She did not intend to leave until Adam decided to come out and carry her down the escarpment himself. As she fished her hat from among her other belongings and pulled it down over her ears, she steeled herself for the cold night ahead.
CHAPTER TWELVE
aphne passed the night and a good portion of the following day on the front steps of the palace. As night had fallen, she’d huddled in the doorway and hugged her knees to her chest. Shivering and clenching her teeth to keep them from chattering, she had almost given up. She’d been so cold, her breath turning into mist on the night air, the tips of her fingers going as pale as the moon.
A groom had come from the stable, attempting to coerce her into leaving. He’d told her that her horse had been prepared and ‘the Master’ would expect her to be gone by morning. She had waved him off, declaring she would not leave of her own accord. The groom had seemed flabbergasted, unable to believe his ears. Yet, she had merely turned her head and ignored him, determination winning out against her need to find someplace to warm herself.
She’d slept fitfully, awakening when powerful shudders wracked her body, her teeth clattering so hard, she was afraid they might shatter.
Morning seemed to take ages to arrive, the overcast sky allowing only a bit of the sun’s warmth. The door had swung open sometime later to reveal Maeve, who’d looked at her as if she were a dog who had been kicked.
“The Master doesn’t know I’ve come,” she murmured before setting a tray on the ground beside her. “You must hurry and finish before he rises and discovers I’ve been here. If it means anything to you, he spent most of the night pacing in his study. He even came back to the door after night had fallen, but seemed to think better of opening it.”
Reaching out to grab the warm china cup filled with tea, she gave the maid a grateful smile. “Thank you.”
She did not wish to acknowledge Maeve’s claims concerning Adam … did not want to let herself believe he might care about her in the slightest. The maid was simply trying to make her feel better. If Adam gave a bloody damn about her freezing to death on his front steps, he would come outside himself to retrieve her.
As she gulped the hot tea, heedless to the way it burned her tongue, Daphne told herself the feeling was mutual. She did not care for him any more than he cared for her. She merely needed him to let her back inside so she could earn her thirty thousand pounds. If she could convince him to allow her to finish out her time here, she would return to London with what remained of her dignity.
She’d made quick work of her breakfast, scarfing down the cakes Maeve had brought her and polishing off the tea. The maid had returned to take her empty tray, then disappeared quickly into the large house. Daphne had huddled inside her coat as best she could, shivering and counting the minutes. She realized most of the day had passed her by once her stomach began rumbling again, hunger gnawing upon her insides.
Relief flooded her in a euphoric rush when the door swung open to reveal Niall. His staunch, emotionless expression became the most welcome sight in the world as he reached out to extend a hand to her. She placed hers in his, releasing a sigh of relief when he hauled her to her feet. Though, he did quickly release her, as if touching her had burned him.
“Come along, then,” he said wearily.
She studied him as they entered the palace, searching his face for any hint of what she might expect. They moved in the direction of Adam’s study, so she assumed he had decided to speak with her. Niall gave nothing away, though the tightness of his mouth and flash of his eyes told her he likely disapproved of his master’s decision. She couldn’t help a smug smirk as he opened the door of the study and inclined his head to indicate she should go in.
“Thank you, Niall,” she said imperiously before sweeping through the opening with her head held high.
He grunted something in response, then slammed the panel behind her, enclosing her in the cavernous room. The warmth of the large hearths reached out to her, bringing the feeling back to her fingers and toes. Her numb face began to thaw, the heat of the fire almost painful after her skin had been so thoroughly drained of warmth.
She found Adam seated behind his desk, his appearance not at all what she expected. He looked haggard, his hair tousled as if he’d raked his fingers through it a hundred times. He wore no coat or waistcoat, and the buttons of his wrinkled shirt hung open. But his face shocked her most of all—the dark circles beneath his eyes, the downward curve of his lips. He looked as ghastly as she supposed she did.
“Thank you for seeing me,” she murmured once she’d come to rest just before his desk.
Casting her gaze downward, she felt the weight of his stare, the way his gaze seemed to trace every visible inch of her. She shivered, feeling as if he’d peeled the clothing from her body with his eyes.
“I did not wish to, but you are as stubborn as you are reckless, little dove,” he replied. “I had thought to come out there myself, throw you over my shoulder and carry you to the stable, then throw you into the saddle of your horse. But then …”
She glanced up at him and wrinkled her brow when he fell silent. “Then?”
He met her stare boldly, a smirk curving his lips. The expression lacked all humor, the catlike motion more akin to a predator that had cornered its next meal. She swallowed past the lump in her throat and resisted the urge to run. He had allowed her back into the palace, and now, she must do whatever it took to get back into his good graces.
“Then I decided to let you convince me,” he said, inclining his head.
The lump in her throat expanded, the realization of what he was saying making it difficult to breathe. “H-how am I to do that?”
He made a little sound—a short huff of laughter—as if her ignorance amused him. Bracing his large hands against the edge of the desk, he pushed his chair away from it. Then, leaning back casually, he braced his hands behind his head and raised his eyebrows at her.
“Please me, and I will let you stay,” he declared.
