Authors: Lavinia Kent
With some trepidation, she rose to her feet and eased from behind the shelf. It might be possible that Lord Temple was hiding, waiting for her to come out. There were only so many possible hiding places at the bottom of the stairs and she knew that he’d seen her flee down them.
A step forward and then another. Still no sound other than the noise of her own breathing. Holding her breath, she tried to quiet it. Another step. The door out of the pantries was just ahead. With care she placed both hands upon it and prepared to push it open.
Once she was through she would be close to safety. A few steps down the hall and then there would be other guests about. All she had to do was get through the door—through the door and not scream. She’d seen enough instances when a woman’s screams did nothing but encourage onlookers to believe she’d been doing something she shouldn’t.
Holding her breath, she gave the door a slight push and then a greater one. Almost. She was almost there.
She stepped forward and—almost as if her thoughts had ordained it—ran straight into a very firm, very hard, masculine chest.
Oh God, he’d found her. A heartbeat of dread, and then…
Something was not right. She had no desire to flee; if anything, she wanted to burrow deeper, to surround herself in the safety of this embrace. The smell of leather and musk surrounded her—and that something else, a scent she was coming to know only too well.
Duldon.
Her shoulders tensed and then relaxed, only to tense again.
“And where have you been hiding, my pet? I didn’t think you were one to sneak into the pantries. I gave you more credit than to go to such extremes.”
How to explain? He clearly thought she’d been hiding from him and she wasn’t sure that she wished him to know the truth. It seemed unlikely that much good would come of it. She didn’t know what Duldon’s response would be, but…
“Let us head back to the ballroom and I will lead you in a single sedate waltz, before freeing you to twirl to your heart’s desire. I shall take great pleasure in watching you and I will not mar the evening any further with demands and talk of marriage.” He pulled back and smiled down at her—and then his face froze, his gaze locking on her bosom, on her bodice. Her own gaze dropped, following his to the large tear leaving shards of lilac lace hanging down over the golden silk of her gown.
When had that happened? Temple must have torn her gown, but she had not realized.
Holding back a shiver, her eyes rose back to Duldon’s and met his cold stare.
Without a word he pushed past her and stalked back into the empty pantry, his search far more thorough than Lord Temple’s had been. If somebody larger than a loaf of bread had been hiding there Duldon would have found him.
“Who were you with? Where did your companion run off to?” His voice dripped with ice.
She blinked. He thought…“No one. I was by myself.”
“Try again.” His gaze focused on her ripped bodice.
“Truly. I was by myself.”
“And did you rip your own gown? Why do I doubt that? I warned you that there would be punishment if you tried kissing other men.”
“But I didn’t. I might have—but I didn’t. I didn’t kiss anyone.”
He stepped closer and his presence surrounded her. “Tell me the truth, Bliss. Things are always better if you tell the truth.”
He was infuriating. She was telling the truth, or at least some of it. “I did not kiss anyone.” She said each word slowly and with care.
“And did you rip your dress? Perhaps you caught it on a pot handle when you were trying to hide from me.”
“I was not hiding from you—at least not then.” There, she’d told him a little bit more. Perhaps he would be content.
He inched closer, placed a hand under her chin, and turned her face up to his. “Then whom were you hiding from?” His other hand reached up and stroked her breast just above the tear. A frisson ran straight from his touch, slid down between her legs. His voice gentled slightly, but she would not be fooled.
“Does it matter? Nothing happened besides a bit of torn lace. I can slip up to the retiring room and have it fixed within a moment.”
Two of his fingers slipped into her bodice while his thumb still fingered the torn edge. “And if I say it does matter? Who sent you fleeing into the pantries?”
To tell him would be disaster. She recognized the heat she saw burning in his eyes, knew what would happen if he discovered Lord Temple had taken liberties. “And I say it does not matter. Nothing you can do will help. All you can do is bring me disgrace. Some man heard a rumor and decided to see if it was true. Can you blame him? And after our night at Madame Rouge’s it is closer to the truth than I would like. Let it be.”
