“Opening the bloody thing,” he demanded, reaching the top hook and eye, undoing it and whipping the undergarment to the floor.
Oh dear. It would seem that his ire had developed into desire. Her mouth went dry and her heart kicked into a mad gallop. “I require a corset to dress for dinner,” she tried.
“You’re not dressing for dinner.” He caught the skirt of her chemise and began dragging it over her head.
“Heath.” Her vision went white for an instant as he removed the garment from her. “You’re being rather imperious.”
“I learned it from you, my dear.” The smile on his sensual mouth was positively feral. He unbuttoned her drawers. “Step out of them.”
She deemed it best to heed him. His mood seemed dangerous indeed. Watching him, she shimmied her hips. Her drawers fell down over her bare skin with a whisper of fabric before she did as he asked, taking a step back once more. She was nude before him while he was fully clothed. “What are you doing, Heath?”
“That should be obvious, my dear.” His eyes glittered into hers with wicked promise. “I’m punishing you.”
Punishing her? As if she had been a naughty child causing household upset because she’d put a frog in the governess’s bed? Of course, that was a sin she had been guilty of in her youth, but those days were long gone.
“You’re punishing me by taking away my undergarments?” she asked, aware of the chill air on her nude body.
“Not precisely,” he murmured, his gaze lowering to her breasts. “Your nipples are quite hard, darling.”
Somehow, the mere utterance of the word “nipples” from his beautiful lips sent wetness straight to her core. That didn’t bode well for her determination to stand her ground without waving the white flag of surrender.
She crossed her arms over her breasts, obstructing them from his view just to spite him. “Of course they are. It’s dreadfully cold in here, and I haven’t any clothes. An ogre has taken them all.”
He laughed. “An ogre, am I? My, you’ve a fanciful imagination, Tia. First dreaming up my wishes to redecorate Chatsworth and now imagining me a monster.” As he said the last, he shrugged out of his coat.
“I was doing my utmost to help you,” she said quietly. “That is all.”
But Heath wasn’t paying her any attention. He was diverted by something on the settee to his left. “Ah, stockings,” he said, pulling the stockings Bannock had laid out for her from the gilded back. “How thoughtful of your lady’s maid to assist me.”
Tia was beginning to rethink the wisdom of her grand plan to help her husband overcome the pain of his past. His calm demeanor was troubling. Had he raged at her, she would have simply raged back at him. But this deliberate, almost ominous, progression of events was as vexing as it was titillating.
“Why do you need my stockings?” She took another wary step in retreat.
“Get on the bed, Tia,” he ordered, ignoring her query.
“No.” She stepped back again, wondering precisely what he intended to do with the stockings.
“Yes.” He followed her, stockings in hand, expression impassive. “On the bed. Now.”
She wondered what he would do if she defied him and decided to give it a try. “I won’t.”
“Very well.” Grimly, he closed the distance between them in a step and a half. His hands settled on her waist. “Then I shall do it for you.”
Tia stared as her ordinarily imperturbable husband bent and hauled her over his shoulder. “Oh!” The air fled from her lungs, and suddenly her view was of the carpet at her husband’s feet and his trouser-clad rump. And though his rump was tempting indeed, she didn’t particularly care for being tossed over his shoulder as if she were an old coat. “Put me down at once,” she demanded, finding her voice.
“In time, my dear. I don’t think you’d like to be dropped on the floor just now.” His tone remained eerily composed.
He traveled with her across the chamber, and she felt the bedclothes tickling her calves before he unceremoniously dumped her in the middle of her bed. She landed in an ungraceful sprawl, conscious of the dreadful way she must look, limbs sticking this way and that. She adopted as ladylike a pose as she could manage while utterly naked and met his gaze. He was watching her rather the way she imagined a starving man would eye a freshly roasted pheasant. Oh dear.
“That was most unkind of you,” she said, breathless.
He knelt on the bed then, joining her. “I would apologize, but I daresay I’m not any sorrier than you are for your misdeeds.”
