Ruthless (23 page)

He moved to stand over her, reached for the cloak and ripped it off her. “And who provided the means for your escape?” he inquired in a silken voice. “This hardly looks like the cloak I provided for you once your house burned down. I tend to have more extravagant taste than this.” He pulled it from beneath her and tossed it away. The purse that had been tucked in one of the pockets spilled on the floor, the gold and silver coins bright in the candlelight. He looked at it contemptuously. “That's your price, Miss Harriman? It seems fairly paltry to me—I would have been willing to pay a great deal more for your relatively untried favors. Assuming you haven't been lying to me the entire time you've been here.” An expression crossed his face, so dark and bleak that it shocked her. A moment later it was gone, leaving him calm and cold. “You had best hope you haven't been,” he said. “I couldn't answer for the consequences. Who gave you the cloak and the money?”

She started to pull herself together—she wasn't going to stay sprawled at his feet like a harem girl. “I don't know,” she said, starting to rise.

“Did I give you leave to get up?”

“I don't need your leave,” she said, anger overriding her fear.

“Yes. You do.” And with one strong, pale hand he pushed her down onto the rug again. “I would recommend you stay there until I tell you otherwise. I'm not
ready to touch you, and you would only have yourself to blame if you anger me more than you have already.”

“
What
have I
done?
” she cried. “You should have known I'd try to escape if I had the means. I have no idea who helped me, but I would have been mad not to take the chance.”

He moved then, walking around her in a slow, deliberate circle, and his eyes were hard and merciless in the shadows. He reached up and began unfastening the heavy silver buttons of his vest, using his left hand. “Did I not tell you to remove your clothes?”

For a moment she watched, almost in a dream, as his strong, pale hand moved down the buttons of his waistcoat. “You told me you hadn't raped in decades, my lord,” she said in a measured voice. “Are you so devoid of novelty that you want to experience that particular unpleasantness?”

“Unpleasantness for you, Miss Harriman, not for me,” he said smoothly. He shrugged out of the waistcoat. The blood on his chest was darker, and it looked as if it had slowed or even stopped. His arm was still dripping blood, soaking into the linen sleeve. “But no, I'm not going to rape you.”

She stared at him for a long, indecisive moment. “Why should I believe you?”

“Because unlike you, Miss Harriman, in matters like these I keep my word.”

She was beginning to hate the sound of her own name, particularly when spoken in that contemptuous voice. But she knew he'd spoken the truth.

He took a seat, still watching her. “Your clothes, Miss Harriman,” he said again, in that silky voice that still made her uneasy.

She was wearing a high-necked demimourning gown of pale gray, with narrow hoops and lacing up the back. “Then I assume you simply want to make certain I don't attempt to leave again, and leaving me in my undergarments should ensure that. Not that half your household doesn't wander around in undergarments or even less, but they don't attempt to leave the house.”

“Your assumptions don't interest me, Miss Harriman.”

“Then what does?”

“Your obedience.”

As nervous as she was, she laughed. “Never one of my strong points. And I'm afraid I can't take my clothes off. I need a maid to unlace me.”

“You forget the vast amount of experience I have divesting women of their most elaborate toilettes,” he said. “Come over here and I'll unlace you.”

The very idea was repugnant to her, but she wanted this horrible nightmare to be over quickly, so she nodded, starting to get to her feet.

“On your knees, Miss Harriman.” His voice was calm, almost bored.

Her choices were not many, and they were all unappealing. She could move on her knees like some kind of supplicant. She could rise and run—he'd left the door unlocked and in this deserted corridor she ought to be able to find a hiding place, at least for a while. Or she could gather her lost dignity around
her, rise and let him decide what he was going to do with her. Surely his fury must be fading. But his eyes still looked empty, as if someone else inhabited his body.

She made the calm, sensible decision not to incite him further. She slid across the floor, turning her back and presenting it for his hands, pulling her thick braid out of the way.

He pushed her hand aside, catching the heavy braid and pulling it, and she saw the flash of the knife. She cried out, putting her hands up to her head, certain she'd find nothing but short strands. Instead, her heavy mane of hair flowed loose around her shoulders. She let out a small sobbing sound of relief, hating her own weakness.

