairs and to their suite despite her protests.

“Caelin, I have work to do. My father is coming and everything…”

“I know, sweetheart. Everything has to be perfect. Don’t worry. It will be, do you know why?”

Lena just sulked up at him from the cradle of her arms, shaking her head. He grinned down at her, distracted for a moment by her delectable pout.

“Because you’re perfect.”

She tried to maintain her surly expression but soon she was laughing up at him, her arms wrapped firmly around his neck as she snuggled into them.

“Where are we going, by the way?”

Caelin just waggled his eyebrows at her and he watched in amusement as a blush tinted her fare skin a darker pink. He was sure that by now she would have been past any sort of embarrassment considering all that they had done. It had been almost nine months to the day since their marriage and he had found he couldn’t get enough of her.

“But Caelin,” she whispered, her voice carrying just a hint of shock. “It’s the middle of the day.”

“I know.” He whispered back, no longer able to keep the grin off his face, and also unable to go another minute before kissing her. With a growl of pleasure, he quickly entered their bedroom, shutting the door with his foot behind them. He didn’t take his voracious mouth off of hers until his knees reached the bed they shared.

Gently, as if he was carrying the most precious thing in the world, he laid her down on top of the bed coverings. Because to him, she really was. He just stared down at her for a long moment, soaking in her joy and beauty. Something he would never get tired of or used to.

“Are you just going to stand their gawking all day or are you going to come down here and kiss me?” She demanded, surprising a laugh out of him. Her undeniable spirit and fire was another thing he would never tire of.

With another laugh he jumped onto the bed, making sure to land just to the side of her and she laughed along with him. The humor slowly faded to be replaced by heat. A heat that burned him up and always had him wanting more.

Suddenly, her mouth was on his, just as full of impatience, if not more so, than he was. He took it deeper, licking into her mouth in long, rhythmic strokes that had her moving restlessly against him.

Before long, they were both going up in flames as Lena leaned forward, desperate to unclothe him and it took a long, breathless moment for him to undo the delicate little row of buttons running up the back of her dress, and he swore softly as some of them popped off to fly across the room in his haste.

“I’m sorry, my love. I’ll get you a new one.”

“I don’t care.” Lena whispered breathlessly into his mouth, and she was on him again, pressing him back into the mattress as she straddled his hips, her eyes squeezing shut on the indescribably pleasure as teased the tip of his hard length inside her. Rubbing back and forth as moisture grew, lubricating his thrust as he grasped both hips and arched his own upward.

He groaned, deep and low as he sank home, exactly where he needed to be, as close to her as he could be. She mirrored his with a moan of her own and it triggered something primal within him, something animal. In the next moment he had her on her back, thrusting deep and fast inside her heat, losing himself in the rhythm of her as she arched her back to meet his movements. It was like the most beautiful dance, made even more so by the love he could see shining so brightly in the green depths of her eyes.

Within moments, he could feel her tense underneath him as her body reached its crescendo, every muscle tightening down, squeezing him until he had no choice at all but to follow her over the edge of that steep cliff. Not afraid at all because he knew she would always be there waiting at the bottom for him.

He melted bonelessly on top of her, reveling in the simple feel of her soft flesh against his, the way her arms twined so sweetly around his neck, and the words she whispered into his ear as his body slowly came back to itself. Words of love, words of friendship and understanding and trust. Words about their past and their future. Most especially their future.

Then she said something that had him pulling back quickly, staring down at her wide eyed and hopeful.

“Are you sure? I mean,” Caelin paused, swallowing hard as he watched her nod her head in affirmation, her beautiful, loving green eyes filling with tears of joy. “You really sure? You know for…for sure?”

“Yes, Caelin,” Lena laughed up at him, her sweet embrace still wrapped around him as she looked up into his eyes. Eyes that she would love forever. “I am sure. The midwife even confirmed it. I’m with child.” She smiled up at him, and it was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen in his entire life.

“I’m going to be a father,” he marveled, shaking his head as his thoughts tumbled and whirled in chaos. “I’m going to be a father.” He repeated.

“Yes, that is generally how it works.” She teased, and he laughed at himself. “The first ever child born of an Acair and an Eonan.” Lena whispered up at him, awe touching her voice.

“That’s our legacy, sweetheart.” The legacy of love.

