Ruthless (7 page)

“After a while you can be more forceful,” he whispered against the side of her neck. “What first you wooed must now be mastered, or it might escape completely, leaving you restless and distraught.” He pushed harder, much harder, and she made a small, whimpering noise, not of pain. “Just as you feel it will
never happen, the first blush of pleasure sweeps over you…”

She had stopped thinking, as a small, exquisite jolt stirred her body.

“And then you push it farther…” His mouth was hot against her skin. “And deeper…” She could feel something dark and terrible approaching, and she tried to pull back in sudden fear. “And you don't let anything stop you.”

With his other hand he pressed her face against his greatcoat, and he moved her hand with sudden force and speed, and the dark place opened and pulled her in, and he muffled her cry against his shoulder as wave after wave of exquisite pleasure washed over her.

Finally he drew her shaking hand back from between her legs. He brought it to his mouth and kissed it, then put it on her lap. He still held her face against his shoulder, his arm around her, and as the wicked jerks of pleasure faded, shame flooded in around it.

When she yanked herself away he let her go, and she stumbled as she landed on the opposite seat, her face red, her breath coming far too quickly. “You animal!” she said in low fury. “How dare you!”

“How dare I what, my precious?” he said in an entirely equable tone of voice. “I did nothing. It was your hand.”

She wanted to scream at him. To cry bitter tears and rage at him. But the time for that was many years past. She cleared her throat. “Clearly you have some great need to debauch everyone who comes within your circle, my lord. You may consider yourself the victor.”

“I didn't take your virginity, little one,” he murmured. “And self-pleasure is hardly debauchery. It's in the Bible.”

She couldn't bring herself to look at him. The flame of color still rode high in her cheeks, and she couldn't think how he'd managed to do that, to take her distrustful self and make her…

It was appalling, and she didn't want to think about it. He was a degenerate, a notorious one, and the sooner she escaped from his presence the better she would be.

“That's all I'm going to get, isn't it,
ma petite?
” he said lazily. “I expect you want more, but you'd never admit to it. I shall now endeavor to catch some much-needed sleep and spare your maidenly blushes, unless you'd consider having a second lesson. No? I thought not. I have two more days of carousing left and at my advanced age I need my strength.” He smiled at her with angelic innocence. “Cat got your tongue, my pet?”

With supreme effort she pulled herself together, looking at him with acute dislike. “If you sleep you'll stop talking, which would be a blessing,” she said. “And at your advanced age I can see that you would most definitely benefit from it.”

There was a sudden, charged silence in the carriage. “My dear Miss Harriman, if you continue to amuse me it will be extremely difficult for me to keep my hands off you. There are very few people who don't bore me, and I tend to be possessive about those I find entertaining.”

“I shall proceed to snore,” she said, snapping her eye closed.

She heard him laugh. It was a wicked sound, soft and low and for many women, irresistible. But she wasn't many women. Her body still trembled from the aftermath of what he…what they had done. She folded her bare hands beneath the fur pelisse and stared out the window, ignoring him.

 

It was the noise that awoke her. The carriage clattered over the rough cobbles of the city streets, and her eyes flew open to meet his.

“Once again, Miss Harriman, you have slept with me,” he said. “Once might be forgiven by a disapproving society. Twice puts you quite beyond the pale. I think you should give up any pretensions to modesty and return to my château with me. Or my town house is quite large—you could wander around there for days and never see anyone. We could spend hours in bed…”

“Don't be tiresome, Monsieur le Comte,” she said sharply, the last traces of sleep ripped away. How could she have fallen asleep in his presence? Particularly after what he'd done to her? How could she have been so foolish? She straightened her shoulders. “In fact, we're not far from my house, and I believe this carriage is too wide for the narrow streets. Why don't you let me down here and I'll walk the rest of the way. I'm certain Mrs. Clarke will forgive you.”