He pushed the hair over one shoulder, and she could feel his hands on the back of her dress, the knife slicing through the laces. “What did you think I was going to do, Miss Harriman?” he said in a silky voice. “I'm hardly likely to stab you.”

“I thought you'd cut off my hair,” she said.

His hands paused their work. “How interesting. Why should you care?”

She turned her head to look at him. “It's the one pretty thing about me.”

“And why should you care whether you're pretty or not?” He went back to cutting through her laces, and she took small comfort in the fact that he was taking his time, being careful not to cut her skin. He was favoring his wounded arm, and she wanted to ask him what had happened, but she was afraid to. Whatever it was, it had set this whole nightmare in motion.

She looked straight ahead, into the darkness. There was a bed, she could see the outlines of it. He'd brought her there for that, she thought, whether it be rape or not.

Her chest felt tight, and there was a low twisting in her belly that she realized with shock wasn't fear. It was something far more shameful and elemental. It was longing.

“Every woman cares whether they're pretty or not, my lord,” she said in a low voice. He'd finished with the dress and he pushed it off her shoulders. She slid her arms from it and let it pool around her, all without asking, knowing what would come next, but he expressed no approval. He was cutting through her stays, closer to her skin, with the same exquisite care.

“Not you,” he murmured. “You insist no man would ever want you. You pretend you're above such things, you ignore who you are and what you want.”

“What do I want, my lord?”

The corset dropped around her, and she was wearing nothing but the thin cotton shift and her stockings and garters and the ugly shoes.

“You want me, Miss Harriman. You have since you first saw me. You are simply too dishonest to admit it. Take off your shoes.”

She'd been kneeling in front of him, and she sat back, reaching for the sturdy shoes that had been part of her escape. They were the wrong size for her, too big. The shoes that Rohan had supplied had been perfect. Whoever her aborted savior was, he didn't know her very well.

She took off the shoes and set them to one side, then looked up at him. He was unbuttoning his shirt, and she knew this was going to happen, nothing would stop it. And she knew he'd spoken the truth. She wanted him, in ways she hadn't realized she was capable of feeling.

She started to rise, and he caught her, keeping her down. “Where do you think you're going?”

“I was going to lie on the bed,” she said. “You needn't worry, I won't fight you. I promise I won't move and disturb you while you do it. It would help if you had laudanum—I was lucky enough that one of Sir Christopher's housemaids gave me some the nights he chose to visit. But I'll try hard to lie very still and not make a sound.” She even managed a shaky smile.

He froze. He'd pulled his shirt free from his small clothes, and he paused in the act of unbuttoning it, staring down at her in disbelief. And then he closed his eyes. “Oh, poppet,” he said, and put one hand to the side of her face, and she let out a choked sob of relief, turning her face into his hand.

“I'm so sorry,” she said in a raw voice. “If it were only about me I never would have tried to leave, but I'm responsible for Lydia. I have to take care of her, and I couldn't be sure…I can take risks for myself. Not for her. Please, my lord…”

“Don't,” he said. “I've hurt you.” His voice was filled with self-loathing. He rose, pulling her with him, and clothes fell about her feet, leaving her covered with only the light chemise. And then he stepped away from her. “Cover yourself. You'll get cold. I'll call your maid.”

She stared at him in disbelief. “Why?”

“Why? Do you need to ask? I was about to take out all my anger and pain on you. I hurt you, I know I did, and I didn't care. You're just fortunate I came to my senses. There are blankets on the bed. Go get under the covers until someone comes.”

“No.”

He was in the midst of turning away when her flat, simple word stopped him. “No?” he repeated.

“Not unless you get on the bed with me.”

“Child, I'm not in the mood to provide comfort,” he said shortly.

“I'm not a child. And I don't want comfort.” She wanted to move closer, but the mound of clothing lay between them. “If I have to do…that…again, then I want to do it with you.”

She was starting to see traces of the old Rohan, as he smothered a laugh. “As flattering a confession as that is, I believe you'd be better off if I forgo the honor. Get in bed,” he said, and moved away from her toward the door, leaving her trapped in the welter of discarded clothing. “There are no servants allowed in this hallway, so it will take me a moment to find someone to assist you. I'll leave you the candles.” And before she could stop him he went out the door, closing it quietly behind him.