“I hardly think that moving about some pictures qualifies as a misdeed,” she couldn’t resist arguing.
“No more talking,” he said, pressing a finger to her lips. He hooked a leg over her hips so that she was effectively trapped beneath him. “Not until I say you may speak.”
The devil. He couldn’t order her about in such a boorish fashion. “Heath, you’ve made your point. I understand you’re vexed. Can we not conduct a reasonable conversation?”
He took one of her wrists and tied a knot around it with her stocking, pulling until it was good and tight. “You seem to be intent upon being uncooperative. I require your silence, madam.”
“Well, you shan’t have it,” she promised, tugging at her wrist. “And you shan’t tie me up, either. I’m not a prisoner, sir.”
“Yes,” he said, stilling in his ministrations to look down at her. “You are.”
Dear, sweet heavens. Precisely what was he intending to do to her? She’d imagined that perhaps he intended to make love. Or at the very least lock her in her chamber. But this? Perhaps she had pushed him too far. Yes, she must have, for he seemed quite mad.
He took her other wrist and tied a knot around it as well. “You must pay the forfeit for your unwise actions.” And then, he held her wrists above her head and secured them to the post on the intricately carved headboard. “There. Is it too tight, my dear?”
It seemed strange indeed that he would think of the niceties when he was binding her as if she were a common thief. “Yes. Do let me go, Heath.”
“Not yet.” He brushed his fingers lightly over one of her puckered nipples. “You don’t truly think I’ll let you off that easily, do you?”
She gazed up at him as he straddled her. He was devilishly handsome, his darkened eyes locked on her breasts, his jaw rigid. He looked almost dangerous, and she couldn’t help but be aroused. “What are you planning to do to me?” she asked, daring to hope it involved him sliding home inside her until they were both mindless.
He cupped her breasts, rubbing his thumbs in lazy circles around the peaks. “At first, I thought about spanking your delectable bottom.”
The concept didn’t entirely appall her as it ought to have done. She caught her lip between her teeth, watching as he plucked at her aching nipples. “You changed your mind?”
He frowned down at her. “I distinctly recall telling you to silence that wayward tongue of yours.”
“I don’t do well with commands,” she returned unapologetically, punctuating her claim with a sigh as he lowered his head and raked his beard over one breast. Oh, that felt nice. Too nice. It would seem he had decided to forego the spanking in favor of pure, unadulterated sensual torture.
“So I’ve noticed,” he murmured before flicking his tongue over her nipple and then sucking it into his mouth.
Tia couldn’t quite repress the moan of pleasure that rose in her throat. He skimmed a hand over her stomach, his fingers dipping into her sex to find the sensitive nub hidden within. Her ability to resist him was utterly dashed. She arched into him, seeking more as white-hot desire ricocheted through her. If this was his idea of punishment, she was a willing sinner.
He stroked through her already damp folds, making her even wetter as he turned his attention to her other nipple. He caught her with his teeth, lightly tugging. “At last, silence,” he said against her skin. “It would seem I’ve discovered the way to keep you quiet.”
He
sank a finger inside her to the hilt. Oh dear heavens, yes. He most certainly had. She worked her hips against him, urging him into a faster, maddening rhythm. He sucked her breast again, working her into a fine frenzy as he curled his finger ever so slightly. The change in angle somehow undid her. A climax claimed her, hard and swift, coursing through her like a bolt of lightning.
“Damn it, what you do to me,” he groaned, withdrawing from her to fumble with the fastening of his trousers.
Tia would have assisted him but for her bound wrists, still holding her captive. In truth, she didn’t mind being at his mercy. Rather, she found it heightened her arousal. Watching him bring her to climax was like too much wine to her senses.
His cock sprang free, rigid and ready. He was inside her in one long, hard thrust. She tipped her hips up to meet him, bringing him as deep as she could. Nothing else mattered in that moment other than that he was man and she was woman, and they were joined in the oldest and purest way. Thoughts of his betrothed and the paintings fell from her mind.
