Her Mad Baron (3 page)

“Come,” he whispered in her ear, making her quiver. “Don’t you like these kisses? I do, very much.”

He groaned and moved against her. One of the hands
that had held her face traced her body, down her side. His mouth on hers was hungry as his tongue explored hers, and oh, dear, she explored him, too, feeling the texture of his skin, the breadth of his shoulders, and the shifting muscles of his back.

His hand found her breast and cupped it, his thumb making light circles on her nipple. She must talk him out of this, although as he cleverly plucked her nipple through her blouse and chemise, she wasn’t certain why she must.

“You are delightful,” he said, and his hand slid under the top of her makeshift trousers.

She squirmed away again, and he allowed it, though he lightly encircled her wrist with his hand.

“I appreciate the compliment,” she said, breathing heavily. “Now we must talk. What’s your name?” She looked around the clean, barren room. Not a speck of dust and not a single object she might use to protect herself.

He squeezed her wrist, but not so hard he hurt her. “You know who I am. The phantasms always know who I am.”

“I am not a hallucination.”

His smile was sad. “They—or rather you—always say that as well.”

“No, please, you must understand. Can’t you tell the difference? Can hallucinations do this?” She gave him a little shove. Not too hard because she wouldn’t anger him but she must get away. His wasn’t the only disordered mind in the room.

Still grasping her arm, he took several steps backwards and dropped onto the bed, pulling her with him. “Not usually, I grant you,” he said. “But perhaps there was something new in the porridge. Something good for a change. If you’re real or imaginary, I shan’t hurt you. I promise.”

His suddenly strong grip meant he easily dragged her on top of him. She fell with an
oof
. He rolled, and they were side by side facing one another, nearly touching. “Such a pretty creature. Please God, I beg of you, stay that way,” he murmured and delicately kissed her mouth. The kiss soon turned into the deep, hungry exploration.

She would have shoved him away, but she found she instead stroked his back, experiencing the supple warm skin and hard muscle of naked male flesh. He didn’t protest when she ran her hands over his shoulders.

Good gracious. She’d slung her leg over his hip, and she squirmed against him.
Ladies don’t wiggle like music hall dancers.
Jimmy’s reprimand came to her. He hadn’t liked what he called her earthy streak.

The phrase had made her feel as if she had a stripe of grimy dirt right down her body. Not a true lady, after all. He hadn’t said the words, but he didn’t need to.

Jimmy had eventually gently insisted she break it off. He wasn’t good enough for her, he told her, and it took her an embarrassingly long time to figure out he actually meant that she wasn’t what
he
wanted. He hadn’t even known the real extent of her depravity. Jimmy the housebreaker hadn’t known she’d planned to break into houses.

Never mind. Jimmy hadn’t climbed into this fortress. She had and now here she was with this gentleman, gentle mad man, who touched her body in such a lewd manner. The way he stroked her brought out her earthy streak, ha, she was drenched in mud.

Mortified, she removed her leg she’d draped over his hip and stopped writhing against him, but she didn’t halt the exploration altogether. She still drew her fingers over his arms.

So much skin. Delicious, bare and warm. Her heart beat as hard as it did when she started out a job. The same naughty excitement of something forbidden and dangerous. She was a fool.

Somehow he’d managed to put his hand between her legs. He rubbed her private area, and the tingling pleasant sensation spread. When she realized this was a deliberate action and he wasn’t going to stop, she shut her thighs tight, but he didn’t protest or force her legs open. Instead he cupped her mound and made a little circle against her in that intimate place she barely allowed her own hand to explore.

She had trouble sucking in air as his fingers rubbed her, adding a little jiggle that seemed to melt every bit of her resolve to fight. The cloth of her trousers rasped her skin, and she felt the heat of his fingers through it.

She held his arm as if to pull his hand away, but at the same time, her hips pressed up and against his hand. “What are you doing?” she whispered, wishing she sounded indignant and not gasping for breath.

“Stroking a woman’s form for the first time in forever. Enjoying something in this hellish room at last. You’re so wet I can feel it through the cloth. I can feel everything.” Embarrassed, she clenched her thighs together as hard as she could. He stopped moving his trapped hand until she loosened the grip of her legs, then he immediately resumed the hypnotic stroking.

“You may touch me as well.” With his free hand, he grabbed her fingers.

She told herself she’d scream if he put her hand on his penis, but he placed it on his stomach.

Her hand examining his flat belly brushed his shockingly hard manhood through the thin clothing he wore. His body jolted, and he hissed through his teeth.

Her throat grew tight when she saw how she affected him. A thrilling curiosity made her explore the interesting object. She stifled a nervous giggle and touched him again. She’d already noticed that his organ was much larger than she had imagined a man’s private parts to be, and she had done a fair amount of guessing and wondering.

She was a wanton, for touching him made her feel even more of that stomach clenching interest. Her rough breath came quickly as she stroked him, imitating the magical touch he had with her.

His fingers’ movements became more concentrated, more deliberate. He pressed against the part of her that welcomed his touch—ached for it.

She stopped exploring his body, lost in the amazement of what he could do to hers. That touch felt  good. Any embarrassment about her situation dissolved as the delicious ripples strengthened. She needed more of him.

She breathed the word on a long inhalation.
Need.

“Do you have a name?” he whispered.

At that second, it struck. “Oh. Oh.” The bolt of sensation hit her, spiraling from her core through her body. “My God.” She panted.

“Oh yes, yes. Of course. God is love.” The man moved closer. He dexterously pulled off one of her shoes and began to untie her trousers.

She woke from the commotion pinging through her—even her fingers tingled—and squirmed away. He followed, and with a deft roll, he was on top of her, capturing her body under his.