She stood there, frozen in disbelief. And then she kicked the clothes out of her way and went to sit in the middle of the bed. She counted to ten, and then began to scream at the top of her lungs.

I
t was only a few moments later that Rohan slammed open the door, looking as if he was ready to battle demons. Only his own needed defeating. “Are you all right? What's happened?”

Elinor's voice was raw from screaming, and she cleared her throat. “Rats,” she said.

“Rats?”

“I saw a huge rat in the corner. The size of a hedgehog, and he was staring at me out of his evil little eyes, and if I hadn't started screaming he would have…”

Rohan had closed the door behind him by then, moving slowly toward the bed. “And you're terrified of rats,” he said in a voice devoid of inflection.

“Absolutely terrified. There's nothing worse than rats. Nothing. And this room is infested with them. They're everywhere. I need you to rescue me.”

She saw the smile curve his mouth, slow, reluctant. “Do you know what you're telling me, poppet?”

“Yes, my love… Come have your wicked way with me.” And she lay back, closing her eyes, bracing herself.

She felt the smoothness of the covers against her body as he slid in next to her. His hand on her face made her jerk, and she opened her eyes, startled. This wasn't part of it. He was looking at her with such tenderness.

“You really are such a virgin,” he murmured in a soft voice, his long fingers stroking the side of her face.

“No, I'm not,” she protested. “I've done this many, many times before.”

“I beg to correct you. You most certainly have never done what we're about to do. Permit me to demonstrate.” And he leaned down and kissed her, holding her face still for his mouth.

He was so gentle at first. His lips barely brushed against hers, featherlight, soft and sweet, and she moved up into the kiss, wanting more.

He opened his mouth, tugging hers open as well, and she felt the astonishing touch of his tongue in her mouth. His hand still held the side of her face, and she knew nothing of this kind of kiss, but she closed her eyes and sighed in pleasure, liking it. Liking it very much. Loving it.

She lifted her own hands, to reach up and touch his face, and then froze. She'd forgotten that this was coupling, this was when she was supposed to lie still, and she started to put her hands back at her sides, when he caught them, drawing them up, and as her fingers cradled his face he deepened the kiss, and for a moment she couldn't think, she could only feel, and she slid her fingers into his long, loose hair and pulled him closer, making a soft sound of need.

He pulled his mouth from hers, and she could feel the tension in his body. “Sweet poppet, I can't do this…. Not the way you need it.” He started to pull away, and she simply put her arms around him, sliding underneath him.

“This is the way I need it,” she said. He'd put her hand on that part of him last night, and it had been hard with wanting. It had to be something he liked, so she did the unthinkable, sliding her hand between them until she touched the hard, hard length of him.

He groaned, pushing into her hand, and she knew she was right. It gave him pleasure. She slid her fingers along the shape of him, stroking, caressing, and when he reached down and freed himself, the warm flesh was even more wonderful. How could something be so soft and so iron hard at the same time? It would hurt her, she knew it would, and accepted it, because this time she would welcome it. Because this was part of him, elemental and powerful, and he would give it to her, and she finally understood why women wanted this.

He moved to his side, just a little bit, and she let him, as he wrapped her fingers around him, encircling him, and he moved his hand over hers, showing her what he liked, the rhythm of his grip, her grip, the way his hips bucked into the feel of her, and this was one more thing she loved.

His eyes were closed, and she could feel the tension running through his body, building, building. She was wet between her legs and she didn't know why, but it didn't matter. Nothing mattered but the feel of
him, his body sliding against hers, his life pulsing in her hand.

And then with sudden startling clarity she realized what he planned to do. He planned to finish in her hand, leaving her body inviolate, and she froze.

“Don't…stop…” he groaned.

“I want you inside me,” she whispered. “I want you to finish in my body.”

His groan was powerful, and his need was great. Without another word he rolled over on top of her, shoving her shift up to her waist and pulling her legs apart, and she was just about to brace herself for the pain when he pushed inside her, hard, sliding deep into her with a smoothness that left her breathless, hungry.

