Epilogue To 'An Excerpt From The Duchess'

No more than thirty years old, the Duchess had the shadow of the experience over her visage, but was still young enough to be an absolutely stunning woman. The honey colored hair cascaded down one of her shoulders, in a loose braid that reached the height of her hips. A crimson silk dress made sure to hide only what was needed of her curvaceous, athletic body, and the stone cold gray eyes pierced through me and Kevin before she said:
“To what do I owe the displeasure of this visit, officers?” she uttered, the melodic voice in a rather annoyed tone.
“Duchess Samantha of Hemmerich, I presume?” Kevin stood up and offered a handshake, which she refused. But he was quick to amend the situation: “I’m Kevin Brighton, and this is my partner Diana Artemis.”

“What a strong name for such a petite woman!” she said with clear delight, with both of her hands holding mine and her eyes trying to devour my soul. “Are you Greek?”
I took a step behind, uncomfortable with the invasion of my personal space, and ended up falling on my bottoms, straight onto the couch.
“No, not really…” I said, as the guise of an excuse, and my voice resounded under Kevin’s and the Duchess’ laughter. “My parents arrived in America as refugees from the war with Russia, and the original name had to be changed to avoid questions…”
“Oh, I see…” the Duchess said, taking a sit at the chair in front of us. “And to think we were all promised that things like that would never happen after the 21st Century…”
“Yeah, that was a tragedy…” said Kevin, impatient. “I’m sorry if I’m being rude, but has your butler told you the purpose of our visit, Duchess? May I call you

It was obvious that she liked me, since her eyes were still gouging me.
“Precisely, Duchess,” I commenced, after a deep breath for courage. “First of all, what was the reason for your presence at the party?”
A wide, deviant smile crossed the Duchess’ lips.
“My girls were providing the entertainment. And I was there to supervise,” she said, leaning back into her chair and crossing her legs.
“And what sort of entertainment would that be?” I asked, doing my best to remain a professional, but finding it a hard task to achieve under the Duchess’ stare.
“The specialties of my business are exotic dancers and performers, my dear,” she said in a voice that could melt ice with its warmth. “And since the consul wanted something different for his party, he hired the services I provide. Long story short, I was working.”
“I see,” I tried to smile, but her increasing interest over me forced to turn away from her. “So it was part of your work to perform oral sex in one of the security guards, at the backdoor of the consulate?”
But my attempt of trying to make her uncomfortable fell flat on the ground:
“No, that was merely part of my fun,” she delivered it between teeth. “The point of this all being the man we saw fleeing the party, after the consul’s assassination, I