The poor man ran his finger around his collar. Finally, a flood of words exploded from him. “Making love allows the power to be taken from you. It takes time, though. It cannot be done quickly. There must be a seduction. And love will protect you.”
He poured tea and literally threw it down his throat.
“But why do I have this power? Where did it come from?” How could he know about it? Was any of this really the truth?
“It is a power you inherited, my dear, from your mother. She did not have the same power, you see, but in you, this is how it was manifested.”
“I don’t understand. My mother was quite normal.”
“It is hard to explain, my dear. But I believe your mother would want you to be free of your power now, Lady Ophelia.”
“How could you know that? What do you know of my mother?”
Ravenhunt got to his feet, grasped her arm, and forced her to stand. “We should go now,” Ravenhunt said. “The sooner we leave, the sooner you will be free, my dear.”
She tried to protest, but Ravenhunt hurried her out of the shop. In the back, in Guidon’s cluttered parlor, a clock chimed twelve. The hackney had waited, black horses whinnying and pawing restlessly. Ravenhunt had paid the man several shillings to keep him there. Street flares lit up the street, and the smoke of fires wafted across the moon like ghostly fingers.
Ophelia stood just outside the shop, feeling lost inside. Even though Guidon had told her that it was true that intimacy with Ravenhunt would free her, it had felt unreal.
But now was the time for reality. She was supposed to return to Ravenhunt’s home. Allow him those intimacies. It didn’t matter about love and desire. This was a mechanical thing she was supposed to do, a series of impersonal steps that would free her forever.
Except it wasn’t impersonal. She couldn’t look at it that way.
“Let us go,” he said coolly. “It’s only midnight. It’s not late yet.”
“Are we going to your house? Are we going to—to do things?”
He came up to her, his expression gentle. Softly, he stroked the back of his gloved hand along her cheek. Just for a moment. She willed herself not to draw away. If she wanted freedom, she had to accept his every touch—at least the small, quick touches that she could permit before she feared hurting him.
“Not yet,” he said.
“Then where are we going? To see more experts? I—I am willing to believe you.”
But am I willing to do it? I don’t know. I’m scared.
Gently, he put thumb and forefinger to her chin and tipped up her face. She caught her breath. The heat and sizzle began where the pad of his thumb touched her skin. His lips came close to hers. Her lips tingled in anticipation.
But he didn’t kiss her.
“Seduction should be a slow and enticing thing, Ophelia. I am not going to force myself on you. I know exactly how to make you want to make love. Just trust me.”
She had already accepted she would have to. At the lack of a kiss, she felt a pang of disappointment. She’d begun to enjoy them. “Let us go, then. I do not want to do things slowly. I need to be free. I cannot live like this anymore. I will do it—”
“With your teeth gritted and your eyes shut,” he broke in. “No, we do it my way. Understand?”
She nodded, knowing she had no choice. “Do you not have to touch me much more than you’ve done already to make love? Will it not hurt you?”
He grinned—a wicked combination of curved lips, dimples, and a quick flash of white teeth. The sheer handsome beauty in that naughty smile stole her breath. Then she frowned. Something had been wrong in that smile. But she wasn’t sure what.
Before Ophelia could grasp the thought that nagged her, Ravenhunt lifted her hand to his mouth. He gave a slow, lingering, hot, teasing kiss to the center of her palm. She felt hot everywhere.
Then he let her hand go. “There are many ways to give you pleasure, little one, without my touch. Let me show you.”
6
Spanked
T
heir hackney carriage lurched away from the curb, and Ravenhunt joined her on the seat. Ophelia peppered him with questions.
“Where are we going? To more experts? What is it you want to show me—really what is it? Because I can’t see how you can show me about what you . . . said. About not touching! I don’t think that is even
possible
.”
She knew she was acting unlike her normal self. Usually she was quiet. A “fade into the wallpaper” girl. A girl whose duty it was to be isolated and alone, and one of the easiest ways to accomplish that was to keep one’s mouth closed. All those questions she threw at him surprised even her. They rushed out with such speed she had to gasp for breath.
