Temptation & Twilight (41 page)

There was no sound when she peaked the third time.

She couldn’t utter any noise, and Iain was silent. Taut as a bow, but silent as the night as he pushed her back down BOUND GALLEY EDITION March 23, 2012

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onto her bed and loomed over her, thrusting hard once more before pouring himself inside her.

With a great gasp he finished, and rolled off to the side, silently gathering her up in his arms and holding her against his chest. The pounding of his heart against her ear was the only sound she could hear.

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HIS CHEST WAS HARD, the skin slick with their sweat. His scent wrapped around her, a musky aroma, the taste of salt and Iain. How beautiful it was to lie upon him, her cheek nestled against the hard muscle, the feel of the Brethren Guardian brand pressing against her lips.

Lazily, he raked his fingers through her hair, lifting and combing, brushing it back over her shoulders. His breathing had at last returned to normal, but immediately began to grow again when she exhaled content-edly and stirred atop him. Beneath her lips, his nipple began to harden.

He said nothing, the silence stretching into something long and slightly uncomfortable. If Elizabeth were…

normal, she would cross her arms over his chest and rest her chin on her hands, staring up at him, studying him in the afterglow of their passion.

But where she was, it was silent and dark, and she had no inkling of what expression he wore, what thoughts were reflected in his eyes. A terrible image came to her, of Iain lying in her bed, looking down upon her with a smug smile of satisfaction that she had surrendered, and he had won.

If only she could see him, reassure herself that it had been the right thing to do to give in to the needs of her body—her heart. That he was looking at her not with pride that he had won the battle, but with tenderness BOUND GALLEY EDITION March 23, 2012

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and warmth, and appreciation for what they had shared in her bed.

But she was lost, she realized—trapped in a dark oblivion from which there was no escape. His silence only made it more unbearable, and she was left to think of all the things that came to her mind—his women, lovers who were skilled and beautiful. Women who could at least see him. Who could look down upon him and know the results of their efforts. She couldn’t even do that, and Iain, it seemed, would not give her the words she so desperately needed to hear.

Self-pity. How she despised it. She hadn’t wallowed in it in years, since she had thrown her last handkerchief aside and wiped the last tear from her cheek. But it was back with a vengeance, with a depth of feeling that rocked her, that made her irrational and terrified.

She was grieving, she realized. Quite horribly, too. The loss of her sight, the loss of Iain, the feelings of despair she had never allowed free, but had bottled up and hid from. Suddenly the grief came crashing down upon her, the memories assaulted her, the words that she had never spoke to him rose up and choked her. She was in another place, the distant past. Elizabeth felt her mind fracture from her body. She was another person, a frightened, confused young woman who used discipline and control to avoid the feelings. The pain.

“Beth?”

“Don’t call me that!” she shrieked hysterically. Good heavens, she needed to get ahold of herself, but something was wrong. She couldn’t…couldn’t seem to find herself in the onslaught of memories, the grief for the past, the trauma of his betrayal—a trauma she had never wanted to experience, so she had buried it and never acknowledged her grief.

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And here it was, pressing down upon her in her black, silent prison, and she couldn’t see what he thought of her—of what they had done. She dare not ask him, for his answer would be witty and sensual, belying any of his feelings, and she could not see the truth in his eyes, to know if he lied to her, mocked her. If he thought her amusing. She would never know if he had been as lost as she in their lovemaking.

Shimmying off him, she flung his hand away from her. Her breasts were swaying, she could feel them, and she had never felt more exposed, more hideous than now, naked, vulnerable because she could not see him—could not hear him, or sense his thoughts and feelings. He was so good at hiding, at masking himself from her, and she could not do the same.

Everything she had wanted to say that day came rushing to the forefront. She’d been too much of a coward to do so. She’d never demanded to know why, even though in her heart she knew the answer.