Panic cut through the last ripples of her release. She wiggled, dug her heels into the bed, and pushed up trying to get away. Her head struck the wooden headboard. “Stop,” she said, breathless. “I was wrong. I’m sorry. Please stop.”

He murmured something and buried his face in her hair as he pushed down her trousers. She found his shoulder with her mouth and bit down, as hard as she could.

He gave a startled yelp. All motion stopped.

Very slowly he pushed himself up on his elbows, taking most of his weight off of her. He twisted his head to examine the blood that oozed from the bite mark on his shoulder.

She wished she hadn’t done any of that, especially the bite. Now he would turn more insane, beat her. She readied herself to start screaming for help.

The madman didn’t strike Florrie. His eyes widened. He stared down into her face, and she gazed back, willing herself not to cry or look away. She distracted herself by trying to decide if his eyes were more blue than green.

“Jesus,” he said. “You are real. A-a person.” He gave a peculiar groan, a mix of triumph and anguish.

“Of course I am. I told you I was.” She squirmed under his considerable weight.

“Yes, and the devil who sucked
out my lungs and heart and then turned into a bat insisted he was real. Of course he didn’t affect me as much as you have. But you are real. A
woman
. Who are you? Why did they send you? Why did you allow me touch you like that?”

That last was an ex
cellent question. “I’m Florrie, and no one sent me.” She wiggled again, spread her hands against his chest, and gave him a small shove. “It seemed best to mollify you. You kept insisting you’re a crazy man.”
And I wanted to know how it felt to be touched by a man
, she didn’t add. She’d gotten her answer. It was earth shattering.

“Good Lord, I’m so very sorry. I-I think perhaps I knew.” He rolled off of her but kept his hand on her belly. “No,no, please. Did you try to stop me before that?” he whispered urgently. “I don’t entirely recall. Some moments drop from my recollection.”

She wished she could truly say yes she had fought him, but she didn’t want to add to the anguish in the man’s eyes, nor would she lie to herself again. “I didn’t try to stop you until I bit you. You can let go of me. I’m not going to disappear, though heaven knows I wish I could,” she snapped. She pushed his arm away and sat up, retying her trousers.

Her anger was directed at herself. Yes, why hadn’t she fought earlier?

Her swollen mouth and the heavy, engorged sensation between her legs told her she had enjoyed what he’d done. Even as she recalled what he’d done to her, she felt the strange little flip deep in her belly.

Jimmy had been right, and for a second, the thought of him distracted her. She was glad again she had said good-bye to Jimmy. He deserved someone who’d be more horrified by this situation.

The nearly naked man sat cross-legged and pulled the pillow to cover his lap and much of his chest. “Who are you?”

“You asked me that already.”

“You didn’t answer.”

“For that matter,” she said, “Who are you?”

He rubbed a hand over his dry, chapped lips. “I’m the owner of this godforsaken property. I’m Nathaniel David William Felston, now Baron Felston of Willsbourne in the county of Derbyshire.” He recited this in a firm voice, and she imagined him repeating the words aloud to himself again and again. Her heart twisted with pity.

His fleeting smile was wry. “Or so I think. Reality shifts in this room.”

“But the baron is an old man.” She spoke gently, hoping not to annoy him. Perhaps this was the seat of his insanity—they locked him away for his delusion that he was the baron. She’d once met an old lady who was convinced she was Joan of Arc’s daughter.

“I think. No. I know. The baron
was
an old, sick man. My uncle. I’m fairly certain he died sometime recently.”

He looked down at his hands, which clutched the thin pillow in front of him. “I came to visit him on his death bed and then I grew sick with a fever. And then I awoke in this room.”

The strange anguish made her want to touch him to reassure him, but she didn’t want him to think she craved more intimacy. No matter how much she wanted to feel his arms around her again. “I’m sorry,” she managed. “It sounds like a nightmare.”

“Yes, that’s the word. Nightmare. I wish I knew why you’ve appeared. Will you tell me?”

Appeared, oh dear... Before she could ask if he thought she was a hallucination again, he seemed to forget his question.

“Soon we must be quieter,” he said. “They only come at certain times and otherwise I am left alone.” He gave her a wry smile. “I can scream and rant all I want the rest of the time. I have, too.”

He pulled the top cover off the bed, draped it over his body, then crawled across the bed to stare out the window. “The sun is low so they’ll be back soon. I’m allowed time to bathe. They don’t wish to seem to neglect the madman, after all. If someone should bother to visit. Someone. They must know where I am. God.” For a moment he stared at the post, his face drawn tight in anger or anguish. He glanced over at her and the frightening look vanished. “Lately that’s when I drink too. I won’t touch the drinks but pour them out. At night, out the window.”

He turned to her, looking like a disheveled Greek hero in the makeshift toga, and he stretched out his hands, palms up. After a moment’s hesitation, she put her hands in his. He squeezed them but did nothing more. “Please. I will be allowed into the bath. If they leave this room open, you must try to get away, Florrie.”

She let her breath out slowly with relief. “You do remember my name.”

“You have brought me back to my senses, or close to them.” He grazed his finger over the red marks on his shoulder, and his mouth twitched into a smile. “Your bite. I still am not entirely here. I usually leave my senses partially by choice, you understand, but now I will fight to stay here, in the moment with you. If you can, please get away. But promise, only if they leave the door open and go away.”

“I’m stronger than I look. I can get past that woman I saw with no trouble. And I run fast so I—”

“No. No!” He shook his head. “
When it’s a woman she’ll come a guard, one with a gun. Go only if they leave the door open. And most definitely not if one of them is Grub.”

The name and the mention of the gun reminded her of another troubling problem. “When I snuck into this room, it was because there was some sort of disturbance. Can you find out what happened earlier?” If Duncan had been captured… She didn’t want to consider that notion.