Trust Me (20 page)

Jon sat in the
wingchair. The scent of Scotch hung heavily in the air, perhaps reeking from
his pores. He looked up, appearing a little unsteady. “Good morning, my love.”

His words were
slightly slurred. He was in the process of pouring another drink. Then he sat
staring at her, occasionally taking small sips of the amber liquor.

The sudden attunement
of her body, the rush of blood into her sore, aching pelvis and cunt, the
swelling warmth in the centre of her chest—all these things made her aware of
his power over her. The realization rendered her spellbound.

She wanted to go to
him, kneel before him and offer herself. To offer herself for his pleasure, no
matter what that pleasure might be.

But there was a
forbidding energy that radiated from him this morning. It stopped her from following
her instincts.

He put one hand out.
“Come, Nan.”

Chapter Ten

Anne could not have
held back had she wanted to. She went to him, fell to her knees and pressed her
face into his open palm and savoured the feel of his slightly roughened skin.

“Good girl.” His
slurred voice was rich with approval. “My beautiful good girl.”

Relief washed over
her, so strong that tears moistened her cheeks. She placed feverish kisses on
his hand. She tasted her own tears on his flesh.

He opened his legs and
leant back in his chair. She caught her breath. Yes, yes, yes. If only she
could have the chance to please him. To serve him. He untied his dressing gown,
exposing his erection. Though he was drunk, his cock was surprisingly hard,
long and thick and throbbing as she wrapped her hand around it. The head seemed
to swell larger.

The need to serve him
in this way grew so strong, she trembled with it.

He gently gathered
the tangled mass of her hair at the back of her neck and lifted it, wrapping it
around his fist. “Just your mouth, love.”

She leant forward and
slowly, patiently took his cock into her mouth then swallowed him deep.

He groaned and
tightened his hold on her hair.

She moved with
languor and great care, savouring his taste, his feel, as though she must
commit every detail to everlasting memory. The unhurried nature of her worship
and his state of drunkenness dragged the whole matter out for some time. Her
jaws began to ache and her back and neck went stiff. She ignored the discomfort
and reached deep inside herself and found more and more of herself to give. She
would show him, by her submission, by her actions, by giving him pleasure, the
full depth of her love for him.

She gave and gave and
gave.

“Oh God, my love…
God.” His thighs went rigid against her and finally the hot surge of his seed
rushed down her throat. His erection quickly softened and he pulled himself
from her mouth.

She wiped her lips on
the sleeve of her robe.

“Off your knees.” His
voice was harsh with breathlessness.

Slowly, stiffly, she
settled herself until her bottom was seated on the floor, then she pressed her
face to his leg. He caressed her hair. Love consumed her and she clung to him
and closed her eyes.

Was he really happy
with her in this way? Was he really happy with her skill, or did he—even
unwillingly, despite himself—compare her to other women? Women who were more
skilled. Women who never complained about his attentions to others.

Women who gave him a
more complete, more satisfying submission.

Women who didn’t
quail and cry.

No. She closed her
eyes tighter and inwardly she shook her head. She wanted to forget about that
and to focus on the present moment.

She opened her eyes
and dared a glance up at him

He had froze with his
glass at his lips. He lowered it.

Her heart began to
beat faster. She held her breath and couldn’t help leaning in his direction.

A peculiar glint
lighted his eyes. She’d never seen it before. But it made his gaze so
startlingly pale-blue. It transfixed her.

“How do you do it, my
love?”

“What?” she replied,
still somewhat dazed.

“You become afraid
and extend your little claws and draw my blood. Then you turn that gaze on me,
so innocent. And I feel I am the one who wronged you.” His lips twisted into a
self-mocking expression and then he took another, deeper drink.

“Draw your blood?”
she repeated.

“I love you with
every part of my heart and soul, and yet you will not trust me.”

His words hit her
like a blow to the chest and her heart began to pound in earnest. He was so
strong, so fierce at times. Yet he could be hurt. She had the power to hurt
him. The revelation hit her like a blow.

