I love to hate you

by Keysian, Elizabeth

  He’d long thought Athene capable of great passion. When young, he’d seen it manifest itself in rage only. Now she was a woman, he let himself hope that passion would take another form entirely.

  And no one but himself must be allowed to reap the benefit.

  “Be in no doubt—it was real. In all honesty, I surprised myself.”

  What a victory! And so un-looked for. As he gazed at her treasured face, he felt all his protections, his bastions of pride, crumble, reducing him to no more than a man, consumed with love and need for the woman before him. In all his adult life he’d never yet found one he could love—until this moment. He was on the verge of telling her, but something held him back, the lingering fear life simply didn’t work that way.

  And what would be the point in loving her if she wasn’t prepared to love him back?

  He took her hand. “We need to talk about this, Athene. We must make our plans.”

  “Not now. It’s all still too new. I find myself overwhelmed. Pray, give me time to think.”

  He wasn’t sure he could give her time. She might end up with Foulsham and Eden making calf’s eyes at her again, along with any number of other men out there in the world. He couldn’t possibly fight off all of them. He needed to stake his claim as soon as possible.

  “How long do you need?” Gad, what was he saying? One couldn’t put a time limit on emotion. He sounded like a lovesick idiot.

  “Maybe we can meet tomorrow evening, after supper. Come to our room. I shall find some excuse to have it to myself.”

  “Hadn’t you better tell your guardian?” If he meant to propose, he’d need Miss Dunstable’s permission to do so.

  “Not yet. You and I have only been reunited for what, three days? No. Come up tomorrow night, so we can explore further the connection that has sprung up between us.”

  Explore? He liked the sound of the word. But he needed to curb his base needs—one didn’t acquire a wife through kissing or expertise in the bedchamber. One acquired a wife on the basis of mutual admiration, friendship, understanding and—if one was very fortunate—love.

  “I’ll be there.” He gazed around, but there was nothing to see but the grapevines, espaliers and pelargoniums. Taking her into his arms again, he kissed her brow, and murmured, “Thank you,” against her cheek.

  She smiled back at him, gently released herself and left the orangery. His thoughts as he watched her were no less steamy than his surroundings. He was struggling with a rampant erection now which only satisfaction, or a freezing bath, could allay.

  There was no choice but to opt for the latter. And tomorrow, he’d head back into town to see what he could buy for Athene. A ruby ring or pendant? A garnet crucifix, a string of pearls?

  Nothing was too precious for Athene Hartville. Once she became Countess of Rushbourne, he would shower her with jewellery, and gowns befitting her station. She would want for nothing.

  As he left the orangery, he started whistling to himself and had to resist the urge to kick up his heels and charge around the estate like a bolting horse. Never before had he felt so much energy. Never before had he felt so much joy. He hardly knew how he could contain it, but he must, for propriety’s sake.

  One cold bath might not be enough. The way he was feeling, he was going to need a whole succession of them.

  Chapter 11

  “Oh, heaven, what am I doing?” Athene paced across the room and back again, twisting her hands together. “I’ve hooked him as you advised, but I don’t know if I can go through with our plan.”

  “Of course, you can.” Harry, who in the course of the past day and a half, had become both Kat’s devoted admirer and co-conspirator, gave Athene a wicked grin. “What could possibly go wrong? He’ll do exactly as you say, trust me. And once you have him in your power…”

  She winced. What had seemed such a good idea in the past now threatened to be an incredibly bad one. She had thought herself strong enough to get her revenge on Rushbourne, and the method she, Kat and Harry had come up with would do him no physical harm, only make him a laughing stock. Her name would be kept out of any scandal, Harry had promised, but the result would be just what she wanted—Viscount Rushbourne humbled, Viscount Rushbourne ridiculed. He would avoid her like the plague thereafter, and she could continue her urgent pursuit of a husband without interference from him.

  “Promise you won’t go too far away? You’ll be within calling distance if anything goes amiss?” She came to a stop in front of Harry where he lounged on their chaise longue, nursing a glass of brandy.

