“Well,” Adam drawled when she stood before them, hands clasped demurely before them. “When Maeve told me you’d refused lunch, I did not think to see you again until dinner. What brings you here, little dove?”
His downright jovial manner took her aback, a complete departure from the man who had confronted her in the meadow, demanding she open her eyes and face the hideous truth.
“I … I have a proposition for you,” she stammered, her face heating when Niall chuckled in reaction to her statement.
Adam raised an eyebrow and traded amused glances with his butler. “A proposition, eh? Niall, you’d better make yourself scarce … the lady wishes to proposition me.”
Pursing his lips, the butler leveled an annoyed glare at her, but swiftly removed his headgear and fencing attire he’d donned over his breeches, shirt, and waistcoat. Hanging them on a nearby rack, he retrieved his tailcoat, swiftly slipping it on before executing a stiff bow.
“As you wish, Master,” he murmured, casting her another malevolent glare before leaving them.
His footsteps echoed over the polished marble tiles, eventually fading altogether as he disappeared from sight.
Resting his épée over one shoulder, Adam probed her with a curious gaze. Sunlight flooded the room, causing the golden strands of his hair to shimmer and his eyes to take on the hue of warm honey.
“Well?” he prodded when she’d stood there for several seconds without speaking.
Clearing her throat, she lifted her chin. “I had hoped to challenge you to a duel.”
He chuckled, twirling the grip of his épée, the sunlight glinting off the blade’s edge. “Is that so?”
She nodded. “Yes … but I want to attach a wager to our bout. If I win, you must answer a question for me. Any question I ask.”
Creasing his brow, he nodded slowly, as if digesting her proposition. “Did you not learn enough this morning?”
The reminder of the revelation he’d made left a bitter taste in her mouth. “I do not relish being made to wait for the answers I seek. If you are bold enough to allow me a chance to earn more, I’d like to try.”
His smirk spread into a grin, exposing his teeth. “What do I receive when I trounce you?”
She bristled at his teasing, annoyed he thought so little of her skill. That he underestimated her would prove his downfall in the end. She could beat him … she would beat him.
“You may have …”
She bit her lip, knowing she must offer him something enticing; otherwise, he would simply laugh her off. Yet, offering him too much too soon would make it more difficult to attempt this tactic in the future. It would lose its allure for him if, for instance, she offered to give up her maidenhead here and now without a fight. No, it must be something that would please him enough to make him risk being forced to reveal something before he was ready.
“M-my mouth,” she offered before she could lose her nerve.
His grin faded, and his pupils expanded, turning his eyes into fathomless bronze. Nostrils flaring, he took a step toward her, reaching out with his empty hand to grasp her chin. His thumb rested against her lower lip, his gaze dropping as he contemplated her offer.
“A bonny mouth it is, little dove,” he murmured. “What, exactly, are you offering to do with it?”
Her chin trembled, her breath hitching as his nearness washed over her like a roaring ocean wave, muddling all her senses. He filled her vision with his large frame, his scent flooding her nostrils—so heady and masculine, she could practically taste it. Primitive. Wild. Spicy with just a hint of sweat from his exertions. Her knees grew weak, her legs turning to jelly.
“You threatened to use it, did you not?” she managed, her words coming out low and husky.
“Aye. That, I did,” he replied, slowly tracing the line of her lower lip, then pressing down on it to part it from the upper. “And you understand what that means, do you not? You are not quite as innocent as I first assumed, are you?”
He sank his thumb into her mouth, and she lifted her tongue to meet it, lapping at the tip of it in answer to his question. She had never performed fellatio before, but believed she grasped the basics. It should not be difficult.
“Say it, little dove,” he growled, going back to stroking her lip, biting his own as if tamping down the urge to devour her whole. “Say out loud what you’re going to do with that pretty little mouth.”
The words hovered on the tip of her tongue, embarrassment making it difficult to say them. She had insisted he’d never make a whore of her; yet, here she stood, bartering a sexual favor in exchange for something she needed.
“Say it, Daphne,” he growled, an edge of annoyance creeping into her voice. “I want to hear it.”
“I-I will …”
He leaned closer—so close, she could feel his breath fanning against her face, tickling her cheek.
“Suck your cock, Adam,” he finished for her.
“I will suck your cock, Adam,” she said, lowering her eyes—but not before heat and satisfaction flared in his, searing the surface of her skin like a branding iron.
His smile returned, slow, teasing, and feline, drawing her gaze back up to his face. “You have yourself a wager, little dove.”
Releasing a sigh of relief, she stepped away from him, squaring her shoulders and stepping around him to approach the rack arranged against one wall. She swiftly unbuttoned her jacket, exchanging it for the protective clothing Adam already wore. After adorning herself in the padded jacket and gloves, she selected a mask, holding it beneath one arm while inspecting the row of épées mounted upon the wall beside the equipment racks. Flanked by foils on one side and sabers on the other, the épées all appeared identical, so she selected one, testing its balance.
She held it up by its grip and inspected it, then turned it on its side, letting it go and catching it with the tip of her first finger, balancing it by the blade. A trick Bertram had taught her. Satisfied with the épée, she flicked her wrist and caught the weapon by its grip before turning to face Adam.