She didn’t like what she was becoming—that young, hurt girl he had abandoned. But she couldn’t stop it, or the feelings. She must not let him know, let him see the pain he had caused her.

“Get out.”

The sheets rustled as she stumbled from the bed, her palm fruitlessly searching over the rumpled pile of bed linens. She needed to get out of her room, the chamber that smelt of him, reeked of the pleasure they had shared.

She could feel his eyes upon her, dissecting her, unmasking her, and she railed inside, so out of control, so senseless now in her rage, her impotence, her blindness.

And still he lay there watching her struggle. Enjoying watching the angel descend to earth in humiliation and a great tumble of pride. She closed her eyes, relieved at BOUND GALLEY EDITION March 23, 2012

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last to find her robe. She had no clue if it was inside out or not, and she didn’t care. He could laugh at her and she would not care, just as long as he left her to weather this strange mood that was making her feel as though she were drowning in a gale.

“Talk to me, Beth.”

His words spread goose bumps on her flesh, like rip-ples in the water after a stone is skipped across its still surface. That voice…it beckoned and lured, and she dared not trust it, trust herself. Not with the way she was feeling, so out of control, nearly insensible with pain.

His fingers touched her hand, and she gasped in fear.

She had not heard him leave the bed, had no idea he stood so close to her, looking down upon her. He stroked her hair back, his head lowering until she could feel the brush of his breath, and she jumped away, aware that the post of her bed would be right there, and she could grab it, wrap herself around it.

“You’re terrified,” he murmured, and the floorboard creaked beneath his weight, giving away his approach.

“Don’t touch me,” she said, her voice trembling.

“I hurt you, did I?” he asked, and his voice was filled with an emotion she had never once heard from him—

that of regret. She didn’t know whether she should be grateful he felt something or sickened by the pity in his tone.

“Won’t you talk to me? Tell me how to ease your pain.” He had remained silent through the whole thing. Why should she oblige him by talking?

“You have a wild-eyed look, my Beth. What do you see?”

“Don’t look at me,” she cried, now utterly unhinged.

“Don’t look into my eyes when you can see everything BOUND GALLEY EDITION March 23, 2012

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in them, and I am not able to look into yours and see anything!”

The door burst open, and she could hear Maggie’s laboured breathing. “What the devil are you doing here?”

“See him out, Maggie,” Lizzy ordered as she clutched the post of the bed, resting her face against the cool, smooth wood. She had no idea if she had properly covered her naked body or not with her robe, but she felt Maggie’s eyes boring into her as if she were completely nude.

“My lord?” Maggie snarled. “On your way.”

“I’ll go when I’m good and ready,” he retorted. Lizzy sensed him reaching for her, and she moved back, her hand gliding along the footboard, guiding her to the dressing table she knew would be mere feet away.

“I suggest you go now, your lordship, before I have the night watchman and the police alerted,” Maggie declared. “You wouldn’t want them to discover this scene, now would you? A terrified blind girl with the likes of you bearing down upon her?”

Lizzy heard the vicious oath, the way his clothes were snapped up from the floor and his legs jammed into his trousers, his arms thrust through his shirtsleeves. “I shall call on you in the morning to discuss matters.” The door slammed, and Lizzy sank to the floor in defeat, in absolute confusion as to what was happening to her—and despair, she realized, when Iain had so easily capitulated, leaving her alone. She nearly laughed at the dichotomy of her thoughts. She was mad. A raving lunatic.

Maggie padded softly across the floor to where she had wilted like a delicate flower, and suddenly, the fear and inferiority gave way to a fierce sense of rage that would not be contained. Elizabeth had never given in to BOUND GALLEY EDITION March 23, 2012

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that anger, and now, after twelve years of bottling it, it threatened to erupt. To send her into a mental place where her demons held court, waiting to taunt her.

“No!” she yelled, jumping up before her friend could reach her. “No! I will not wallow like this! I will not let you ruin me,” she shouted, “not like before!” Turning, she found her way to the dressing table and with one sweep of her arm knocked the entire contents, brushes, combs and jewelry, onto the floor.