She put her feet on the mattress, arching her hips into him, wanting more, and he reached his hands under her rump, moving in deeper still, and she cried out, not in pain, but in some confused need that she didn't understand.

“It's too late,” he gasped. “I shouldn't have…You won't…”

“Finish it,” she whispered in his ear.

Her words released him. He surged into her, his strokes smooth and hard and deep, and she felt something tight in her throat, in her chest, her breasts, her stomach, but most of all between her legs, and she thought back to the feel of him in her hand, and he reached up and put his mouth on hers, his kiss plunging, possessive, and she knew he was ready for his release, and she was going to love it, every sensation, every sound, every—

Her own explosion hit her so hard she cried out, her body suddenly going rigid in his arms, and she knew she was sobbing with some kind of dark need, wanting more and more as everything spun out of control, light and dark, hard and soft. She made a choking sound, and a moment later he was there as well, spilling into her body, flooding her emptiness.

She was holding him so tightly her muscles felt locked, and then she suddenly let go, falling back against the mattress, soft and boneless, and he fell on top of her, his strong body covering hers, and she welcomed it. It was power, it was longing, it was safety, it was unimaginable pleasure. He was still inside her, and she wanted him to stay that way forever. For the first time in her life she felt part of something, of someone else, and she wanted to laugh out loud with the joy of it.

He pulled away from her, and she tried to pull him back, desperate to keep him with her. He wrapped his arms around her and smoothed her wet face with his fingers. “Dearest, you're crying. I hurt you.”

She shook her head, but for some reason she was totally unable to speak. She managed to smile through her tears, and she pulled his head down to kiss him, and he laughed against her tear-damp mouth. “You're going to have me crying too,” he said. He rolled over on his back, taking her with him, and his hands were busy, stripping the chemise off her, so she was wearing nothing but her stockings and garters beneath the linen sheet. He was still wearing his clothes—his shirt and his breeches were open, and he divested himself
of them quite handily, all without losing hold of her. And then he tucked her under his arm.

“You need to rest, poppet,” he whispered, his mouth against her ear. “I promise to do a much better job of it in a little while.”

Her sleepy eyes flew open, and she found she could finally speak. “We're going to do it again? Tonight?”

“Trust me, we could do it again immediately, but I think you need to rest. But we're most certainly going to do it again tonight. And tomorrow morning, and midday, and early afternoon. And teatime, and…”

“I won't be able to walk,” she said, alarmed and enchanted at the thought.

“Then I'll carry you. Sleep now.”

And she closed her eyes and slept.

 

She woke in the darkness, hours later, to see him leaning over her, an intent expression on his face. “You sleep too long,” he murmured. “I've been waiting for you.”

“You could have woken me.”

“Believe me, I tried,” he said ruefully. “We have work to do, my precious. There are all these delicious parts of you that I was in too damn much of a rush to appreciate. So now your turn. Though in fact, I may enjoy this even more than you do.”

“Enjoy what?” she said, curious.

“Lie back, poppet, and I'll show you.”

She remembered the last time he showed her something, in the carriage so long ago, and she wondered if there could be anything more interesting than that.
He kissed her mouth, slow and deep, and she felt tremors vibrate through her, as if he were still inside her. He moved his mouth across her cheek, and when he reached her earlobe he bit, hard, and the tremors grew stronger. He moved his mouth down her neck, biting the base of her throat lightly, and she reached her arms to pull him down on top of her.

“No, my sweet,” he said, placing her hands down on the bed beside her. “This is the one time when you do have to try to lie still. Trust me, you'll enjoy it more that way.”

Enjoy what more? she thought, confused. The act of sex? How could that possibly be more enjoyable?

And then his hands touched her breasts, and she tried to sit up, but he was very strong. “Lie back, poppet. We hadn't gotten to your breasts yet, and they are absolutely delicious. Did I tell you I love your nipples? So dark, like black cherries.” His hands cupped them, and one thumb flicked across the center. She jumped, keeping her eyes closed, as the sensation speared down between her legs.

“How do you know what color my nipples are?” she said in a raw voice. “It's dark in here.”