The fingers at her chin suddenly pressed deep and for a moment she feared they would leave a bruise. She could feel the tension that ran through him. She’d lived with her brothers long enough to understand the masculine desire to beat something to a pulp. Duldon was experiencing that feeling now.
“Truly it does not matter,” she tried to explain.
His fingers gripped hard again, making her shiver. “Did somebody, some man, touch you against your will?”
How to answer that? Was there an acceptable answer? “He merely took me by surprise. You have touched me when I did not agree.”
His hand dropped from her face and he stepped back. “But did I ever make you run from me, not because you did not wish to talk, but because you were afraid of what I would do?”
“No. I have never been afraid of you—except that you can make me want things I should not. I am more afraid of myself than of you.” That was more than she had meant to say.
“And this other man? Did you feel the same way?” There was iron in his tone, and she knew there was no correct answer except the truth.
“No. I did not like it when he touched me. I have never run from your touch and I did run from his.”
“Who is he?”
“Please, Duldon, it is not all his fault. I was thinking about kissing him. I do believe I need to experience more. Perhaps I led him on, made him believe that I wanted him to grab me, to pinch me.”
His face froze at her words, his eyes narrowed, his lips hard. “Did you make him believe that you wished to experiment with him?”
She thought a moment, dredged her soul for the truth. “No, I did not—at least no more than every girl at every dance does. I may have flirted. I may have pretended he was more interesting than he was. I did not ask him to grab me.”
“Then tell me who he is.” Duldon’s hand slowly closed into a fist.
She closed her eyes. “No. Take me to the retiring room and then I will dance that waltz with you or any other dance you wish, but I will not let this incident grow any further.”
“Open your eyes, Bliss.”
She did and found him staring straight into her soul.
It was his turn to speak clearly and with careful slowness. “So you sought out this man thinking about kissing him and now you will not tell me who he is so that I can rectify the wrong he has done?” Fury marked his every word, despite his care.
Deep breath in. Deep breath out. “Yes.”
“You know that I warned you not to kiss other men.”
“Yes.”
“If you will not tell me who he is, if you insist on protecting him, then you must take the punishment for disobeying me. I have given you much leeway, but you must learn that there is a limit. You must learn that I give you advice for a reason.”
She gasped slightly and looked down at his closed fist. He would strike her? For the first moment she felt fear of him, beyond the fear of marriage.
He caught her gaze, caught her tension, and with some effort she saw him soften his mouth. “No, I will not punish you as I would him. You do not need to fear that. Although I am not saying that you do not need to fear.”
She should just walk by him and leave. He had no control over her, none that she did not give him. If she left, what could he do? He was not a man who would complain to either her father or her brother. Only—only, she did not wish to leave him. For whatever reason she enjoyed the game between them, enjoyed it far more than she should. And yes, loath as she was to admit it, his mention of punishment did tantalize her, make her ache. She might resent it, resent it with all her being, but she could not deny it.
“I will take your punishment,” she said with a boldness she did not feel. “Although that does not mean I will obey you.”
Chapter Thirteen
He should have given this more thought. Duldon looked down at Bliss’s determined little face. He’d spoken the words as much in fantasy as reality. He’d long dreamed of erotic punishment with Bliss, but had never truly considered the real possibility, not even after marriage. He knew plenty of men struck their wives in fury, but that had never been his way. And as for his own passions, he had certainly never intended to indulge them with Bliss, with his wife. But as her pupils widened and grew dark, even as fear marred her brow, he knew he had no choice. He must see this through, for both their sakes.
But here?
He glanced about the darkened hall, looked ahead to the lighted ballroom and back at the swinging door to the pantries.
Bliss continued to stare up at him, her eyes dazed.
His heart sped with the trust that look implied, a trust he would not betray. He wondered if she realized how she was reacting.