Eyebrows raised, he inclined his head at her. “The lady knows her way around a weapon.”
She shrugged one shoulder, brushing past him and pulling on her mask. “I told you … I’ve been fencing since I was a girl. I am no novice.”
“We shall put your skill to the test,” he replied, walking down the gallery a few paces before turning to face her. “En garde!”
Daphne reacted swiftly to the command, assuming her starting position and thrusting her épée out before her, legs bent, one hand folded behind her back.
“Rules?” he asked once he’d sank into his own beginning posture. “First to five points wins the bout … three bouts total?”
She nodded in agreement. “The winner of two out of three bouts claims their prize.”
“Very well,” he affirmed. “Ready?”
“Yes,” she replied just before he called out the starting word.
“Allez!”
He followed the command with a swift lunge, his long limbs serving to thrust the épée squarely at her center. She danced back and circled her own weapon to parry the thrust, easily knocking it aside. He lunged again, feinting left, then swiftly striking right when she moved to defend herself. The tip of his épée struck her shoulder, earning him one point.
Clenching her teeth, she moved away from him, sinking back into her beginning stance while he did the same.
“En garde,” she growled, thoroughly irritated that he’d scored the first point.
Bertram had always accused her of being competitive in everything, often goading her into wagers over even the most mundane thing. Her need to win was now more than a desire to ferret more secrets from Adam. It had become a matter of pride. This man had humiliated her far too many times since they’d met, and she was owed recompense.
“Allez!”
This time, she attacked first, lunging, then backpedaling when he feinted and tried to counter-attack. She feinted again, lo
wer this time, forcing him to protect his legs. Then, she swiftly flicked the épée, striking his lowered shoulder.
Glowering at her through the mesh front of his mask, he backed off, taking his position once more. They went at each other three more times, dancing around one another as they learned each other, testing with various attacks and discovering each other’s weakness.
After becoming tied with four points each, Adam managed to beat her in the first bout, countering her attack and landing his épée upon her thigh. Despite the loss, Daphne grinned, circling him to get back in position for the second bout. She’d always enjoyed fencing and had not faced so worthy an opponent in quite some time.
“You possess admirable skill with the épée,” he said as he faced her and crouched into position. “En garde.”
She rolled her eyes and snorted. “Funny … I was going to say the same thing about you … Allez!”
He laughed, swiftly backpedaling away from her attack before countering with one of his own. The second bout lasted longer than the first, both of them giving as good as they got, the tentative learning from the first fight making way for displays of style and flair. She proved lighter on her feet than him, her slender figure making her a smaller target and therefore harder for him to strike.
She stole the second bout, gaining her five points to trounce his three.
“Well met, little dove,” he panted, lifting his mask for a moment and using his sleeve to dry the sweat causing his brow to glisten. “But you shall not fare so well in the final bout. I can feel your sweet lips around my cock already.”
Determination clenched her jaw, and she ignored his teasing, remaining silent as she resumed her starting position. Laughing as if he knew he’d struck a nerve, he circled her, returning to his place and preparing for the third round. She fought against the urge to so much as blink lest she miss any hint of his moves as he went on the offensive, using brute force to beat her back. She danced away from him, spinning and parrying to avoid the touch of his épée. Yet, he did not allow her to land a single blow, becoming far more ruthless in this bout than he had been in the previous two. He landed two blows in quick succession, sacrificing himself and allowing her to land one in the process.
His laughter taunted her, her breath quickening into enraged pants as he landed a third blow and then a fourth. He’d thrown her off balance so quickly, causing desperation and anger to make her careless. The fifth blow fell so easily, she might as well have stood still and allowed him the point.
The épée landed in the center of her chest, its blunt edge resting between her breasts. Adam kept it there while he removed his mask and tossed it aside. Sweat dampened his forehead, but his eyes danced when he grinned at her, triumph squaring his shoulders and lifting his chin.
Tossing her épée to the floor with a huff, she tore off her own mask and dropped it, hands clenching into fists at her sides. She wanted to bat his sword aside and rush him, pummeling him with her fists, possibly even delivering a slap that would leave a handprint upon his face.
However, she had been fairly beaten and could find no fault with him this time. Remembering how he’d punished her for acting like a harridan the night before, she took a deep breath and calmed. No need to provoke him further, especially when he would now have her in a vulnerable position.
“You aren’t half bad, little dove,” he quipped, lowering his épée and bending down to retrieve hers before going back to hang them on the wall. “Only Niall ever proves as much of a challenge, so it is nice to have someone new about to cross swords with.”
As he began stripping away his jacket, she was taken aback by his downright jovial tone. Just that morning, he had been so harsh with her; yet, it would seem fencing had put him in a good mood. She had expected him to tease her, to rub her nose in her defeat before throwing her to her knees to claim what he’d fairly won.