Shaken, and with the
spell of deepest submission broken, she pulled away from him. “May I arise?”

“If it pleases you.”
He sounded cooler now.

She jumped to her
feet, stalked over to the chaise and collapsed onto it. They fell silent. She
listened to the rattle of carriage wheels outside. Beyond the walls of these
chambers, the world was already awake, thrumming with the day’s activity. It
seemed so mundane. She couldn’t be mundane or calm. Suddenly, her body screamed
inside with the need that he’d denied satisfaction last night. And the weight
of his declaration lay between them.

She couldn’t help
asking. “You can say ‘I am hurt’ so easily. How do you do that?”

“You think it doesn’t
cost me to admit that you’ve hurt me?” He gave her a slight, halfway cynical
smile. His azure eyes revealed too much. It pained her heart to see. She knew
he only showed her these things because he was drunk. She felt like she was committing
the worst sort of invasion.

She looked away and
began to trace the seam of the cushion. His footfalls told her he was moving.
Coming for her.

The chaise bounced
with the weight of his powerful body. She flinched and hunched her shoulders,
trying to make herself small. He reached to lace his long fingers into the
tangled mass of curls at the back of her neck and gently pulled her towards
him.

Dull discomfort
spread over her scalp. Gooseflesh rose all over her nape and a shiver ran down
her back. Her nipples tightened into points.

 
He dragged her back to face him. “Look at
me.” His eyes pierced into her. “I don’t like revealing myself either.” His
tone was measured, yet it was tinged with something steely. “But I do so
because I value the bond between us. When you are shrewish, you damage our
bond.”

“Shrewish?” She gaped
at him.

“When you hold back
your own feelings from me, you damage our bond. When you are any other way than
submissive and completely open to me, you damage our bond.”

God, he demanded so
much from her. And he made her want to give it, too. But she couldn’t possibly
satisfy him. “You don’t understand what it is like for me.”

He released his hold
upon her and began to stroke her hair, all the while staring back at her with
that too-open, too-revealing look.

She fancied she could
see all the way down into his soul. She suspected he’d never looked at anyone
with such intimacy. Such self-revelation.

Her heart lodged in
her gullet.

She wished he’d look
at her like that forever.

God, in another way,
she wished he’d simply punish her again. Because she felt like she was
drowning. Or floating on a cloud, being whisked away from earth by a powerful,
unrelenting wind.

She wished he would
initiate carnal relations. In those earthy, heated moments, she could connect
to both him and her feelings without all this talking about and scrutinizing of
everything.

She wished he’d do
anything else but look at her like that.

Or never stop.

Oh, she hated when
she didn’t know what she wanted. When she didn’t comprehend herself.

Again, she suspected
that
he
comprehended her. Deeply.

And part of her
longed for him to rip back her self-defences and reveal her secret emotional
sides to her. Yet part of her was terrified of what lay beneath, hidden from
her understanding. The darkness of the casket flashed into her mind. The
horse’s hoof breaking in, the light spilling in, hurting her eyes…

“You’re always so
focused on yourself, Anne. You think I don’t understand? I understand
perfectly. How could I not?”

“But it is different
for you.”

“I am just as
uncomfortable with the changes occurring between us as a result of our falling
in love and becoming man and wife. Earl and countess.”

“No, it is different
for you. I was isolated, I didn’t learn how to interact with people of my own
class. The servants held themselves so proper, so distant from me.”

He cupped one hand to
her cheek. “My love, I do understand. It was not so different for me. After my
mother left for Jamaica, there was no one in my life who loved me in my growing
years.”

She had not thought
of his childhood like that. “What manner of woman was your mother?”

His gaze became
veiled. “She was kind, loving. But weak, very weak.”

“But she taught you
how to interact, how to be truly loving?”

“I suppose, in her way,
she did. But she also abandoned me to my grandfather’s will.”

