Jill Noelle - The Dark Count (Ellora's Cave)

by james

  Chapter Three

  Vincent carried his sleeping charge up the back stairs of a roadside inn. She nestled in his arms, all softness and warmth, with luscious curves that made his blood run hot. He eased open the door to the room he’d purchased for the night, then carried her to the bed.

  She moaned softly when he put her down, but did not awaken, and he turned away to light the lamp that sat on the bedside table.

  A breathy sigh caught his attention, and he stared at her face, innocent in repose. How could anyone sleep so deeply? She hadn’t even stirred when he’d pulled her from his horse, had merely snuggled against him in a most trusting manner. He pushed back the guilt that tried to worm its way into his thoughts, and turned away to close and bolt the door. His hands shook as he considered his options. Where to start, how to proceed. It would be different for a woman, especially one so young and inexperienced. He must tread carefully. How to awaken the heretofore-dormant desires of a virgin?

  He frowned. His plan would require a delicate mixture of both self-discipline and charm. Gentle coaxing, blended with an unrelenting assault on her senses.

  “Milord?” She sounded groggy.

  He crossed to the bed. “I was just about to wake you. Are you hungry? I could have something sent up?”

  Bridgett shook her head and stretched. “I would rather bathe. Do you think I might get some water?”

  Vincent watched her feline-like movements, admiring the way the muscles in her shoulders flexed as she raised her arms above her head. Did she know how seductive she looked, the way her body writhed on the bed, her hair fanned out on the pillows? His mouth went dry, and he had to lick his lips before he could speak. “I’m afraid it’s too late for a proper bath, but there is a pitcher there on the washstand if you would like to rinse off.”

  She glanced down at her filthy dress and sighed. “I suppose that will do.”

  Vincent nodded. He needed to put some distance between them, for his sake as well as her own. “I will wait outside.”

  He went into the hallway, but left the door open a crack in order to watch her. She slipped from the bed and went to the washstand. After a brief hesitation, she grabbed the hem of her skirt and pulled her dress up and over her head.

  Vincent drank in the sight of her supple beauty. Greater perfection he had never seen. High, firm breasts, crested with large pink-brown nipples, swayed ever so slightly when she moved. She turned, presenting him with her back, and he let his gaze drift down, following the line of her spine. Twin dimples graced the top of her buttocks. Vincent narrowed his eyes as he imagined exploring the tiny indentations with the tip of his tongue. He squeezed his eyes shut tight and drew a shuddering breath. He should have gone for a walk, instead of spying at the door. His penis pressed painfully against the front of his trousers, and he knew he needed to regain control or his plans would be destroyed by his own impatience.

  Drawing on every ounce of self-restraint, he forced down the lust that coursed through his veins and opened his eyes. She had propped one leg up on a chair, and was running a wet cloth along the length of her thigh. The sight was an excellent test for his resolve to remain aloof. Satisfied he’d regained control, he pushed open the door. It was time.

  “Milord!” She looked about frantically, as if searching for a place to hide.

  “I grew tired of waiting.” He stepped close. She trembled, but did not move away.

  “You are very beautiful, bella mia. Quite possibly the most beautiful woman I have ever seen.”

  She blushed prettily and averted her gaze, and Vincent felt a rush of triumph. Already, she responded to his advances just as he’d hoped.

  He took her hand and raised it to his lips. She watched, wide-eyed, as he took each fingertip into his mouth and suckled gently. She tasted clean, of soap and salt.

  “Milord, you should not.” She was panting, now, her voice a mere whisper, and he wondered if she might swoon.

  He cocked his head. “I should not? Why is that, fair Bridgett?”

  He ran the back of his hand down the side of her throat in a lingering caress. Her skin was as soft as a rose petal, delicate as fine china.

  “You are mine. But even more, your splendid body enjoys my touch. Your nipples are hard, and I dare say if I were to put my hand between your luscious thighs, I would find you very wet.” He meant to shock, but also to draw her attention to her body’s response to his closeness, to his touch.