“Dear child,” he said. “I have no intention of abandoning you in your hour of need. Besides, I have to find out what exactly you're so desperate to keep hidden. A strapping live-in lover? Perhaps you live in
a brothel and your sainted mother is one of your most lucrative whores? No, that does seem unlikely. But there's most assuredly something at your home that you don't want me to see and I'm surmising it's your exquisitely beautiful and most definitely not dead younger sister. You must know my curiosity, like all my appetites, is insatiable.”

“I don't…” She slapped a hand over her mouth, bending over. “Stop the carriage!” she said in a strangled voice.

Her companion didn't move. “Are you unwell? You turned quite a shade just then.”

“I'm going to be sick. If you don't stop and let me out I'm going to cast up my accounts all over your expensive carriage!” she said in a harsh, muffled voice.

“That would be a great deal too bad, but carriages can be cleaned. I have servants for that.”

She looked up at him, her hand still clamped over her mouth. “Do you want to ride back to your château in a closed carriage filled with the results?”

“An excellent point.” He rapped on the carriage wall behind him, and the conveyance came to an abrupt stop, hurtling her forward.

She caught herself in time, just before she ended in his arms. He'd unfastened the pelisse at her neck at some point during the wicked play he'd forced on her, and she thrust it off her shoulders, scrambling for the door just as the footman let down the steps.

With one hand clamped to her mouth and another against her stomach, she let the footman help her out of the carriage as she groaned piteously. A light snow
was falling, making the wretched area look almost pretty. She felt the ground beneath her feet, and for a moment she began to sink to her knees in order to relieve herself of her last meal. She leaned toward the footman, making a gagging noise, and he drew back instinctively, releasing her.

It was all she needed. In a moment she was gone, disappearing into the throngs that crowded the main thoroughfare of that miserable part of the city.

She could bless the new boots, and thank Mrs. Clarke most heartily for them, she thought as she raced through the streets, turning corners, making her way deeper and deeper into the seedy underbelly of Rue du Pélican. He would be no match for her, she could outrun anybody when she so desired, thanks to her long legs and determination, and besides, she knew this area well. The footman would be at a loss.

No, Monsieur le Comte would have no choice but to return to his den of iniquity, and Lydia would be safe.

Elinor slowed down to a brisk trot, pulling her shawl more tightly about her. He would have had to get out and walk—that, or have his coachman find a sedan chair in order to reach the back alley that held their wretched little house, and even then he'd have a hard time finding it. Granted, one of his coachmen knew of the place, since Jacobs had been forced to direct him there in order to return her mother, but by the time Francis Rohan got home he would have lost interest in a plain woman with a secret.

The alleyway that held her small house looked
even more dismal than usual, and as she scrambled up the two steps to the entry she felt the cold begin to reach into her bones. That pelisse had been lovely, and would have looked beautiful on Lydia. But safety was a far greater treasure.

She pushed open the door and froze, momentarily afraid that somehow Lord Rohan had managed to defy the laws of nature and arrive there before her. A tall man was standing over her sister, and even in the shadowy light she could see her sister's vivid smile, and she let out a groan, a real one this time.

The man turned, and it wasn't Rohan. Of course it wasn't; it was the scarred man from the night before, the one who had had a half-clad demimondaine on his arm. A man who was talking to her sister, looking at her. A man who was no better than Rohan himself.

Lydia jumped up, her smile wider than ever. “Nell, I was so worried about you!” she cried. “Mr. Reading told me there was nothing to be concerned about, but you were gone all night, and ever since that time you went away to Italy I've been…”

“I'm fine, darling!” Elinor said swiftly, forestalling Lydia's artless comments. Even if Lydia hadn't been able to put two and two together, a more jaded member of society would have no trouble jumping to conclusions, and she couldn't afford to let that happen.

“This is Mr. Reading, Nell. He was kind enough to escort Mummy home.”