His mouth was on hers as he began a frantic rhythm. His kiss was fiery as he took her. Possessive. He pumped into her again and again. As his tongue swept into her mouth, she came undone once more, the desire building to a keen crescendo. She tightened on him and a breath later felt the hot spurt of his seed as he lost himself within her. He thrust into her again and again as he found his release.
When he was spent, he withdrew from her, rolling over onto the bed and righting his trousers. Still quite breathless from their frantic lovemaking, Tia watched as he rolled to his feet and stalked away from the bed. Surely he would untie her now, she thought as he bent to retrieve his discarded jacket. But he didn’t even spare her a glance as he shrugged it back on.
“Heath,” she called out tentatively. “You’ve forgotten to untie me.”
“No.” He tossed her a glance at last. “I haven’t. I’m not finished with you yet, my dear.”
Good heavens. He couldn’t expect to leave her trussed and naked. Could he? He appeared quite grave. She tugged at her wrists. “You cannot be serious. It’s positively frigid in here.”
“Oh, I’m serious.” He straightened his jacket, his eyes flicking over her nudity. “I daresay you won’t grow icicles until I return.”
With that, he spun on his heel and began walking from the chamber.
“Heath!” she cried. “Release me at once.”
“No.” He didn’t even bother to look in her direction as his hand settled over the doorknob.
“Please don’t go,” she tried, desperation mingling with horror. What if her lady’s maid should return? What if Heath left her stranded for hours? Or worse, an entire day? Her stomach grumbled, reminding her she had been about to dress for a dinner that it now appeared she would not be partaking in. “Heath!”
“Ah,” he said smoothly, casting her a sidelong glance. “It’s frustrating when someone defies you, isn’t it, my dear?”
He opened the door, stepped over the threshold and closed it with rather more force than necessary. Tia winced, staring at the space where he’d been. Yes, she decided firmly, the man she had married was hopelessly, unutterably mad. If only she wasn’t beginning to feel the faint stirrings of a more tender emotion for him.
Dear, sweet heavens. She couldn’t possibly be falling in love. Could she?
Chapter Nine
Heath found himself in a bit of a predicament. He took a healthy gulp of whiskey, savoring the fiery burn it sent down his throat. To be more precise, he was in any number of predicaments. He tipped back his glass again.
First, there was the matter of his wife, nude and tied to her bed upstairs. He couldn’t very well leave her that way forever, and he knew it. But the devil of it was, that if he entered her chamber once more, he was reasonably certain he’d be tempted to fuck her senseless all over again.
Which brought him to his second predicament. He had intended to punish Tia, and he’d wound up bedding her instead. Not precisely a punishment, even if he had thoroughly enjoyed taking her and reminding her that she was at his mercy, not the other way round. He hadn’t meant to abandon his sense of control. Hadn’t meant to strip her bare and drive himself inside her. But by the time he’d caught her half-dressed in her chamber, the potency of his emotions had overwhelmed him. He’d lost his head.
Finally, there was the uncomfortable matter of his paintings being strewn about all over the bloody place at his supposed request. Seeing them had shocked him. Angered him. But he was alarmed to discover the hatred he’d once felt for himself whenever he’d looked upon them and remembered what he’d done had dissipated in the intervening years. Perhaps there was something wrong with him, some sort of damnable crack in his brain, for he was gazing at Adam and Eve on his study wall and noting the corrections he would make.
Worse, he itched to take up paint and brush and add some final touches to Eve’s face. He hadn’t painted her with enough sensuality. And for some bloody reason, he could not quite shake the notion that surely she had possessed a tempting Cupid’s bow of a mouth.
Damn Tia.
She had opened doors that should have remained firmly shut. Why could she not merely be content to leave things as they were? Had he not provided her with the best of everything? She was allowed to keep her funds to spend as she chose. She was allowed lazy mornings to correspond with her harridan sister and God knew who else. She was the mistress of a vast estate, the wife of a duke. And yet, she had not seen fit to merely leave his past where it belonged.
Instead, she’d dragged it out for him and all his servants to see.