Chapter 1

Janice Roe had always been fascinated by the way men of power and wealth sought high-rise living places.  They did so with the same gusto that a fish sought water.  Today was no exception to her fascination.  She was sitting in the private office of a man who was capable of filling the national debt if he really wanted to.  The office itself sat on the top floor of a skyscraper that had yet to be surpassed in height, marking it as one of
the
places for someone to be.

It reminded her of medieval times, when castles were the standard for the rich and powerful.  The bigger and grander, the wealthier a man was.  And like all things it was a symbol of status.  And what was true then was just as true now, as this building doubled as both the business headquarters and the living space of the man that had summoned her. 

Like a castle, this building had been built with chambers and towers high off the ground that had been meant to protect the nobility… the kings… the dukes… the barons… the earls… the men who were expected to keep everything going.  But still, they always stayed well above ground. 

They just don’t care to be associated with the salt and dirt of the earth
, she thought as she sat and listened while her client – or rather her client’s proxy – made his pitch. 

“My son is an idiot,” he said, leaning on his mahogany desk that looked so old it could have crossed the Atlantic with the Pilgrims.  But the man’s accent was certainly not that of those early day travelers.  His accent came from somewhere further to the east… the old Soviet Block, she recalled.  He was one of the many that had left Communism behind to embrace Capitalism with both arms wide open and, in an ironic twist, found that he was really good at it for the man was worth hundreds of billions if not more.  “No… he’s worse than that,” the old man corrected, “he’s a
raging
idiot!”

Janice merely nodded, half interested.  The old man wasn’t saying anything that she didn’t already know.  She’d done her homework before taking this meeting and she knew what kind of a shit swamp she was about to jump into.  But whether she was going to wade in it or swim was still a matter of some debate.

The older gentleman – a loose term in this case, as he had spoken as anything other than a gentleman – leaned forward and double-fisted his hands, resting his forehead against the knuckles and giving a heavy sigh.  His gray suit looked about as evenly matched as his temper.  Janice wondered if all of the gray and white in his hair was earned from making his millions or just having to put up with his son.

He was a stark contrast to her.  She was big boned and her chocolate colored skin was offset by the blonde highlights that she had streaked through her jet black hair.  Her business suit was not top-of-the-line, having cost her what most people made in a month, but still it was expensive enough to show that she was a woman that knew what she was about and that she needed to be taken seriously.  That was usually enough in the eyes of others.

“His situation needs to change… and quickly,” the old man added.

“How quickly?” she asked, sensing an opportunity.

“Twenty years ago,” the proxy said pointedly.  “The boy has been a nuisance ever since he was born.”

She knew it wasn’t an idle boast really.  She had seen the pictures of the day the boy was born.  His first act in life was to grope the cleavage of the nurse that had helped to deliver him.  It had been dismissed as childhood innocence… back then.  But no one had predicted that that single act was a prediction of the kind person that that baby would grow up to be.  Fondling a woman’s breasts publicly had been the
least
of the stand-out things that he had done in his time.  And as he had gotten older it had only gotten worse.

“Children born into extreme wealth often have problems like these, Mr. Volkov,” she said knowledgeably.

“God,” he spat in a second ironic-anti-Communism twist, “you sound like those head shrinking doctors that my wife hired to try and cure my son’s wild side.”

She took the hit towards her profession.  She’d expected it.  “I didn’t get to be where I am without studying, Mr. Volkov.  You say you need your son’s image to change, then that means playing hard ball.  That means I’m going to tell it to you like I see it.  You didn’t come to America to have your hand held, did you?”

He looked at her over his folded hands and there was something that crossed his face that she recognized all too well.  It wasn’t anger or resentment that he was feeling. 

It was approval. 

“You speak your mind,” he said, his tone confirming what she had read in his face.  “I like this about you.”

She gave an appreciative nod.

“Everyone that I have spoken to confirms that you are the top-rated image consultant on the east coast.  Is that true?”

She could tell when there was a hook in the water, but Janice had been swimming with sharks too long to know better than to bite.  “You’ve seen my resume, Mr. Volkov.  I’m sure it speaks for itself.  But we’re not here to talk about my previous successes.  We’re here to talk about how your son needs to shape up.  Shall we get on with it?”

“Straight to business, huh?” he said, his tone again approving.  “I like this about you, too.  Very well,” he adjusted himself in his seat, “the particulars then?”

“I am all ears, sir.”

He took a breath.  “The holidays are approaching.  My company needs to make a good presentation for Christmas.  And my
son
is the only one who can do that.”