  She took a step back, only to collide with the washstand. “You confuse me, milord. I am not…you can not…”

  “Oh, but you are. And I can.”

  He took her face between his hands and lowered his head, gently brushing her lips in the lightest of kisses. Her warm breath mingled with his own, a soft sigh of yearning.

  “It is natural, this desire you feel, the way your body responds to my touch. Do not be frightened, little one.” He nibbled the corners of her mouth and trailed his tongue along the high ridge of her cheekbone.

  “It is wrong.” She placed her hands against his chest and pushed, but he held his ground.

  “Why is it wrong, bella mia? You are mine, and there is nothing you can do about it.” He kept his voice low and whispered against her ear. Again, to shock, to titillate.

  “I can fight you.” Her voice wavered.

  Vincent chuckled and brushed a finger over her nipple. She whimpered, and he laughed.

  “You can fight me? Fight what? My desire to touch you? Your desire to be touched? I think not. Your mind may be telling you it is wrong, but the rest of you is begging for me.”

  He nibbled on the soft flesh at the base of her throat and she groaned. The sound was nearly his undoing; his control slipped.

  “Ignore what your mind is telling you, bella mia. Close your eyes and listen to your body.”

  He cupped her breast, lifting it, testing its weight. It fit perfectly in the palm of his hand, a succulent fruit waiting to be sampled. “Sooner or later, your body will win the struggle.”

  “Please.”

  Vincent’s heart pounded at her whispered plea. With her eyes closed and her head thrown back, there was little chance that she begged for him to release her. No, the fair Bridgett had crossed the line from clueless virgin to a woman aware.

  Hiding his elation, he stepped back. “Get dressed and come to bed. We’ve another long day ahead of us tomorrow.”

  He turned his back on her and began to undress, not needing to see her face to know what she felt. He’d been in her position too many times to count. The embarrassment and the humiliation at having relented, the frustration at having been denied.

  Nude, he stalked to the fireplace and stoked the logs until they fell apart into glowing embers licked with tiny flames. He felt her watching him, sensed the moment when she regained her composure enough to dress. He waited until he was sure she’d had enough time to climb under the quilts, and then turned to face her. He stood still, allowing her to get a glimpse of his arousal, before crossing to the bed and climbing in beside her.

  She immediately slid to the far side, putting as much distance between them as possible, and Vincent smiled into the darkness. He could imagine her thoughts, her confusion. Before long, she would ache to be close to him, but for now, he would allow her to cling to her maidenly modesty.

  Bridgett slid from Tempest’s back then moved to the far side of the clearing, putting as much distance between she and the Count as possible. Riding behind him, forced to cling to his waist, had been sheer torture. All morning she’d done nothing but replay their previous night’s encounter, trying to come to terms with the warring emotions of shame and desire. The way she had responded to his words and touch confused and dismayed her, and yet a part of her, a part she’d never known existed, secretly wished for more.

  She stretched her arms above her head and groaned. Anxiety, coupled with hours on horseback, had caused her joints to grow stiff.

  “Are you sore?”

  Warm, firm hands fell on h
er shoulders and she jumped. She could not respond to his question as he began massaging her burning muscles, drawing out the tension. His hands worked their magic and she leaned back against him with a sigh of pleasure, giving in to his ministrations.

  “It is difficult to resist, bella mia, is it not?” He whispered near her ear and she trembled as his hot breath scorched her neck.

  “I don’t know what you mean.” A lie. She had been fighting it all morning. The image of him, naked in the firelight, haunted her, taunted her.

  “I think you do.” He ran his tongue down the side of her throat. “Don’t fight it, fair Bridgett. Close your eyes. Stop thinking.”

  She shuddered. She’d nearly done that last night.

  He wrapped his arms about her and cupped her breasts. She did as he’d suggested and closed her eyes. Not to give herself over, but in an attempt to regain control of her scattered senses.