Only Lydia called Lady Caroline by the cozy “mummy.” If their mother had had any favorite besides her own dedicated self-interest, it would be her
lovely younger daughter. Elinor herself looked too much like her father's branch of the family, and she had what Lady Caroline considered to be the disconcerting habit of giving her opinion when asked. She hadn't bothered sugarcoating it for her mother in years, and Lady Caroline hadn't thanked her.

“Very kind,” Elinor murmured. “But we can handle things from this point.” She couldn't quite hold the door for him, but she still made her point that he needed to leave, and now.

His smile tugged at the ugly scar on his otherwise handsome face. “Rohan would expect nothing less from me. Your mother appears to have quieted, but I'm not sure I should take the footmen with me, even though I'm being summarily dismissed.”

It was a challenge, one Elinor met smoothly. “It's starting to snow, and it's a long way back to the château. I wouldn't want to be responsible for you getting caught in a snowdrift.”

“Only if you pushed me in, Miss Harriman, which you look tempted to do.” He caught Lydia's small hand in his and gave her an extravagant kiss. There was no missing the look in her sister's eyes, though Elinor hoped and prayed Reading wasn't alert enough to read it.

“Let me just check on our mother,” Elinor said. “I would expect from the blissful silence emanating from the bedroom that she's well settled and we have no more need of your so-generous assistance.”

She turned, trying not to shiver in the cool morning air. There wasn't much of a fire in the grate, and she
had no idea where they'd get more wood. But first things first, and getting rid of the man standing far too close to her baby sister was utmost. She had no choice but to leave them together long enough for her to see to Lady Caroline, but then she could shoo him out quite handily.

Two of Rohan's liveried footmen stood in the hallway, almost on guard, and at Elinor's approach they moved out of the way, bowing. She pushed open the door to see Nanny sitting beside her mother.

Lady Caroline lay still in the narrow bed, with only the fitful light of the winter morning to pierce the darkness. “She hasn't moved since they brought her back, poor thing,” Nanny said. “I washed her and tried to make her more comfortable and told the gentleman that he can safely leave. Your poor mother probably won't be up for days.” She looked back at her charge. “If ever.”

Elinor looked down at her mother. Her skin was bluish, with deep circles around her eyes, but for the moment she was at peace. “Has she taken any food?”

Nanny Maude knew better than she did just how little food there was in their larder. “Some weak tea. And a bit of gruel. She spat out more than she took in.”

And they couldn't afford to waste what little they had. “I'll send Lydia in while I get rid of our visitors,” Elinor said.

“What are you going to do, Miss Nell?” Nanny said plaintively. “I've sent Jacobs out to see what he can find, but there's nothing left for me to make a dinner
out of. No wood for the fire unless we take this bed apart.”

Elinor wanted to put her hands to her face and scream, but her calm expression showed none of it. It was up to her to see to things, and even if she hadn't the vaguest idea what she was going to do, she didn't need to share that.

She couldn't even sell her body on the streets for money. Paris was filled with beautiful whores—she'd barely make enough to keep them fed. If that.

Jacobs could sell the boots and the silk stockings. She'd been a proud fool to have left the fur pelisse behind—that could have supported them for weeks if they were careful.

She was going to have to go back and meet with that wretched lawyer, petition her unknown cousin, her stupid pride in the dust. She could hear the noise from beyond the closed door and she breathed a sigh of relief. The intruders were leaving. Men were such noisy creatures there was no mistaking their footsteps or the sound of their flimsy front door closing. “I'll go find Jacobs,” she said calmly. “We're not out of options yet.”

Elinor pushed open the door. “Lydia, my dear, could you…” Her voice trailed off as her worst fears came to fruition. The scarred gentleman stood off to one side, an unreadable expression on his face. And Francis Rohan, the Prince of Darkness, the King of Hell, stood over her sister, holding Lydia's small, delicate hand in his.

S
he wasn't pleased to see him, that much was evident, and Francis Rohan bestowed his most charming smile on her. “You forgot to wait for me, Miss Harriman. I had quite a time catching up with you.”