She sucked in a sharp breath, her gut clenching at what his words implied. Please him? In almost every sexual encounter they’d shared, he had been the one in control. She had been a vessel for his use, and he had done with her what he pleased. Only once had she acted of her own volition. That day in the garden, when she’d knelt and taken him into her mouth.
Raising her chin, she reminded herself of the power she’d felt in that moment. Despite being upon her knees, she had drawn the sounds of pleasure from the back of his throat, had made him weak with nothing more than the touch of her lips. If she could do that, then she could certainly do this. Her livelihood depended upon it.
“I am waiting,” he added when she did not reply or move.
The impatience edging his tone was not encouraging. He was already in a dudgeon and angry with her for disobeying his commands. This would be an uphill battle.
Clenching and then releasing her hands, she began moving toward him. Forcing her hands to work, she reached up to begin unbuttoning her coat while rounding the desk. Still regaining their feeling, her digits were clumsy and unwieldy as she worked to remove the garment. He stared up at her with a blank expression, his eyes a deep, dark brown that betrayed nothing as she edged into the space between him and the desk.
He slouched and spread his legs, inclining his head and watching her expectantly. Taking another fortifying breath, she sank to her knees on the carpet. Reaching up with both hands, she braced them on the strong thighs trapping her between them, smoothing her palms over the fabric. He was hot to the touch, as always, his hard body humming with barely concealed power. She stroked up toward his pelvis, edging her way to the noticeable ridge pressing against his fall. He was at least half-hard, the imprint of his cock through the fabric making her mouth water.
She reveled in the sensations caused by looking at him like this, not bothering to fight the lust he inspired. Now was not the time for maidenly reticence or resistance. She needed to please him, and while he claimed
to like it when she fought him, just now, it would not be enough. With him sitting passively, watching her every move, she must act like the whore he’d often accused her of being.
Laying one hand over the bulge, she tested him, skimming her hand over him from base to tip, then back down again. She fondled him through his breeches, squeezing with light pressure now and then. With each squeeze of her fingers, his cock surged, growing and filling with blood in response to her touch. By the time she began unbuttoning him, it had become fully engorged. It fell free of the confining garment as if it had fought its way out, straining toward her with a mind of its own.
Wrapping her fingers around him, she gave him another stroke, using her thumb to caress his tip. He remained silent, staring blankly down at her while she worked him, smearing him in the wetness she coaxed from his slit. His stillness unnerved her, so unlike the other times they’d been together. She had become accustomed to his roughness—his hands fisting her hair, the brute force of his body relentlessly battering her.
Determination drove her closer, emboldening her to take him into her mouth. She detected the slight hitch of his breath as she took him in as far as she could, sucking her way back up to his tip. His cock twitched in her mouth, the thick vein running along the bottom pulsating against her tongue. The primal scent of his musk flooded her senses, making her cunt clench and the tips of her breasts tingle. Squeezing her thighs together, she took him in again, then again, fucking him with her mouth.
She grew bolder, flicking her tongue against his head with each pass, lightly scraping him with her teeth, joining her mouth with a hand to pump him. Before long, he began to move, his hips undulating beneath her, his hands gripping the arms of his chair. His breath quickened, becoming noisier and harsher the longer she sucked him. He seemed determined to fight her, to make it difficult for her, but she fought back, giving him everything she had. She took him in her fist and stroked him, lapping at his head and dipping her tongue into his slit. She gave him both her hands, still using one to stroke him, the other gently kneading the heavy sac below the thick root of his cock. After a while, he began bucking his hips at her, creating more friction between her hands and his cock. She relaxed her jaw, opening her mouth to take his tip in with each stroke.
Before long, she glanced up to find him watching her from beneath heavy eyelids, his lips parted as he sucked in ragged breaths, his chest heaving. The urge to take him into her body overwhelmed her, the pulsations of her inner channel having now become painful. Her face flushed at the licentious images flitting through her mind, fantasies of sitting upon his cock making her feel like the most wanton creature who ever lived. But, he was paying her to be a wanton, to act like a whore.
She ignored the rough sound of annoyance he made when she released his cock, gripping the arms of his chair and coming to her feet. His entire body had gone tense, his fists curled on the chair arms, fairly trembling as if he held himself in check. Yet, he remained as still as ever while she snatched up her skirts, then climbed onto him. Wedging her knees into the spaces between his body and the arms of the chair, she positioned herself so her naked quim rested just over his cock. She shuddered at the feel of him against her, his flared head brushing her inner folds. Rotating her hips, she enveloped his head just within her opening, then let her skirts fall.
His eyes burned green and gold, the prisms of his irises flickering with lust and depravity in equal measure. She held his gaze, her mouth falling open on a soft sigh of relief as she lowered herself onto his lap. Gasping, she let her head fall back as he filled her, her channel giving way to let him in, stretching and then clenching to hold him deep. She braced her hands against his chest and tested the motion of her hips. She rocked against him first, then swiveled her hips in a slow circle, one direction and then the other. Each movement sent a burst of pleasure through her, the grinding of her clit against his pelvis hurtling her toward her own end so quickly, it left her breathless.