“You know I'm a very bad man, poppet. I may have peeked when you were asleep. Believe me, I've suffered for my sins. I haven't been able to stop thinking of them in days.” His thumb flicked the other nipple at the same time, and she let out a small squeak of shy pleasure. “Oh, you like that, do you?” he murmured. “I thought you might. This will probably be even better.” He leaned over her, and she felt his
long hair on her breasts, and then his mouth went where his thumb had been, latching on to her breast and sucking it deep into his mouth.

She jerked, stunned at the pleasure rippling through her. He had told her to keep her hands at her sides, and all she could do was clutch the sheets to keep from moving as the first swirls of something dark and dreamy began to stir through her body.

The more he sucked at her breast, the more she wanted, and when he moved to the other one she cried out, until he covered the abandoned breast with his hand once more, using his thumb and fingers to make her half-mad, and she could feel the sheet in her hands as she clutched it.

He lifted his head, and then blew softly on her wet nipple. “I want to put my mouth everywhere on your body, poppet. I want to taste you all over. And then I want my cock to follow. I want to do things to you no one has ever dreamed of doing. I want to have you so completely that no one else has ever existed, only you and me.”

She made a soft, whimpering sound. He slid his hand over her stomach, and then down between her legs, in that wet, messy part of her, and she tried to close her legs, to keep him away, but he just laughed. “This is us, precious. Nothing to be shy about.” And he slid his finger inside her.

She arched off the bed with a muffled shriek. His thumb touched her, higher up, and she began to writhe, feeling the darkness pulling closer, dark and sweet and rich, and he pressed harder, so cleverly,
and she hid her face against his shoulder and let go, as wave after wave convulsed her body, sharper and harder than last time.

He moved, and he was between her legs, and just as the last tremor died down he slid inside her. She was so slick from their earlier time that nothing stopped him, and he went in deep, so deep, and the tremors started all over again, and she could feel her body squeezing him tightly as he held still inside her.

They slowed, those wicked tremors, and just as they died he began to move, thrusting inside her, taking his time now, moving slowly, deliberately, pacing her, pacing him. He seemed to know just when she was about to explode again, and he would back away, slow the pace, then build it up again, so that she was no longer able to control herself. She let go of the sheets and clawed at him, begging him, and finally he lost his restraint, thrusting into her, over and over, and the final release caught her just as his did, and she opened as he filled her, her hands digging into his hips, trying to take even more of him. Greedy, selfish, wanting more.

This time he was the one who fell asleep, still inside her. She lay still, feeling some of the wetness leak out, and she wanted to reach down, push it all back into her. She didn't want to lose anything of him. But she stayed still, and while he slept he grew hard inside her again, bigger than he'd been before, and he was already moving when he awoke, stroking into her as he held her, his hands covering her breasts, his thumbs rubbing the tips, and as this final climax
swept over her she gave in, to the darkness, to the rich, dark dream, and she was lost.

 

He was lost. He felt it ripping through him, and he pulled out of her arms, shaken. She slept on. He'd worn her out, and they'd had nothing but the most pathetic of traditional sex. Her on her back, him on top. And he felt as drained as if he'd just survived a week-long orgy.

Worse. He'd never felt like this. He was empty, shaken, and he took his clothes and threw them out into the hallway so as not to wake her, closing the door behind him. He didn't want to, couldn't look at her anymore. If he looked at her he'd touch her, if he touched her, more of him would disappear, until there was nothing left at all.

He was a bad man. A heartless bastard, a rakehell, a libertine, and he made no apologies. He had never been faithful in his life and he didn't intend to change. He could feel himself strangling on the sticky-sweet strands of emotion she was awash with. She probably fancied herself in love with him. The sooner he put a stop to that the better.

He yanked on his breeches and shirt. What would she expect of him? Nothing, if she had any sense, and Elinor Harriman had always had more than her share of common sense. He had no reason to feel guilty. He hadn't taken her maidenhead. That was long gone to the man he'd ruthlessly skewered. If by any chance he felt a twinge he could ignore it. By killing Sir Christopher Spatts he'd more than earned the privilege of
sharing her bed for one night. She didn't happen to know that, and he'd prefer she never find out. She might read too much into a gesture that was merely…