He didn't miss the momentary panic in her fine eyes, quickly replaced by that same maddening calm she wrapped about her more fiercely than the ragged cloak she'd worn. “There was no need for you to come all this way, Monsieur le Comte. I know these streets very well, and no one would dare accost me.”

“Now, that doesn't surprise me in the least. You'd terrify the king himself. But you left your cloak behind, and despite my many failings I have exquisite manners. Haven't I, Reading?”

His friend bowed slightly in agreement. “Exquisite.”

“And I've just met your lovely sister…”

She moved with astonishing speed, somehow managing to come between him and the pretty little chit whose hand he'd been holding, and everything suddenly made sense, which pleased him. He preferred his
life with a certain order, and anomalies, while entertaining, needed to be explained, before one could move on.

Though the anomaly that was Elinor Harriman was going to take a bit longer figure out.

“Thank you so much for coming,” she said, her voice brooking no opposition. “You've been extremely kind, but we wouldn't think of keeping you from your guests.”

She was tall enough, and solid, but he could simply pick her up and move her out of the way if he had any interest in the pretty little sister.

He had not. He'd had enough pretty girls and beautiful women to last him a lifetime. This other one, however, was proving interesting. He was still aroused from their time in the carriage—if he hadn't pretended to fall asleep he would have had her skirts up over her head in a minute.

She was standing too close to him for her own comfort, but she was determined to shield her sister from his lascivious eyes. And Reading had looked a bit…abstracted when he'd first walked in, though his young friend would never make the mistake of wasting his time on an impoverished virgin. He had a fortune to make, and he'd always been dependable.

“Yes, Miss Harriman?” he said, not moving. Wondering how far she'd go to get rid of him, if she'd put those pale hands on him. Wondering how he would react if she did.

“We thank you for your help, my lord,” she said in her most polite voice. “I believe we can dispense with it at this point.”

A faint smile touched his mouth. “You're an impressive guardian, and my curiosity is satisfied now that I know what treasure you're so determined to protect. You may rest assured that I'm far too jaded to be attracted to mere beauty. Your sister is safe from me.”

“Nell,” the young girl said in an irritated voice. “Would you stop being so ridiculous?”

“Nell?” he echoed, ignoring everything else about the conversation except what interested him. “That's quite charming. I…”

“Good day, my lord Rohan,” Miss Elinor Harriman said firmly.

“Come on, Francis,” Reading said. “We have the revels to return to. We wouldn't want them to have too much fun without us.”

“Ah, yes,” he said, finally moving away from her. While he would have been very interested to see if she really would go so far as to push him, the thought of her hands on him was far too…enticing, and the circumstances were far from ideal. There were too many witnesses.

Lydia managed to move from behind her sister's imposing presence. “Thank you again for all your help, Mr. Reading. And my lord Rohan.” She curtsied prettily enough, and her older sister frowned.

It was never his nature to let an opportunity slide by. “It was my pleasure, Miss Lydia,” he said in his most flattering tones, relieved that he remembered her name. “The sight of your beauty is reward enough.”

Her older sister reacted exactly as he wanted her to, stiffening. If he were younger and more foolish, her dragonlike protection would have ensured his eventual debauchery of the pretty little thing, but at this point it just seemed too tiresome. Besides, he had the impression that Reading wouldn't like it.

“Miss Harriman, your servant,” he said, giving her a bow of such extravagant proportions that she'd know she was being mocked.

But she'd already turned back to her sister, and his gesture was wasted.

He waited until they were back out in the narrow alley that held the tumbledown house. His carriage was only a few steps away—she'd lied about the difficulty in getting there. His blue silk shoes were quite ruined by the snow and the filth in the street. “Quite the interesting family, are they not?”

Reading frowned. “I think you should keep your hands off her, Francis. There are more than enough women at the château to occupy your time.”

“But I'm not going back to the château. My honored guests will doubtless notice I'm gone, but it won't make much impression on them. This was only a casual weekend—we still have the Spring Revels to plan. Besides, I find her oddly enchanting.”