“Unfortunate.”

“I’m glad you understand.”  He leaned back in his chair and adjusted his tie.  “All of the attention that my son’s…
exploits
… have gotten has brought a great deal of attention to my company.  Although this is not the kind of publicity that I need or want and it is damaging.  Publicly, even socially, we are famous… to teenage girls who drool over the pictures of my son when he half-naked on a beach.  But my investors… my board… they are not pleased.  Profits and sales are down fifteen percent across the board because of this negative impact.  They want things to change.  And
I
want them to change even more than they.”

She nodded.  “Your son is supposed to inherit your company?”

“That is the destiny of all great fortunes, Ms. Roe.  My father and his father before him began this business and it was passed to me in my time.  It must also pass to my son.”  He took a patient breath.  “But America has corrupted him… he acts more like an American than he does a Russian.”

“You immigrated legally, Mr. Volkov.  And your son was born here.  By definition that makes him an American.”

The older man turned his eyes away from her for a moment and glimpsed out the window with its god-like view before looking back to her.  “That is so… but I tried to instill in him Russian discipline.”  He looked back at the tops of his knuckles.  “I failed.  Here in America, wealth does not mean the same thing it does back in Russia.  Here… to be rich often means that one is spoiled… that the rules do not apply.”  He gave a small grunt.  “This cannot be permitted for my son any longer.  Sometimes I think that I should have waited until he was born before my wife and I came here.”

He began tapping his fingers together patiently, forming a small steeple with them.  “That is why I sought you out.  I need this problem corrected.”

She could sense when he was leaning towards a point but didn’t care to share it unless prodded to do so.  “Or…?” she prompted.

“I have numerous investors that will withdraw their funding… the value of my stock will plummet… I’ll be moving back to Russia before next Christmas on a supply ship because I will not have enough to pay for an airline ticket.”  He said it with such simplicity it was as if he’d already planned for it to happen and had already memorized the shipping schedule so he knew when to leave. 

She nodded.  Now she knew the game and she knew the way to win and to lose.  Although losing wasn’t really much of an option at this point; if she couldn’t finish the job then she wouldn’t get paid either. 

“Then tell me, Mr. Volkov, how
exactly
do you need me to shape up your son’s image?  I’m guessing we’re not talking about into turning him into a choir boy?”

The older man looked at her contemplatively.  She knew that look as well.  He was trying to determine if he could trust her enough with certain details to get the job done or if he should hold back. 

He sighed.  She knew that discretion was right out of the window by this point.  The man had too much to lose and too much money on the line to keep the details to himself.  It would have to be all or nothing and he knew that.

“Make him presentable,” the older man said.  “I want to see no more photos of him throwing his wild parties.  I don’t want to hear another word of his whores and debaucheries. I want him sober. I want him well dressed. I want his manners improved. I want him to be the goddamn spitting image of a man that statues are built for.”

She arched an eyebrow.  She’d thought as much.  He’d hit all the high notes that she was usually called in to sing.  “Is that all?”

He leaned forward on his chair, as if he were daring her to defy him.  “Can you make it happen?”

She nodded.  “I can, Mr. Volkov.  But your son… he’s got an interesting history.  And it won’t be easily overcome.  I can do everything that you ask.  But there will be a small catch.”

He waited for her to make her terms.

“In order to make this happen I’ll need to be attached to his every move. 
I
will control his appearances. 
I
will make sure that he’s dressed.  I’ll see to it that he minds his manners.  I’ll make sure that he dries out.  And by the time I’m through the next time that he’s seen in public, no one will recognize him.  And when they do, they’ll be blown away by the metamorphosis. 

“But in order to do so, I’ll need
carte blanche
.  If you need him for any reason and I say he’s not available, then he’s not available until I say otherwise.  If I need money, regardless of the amount, you pay it.  If I need to take him somewhere in the mountains to have him locked in a dark closet for defying me so he can scream to his heart’s content, then you make it happen no questions asked.  If I make a statement publicly or if I tell you to make one, even if you know it’s a lie, you confirm it.  If I choose to fire his bodyguards and hire new ones, ones that you know nothing about, you’ll support me.”  She paused.  “Are these terms at all disagreeable?”

She waited for him to digest that. 

He shut his eyes and once more she saw the pensive look on the man’s face.  The scales of his mind were balancing, measuring what he might gain against what he had to lose.  He was quiet for only a few moments before he made his decision. 

“When can you start?”