  He caressed her nipples and she whimpered softly as an intense jolt of pleasure shot through her body.

  “You see, it is not so terrible to be touched by a man.” He continued to pinch her nipples and caress her breasts. “If it eases your conscience, you can tell yourself I’m forcing you, would force you if you tried to resist.”

  Bridgett sucked in her breath. It had not crossed her mind that he would do any such thing. In truth, after her initial resistance of the prior night, she had not thought to refuse him. Something told her that a gentleman did not behave thusly, and that a lady…a lady would rather die than partake of such activities. But perhaps the Count was no gentleman. And she, of course, was no lady.

  Her legs grew weak and she wondered how much longer she could remain standing of her own accord.

  “Why are you doing this?” She fought her desire, attempted to lay the responsibility at his feet. “What do you want from me?”

  “Why? Because you are a beautiful, desirable woman. Because you want me to. Because I can.” He paused and dropped a light kiss on her shoulder. “As for what I want from you, bella mia, only your complete submission.”

  Bridgett squeezed her eyes closed against the hot tears that threatened to spill over and shivered. Her submission. Only that. Didn’t he realize that he’d already gained so much more? A longing to be touched. A yearning to be needed. In such a short period of time he’d managed to bring her body to awareness, made her…. ache. In doing so, he had brought her face-to-face with her own weaknesses.

  The cool chill of morning air suddenly replaced the warmth of his body. Bridgett clenched her fists. Once again, he had toyed with her, awakened her passions with his touch, and then left her to deal with her raging emotions.

  She stumbled forward a short distance into the forest, seeking a moments solitude to regain her senses. She grabbed a tree to steady herself, digging her nails into the rough bark, and let the tears she’d been holding back flow free.

  How different she felt now, compared to the cheerful optimism of the other morning. Had that only been yesterday? She sighed. It seemed like a lifetime ago. She’d been so sure of herself, so confident that she knew what lay ahead. But that was before he’d touched her. Before he’d confused her with his words, with his attentions.

  She swiped at her eyes and sniffed. It would do no good to hide away, sniveling like a child. It was time to put childish behavior and dreams behind her. She may not be able to completely control her own destiny, but she could face it as an adult, attempt to find some happiness.

  Her breasts still tingled and the tightness in the pit of her stomach had not eased. Nothing he’d done to her had been physically unpleasant. Her emotional state was another matter, entirely.

  Perhaps the Count was right, and she should stop thinking so much. She uttered a strangled laugh. It would be easier to stop breathing. Simply being in his presence caused her head to spin with foreign thoughts and emotions. He wanted something from her, that much was clear. And, if truth be known, she enjoyed being

  the object of his affections. But at what cost? She had no way of knowing the price she might pay for her compliance. She could only follow her instincts and hope for the best.

  Squaring her shoulders, she trampled back toward the clearing, determined to make the best of an uncertain future.

  Vincent, busy with his horse, covertly watched Bridgett’s return from the woods. When he saw the expression on her face, he smiled. She no longer had the aura of an uncertain girl; even her eyes had taken on a new light of purpose. They sparkled, showing the joy of decision of which she was probably not consciously aware.

  He waited silently for her to join him, and then helped her onto the horse. When he mounted in front of her, she wrapped her arms around his waist and leaned her head against his shoulder.

  Vincent wanted to laugh aloud. The heady sense of power and anticipation caused him to grow instantly hard.

  He turned Tempest and they headed down the path. Tonight would be their last evening alone together before they reached his estate.

  Chapter Four

  Bridgett wished that, like the previous night, she’d been asleep when the time came to stop for the evening. That way, she would be spared the uncertainty of how to act or what to say. He’d barely spoken to her since that morning, and it disconcerted her. In light of her earlier resolve, she’d expected him to become more attentive to her. She shook her head. How could he know what she’d decided? And it was not as if she could tell him. Still, she’d expected him to sense it, somehow, to know that she’d stopped resisting. Instead, he seemed distant, and he hadn’t tried to touch her since they’d stopped on the trail.