Reading was obviously not happy with him, a curious event in itself. “She has a hard enough lot. The place was freezing, and if they had firewood hidden somewhere I'd be very much surprised. And while she's pleasantly shaped I suspect she doesn't get much to eat. I think the best thing you could do is arrange a marriage for her.”

Francis turned to look at his old friend. “Charles, there are times when you astonish me with your perspicacity. That is exactly what I should do. The only problem is finding a willing partner.”

“Don't be ridiculous. She's exquisite. Any man would be honored to have her.”

They'd reached the carriage, and Francis paused as he was about to ascend the steps. “Dear boy, I believe we're talking at cross-purposes. Is it Miss Lydia you're protecting so fiercely?”

“Of course. Are you going to tell me you don't have designs on her? She's an absolute diamond and you know it.” He was sounding particularly glum.

“I fancy the diamond's sister,” Francis said, half amazed at the truth of his words. “Though you're absolutely right, she'll be much easier to handle if she's married. I think my cousin should do nicely.”

He climbed into the carriage, and Reading followed him. “You mean the doctor?”

“Who better?” He settled himself on the leather seat, draping his long coats around him with great care. “He needs a wife to help him with his practice, and she needs a doctor to attend to her mother. I'll send him over this afternoon.”

“Is this the sour young man I met? As I recall he's not too happy you have the title. Is he likely to want to do you any favors?”

“It's true,” Francis said, picking a speck of dirt from his sleeve. This area of the city was truly atrocious, but as yet there was nothing he could do about it. “He thinks the French title should belong to him.
Unfortunately he was born on the wrong side of the blanket, and the old title had to devolve onto an émigré Englishman. I've been more than generous with the boy, and he's wise enough to know that following my wishes is the best way to get his hands on at least some of the family estate, if I don't work through it first.”

“You have more money than God, Francis. It would take a superhuman effort to lose all your money, and even you couldn't accomplish it.”

Francis gave Reading his seraphic smile. “Don't doubt me, dear boy. I can do anything I want if I set my mind to it.”

Reading's reluctant laugh was encouraging. “That I don't doubt. I stand corrected. What say we return to the party after all? The Spring Revels won't be for another few weeks, and I see a long dull period stretching in front of us.”

“I have every intention of entertaining myself, Reading. You should know me well enough to realize that celibacy is no more for the likes of me than monogamy. And I've decided to celebrate Lent this year on a grand scale.”

“Oh, bloody Christ,” Reading said.

“Precisely. And I'm going to have Miss Harriman to entertain me.”

“You don't think your cousin Etienne will have something to say about that? Presuming you manage to marry her off?”

“No. He'd give me his own sister if I asked for her. In fact, I'd offer his sister to you, but she's alarmingly
fat and fecund. And you don't want any offspring until you've bagged your heiress.”

Reading's sardonic smile tugged at his scarred face. “Indeed. But what makes you think that the dragon will lift her skirts for you once she's married? She's the frighteningly respectable sort. Why would you suppose she'd succumb to your evil machinations?”

“They always do, dear boy. And Miss Harriman…” He paused. “Good heavens.”

A moment later there was a loud crack from outside the carriage. “That's something I don't hear from you very often,” Reading said. “Good heavens, what? You have the strangest look on your face.”

Francis glanced down at the fine blue satin of his coat. “First my shoes are ruined and now this,” he said in a faint voice. “I'm afraid we're going to have to see my cousin sooner rather than later.”

“Because?”

“Because I do believe I've been shot,” Francis said. “Tell the coachman to hurry, would you?” And he closed his eyes to the sounds of Reading pounding on the carriage wall and the whole conveyance came to an abrupt halt.

 

Lydia loved her older sister more than any human being in this world, but at that moment she was more than a little cross with her. “Was that entirely necessary?” she said. “You were being ridiculous.”