“Your punishment will come in two parts, one tonight and one tomorrow at Madame Rouge’s. I assume you can slip out again?”
Her teeth nibbled on that lush lower lip as she considered. Did she know what it did to him each time she chewed upon it? Is that why she did it so frequently? She gave a slow nod and a slight blush marked her agreement.
“And no breeches this time. We are going to move this thing between us a step further and I don’t want your ass covered, no matter that it looks delectable in tight breeches.”
“My ass looks delectable?” She sounded confused, as if she’d never considered the possibility. “Does that mean you want to bite it, to eat it? Are you sure you mean delectable?”
“Very sure.” He grinned wide, giving her a wide flash of white teeth. Yes, he’d very happily bite her and eat her. His mouth watered at the thought. “Now back to the pantries with you. I have a punishment to administer.”
She shivered but stepped backward, pushing the door open with her hands and sliding through.
He followed.
He glanced about the pantry, seeking inspiration. Something that would keep him in her mind all this night, but not push her too far, pain her too much.
There were some hot peppers sitting in a basket, but he rather thought that would be a bit extreme.
The sting of lemon? Not quite right.
A few swings of a switch upon her soft thighs? That was closer, but didn’t seem quite proper this evening. There was not time for the proper lead-up that would send the zing straight to her sex.
He would have to go with the tried and true.
In one swift move, he backed her against the wall, pinning her with his weight.
Lifting one hand, his fingers tilted her chin back so she stared up at him. He held her gaze for a moment, letting all his dark emotions slip into his glance. She pulled a breath and held it, her body quivering with excitement edged in fear. Her eyes were huge, the blue outer rims flashing in the dim light. His hand skimmed along her lower lip, reveling in its softness, imagining all the uses he would put it to in the coming months.
He lowered his mouth to hers and paused a breath away from her lips. Their eyes held and he could feel the beginning of their kiss before they even touched. He breathed out. She breathed in. Again. Again. It was as sensuous a moment as any he could remember. He lost track of everything, his thoughts, his purpose. For a moment all that existed was Bliss and the promise of her lips.
She puckered slightly, her lips reaching for his, but he did not move. This time, this one time, he would make her come to him, reveal her need for him. It was not what he had planned as punishment, but for this briefest moment in time it would be enough.
Her mouth brushed his, but came no farther. Her lips parted, he felt her invitation, her desire, but he held firm. He knew that she enjoyed their game, but it was time that she put her cards on the table and demonstrated her wants.
She mewed softly, the faintest, sweetest of noises, and then she moved. Rising on tiptoe she pressed her mouth hard against his, moving her lips slowly and with care. Still he held still, not moving, giving her the chance to play and explore.
His fingers itched to touch her, to crush her to him, but he restrained himself.
Her tongue darted out and touched his mouth, but then retreated. It flicked out again, tasting, dancing. He softened his mouth against hers, let his lips drift apart, tempting her tongue further. She licked along the edge of his lips, dampening them, and then slowly, with care, eased inside, her tongue tracing the tender flesh where gum met teeth. She played there, going no further, but not retreating. Her every move a temptation.
He eased from foot to foot, his cock swollen with need, straining to be free. He longed to press tight against her, to plaster her to the wall until there was no space between them. His whole body clenched with need—and still he held his mouth gentle, allowed her gentle nibbles and quiet teasing.
Her tongue slipped past his teeth, at long last, and touched his tongue before darting back out. He moved the slightest fraction in pursuit, but did not follow into her sweet mouth. Her tongue danced back, engaged again, stayed a little longer before falling back to safety.
His hands were locked at his sides now. He wondered if she knew his restraint, knew the effort it took not to move. He had planned this as her punishment, but it had become his own. Could anything in life be more difficult than not reaching out and claiming her, in making her his?
This time her tongue stroked his, inviting, enthralling. A fresh young maiden dancing for her lover, each movement an enticement. She was the magnet and he the iron rod—and God, he truly felt like iron at the moment.
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