  “Nothing will go amiss. He may have been a brute when he was young, but when it comes to paramours, he treats them well, so I hear. No reports of violence, I assure you.”

  That only made her feel worse. Her heart was like a sledgehammer hitting a rock with every beat. She’d never been so uncertain, so panicked. Left to her own devices, she’d have sent Rushbourne a note by now, saying she’d thought better of their tryst. But Harry had spent the last half hour reminding her of every sin his older brother had committed against her, including some she was starting to suspect he’d made up.

  In the hallway outside, the clock struck ten times. “Time for us to secrete ourselves,” Kat announced. “Do you have the ribbons?”

  Athene patted her reticule. “In here.” How did she manage to sound so calm when her mind was a maelstrom of misgivings? Had she made a grave mistake, allowing her guardian and Harry to be involved in the plot? Harry was particularly keen she make a fool of his brother, and she wondered what had caused the young man to be so inimical. She hadn’t had the chance to ask him, but now she was seriously wishing she had. It would be better to go into battle armed with solid facts instead of suppositions.

  Before she could give voice to her fears, Kat and Harry had vanished. No more than five minutes later, a subtle scratching on the door announced the arrival of Rushbourne. Heart in her mouth, she opened it, and the next moment found herself in an embrace so powerful she was lifted off the ground.

  “Darling girl, forgive my enthusiasm.” He set her down and closed the door behind him. “The hours since yesterday’s meeting in the orangery have been unendurable.”

  His eyes were warm, his expression tender. She’d never seen him look so…well…human before.

  Which meant she was winning. It gave her the fillip she needed to go ahead with her scheme.

  “Rushbourne, you’re forgiven. I don’t think you’ve broken any of my ribs.”

  He chuckled, a carefree sound she’d never expected to hear from the top-lofty, pitiless peer. She’d made him happy. That wasn’t part of the plan at all. Harry’s words returned to her. “The higher you lift him, the harder he’ll fall.” So, all was well and good. Wasn’t it?

  She indicated the chaise longue. “Won’t you please be seated?”

  “We’re not staying.”

  Icy fear pricked down her spine. The plan was unravelling already. “Not staying?”

  “We’ll go to my chamber. No chance of being disturbed there.”

  No. Harry and Kat weren’t primed to expose Rushbourne in his own room. But surely, they’d be able to work out where she and he had gone. Would the ribbons be long enough to reach his bedposts?

  “You appear alarmed, my sweet. Please, be reassured—I won’t lay a finger on you. We’ll simply discuss our plans, after which you can return here discreetly. No one will know what has occurred between us.”

  The complete opposite of what she wanted to happen. She bit her lip. Everything was about to go horribly wrong.

  “I’d be happier in familiar surroundings. Do let’s stay here, Oliver.” She attempted a simper and fluttered her eyelashes. “I’d rather be here.”

  “What, and have your guardian traipse in at any moment? I wouldn’t be able to concentrate on the deed in hand. Sorry, but I must insist, Athene.”

  A shudder of unease knifed through her. Deed in hand?

  “Come,” his voice was soft but commanding, his
grey gaze on her intense.

  Wordlessly, she took his hand, remembered at the last moment to collect her reticule, and allowed him to lead her into the corridor.

  There was no one in sight. Harry and Kat had concealed themselves well. Either that or they were downstairs carousing and listening to the musical entertainment, content in the knowledge they didn’t need to perform their duty for another half an hour.

  Moments later, she was in Rushbourne’s bedchamber, a place where she had never expected to find herself in a hundred lifetimes. It was small, business-like, and surprisingly tidy for a man as selfish and uncaring as he. Perhaps his valet should be given the credit.

  She glanced at the bed. It was similar to the one she shared with Kat, thank heaven. There was no canopy, only some sawn-off ancient bedposts to indicate where it had once been.

  Apart from the bed, the other furnishings were light and modern, in pale-coloured oak and walnut, with shiny brass fittings. A fire spat and crackled in the grate and on a small occasional table stood a decanter and two glasses. And a tiny velvet-covered box.

