At His Lady's Command (Surrey SFS, #4)

By Nicola Davidson

Welcome to the Surrey Sexual Freedom Society - where unconventional and uninhibited ladies and gentlemen discuss all matters erotic...
After twenty-five years in the British army, Captain Randall Denham thought he'd seen it all. Yet nothing prepared him for Lady Portia Butler, the fiercest, most exasperating, and amusing beauty he'd ever met--or how hard he would fall for her. Randall yearns to be at her command in the bedchamber as well as out, but a match between a highborn lady and a penniless ex-soldier of dubious birth is impossible.
Quite content to be unwed and childless, Portia cherishes her friends, her charitable causes, and outwitting the ton. She shouldn't be having erotic fantasies about her bodyguard Denham...and definitely shouldn't engage in a wicked secret affair with him. But when her family dictates she must cede her independence and marry a peer or face dire consequences, Portia faces her sternest battle yet: defeating the wealthy patriarchy to win the greatest prize of all--love.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Nicola Davidson
• Release date: Aug 18, 2020
• ISBN: 9780473468156

Nicola Davidson

USA Today bestselling author NICOLA DAVIDSON worked for many years in media and government communications, but hasn’t looked back since she decided writing erotic historical romance was infinitely more fun. When not chained to a computer she can be found ambling along one of New Zealand’s beautiful beaches, cheering on the All Blacks rugby team, history geeking on the internet, or daydreaming. If this includes dessert—even better!Nicola's books have appeared in USA Today, NPR, and Entertainment Weekly.Find Nicola online: Twitter (@NicolaMDavidson) Facebook (Nicola Davidson – Author) Instagram (NicolaDauthor) or her website www.nicola-davidson.com

Book preview

PROLOGUE

Guildford, Surrey, November 1814

Life would be infinitely simpler for Captain Randall Denham if he wasn’t completely, utterly, hopelessly in love with Lady Portia Butler, the highborn tempest he was paid to protect.

There would be less silver in his jet-black hair, although at age forty-four that was probably inevitable. He’d have fewer lines etched into his forehead, a calm stomach rather than one that roiled at the thought of anyone harming a hair on her head, and arms that didn’t strain to hold her close. But men like him, ex-soldiers of dubious birth and no fortune were lucky to even be in the presence of women like Lady Portia. They didn’t dare wish for anything more. Not love. Not affection. Not marriage.

Certainly not to be the man she commanded in the bedchamber as well as out of it.

Randall silently counted backward from ten as he glanced around Lady Portia’s lavish gold parlor, the favored location for the monthly Surrey Sexual Freedom Society meetings. Anything to distract from the fact that she’d just turned full field marshal, flaying him alive with her razor-sharp tongue in front of the other Society members, and now his cock was so hard it hurt.

Well, Denham? said Lady Portia, hands resting on slender hips, perfect small breasts rising and falling in magnificent ire, a five-foot-four-inch storm in stays. You were hardly subtle in publicly chiding me for recklessness, and now you have nothing to say?

No, my lady, Randall murmured, irritated at himself for the earlier show of angry frustration he hadn’t been able to suppress. I…forgot myself in concern for your wellbeing.

Indeed, two years he had protected the infamous Pistol Portia. Two tumultuous, exasperating, amusing, and awe-inspiring years with the bold and fiercely intelligent woman who could be reckless or practical, cutting or tenderhearted, at any given moment. Two years of concealing his devotion and being no more than the bodyguard her late father, the previous Marquess of Halstead, had hired, and now her younger half-brother, the current marquess, continued to pay, for an unwed heiress like Lady Portia would forever be a target of ransom or forced marriage plots. But Halstead didn’t need to know that his sister also placed herself in harm’s way with her secret crusades to rescue women and children from violence, and deliver educational materials to the poorest and most dangerous parts of London. Nor did he need to be informed of the scandalous meetings on all matters erotic that she hosted in the guise of a literary salon.

Lady Portia pursed her lips, then sighed. "The others are much younger and greener than us. If they knew of all my activities they would only fret, and those who are unaware cannot be made to confess. Few are as cool-headed under pressure as you."

Randall swallowed hard at the rare compliment. Lady Portia’s experiences had taught her to distrust men, to revile and even fear them. To be praised, even mildly, was no small feat. Quite. You, er, might wish to bid the Society members farewell. They are very diplomatically tip-toeing out the parlor door rather than watch us argue.