“It is possible.” Through the carriage window, the glow of a street flare reflected on Ravenhunt’s dark eyes, making them bright and silvery.
“Of course you choose the most unhelpful answer to share with me. Then my questions must be—how?”
“You’ll see.”
“Not good enough,” she shot back. Ravenhunt was tall, well-built, strong—and insanely courageous, for who else would stand in front of a pistol shot to protect someone? She should be intimidated by him. But she no longer felt that way.
“Tell me how,” she demanded.
He shrugged. “First we build anticipation.”
With the jingle of traces, the creak of wheels on cobbles, the hackney stopped. “Here we are,” Ravenhunt informed her, his eyes masked by shadow, his voice as smooth as sin.
She folded her arms over her chest. She was willing to sit for hours—a prisoner is accustomed to long stretches of utter silence, immobility, and boredom. “Where is here?”
“I take it you won’t move until I tell you.”
“I am more than willing to bankrupt you in hackney fares by sitting here for weeks. Years, even.”
He laughed in the gloom. “All right. This is a club where couples come to engage in sexual adventure.”
“What?
I am not leaving this carriage.”
“You are.”
How unconcerned he sounded, as though her disobedience was of no consequence.
Squirming with frustration, she knew she was going to lose this round. She guessed he intended to carry her inside. He didn’t seem to worry about touching her.
Then she spotted it. He held the small, thick, leather-bound book in his hand. Mr. Guidon had given it to him, and she had watched him flip through the pages while the bookseller had spoken with her. She had seen Ravenhunt’s dark brows shoot up while he read.
She thought he’d left the book at Guidon’s. Obviously he hadn’t. While they had been in Mr. Guidon’s parlor, he had not let her take even a glance at it. No matter how much she had asked and begged, he wouldn’t tell her what it was. She couldn’t try to pull it free of him—it was an old book, likely very rare.
But her argument had distracted him. She caught her breath. And lunged.
One instant the book was there, temptingly close to her hand. The next it was over his head.
“You move so quickly sometimes I cannot even see you.”
Ravenhunt did not say a word. He tucked the book into an inner breast pocket of his coat.
“What are you?” Ophelia asked. “You know everything about me. Please tell me more about you. I want to know.”
Raven could not tell her the truth. But he had to give her some kind of plausible story. “I’m like you. Mostly normal, but with a few unusual powers that ordinary people do not possess. It’s those powers that make me a . . . vampire hunter, an assassin of vampires.” It was partly the truth, partly a damned audacious lie.
Needing to bring an end to the discussion, Raven jumped down from the hackney to the cobbled street, then handed Lady Ophelia down.
As he had her hand she bit her lip. “You touch me so much. Are you not afraid of what it will eventually do?”
“I enjoy touching you, and I enjoy knowing that my touches are some of the very few you’ve enjoyed.” He gazed directly into her deep blue eyes. “I’m not afraid of you, Lady Ophelia. Now you aren’t afraid of me anymore. I think this new state of affairs between us will mean an enjoyable evening.”
“Enjoyable? I don’t think so.” From beneath the oversized hood of her borrowed cloak, she cast a nervous glance toward the house. Her tongue flicked over her lips, leaving a gleam of moisture that sent one more jolt of arousal to his already hard cock. Another thing to fight while fighting his hunger.
He lifted her hand and kissed it until she gave soft, breathy moans. “It will,” he promised.
“All right. I believe you,” she whispered.
He offered his arm. She laid her hand lightly on his forearm and let him lead her up the steps. He felt pain but didn’t show it.
He wasn’t as confident as he let her believe. How would she react to the club? Lady Ophelia was innocent, extremely so. As a prisoner, she had been more cloistered than a nun.
Would she be frightened by bold sexual displays?
Hell, he would have to deal with it if it happened. He wanted her to recognize that sexual pleasure was natural and normal, and that she didn’t need to fear it. Playing voyeur might arouse her, giving him the chance to start his mission to take her power.
He’d selected this club for a reason. It was a house on the edge of Mayfair, and since it served both ladies and gentlemen of the
ton
, it was the epitome of elegant erotic fun.