  Her heart sank. She was bent on seduction and rejection. Rushbourne, apparently, preferred to woo and win. This made her task a great deal harder. And since she was in the wrong room, she’d have to improvise.

  “Will you take some wine?” He angled his head towards the decanter.

  “No, thank you.” She wanted to keep her wits about her. When his brow creased, she added, “Perhaps later. I was…I was hoping you might kiss me again first.”

  He grinned, a wicked, feral grin. “I’d hate to refuse a lady.”

  Sliding his hands around her waist, he brought her close, then bent his head and nuzzled at her neck.

  She’d asked for a kiss. So, what was he doing?

  He took her earlobe between his teeth and nibbled it gently, before applying his lips to her neck.

  Interesting. She could feel herself softening, the rhythm of her breathing changing as her body accepted, then welcomed his expert touch.

  Welcomed? No, wait. She was supposed to be in control of this moment.

  “Not that kind of kiss.” She caught his head between her hands and dug her fingers into his hair so he couldn’t escape.

  He obliged, but took his time, teasing her mouth with light kisses, first at one corner, then at the other, before applying his tongue to the seam of her lips. His heated breath was sweet and heady, like ruby port, and she opened her mouth to taste him, dragging his head down to make him deepen the kiss.

  After a moment he pulled away, smoothed her hair back from her face and gazed at her. “I can’t believe you’re actually here, Athene, letting me kiss you.”

  She stared back at him, wishing he wasn’t so ruggedly appealing. If he’d looked like a monster, it would have been easier to believe he still was. She remembered The Plan. She must stick to The Plan.

  “I’m really here.” She’d enjoyed the kiss very much, but that was beside the point. And she’d far rather he didn’t know the effect it had had on her. It was meant to be him on his knees and begging, not her.

  “Now, will you take some claret and talk to me? I have a vitally important question to ask you.”

  She pressed her eyes closed. Was he going to ask to marry her? The arrogance of the man. A couple of kisses and an apparent—though definitely not real—softening of her attitude towards him, and he thought he’d already won.

  “I think I can guess what you’d like to discuss, though I wouldn’t presume to say it.”

  “You assume correctly. I want you to be my wife.”

  Even though these were the very words she’d expected, they hit her with the force of a landslide. Because no man had ever said those words to her before. No man had ever offered her financial security, a roof over her head, the prospect of a family—it was a bitter pill to swallow knowing the one man she’d hated all her life was the only one ever to utter those words.

  Play along. Play along. It was all part of the plan. And now she’d opened her heart to Harry and Kat, she’d look ridiculous if she didn’t go through with it.

  “You’re going too fast for me. First, I need to put you to the test.”

  His eyes mocked her. “Really? What manner of test?”

  “I want you to be commanded by me. I was your plaything when we were young, and you used me cruelly—”

  He rested a finger against her lips. “I regret bitterly you took my teasing so to heart—I was a foolish, idiotic, lonely boy and I couldn’t cope with the fact you didn’t like me. I never meant to wound you and make an enemy of you. If you’re prepared to trust me now, then understand I’m more than ready to make amends, in whatever way you want. I swear it.”

  “You can’t make amends with trinkets and shawls.” She deliberately avoided glancing at the little box on the table—she could already guess what it contained. “The change needs to come from you. You need to show me you’re different. I have to be assured you’ll give me respect, treat me as an equal, and even bow to my desires.”

  He raised an eyebrow, and his eyes glittered. “I’m keener to bow to your desires than you imagine, my lady. But we must talk first.”

  Her cheeks heated at his provocative tone. Other parts of her heated too, but she tried to ignore the sensations.

  “Not necessarily that kind of desire. Although in this particular instance, it’s exactly what I’m talking about.”

  He spread his hands. “Very well. I’m all yours.”

  A million butterflies sprang to life in her stomach. Was she really going to go through with this? The words she’d rehearsed caught in her throat as she rasped, “I want to see what manner of man I’m going to be welcoming to my bed if I accept you.”