“Your grandfather’s
will. Everyone makes him sound like a tyrant.”

“He was.” Jon’s tone
was deadly cold. “He was born heir to Ruel and all its wealth and power. He
never had to earn any of it. No one was allowed to question his use of it. Why
should he have restrained any desire to use and abuse those around him?”

“Your life must have
been so bleak after your mother left you there.”

“Not completely
bleak.”

“No?”

“I had my dogs.” He
smiled slightly.

That she could
understand. She too had had her loyal, loving little pugs. The memory of their
fat little bellies and wet noses made her smile too. Then sadness chilled her.
“But dogs are not like people.”

“I had no place at
Blackmore Castle, nor here at Lloyd House. I knew the true meaning of being a
spare. I had my own chamber.” He chuckled softly. “They didn’t make me sleep
with the servants. But I had no place.”

“Yes, I understand
what you mean.”

“Can you truly? I
wonder.”

“Of course I can. I
was isolated, neglected.”

“Ah, yes, you were.
But it was a gilded isolation, was it not?”

“Yes, I suppose.”

“You always knew you
were the duke’s daughter, the sole heir to your parents’ fortune. You knew
there would be a splendid match for you, that you would have a title and
position.” He drained his glass and set it on the side table. Then he stood and
went to pull the bell cord. “I shall call for a bath to be brought for you and
some breakfast for us both. And then you should sleep some more. We will have a
late evening again.”

A while later, she
sat in her brass tub in her dressing room, resting her chin on the edge. The
warm water made her unbearably sleepy. “I don’t think I shall eat a bite.”

“You shall eat
something.” He stroked the soapy washcloth over her back and she closed her
eyes. “And then you’re going to sleep.”

Trying to stay at
least halfway awake, she thought about what they had discussed. Maybe it had
been worse for him, in a way. To be among yet not accepted by his own class.
The thought of him as a boy, rejected by his family, put a heavy weight into
her chest.

“Jon?”

“Hmm?”

“So you had no one at
Blackmore Castle growing up?”

He seemed to consider
the question.

“The game warden used
to allow me to visit him as he sat by his fireside. He taught me to hunt and
how to prepare a kill. He taught me many things. Far more than anyone of our
own class ever did. He’d been in the Dragoons. I admired him fiercely.” He
stopped washing her. “Come now, rise up.”

She sat up and
watched him sitting there on Nellie’s stool in his shirtsleeves as he applied
oil to his hands. “He sounds as though he is a very kind man.”

“He died a few
winters back. Stand up for me.”

She stood and he
smoothed oil on her backside. “He was certainly a very different manner of man than
my grandfather was.”

“Besides your mother,
who was the kindest towards you of the adults in your family?”

“I suppose, her way,
it was my grandmother.” Anne could hear the grudging note in his voice.

“It couldn’t have been
easy for her to be the wife of such a tyrannical man.”

“I suppose it
wasn’t.”

“Do you think that
was why she seemed to be so uncompromising?”

“Perhaps. Who knows?”

“But she helped you
at times. Such as when she gave you money to gamble with, to win enough to buy
a commission in the Dragoons and thwart your grandfather’s will—yes?”

“Yes, she did that.”
He sounded reluctant to admit it.

“So maybe her fierce
exterior is simply a form of self-protection?”

“Anne, listen, you
had better not develop a soft heart where she is concerned. She nearly
destroyed my gentle-natured mother.” He gave her bottom a smack. “Now you must
eat something, and then into bed you go.”

****

Anne watched Nellie
stir bath oils into the water. She had slept the day away and yet her body felt
heavy, tired. Every muscle seemed to ache. Carnal tension hummed right under
the surface as vivid, sensual images kept intruding on her thoughts. Memories
of the night before.

“Goodness me, my
lady, the footmen had just emptied your bath water from this morning.” Nellie’s
voice was scandalized. “And now they have filled it again. What will they say
downstairs?”