Authors: Lavinia Kent
“I do believe you do want me, want me badly.” He flicked the nipple with his fingertips.
A low moan escaped—and not one of pleasure.
Lord Temple made a little sound of his own and then: “You can scream if that’s what you want. The walls are thick and the people are used to screams. I’ve heard them before even if I’ve never caused them.”
Did he actually sound like he wanted her to scream?
She would not if she could help it. Noise clearly only increased whatever pleasure the man was finding in all of this—and it would not bring help unless Stephan heard her. Was he still asleep? Did he even know she was gone? If she wasn’t careful then fear would begin to rule her. She had to keep faith, faith in Stephan, faith in herself.
Why had she left him? And it was not only her desire for safety that had her asking that question; with so much suddenly at risk, she was forced to wonder what she really wanted, what she really feared. Why was she not reaching for what she wanted, instead of running from it?
Temple stepped back then, drawing her attention, and walked to a small table set against one wall. A crystal decanter and used glass sat upon it. He picked up the decanter, emptying it into the glass. It filled it halfway. His eyes stared at the liquid with every bit as much interest as he’d stared at her. “Damn. I was waiting too long for my lady friend to come. I will have to get more.” He downed the glass in a single swallow, the scent of cheap brandy filling the room.
He walked to the door and grabbed the pull located beside it. A few good yanks and he turned back to her.
He stared for a moment, his eyes barely moving from her swollen nipple. His tongue poked out, slicking his lips.
She turned her head away, closed her eyes, and prayed.
The clump of his boots led to one of the wardrobes.
She squeezed her eyes tighter.
The clump led back.
“What do you think you do with this? Do you think it would be fun to use?”
With dread roiling in her belly, Bliss opened her eyes and stared.
Chapter Twenty-five
She was gone. Duldon wasn’t sure why it surprised him, but it did. He rolled over in the bed and stared about the room. There was not a trace of her left behind. Wait. No, there were three hairpins sitting on the table, another on the floor. A deep blue ribbon ran out from beneath one of the pillows. Her mask, he had no idea how it had gotten there. What had they done with it when they’d pulled it off?
He pulled on the ribbon, watching as the dark satin of the mask slipped out from beneath the pillow. The ribbon curled about his finger, cool and slick. He lifted the ribbon in the air, the mask dangling. A soft floral scent wafted in the air. Lilac. That was it. It should not have taken him so long to identify it. The gardens at home had been filled with the scent each spring.
Leaning forward, he breathed deep. Gardens. Rich spring gardens when the world was full of life and potential, when everything was just beginning. It suited her. He could picture her dancing and twirling in his gardens. He couldn’t wait to share them with her again.
Swinging his body up in the bed, he let his legs dangle over the edge.
God, he felt satisfied. He hadn’t even truly had Bliss yet, and he felt better than he had in years.
She’d said yes. Yes. Yes. Yes.
And of her own free will—or at least nearly so. He had to admit he’d used some of his more persuasive powers. He couldn’t help but grin at the thought. He couldn’t wait to do it again. But, even so, in his experience, those moments when pain and pleasure brought a woman to such a vulnerable state were when the truth leaked out.
And Bliss had said yes.
He wished she’d stayed to celebrate, but he found his surprise changing to acceptance. She’d needed time to think, to reach an understanding of what had happened between them. His toes slid along the floor and he rose to standing, reaching high in a long stretch. He felt so rested. He hoped the hour wasn’t too late. That might also explain the flight of his bride-to-be. It would be hard to explain to her family if she arrived home after the maids were up. He should have been more careful. He hated the thought of her wandering alone about London.
Not that she’d be alone. He’d spoken to Ruby about the matter earlier and made it very clear that if Bliss decided to leave on her own, Ruby was to have one of her young footmen, all former pugilists, accompany or follow her. He would never risk putting Bliss in danger.