He tossed back the rest of his whiskey, not even pretending to contemplate the ledgers and letters before him. He was too rattled to bother with the mundane. He needed to figure out what the hell he was going to do next. He was drowning in a mire of his own making. Nothing made sense. Tia’s words echoed in his mind, taunting him.
You can’t hide from the past forever, she’d said. And blast it all, part of him knew she was right. He had been hiding from the pain of losing Bess. From the guilt of knowing that things may have ended differently had he not left her. For then, he had always told himself, she would have been happily ensconced in Chatsworth as his wife, and may never have taken ill at all.
One thing was certain. Locking away the paintings and reminders of who he’d once been had not lessened the pain or the guilt he’d tried so hard to ignore. Perhaps it had only delayed the inevitable. After all, he couldn’t deny that painting still called to him. It always had, but the crushing guilt had been enough to drown his passion. Now, it called to him still, with a far more strident voice than ever before. He was a man bereft, the sands shifting about him into a new landscape.
Maybe, just maybe, Tia was right. Maybe it was time to reconcile the man he’d been—the past he’d lived—with the man he had become. He couldn’t very well hide forever, or pretend that Bess had never lived, that he had never loved her and that he had never been consumed with the desire to paint.
Adam and Eve stared at him, their temptation mirroring his. Damn it, there was only one thing he could do, really.
“Burnes,” he bellowed.
The ever-efficient butler appeared at his study door. “Yes, Your Grace?”
“Please see to it that the footmen have my painting supplies and canvases moved to my chamber at once.” His paints and pigments were the finest available. He had no doubt they would still be usable. But just in case, he had another plan. “See to it that they get me fresh supplies as well.”
Burnes stared at him for a moment. “You are certain, Your Grace?”
The ordinarily sacrosanct butler had seen Heath in his lowest moments. While most servants wouldn’t dare gainsay their masters, however politely, Heath knew that Burnes was acting with a familiarity born of mutual respect. Burnes had saved him five years ago from certain death. Mindless in his grief, Heath had consumed far too much whiskey and he’d taken out his shooting rifle, ready to put an end to
it all. Burnes had found him. They’d never spoken of the low moment since that day.
Heath closed his eyes for a moment, still shamed by his long-ago actions and grateful his loyal butler had discovered him in time. He hoped that he wasn’t making the wrong decision. He opened his eyes once more, meeting his butler’s gaze. “Yes, Burnes. I’m quite certain. Have it all arranged as it once was.”
“Of course, Your Grace.” Burnes bowed. “Forgive me.”
Heath nodded, watching as the man quit the room once more. Forgiveness. It was a hell of a thing. Perhaps it was time he went about the business of forgiving himself. Certainly, it was time to go about the business of forgiving his wife. The thought of her waiting for him, her wrists bound and her breasts high and full, her beautiful body on display for him, made him incredibly hard.
And he knew it in that moment. The time he’d always known would come had arrived. He was going to paint her.
Tia didn’t know how much time had passed since her husband had unceremoniously left her tied to her bed in complete dishabille. But her fingers felt as if they were being pricked by a hundred needles at once, and it was a good sign that Heath had abandoned her for the better part of an hour. She’d tried to nap, but her position was deuced uncomfortable. She’d tried to escape, but her efforts had only served to tighten the knots binding her.
Drat him. She dismissed the tender stirring of feelings she’d felt earlier. She wasn’t falling in love with the arrogant blighter. Of course not. Indeed, when he finally deigned to release her, she was going to give him an earful. Perhaps even box his ears. Yes, that sounded like a retaliation most excellent.
She was beginning to despair he’d ever return for her when the bedchamber door abruptly opened. He strode into the room, as debonair and unruffled as he’d been when he’d left. His gaze settled on her, sending an unwanted lick of fire down her spine.
“Madam.”
Lovely. It seemed she was still the object of his ire, even after his disappearance. “If I had known what a cad you’d be, I’d never have agreed to wed you,” she pronounced with a regal sniff.
Heart’s Temptation Books 1–3 Page 70