“I am out of practice,” she admitted, reaching up to begin unbuttoning her own jacket. “It has been some time since I’ve had someone to spar with daily. Bertram and I …”
She lowered her eyes when his gaze fell upon her, heavy with reproach at the mention of her brother’s name. The urge to kick herself overwhelmed her, and she could not believe she’d gone and said the one name guaranteed to drag him back into a dudgeon.
Clearing her throat, she glanced back up at him, fixing her face into a placid expression.
“If you wish to begin—”
“Not here,” he interjected, shaking his head. “Come.”
Turning and setting off across the gallery, he left her with no choice but to follow.
CHAPTER EIGHT
aphne remained silent as she followed Adam away from the gallery and down the winding corridor back toward the great hall. His long strides were swift and sure, as if he had a particular destination in mind. At first, she assumed he meant to take her to his study—the only room in the palace she had seen him occupy aside from the gallery and music room. Yet, they breezed past his domain, the door remaining tightly closed. He led her through the main hall and toward a door she had never noticed before—one she assumed led outdoors.
Sure enough, when he swung the heavy panel open, sunlight flooded the gap and stung her eyes. Squinting against the glare, she followed him into a large, square courtyard. Coming to a stop at his side, she gasped in awe, soaking in every detail of the little space. The sides of the quadrangle-shaped palace folded in around the courtyard, closing it off from the world. Stone paths guided the way toward a green hedgerow maze while iron benches here and there invited visitors to sit and absorb the scenery. Bursts of color drew her eye to the blossoms someone had carefully cultivated—roses, edelweiss, lilies, iris, tulips, and a plethora of others, complementing the green hedgerows with bursts of red, yellow, purple, and pink. In the center of it all sat a large well, the low edge allowing her to glimpse the clean, clear water inside.
“Oh,” she whispered, the reason she’d followed him out here forgotten. “It’s so …”
A breathless sigh escaped her as she approached the closest plant, reaching out to caress the delicate petals of a blood red rose.
“You must really love these flowers,” she murmured, the tranquility of the garden all but demanding a lowered voice. “They’re well taken care of.”
“My gardeners are compensated well for keeping them,” he replied.
Despite his attempt to sound nonchalant, she could hear the strain in his voice. Turning to peer at him over her shoulder, she frowned. He avoided her gaze, his hair falling over one shoulder as he gazed out over the courtyard.
“Still,” she offered tentatively. “This must be the most pristine, well-maintained part of the castle I’ve come across. It has to mean something to you.”
Uncertain why the sight of him surrounded by so much light and life tugged upon her heartstrings, Daphne approached the well, putting him behind her. She did not want to see that haunted look in his eyes, or wonder what it might mean. This man had destroyed her family, and, if he had his way, would tear her apart, too. He did not deserve her pity.
“Someone who lived here once planted the flowers,” he hedged, following her to the well. “I can take no credit for them.”
Bracing her hands upon the stone lip of the well, she gazed down at the water. It reflected her image back to her, as well as Adam looming behind her. She held her breath as he braced his hands on either side of hers, trapping her between his arms and pressing his body up against hers.
“This cistern supplies the entire castle with fresh water,” he said conversationally, as if he were not pressing the thick root of his erect cock against her back. “A system of pipes built into the palace walls allow us to pump it into the kitchen and the water closets.”
She wanted to ask who had planted the flowers and why they no longer lived here—if they also happened to be the same person her father, uncle, and brother had somehow wronged. Yet, the hard press of his chest against her back, the heat emanating from him
and sinking through her skin, and the warning of his breath teasing the nape of her neck stole the words from her lips. Holding her back erect, she fought the urge to sink against him, to arch her spine and rise up on tiptoe so she could nestle her hips into the cradle of his groin.
“Why must you fight me, little dove?” he murmured, lowering his head and pressing his mouth against her ear.
His lips skimmed the back of her neck, his facial hair tickling the delicate skin, his breath caressing her like the brush of insistent fingers. With a whimper, she closed her eyes, her body jerking from the shivers she tried to keep at bay, the desire she tried to hide from him.
“The things you want … the things you need … I know what they are,” he whispered, grasping her hips and pulling her back into him. “They are why you have remained unmarried for so long, despite being the sort of woman the men of London clamor for … despite having your pick of eligible bachelors. They are why you stayed, even when I promised to hurt you, to break you.”
“You know nothing about me,” she retorted despite the pleasure causing her toes to curl in her boots, her eyes rolling back into her head as he brushed his lips against the back of her neck, his tongue creeping out to taste the ridges of her spine.
He chuckled, the rough sound causing liquid heat to pool in her middle and her cunt to clench with longing.
“I know you do not want courtly manners or sweet kisses,” he countered. “You do not want to be cherished or coddled. You want to be used, defiled … broken. You want to be spread apart and plundered until there’s nothing left.”
She could not suppress her shudder this time, her mouth going dry when he took hold of her hair, wrapping her disheveled braid around his fist before giving it a rough jerk. Her neck arched, her scalp stinging from his brutal hold as he contorted her, seeming not to care that the angle he held her in might cause discomfort. Her heart pounded so hard and fast, she would not be surprised if he could hear it, her veins fairly humming from the heady rush of her blood, the excitement that had ramped up her pulse.
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