He hoped she wasn’t furious this morning. He would not have been a bit surprised if he’d been awoken by her small fists, or even one of her slippers, beating him about the head. His Bliss did have a temper. He wished she’d given him the chance to soothe it and then perhaps he could have found an appropriate punishment for her actions.
She did like her punishment; she melted softer than butter once she realized she had no control.
He had a feeling she’d been fighting to take care of herself for far too long. It was time for her to simply relax and let him shoulder the burden for a while. Although he imagined that Bliss was not yet ready to hear any such words. He fancied that she was still steaming at the ears, unable to believe what she had agreed to, unable to face her real desires.
His face sobered at the thought. He had a long way to go in persuading her not to be afraid of love and commitment, in persuading her to trust him, in persuading her that he would always be there for her.
Reaching over to the neat pile of his garments, he found his pants and pulled them on.
He would find Ruby and ask where his kitten had run off to. He imagined it was home, but he wanted to waste no time in wrongful pursuit this morning. They needed to talk. Bliss needed to know there was no escape from the words she’d said last night, and then they needed to find Swanston and the duke.
It was time to start planning a wedding.
—
Bliss stared in horror at the long brass pinchers. What they were for, she had no idea, but she knew it would hurt, hurt a great deal.
As she watched, Temple tightened the end and they opened slightly, revealing small sharp teeth, teeth clearly designed to dig into flesh. Into her flesh.
She swallowed.
Or at least tried to. Her mouth was suddenly too dry. Instead she choked.
“You like them, do you?” Temple smiled with what could only be described as glee. A certain boyishness clung to him and it made the moment all the more disturbing. “I wasn’t sure—they look painful—but then you apparently like pain. I am willing if you are.”
He opened the evil-toothed jaws wide and then let them close, turning a little screw with his thumb. “Is there someplace special you think I should put them?”
Yes, there was, but she very much doubted he’d willingly comply. Anger was beginning to churn along with the terror, deep in her gut. From the first time her brothers had tied her to a tree in a game of pirates being helpless eventually just left her mad—and she was reaching that point, quickly.
“What do you think about your right nipple? Duldon has left it so pretty and red for me, so perfectly swollen. Look what the thought does to me.” He thrust out his hips, his swollen cock unmistakable.
She wanted to vomit all over the front of his trousers.
It was so hard not to struggle, not to betray her thoughts. She had to think. If she couldn’t dissuade Temple she had to find a way to delay matters. If she could just hold him off long enough Stephan would come. He would not let her down.
And then, as if reading her mind, Temple stomped over to his empty glass, picked it up, and slammed it back down. “Where is that girl with more brandy? I want another drink.” He glared at Bliss as if daring her to do something about it.
She swallowed. He was scary enough when merely lustful. She did not wish him angry. “Perhaps you could yank the pull again, Master.” She enunciated the last word as carefully as possible.
“I don’t want to wait. Blast. I’ll go myself. Give you some of that anticipation you so desire.” He took a step toward her, ran the pointed end of the pinchers across her breast.
She bit down on her lip at the slice of pain. Even without looking down she knew that he’d pierced her skin.
He seemed frozen for a moment, staring down at her.
Fighting to keep her breath even, she followed his gaze. A thin line of blood welled high on the pale flesh.
And Temple liked it. There could be no mistaking that—it was not merely drunkenness that had him in this mood for cruel play.
He walked to the wide bed and gently laid the pinchers on the end, directly in her line of sight. “I won’t be gone too long. Keep thinking of all the fun we shall have.”
She heard the click as he unlocked the door. Heard it open. Heard him step through. And then nothing.
Had he not locked it again? It was certainly possible that he hadn’t thought of it. Or perhaps he merely thought the cuffs would hold her secure. It wasn’t like she could escape metal cuffs.
Her head fell forward, and the cold of defeat eased in around her. If she screamed, even if she was heard, nobody would come. Everyone would think it was one more game. And even if she was rescued, what then? If this did not become a full scandal, there was still no chance it would stay quiet. Men were no more discreet than women; whispers would spread. She would be ruined, never marry, never have children.