“Damn you, Iain Sinclair,” she yelled, shaking with a ferocious anger. Maggie reached for her, but she thrust herself out of the way, bouncing off the wall as she did so.

“I will not let you do this to me!” she cried.
“I will not!”
IAIN HEARD HIS NAME, followed by a stream of epithets.

Elizabeth was in a rage the likes of which he had never seen, and never fathomed she possessed. The curse on his head was followed by a crash, and the sound of something being thrown against the wall.

Closing his eyes, he pictured the image of Elizabeth cowering at the foot of the bed, clinging to it as if it were the mast on a sinking ship. He had hurt her. He’d tried to be gentle, but in the end, he had hurt her. And it sickened him. He should go, never to grace her door again.

But that thought sickened him even more.

“No, miss! No, you’ll hurt yerself!” There was no thinking now. He turned, jogged back to Elizabeth’s door and quietly opened it. Beth was in a fury, that was patently clear. Her breathing was ragged as she tore the covers from the bed, followed by the bed curtains. Maggie clasped Elizabeth’s hands with her own strong ones, trying to calm her, but there was no pacify-ing her. She was possessed by some unseen demon. A demon he feared was the past.

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“Let me go!” she cried, twisting from her companion’s hold. Maggie saw him then, opened her mouth, but he shook his head, warning her to not give away his presence.

“Goddamn you, Sinclair,” Elizabeth roared again. “I hate you! I hate you for making me feel worthless and disposable, when I am worth a hundred of your doxies!” All this for him—because of him. Shocked, horrified, he slid down the wall, watching her fall apart, and not fully understanding the why of it. With his hand, he motioned for Maggie to leave, but she merely looked from him to Lizzy, worried for the young woman who was wandering about the room talking to herself, rant-ing like a bedlamite.

Maggie must have known that Iain would protect her charge with his life, for they shared a meaningful glance before she quietly left the room.

“Oh, yes,” Elizabeth railed after her companion.

“Leave me, then! I am so easy to forget, am I not?
He
has no problem doing it. He seduced me and walked away!

Tonight he could not even be bothered to speak to me—

not during the act, nor after! I was nothing but a whore to him, merely a vessel for his pleasure, not a person.” Resting his head against the wall, he watched her, humiliated that he was the cause of such deep despair.

“How dare he lay there beneath me,” she said, some of the bluster leaving her. “How dare he move silently inside me, in a dark room where I cannot see, where my only sense is to hear. How dare he deprive me of that, the only thing I have.”

He hadn’t known. Hadn’t thought of it. He’d wanted to be kind and tender, to give her the sort of pleasure with which a gentleman gifts a lady. Had he spoken, he might have said the wrong thing, something crass and BOUND GALLEY EDITION March 23, 2012

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base, something no angel should hear. He hadn’t wanted to ruin the beauty of their lovemaking with words he had used with other women.

“Damn you,” she said again, then collapsed onto the floor and leaned against the wall, with a pile of blankets heaped in her lap. She sat directly across the room from him, her unseeing eyes staring right at him. He was forced to look into those eyes and admit that he had been the cause of this outburst—this destruction wrought from pain.

“I hate you for what you made of me twelve years ago, and I hate you for what you made me feel tonight—

worthless and weak, comparing myself to one of your past liaisons and finding myself inferior. I could not tell what you thought of me—what you saw when you looked at me after—when you would not even speak to me. You did the same that last time, and then you left, telling me for certain your true feelings. Tonight I made you leave, so I would not have to endure it again. But it came anyway, those feelings, all those years of pent-up fear. Well, it was released, Sinclair. How did you like it?” He wanted to speak, but knew that if he gave away his presence here in her chamber, she would be humiliated to know he had witnessed her uncharacteristic loss of composure.