He detected Lady Ophelia’s quick breaths before he rapped on the door. “Don’t be frightened.”
She jerked nervously with each thump of his fist on the door. “Easy for you to say,” she muttered. “I suppose you come here all the time.”
“No, I have never been here.” Couples came here, and he had never been part of a couple—this was not the kind of place he would have taken his fiancée. He’d never had a regular mistress. “It will be an adventure for both of us. You will see that sex is enjoyable without the problems of love and marriage.”
He slid his arm around her waist, but she jumped away so quickly he never even felt the pain. “
Problems
of love?”
“It’s fraught with problems—” He broke off. Damn, he was supposed to make her fall in love with him for her own protection. On the other hand, maybe this was a role that could work in his favor. When he’d been engaged, his wife-to-be had endeavored to change him. She had told him women always viewed husbands as projects of improvement. Maybe he needed to pretend to be jaded about love—hell, not really pretend— then let Ophelia convince him of how precious it was. Nothing would be more guaranteed to win her heart.
As long as she didn’t find out he was a vampire.
“Love is a complicated thing, and leads to much unhappiness.” He put on his best Byronic brood. “This is about pleasure. Here, you have to let me touch you. We have to appear to be an amorous couple in search of adventure. Mr. and Mrs. Ravenhunt.”
“Oh heavens, really?”
She seemed more horrified to pretend to be his wife than to enter the sex club.
“Yes,” he growled. “It will ensure you are protected. Stay close to me. That way no man can whisk you away and try to seduce you more forcefully.”
“Forcefully!” she squeaked. “I do not want to go in here.”
“There’s nothing to fear. They will be too afraid of me to do anything to you. I promise.” He lifted her gloved hand and kissed it. Pain singed his lips but he refused to stop.
She jerked her hand away. “I don’t want you to
hurt
yourself. I’ll do this—but I think it’s hopeless.”
It couldn’t be. Not if he wanted to save both her and Frederica. But he had to lead her slowly. He knocked quick and hard. The doorman eyed him through the grille, then opened the door.
In moments, they were inside. Red silk covered the walls, along with prints of tattooed and bejeweled men and women in a multitude of sexual positions. Lady Ophelia’s cheeks turned as red as the walls. Above them, strips of white silk flowed from the chandelier to the walls, giving a tent-like look to the room. He handed her cloak, along with his coat and hat, to the beefy doorman, and they were strolling from the large foyer, with its exotic décor to a hallway painted and decorated to look like an exotic oriental garden, though the statues were of Greek gods and goddesses. Like a terrified animal, Lady Ophelia slid her gaze hurriedly around, as if seeking danger. Would she run if she saw something that frightened her? Propelling her along the paneled hall, he kept watch on her and not everything around them.
“These statues are magnificent,” she exclaimed. She ran away from him, and planted herself in front of a muscular Atlas, bent beneath the weight of the earth. Her fingertips were pressed to her full lower lip as she made soft sighs of pure admiration.
“You enjoy art—or just his admirable proportions?” Raven asked it teasingly, but he admired the glow of vivid pleasure in her eyes. When Ophelia was happy, she sparkled like a star.
“I love such classic statues. I have—” She hesitated.
“What?” he coaxed.
“I have done my own sculptures. Trapped with Mrs. Darkwell, I had to do something or go mad.”
“That was why you were savoring the Elgin Marbles at the museum.”
She nodded, but he saw the light fading in her eyes, as if it were extinguished by the memory of the early evenings they had spent together there. Probably because it reminded her she had been duped and kidnapped.
“You can touch,” he told her. “Given the scandalous things done here, I don’t believe anyone will mind.”
She shook her head fiercely. “I shouldn’t. You are like the serpent in Eden, tempting me to do so many things I shouldn’t.”
“There are no ‘shouldn’ts’ for you anymore. You are special and unique, and the normal rules of Society do not apply to you.”
Her face looked grim. “
That
is true.”
“It does not have to be all cursed.” He led her hand to the bicep of the muscular marble arm. “You love sculpture, you want to touch it. Indulge yourself.”