Bertrice Small: Forbidden Pleasure

"Huzzah! Huzzah!" he answered her with a chuckle. And then he grew serious. "How experienced are you, dear girl? I want to delight you, but not shock you. A lady's sensibilities must be taken into consideration, y'know."

"What does my experience have to do with anything, Trahern?" she demanded to know. She had used the Channel for several years now to create her books so that she might see what she was writing before she wrote it. It allowed her to work more quickly, but until tonight she had always been an invisible and silent observer of her creations. This was the first time she had ever actually interacted with one of them.

"My dear girl, surely you understand that while the Channel may allow you to live your fantasies, it cannot substitute for, um, certain realities in your life," the duke said.

"Such as?" Emily asked him.

"Your novels of Georgian and Regency England have always been warm family dramas, dear girl. Your heroines have been chaste, your heroes manly, and when they are finally wedded the door has always closed on the nuptial chamber. There have been kisses and caresses, but never have you permitted a hero to put his hand below the waist of one of your maidens. And never before have you begun a book with the hero and heroine a married couple. You have observed marriage enough to write about it, but have you experienced passion or bald-faced lust enough to write about it? I think not."

"I have quite a few books on the subject, thank you," Emily replied sharply.

He laughed aloud. "Not good enough, dear girl," the duke told her. "If you have not rolled amid the tangled sheets, sweaty and naked with a man you at least liked, the pictures in one of those books you have will not suffice. What experience will you draw upon to write of such an emotional encounter, dear girl? What knowledge? No, no, your virginity will not do. It simply will not do."

"I did not say I was a virgin," Emily snapped, but she was blushing.

"But you are, aren't you?" he responded. "There is no shame in it, dear girl. Actually it's quite charming."

Emily sighed. "But if you make love to me then I will be able to write what they want of me, Trahern," she told him. God! She never thought she would use the Channel for sexual gratification, like some of the women she knew. It was embarrassing.

"I can't," he said quietly. "Oh, I could go through the motions, dear girl, but you would feel nothing at all, because in reality you would remain exactly as you are. You will have to lose that tiresome virginity of yours in your own reality before we may begin to enjoy each other here within the Channel, I'm afraid," Trahern told her.

"And how the hell am I supposed to do that?" Emily demanded of him. "Perhaps I should put an advertisement in the Egret Pointe Times. 'Wanted: Studly gentleman to relieve me of my virginity so I may write sexier books.' " She stood up, reaching for the nearest objet d'art to throw. This whole situation was infuriating.

The duke stayed her hand. "No, no, dear girl, that vase is one of Josiah Wedgwood's newest creations. I'd prefer if you didn't destroy it in your pique. The answer to your dilemma is really quite simple. You have imagined me as someone you know. Obviously you are attracted to him. Seduce him, dear girl, and your problem is solved. I do not know why you didn't think of it yourself. And afterward when the deed is done, you and I will embark upon a delicious and-I promise you-a most wickedly delightful adventure."

"I don't know how to seduce a man," Emily said almost sadly.

"Within each woman, my lovely duchess, is the knowledge and the skill to seduce any man she desires," the Duke of Malincourt said. "Just this once, dear girl, wouldn't you like to enjoy the Channel as a visitor, and not an observer? Entice this man who attracts you, and you will gain everything you have ever wanted."

"But I just want to write good books and earn my living." Emily sighed, sinking back into the big wing chair.

"Unless you write more sexually detailed novels, dear girl, it seems you will not be able to do that. Have you any idea how that sad and woebegone little face of yours cries out to me to kiss you?" he asked her. "You have been kissed, haven't you?"

Emily nodded, and when she had the duke touched his lips to hers gently.

"You are very sweet, dear girl, and I will admit to longing for more than just the touch of your lips. Seduce the gentleman in question so we may begin our adventure."

"You say nothing of love," Emily noted.

"Nor do you," he replied with a small smile. "Is there such a thing?"

"I don't know," Emily answered honestly. She closed her eyes. "Farewell for now, Trahern." She sank away, and when she opened her eyes again she was in her own bed. Reaching for the channel changer Emily turned off the television. But she could not sleep. It was close to four a.m., and the sky outside her window was already beginning to grow light. A mourning dove cooed softly in the large pine by the corner of the house nearest her bedroom.

Seduce the man, Trahern had said. All well and good for him, but how the hell was she going to entice Mick Devlin into making a woman of her? To begin with, it had to be totally inappropriate for an author to sexually harass her editor. Still Devlin was, if the gossip was to be believed, a man who could be tempted. She had called her old friend Savannah Banning yesterday afternoon. Savannah also published with Stratford, and lived outside of London with her husband. Savannah knew everything of interest there was to know about in the world. Her curiosity, like her libido, was insatiable. If Mick Devlin had a reputation, she would give Emily the whole story, chapter and verse.

"Em!" Savannah had squealed when she answered the phone in her plummy British accent, flavored with South Carolina. "How are you? What's the news from New York?"

And Emily had told her.

"So old Rachel has been put out to pasture. Well, high time, darling. Nice as she is, she really is quite past it."

"Rachel is a wonderful editor," Emily defended Rachel.

"But Mick Devlin! Darling, you are just the luckiest girl. He's been editing me for several years. If I didn't love being old Reggie's wife so damned much I would have tried for Mick myself. Damn! If he's back in New York who is going to take care of me? I'll probably get stuck with old Prunella Baines-Harrington. She's a decent enough sort, but darling, she is the most booor-ing woman."

"Tell me about Devlin, Savannah," Emily said softly.

"What's to tell?" Savannah replied slyly, and then she giggled. "The women flock to him like flies to jam, darling, but he is very particular about his women. And no one has ever gotten close enough to slip a bridle on him. There was one little Sloan's Ranger who thought she had the inside track until he showed up at her birthday party with a really smashing model. Lady Something-or-other-hyphenated. The birthday girl proceeded to get very drunk, picked a fight with Lady whoever, and got shoved into her own birthday cake for her trouble." Savannah chortled. "Why do you ask?"

"I have to work with the man, Savannah, and Aaron told me a story about J.P. and Devlin. I've never worked with a man. Rachel and I got on so well."

"The story about J.P. and Devlin is true," Savannah said. "What else?"

"Stratford won't renew my contract after this book unless I write sexier," Emily wailed. "The rumor is that Martin wants to semiretire, but he can't decide into whose hands to put the company, J.P. or Michael Devlin. That's why he was brought back." She sighed. "I'm screwed, Savannah. I can't write sexy. And especially for a male editor. I worked perfectly with Rachel. What am I going to do?"

"Darling, I should only be in your slippers," Savannah said, sighing dramatically. "What should you do? Throw yourself on his mercy, is what you should do. You're really just his type, you know, Em. You're intelligent, funny, and quite lovely. And I expect he's at that vulnerable age when he might even be considering settling down."