She spun around, her cheeks pink. But today’s meeting had come to a very abrupt end; Miss Beatrice Irving, Miss Amelia Tilton, Lord Ethan and Lady Madeline Dare, Mr. Clayton Irving, and Lord Joseph and Lady Susanna Fenton had obviously all decided to forgo the sumptuous afternoon tea and the promised reading from a French courtesan’s erotic memoir, to instead strategically retreat from the battleground.

Botheration, Lady Portia muttered, her dismay evident. I will make it up to them. Stay right there, Denham. Do not move a foot.

Not even an inch, my lady, he replied gravely.

She snorted before hurrying over to the departing guests. Randall could only watch, transfixed by the sway and bounce of the lush backside she hated but he dreamed of constantly. Christ, the dreams. He’d never thought of himself as a creative man, but when it came to Lady Portia, his mind ran riot with explicit fantasies that had one theme in common: his total sexual submission. Kneeling at her feet. Obeying her every order. Worshipping her body with his mouth. Unfortunately they always ended the same way, him waking alone in bed, forced to come in his poor, overworked palm. He couldn’t visit a courtesan or take a mistress to gain relief from an avid mouth or hot cunt, because his bloody foolish heart had settled on its mate, and that was that.

Just as quickly, Lady Portia returned. Out of sorts, for she absently patted the immaculate chignon from which not a strand of brown hair dared to escape.

They were very gracious, she said brusquely. Said there were important matters we needed to discuss. I shall visit them all next week.

But you won’t tell them what happened in Whitechapel.

Lady Portia stiffened, her gaze darting away. Nothing happened.

Randall frowned. No, nothing. Except two men taking exception to you scolding them for beating their wives and not allowing their children to attend school, and trying to gut you with a rusty knife.

I wasn’t afraid of them. Besides, you dispatched the pair with little effort. They will have the cuts and bruises to show for it.

And if his lordship hears of the incident? I’ll be dismissed and you’ll be marched back to London to live under lock and key inside Butler House. You know that.

She paled, but lifted her chin, her green eyes flashing with defiance. My dear brother won’t hear a thing. Not unless you tell him. Would you betray me like that, Denham? I will be more watchful in future.

The question infuriated him. Betray? He had an impeccable twenty-five year record in the service of His Majesty; had never once contemplated turning his coat in the face of Mysorean rockets, or rifles and cannons on the Spanish and Portuguese plains. Then he’d been a damned oak door standing steadfast between her and harm, escorting her wherever she wished to go. Hell, he’d even attended the scandalous Society meetings and put together displays of dildos by size, and cock rings and nipple clamps by color. Yet she still thought he might betray her?

Have I ever told him? Randall growled, folding his brawny arms so he didn’t pick up a plate of cream cakes and hurl it at the wall. About any of it? The books, the meetings, the pleasure toy displays, the money you give to unwed mothers, the time you dressed up in a wig, jacket, and breeches and fleeced those peers in a gaming hell because they refused to donate to your orphan house?

Lady Portia blinked. No, you haven’t…but even good men can falter. I see it often.

Not me.

Oh, very well, she grumbled. As men go, you are tolerable I suppose. There. Happy now?

Randall froze as she patted his arm, the brief and impersonal touch burning him like a brand. Damn it all. He would lay down his life for her, pleasure her in any way she desired…and she thought him no more than tolerable. Like an adequate wine or nondescript pair of shoes.

How much longer could he put himself through this most diabolical of tortures—long days with the woman he loved, basking in her fire, seeing her smile, witnessing her uncommon acts of courage and kindness—and yet be forbidden to touch her, hear her moans of ecstasy…sleep with her in his arms?

Delighted, he bit out, stepping back. Do excuse me. I have to…go and clean my pistols.

Oh. Of course. Well, do not get yourself covered in powder, we are going to Halstead’s estate for dinner, remember. The carriage must leave no later than six o’clock.

Bloody hell. Just what the day needed. Bowing and scraping to her brother, the spoilt dandy who owned a good portion of Surrey and never failed to remind everyone of that fact, and his perpetually pregnant wife.

I’ll be ready.

With a curt bow, he left the parlor. Feeling her gaze on him the entire time, but refusing to look back lest she see the truth in his heart.

That must remain a secret.

For his sake. And hers.

CHAPTER 1

"A s men go, you are tolerable I suppose."

Even hours later, the words made Lady Portia Butler wince and shift uncomfortably on the luxurious leather carriage squab.

Everything she said to Denham sounded awkward or shrewish lately, yet she had no idea how to regain her equilibrium around him. All because a few months back she’d glanced out the music room window to see him training footmen in the enclosed garden. Bare-knuckle boxing. Fencing. Wrestling. Throwing