  The Count had instructed her to wait while he secured their room, then motioned for her to follow him up the stairs at the back of the inn. A strange tension filled the air between them; he seemed anxious or distracted, and she wondered what disturbed him.

  “Wait here,” he instructed her, after opening the door to their room. “I am going to see if I can purchase a few articles of clothing for you.”

  She nodded and attempted a smile, a little worried at the notion of being alone. “As you wish, milord.”

  “I’ll order that a bath be sent up to you. Be sure to lock the door once it has been delivered.”

  Bridgett smiled in earnest. “A bath! How delightful! I had hoped to have one.” She sniffed the air in an exaggerated manner. “I fear I’m beginning to smell of your horse.”

  The Count did not return her good humor, and it struck her that she’d hardly seen him smile, and rarely heard him laugh. The man was too serious, by far. Or, perhaps he simply did not share her delight in the simpler pleasures life could bring.

  He walked out the door without a backward glance, and she sighed. A man who lived in a castle would most likely take such luxuries as a bath for granted, but for her it was a treat. Usually, the most she could hope for was a quick wash in the freezing waters of a nearby creek. She hadn’t had a real bath, in a tub of warmed water, in a very long time. Not since before her mother had died, since before they’d had to dismiss their few remaining servants.

  She glanced around. The room could be the same one she’d stayed in the previous night, if not for the fact that it was a bit larger and the bed looked a sight more comfortable.

  A knock sounded at the door.

  “Yes?” She tried to sound confident and in charge, but her voice still wavered.

  “It’s Jonesy, Ma’am. They sent me up to stoke the fire.”

  Bridgett let out the breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding and unbolted the door. A small, hunch-backed man scurried into the room, his arms full of wood.

  “I won’t be a minute, Ma’am, and you’ll have a nice blazin’ fire ta warm ye.” He piled the wood on the hearth. “Yer mister paid me extra to make sure ye was warm ‘n comfortable.”

  Your mister. Bridgett opened her mouth to correct him, then snapped it shut. What would she tell him? The strangeness of her circumstances suddenly struck her, and she experiences a small twinge of discomfiture
. The Count owned her. Like livestock, or a slave. He was not her husband, her guardian, or even her employer. He was her master, and she, his chattel. She frowned, trying to summon up the outrage she supposed she should feel, but failed. In truth, the idea of belonging to such a man brought about feelings she couldn’t quite name. A giddy excitement, a strange attraction. Feelings that, if she examined them too closely, might cause her to question her own good judgment. He claimed her as his own, and it made her feel wanted. It had been a very long time since anyone had made her feel wanted. She’d pondered these things, and more, during their silent ride that day, coming to the realization that life with the Count might be quite pleasant.

  “There ye be, Ma’am. Nice ‘n bright.” He hurried to the door and gave her a nod. “They’ll be up with yer water momentarily. Ye jus’ holler if ye be needin’ anythin’ else.”

  “Thank you.” Bridgett closed the door, remembering to bolt it as the Count had instructed.

  The fire glowed brightly, casting shadows on the walls and bringing the temperature of the room to a more tolerable level. The mornings and evenings were quite chilly and, although she hadn’t complained, she’d spent many hours these past two days shivering. Her slight shift was not suited for the weather, nor fit for travel. She smiled slightly, wondering what treasures the Count would find for her in the town. Whatever they were, she hoped they would be warm.

  Another knock came at the door, and she admitted two men lugging a large, metal tub between them. Three other burly fellows, carrying buckets of water in each hand, followed. The last man to enter bumped into her, and water sloshed over the side of the bucket and down the front of her skirt.

  “Sorry, ma’am.” He ducked his head and joined the others.

  Too excited over the prospect of the bath to be angry, Bridgett watched in amusement as they placed the tub before the fire and filled it nearly to the rim, each criticizing the other for their sloppy work. She tapped her foot impatiently and, when they were finished, hurried them out the door.