That thought should have filled her with relief, but instead she felt only sadness, deep sadness. A few hours ago she’d still been wishing for an escape from marriage, and now…An image of Stephan standing in the sunshine, surrounded by an armful of little towheads, filled her mind, and she felt hopeless tears rise up.
And what if she truly was ruined? She would never have thought it of Temple, but these last minutes had shown her that he was not at all as she expected.
But then who was?
A shiver took her. Could this really happen? Could all her dreams, dreams she had not even known she had, be over?
And what were those dreams?
She had said yes to Stephan. Was it possible that was what she really wanted? Had she said yes because she wanted to, not because he had forced her?
Was being with Stephan more important than her fear of love?
She had more questions than answers.
And what did any of it matter? She pulled hard on the chains that held her. Temple would be back soon and then…
She had to get away. She had faith that Stephan would rescue her, but would it be too late?
If she was ruined—she refused to think of what that would actually entail—could she go to Stephan even if he still wanted her? And would he still want her? What man would?
Was it possible to be more miserable than she already felt?
A single tear slipped down her cheek.
Her dreams were over before they had even begun.
Another tear.
And then her head snapped up.
This is not who she was. Stephan wanted her because of her sense of life and vitality, not because she was a passive child who would give up at the first challenge.
She was a Danser, and Dansers were never to be defeated.
If only there was something she could do. She pulled again on the chain, listening to the clank of the lock.
Pirates. Playing pirates. Her brothers had not only tied her with ropes, once they’d tried with old chains from the attic and on several occasions they’d locked her in various empty rooms about the house. Her long-ago lessons in escape came back to her. She’d taken full advantage of the magicians and circus performers who had visited her father’s house.
Could she do it?
She wasn’t even clear if she could reach the lock on the cuffs, much less pick the lock.
No, she would not think that way.
She could do it. She could.
Pushing up on her toes as far as she could, while at the same time pulling on the chain with her fingers, she managed to bring herself into position, her fingers playing with the spot where the lock clicked closed.
Now she just needed something to slip in and turn.
Her eyes fell on the evil pinchers. How could she get them? They weren’t that far away, but with her hands locked above her head it might as well have been a mile.
Her eyes swept the room and then came back to the pinchers. If she couldn’t get to them, there was nothing else that could possibly be within reach. She looked down at her feet, then, using one foot upon the other, pushed slippers off. Bare toes would be best.
Standing on one leg she did her best to reach out with the other.
Her toes brushed the edge of the bed, but she could get no closer.
Hell. Blast. Damn.
A dozen of her brother’s curses filled her mind.
Bloody hell.
Witches’ tits.
Blue bollocks.
Blasted, fucking shit.
She tried to hop closer. No.
She tried again.
Could she swing? She had tried the ballroom trapeze on several occasions. It might be possible.
Tiptoeing as far back as possible, she jumped back and then let herself swing forward, pumping her legs with her.
Almost.
The pain in her shoulder sockets was worse than anything that had happened this night, although not worse than that which she feared might happen. Her eyes watered, but she pushed back, swinging harder.
She could do this. She would do this.
Her foot made it to the top of the bed. Her shoulders and wrists screamed.
Once more. There. There. Her toes touched.
She had them.
She pushed the pinchers farther away, farther across the bed.
Bloody hell. Her head fell forward, her feet catching her weight, bringing some relief to her arms.
What now?
Even as tears spilled down her cheeks, she refused to be conquered. If only she could find the quiet within herself, find that spot of peace that Stephan had brought her to. She could do this.
She shook her head, trying to clear it, and watched in disbelief as one of her hairpins flew across the room.
She was an idiot.
Straining upward once again, she managed to grab hold of the end of another pin and pull it free. Her hands were damp with effort and she almost dropped it, but by the grace of God did not.