  His eyebrows shot up. “Are you asking me to undress? Right here? Right now?”

  She swallowed and moistened her lips. “Precisely.”

  “And you want to watch?”

  “Most definitely.” Should she sit, as if she was at the theatre? Or stand, in case she needed to make a hasty escape? What did women do in this kind of situation? She couldn’t be the only one who’d ever asked a man to undress for her.

  Though judging from the expression on his face, it was not a common occurrence.

  She opted for perching on the edge of Rushbourne’s dressing table. There was a full ewer of water standing on it, in case any defensive weapon was required.

  Sitting on the edge of the bed, he removed his shoes, then his jacket, which he placed neatly over the back of the chair. He stood up to unbutton his waistcoat, a feat he performed slowly, watching Athene, the corners of his mouth quirking upwards.

  Though she refused to give any sign of it, she was mesmerised. She enjoyed the deft movements of his fingers, the aura of confidence of a man comfortable with his own body. She loved the way his eyes offered her an invitation it was hard to resist.

  When his shirt followed his waistcoat onto the chair, she stifled a gasp. She’d seen such virile musculature in art before, but never in the flesh. Her mouth went dry.

  He now stood before her, clad only in his breeches, the firelight making fascinating mounds and hollows of his torso. Would he be as hot to the touch as the fire made him appear? Well, she was very soon to find out.

  “Shall I remove my breeches too?”

  She gulped. “Yes. Then lie on your back on the bed, arms and legs towards the bedposts.” She hurried across to the table and poured herself some claret, much of which missed the glass. Grasping it tightly, she took several large sips, then inhaled deeply and turned around.

  The glass crashed down onto the table. She steadied it quickly—not broken, thank heaven.

  Oh, my goodness. She now had exactly what she’d hoped for, Rushbourne naked and exposed on the bed. All she had to do was bind him, tie a ribbon bow around his penis, then fetch a delighted audience of spectators to complete his humiliation.

  Only—only she couldn’t take her eyes off him, and her concentration on the task in han
d was rapidly bleeding away.

  Edging closer, her face now as hot as the flames in the grate, she commanded, “You’re not to move, no matter what I do. Do you promise?”

  “I’m intrigued and mystified. I would never have had you down for a woman who wanted dominion in the bedchamber. But I gave you my word I’d be your slave, and I’ll hold to it. For now, at any rate.”

  His voice was deep, enticing, and dark as molasses. Her lips ached for the touch of his, but she was still a long way from achieving her purpose. Reaching into her reticule, she pulled out a handful of ribbons. They had better be long enough, or she’d have to strip the cords from the drapes, or cut off the bell pull. But only if she could find a pair of scissors.

  Concentrate, Athene, concentrate. Leaning over the foot of the bed, she tied his ankles to each of the bedposts. She’d been right about his flesh—it was hot. His legs were sturdy and muscular, adorned with downy hair. It took all her strength not to gaze up the length of his body at his private parts, even though she knew they must eventually come into play. She couldn’t tie a bow so easily around a limp penis. Kat had explained it all in graphic detail.

  “Now your hands.” She avoided his eyes as she knelt on the bed beside him and leaned over to imprison his wrists and complete his bondage. She couldn’t help her breasts touching his chest as she leaned over. Her body thrilled in response, her nipples peaking as a new sensation, a throbbing ache, arose between her legs.

  She tried to distract herself by sitting back and examining his torso with its web of dark hair, nestling in the space between his chest muscles, traversing the cleft of his breastbone and gathering in inviting curls above his groin.

  His eyes were on her face the entire time, his gaze tangible. Though she was the one in control, she couldn’t help but suspect he was the one with all the power.

  “You’re not aroused,” she stated bluntly.

  “You’re not naked,” he countered. “Do you want me aroused? If that’s part of your game, you’ll have to be a better player.”

  Damn everything. This had to be the most stupid scheme anyone had ever devised. Why had she ever agreed to it?