Holding on to his shoulders, she found a rhythm she liked, her soft pants turning into moans that echoed from the room’s high ceiling. Beneath her, he was moving again, his hips matching her rhythm, his hands leaving the arms of the chair to touch her. He palmed her hips, squeezing and kneading her buttocks through the fabric of her gown before moving upward to cup her breasts.
“God, yes,” she cried, arching her back to fit herself into his palms, her nipples growing even harder in response to his touch.
He snatched down her bodice and plucked at them with his fingers, sending lightning strikes of pure ecstasy into her core. Her movements became wilder, less precise, and she rode him toward climax. Forgetting about pleasing him, she focused on what she wanted for a change, gritting her teeth and straining toward an explosive ending.
Swifter than she could prepare for, his hand came up to her throat. His palm covered her, his fingers digging into the veins supplying her pulse. Fear gripped her when he tightened his hold, his gaze burning hotly while he went on bucking up beneath her, drilling his cock into her while cutting off her air supply. Her blood roared in her ears, and the fear in her gut melted into liquid heat, making her even wetter, her cunt clenching around him in the beginnings of a climax.
She made a choked sound and closed her eyes, surrendering to his hold. Would he strangle the life out of her now, as he’d threatened to before? Was this how she would die—with his cock inside her and his hand wrapped around her throat?
“Breathe,” he commanded.
The pressure eased, and precious air filled her lungs, the blood rushing swiftly back to her head. She splintered, her lips parting on a silent cry as a powerful climax tore through her, exacerbated by the sensation of flying that washed over her at the exact moment he released her throat. The orgasm slammed into her with the force of a hailstorm, twisting her insides violently, then releasing in a heavy rush that stole the strength from her limbs.
She fell against him, too weak to do anything but ride the raging tide of her rapture while he stroked in her a few more times before following. Taking her waist into his hands, he swiftly lifted her off him just before he spent, the hot spurts of his seed staining them both. The warm, sticky liquid spewed against her belly, staining her gown, a gush of it splashing against her bodice.
Resting on his thighs, she found her limbs too weak to support her. She fell against him, cringing at the feel of her wet clothes clinging to her skin, but unable to do anything about it. Adam sat beneath her for a moment in silence, his ragged breaths harmonizing with her soft pants.
After a while, he shifted beneath her, pushing her to sit up. Her face flushed as she gazed down at the mess staining his shirt and her gown, the reality of her position once again making itself apparent. She must look like a Haymarket strumpet—legs spread over his thighs, gown bunched up around her hips, hair mussed, and her bodice pulled down to expose her breasts.
Yet, the heat in his stare made triumph rise in her chest. He did not need to speak the words aloud for her to know she had won.
Half an hour later, Daphne sat immersed in a large tub in the washroom off Adam’s bedchamber, her mind still reeling from all that had happened since the day before.
After they had gathered their bearings following the explosive encounter in his study, Adam had risen to his feet and taken her hand, swiftly propelling her from the room. She’d hardly had time to think about the mess staining the front of her gown or the weakened state of her limbs as she’d struggled to keep up with him.
“Where are we going?” she’d huffed, out of breath by the time they’d reached the top of a winding staircase.
It had not taken her long to realize they stood in the same corridor where she’d discovered Olivia’s bedchamber. Or rather, what had once been Olivia’s bedchamber. Now, she was hidden away in the forbidden corridor along with her daughter. Daphne’s niece.
“My bedroom,” he’d said, his tone still brusque and clipped despite the fact that she’d just made him spend.
He
’d seemed as tense as ever, his shoulders squared, back erect, steps ringing out a swift cadence on the tiles.
“Henceforth, you will go wherever I go,” he’d added, pausing before a closed door and reaching for the nob. “I do not trust you out of my sight.”
Her heart had sunk at his declaration, but she had not protested. He had not thrown her back out on her arse, so she had no reason to complain. Besides, she had less than a fortnight left; she could endure being under his thumb for such a short time.
He had ushered her into a room as dark and masculine as the man who dwelt there, summoning servants to order a fire stoked in the hearth as well as a bath. While they had waited, she’d studied the room with unabashed curiosity, drinking in the black and gold decor. Dark wood panels covered the walls, polished until they gleamed. Black damask curtains had been pulled away from large windows, allowing in the light of the afternoon and framing the Scottish countryside beyond. The heavy furniture was ornate and well made—antique like most of the house’s other rooms. A black and gold counterpane lay flat upon the mattress, several pillows arranged neatly against the headboard.
The scents she had begun to associate with Adam proved even stronger here, flooding her senses with cedar, cigar smoke, and a pure masculine aroma that seemed uniquely his own.
An open door led the way into a washroom equipped with the latest in plumbing technology. Metal pipes descended from the ceiling, pulling cool water in from the cistern to mix with the piping hot water the footmen toted from the kitchen. A contraption Adam referred to as a ‘shower bath’ sat in another corner of the room—appearing like a large basin with wooden rods reaching upward, holding a curtain which enclosed its inside. While undressing and preparing to get into her own bath, she’d watched Adam undress, then open the curtain, revealing that the big basin had what looked like a pump built into its side. The wooden poles held an upper basin, which would hang over Adam’s head once he stepped inside.
The Villain Page 21