Elinor lifted her head, and for the first time Lydia noticed how pale she was. “You don't realize how
very bad Viscount Rohan is,” she said in a subdued voice.

“I assure you, Nell, he has absolutely no interest in me,” she said. “Don't you think I'd be able to tell by now? Any attention he paid to me was simply to annoy you.”

Elinor flushed. Which was odd—she was unused to her calm older sister looking disturbed. “You mistake the matter,” she said. “He's the very fiend of duplicity. To lower one's guard around him would be courting disaster.”

More and more interesting. “Did you lower your guard around him, dearest?” Lydia said. “Because he was certainly watching you quite closely. Did he…do anything to you? Offer you an insult?”

“Of course not,” Elinor said with a shaky laugh. “Do I look like the kind of woman to interest a libertine like Lord Rohan? He merely has a peculiar sense of humor, one he uses to torment others. You may be right—he certainly has his choice of some of the greatest beauties of Paris. I still insist you be careful if you happen to encounter him again. I would presume that we shan't be bothered by him any more in future, but it would be a mistake to assume that fate would be kind.”

“I think we'll see him again,” Lydia said, not bothering to cover her small smile.

Elinor caught it. “If you find something amusing about this situation I would be most grateful if you would share it with me. Because the humor of it escapes my attention entirely.”

“He likes you, Nell. And why shouldn't he? Any man with sense would see what a wonderful woman you are. He won't be able to keep away from you…”

“Stop it!” Elinor said in a sharper tone than Lydia had ever heard from her. She took a deep breath. “For one thing, you're very wrong. Yesterday I was a curiosity, nothing more. A…a virtuous woman in a land of whores. He's a shallow man, easily bored.”

“He doesn't strike me as shallow, Nell.”

Elinor ignored her. “Secondly, even if he did harbor some demented attraction for me, his intentions would be worse than dishonorable. You know the gossip we've heard about the Heavenly Host. It's true.”

“They drink the blood of virgins?” Lydia shrieked, horrified.

“Of course not,” Elinor said in a cranky voice. “The other rumors. They gather together for the most licentious of activities, wearing strange garments and behaving like…like animals. You wouldn't want me to be part of such a world, would you? Even if he wanted me?”

Lydia looked at her sister's brown eyes, more troubled than she'd seen them in many years. “I'm sorry, love. I've been thoughtless. I hate to see you judge yourself so unfairly, but you're right. That kind of interest would be disastrous.”

“That goes for Mr. Reading as well, Lyddie.”

Lydia knew how to bat her eyes and fool landlords and creditors. She could fool her sister as well, particularly since Elinor was so distraught. Besides, he'd
been nothing but polite, that twisted, beautiful face of his mostly devoid of expression.

Just as Lydia knew how to fool people, she could also read them better than most. Charles Reading was different. Beneath his determinedly distant behavior, she knew he was feeling the same odd, irrational pull that was knotting her stomach and making her knees shake. She who had flirted with any number of handsome young men and remained untouched. All it had taken was a scarred, unhappy man and she was dreaming…

No, she was losing her mind. The house was cold, the last bit of the fire almost out. Elinor didn't know, but Lydia planned to meet with Monsieur Garot the greengrocer this evening when he closed up shop. And she was going to do whatever she had to do to shoulder some of the burden that Elinor took on herself.

She was calm, determined, undespairing. She knew as well as Nell that Charles Reading wasn't for her.

It didn't mean that she couldn't dream.

“Of course, Nell,” she said absently. “He's of no interest to me. I'm waiting for a wealthy prince, remember?”

And Elinor smiled back at her, too abstracted to realize that for the first time her sister was lying to her.

 

He really wasn't in the mood to deal with all this, Rohan thought several hours later from his exceedingly uncomfortable position on the narrow cot in Etienne's well-equipped surgery. That had been money well spent, he mused dreamily. In fact, it had been simply
to occupy a hotheaded Frenchman from being an annoyance. He never thought it might save his life one day.