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

by james

  Somehow, she would make Marie understand. For her own sanity, she would need to leave.

  They entered the courtyard and the Count brought Tempest to a halt.

  He dismounted, then reached to assist her. A stable boy trotted up and took the horses reins.

  “Rub him down good, Eddie, and give him two scoops of oats tonight.”

  “I’ll take extra care with ‘im, milord.”

  The boy grinned up at his tall lord, loyalty and admiration evident in the proud tone of his voice.

  “I know you will, lad. There’ll be a sweet reward for you, too, come the morning. Tell Cook I said you’ve earned an extra pastry.” The Count ruffled the boy’s hair, then turned to Bridgett.

  “Shall we go inside?”

  She ignored the offer of his arm and the irritating softening she’d felt while watching him interact with the child, and turned to precede him up the stone steps.

  She’d barely touched the latch when the door flew open and Marie pulled her inside and into her embrace.

  “Bridgett! I’ve been so worried about you! Vincent left me here to wait, and I’ve been pacing the floor for hours. Where have you been? Are you all right? Are you hurt?”

  Bridgett pulled back, embarrassed and a little bit overwhelmed by such an outpouring of affectionate emotion. The twinge of guilt she’d felt earlier blossomed into a full-blown ache.

  “I’m sorry that I caused you to worry…” She stopped. What else could she say? That she was sorry she left? Sorry she’d been such a fool?

  Marie squeezed her hand. “I understand. There is no need to explain. I’m just glad you’re unhurt, and that Vincent managed to find you.”

  Bridgett glanced at the Count, who stood silently beside her, and suddenly felt drained. Now that she was safe, she realized how frightened she’d been, alone in the forest. She’d had the distinct impression that she’d been followed. The feeling had grown to certainty when she’d heard someone coming through the brush behind her. “I would like to go to my room and lie down.”

  “Of course! You must be exhausted.” Marie led her toward the staircase. “Go ahead up, and I’ll have a cup of tea and something to eat sent to your room. Would you like a bath?”

  She would love one, but she lacked the energy. Tonight, she would have to make do with a quick sponging. “Perhaps in the morning. Goodnight.”

  It seemed to take forever to traverse the steps and long hallways to her suite. Her legs, after sitting astride a horse, had stiffened unbearably, and ached with every stride. When she finally reached her room, she went immediately to the bed and collapsed upon it. Only the thought of soiling the freshly laundered bedding stopped her from curling up into a ball and succumbing to fatigue. She smelled of dirt, sweat and horse.

  Moaning with effort, she rolled to her side and let her legs dangle off the edge of the mattress. She would get up. Momentarily.

  “Would you like some help?”

  She squeezed her eyes shut tight, wishing to block out his voice, his presence. “I am fine.”

  “You do not look fine,” his voice held a thread of humor, “you look…ghastly.”

  The tears came unexpectedly, savagely, her entire body convulsing with the strength of her sobs. Something within her splintered, and she began to tremble; shattered, and she lost all control.

  “Get out!” Her shout echoed off the walls. She leapt from the bed, ignoring her screaming muscles. “Get out, get out, get out!”

  She lashed out blindly, only to find herself pulled within the confines of a strong pair of arms.

  “Hush, bella mia, you are overwrought.” He patted her back. “You will feel better in the morning, after you have slept.”

  His condescending tone only served to fuel the fire of her wrath. She searched her mind for something, anything to say that would make him release her. That would cause him pain; that would erase that smug male look from his face. Did he honestly believe they would go back to the way it had been between them before? That she would forget everything she’d heard and close her eyes to his despicable behavior?

  “I will not feel better until I am away from you. You, who are less than a man.” She felt him stiffen, but continued her verbal attack. “Even as young and inexperienced as I am, I still know that a woman should find pleasure in the arms of a man. You have never given me pleasure, milord. I doubt you know how.”

  His hand at her back stilled. She looked up and saw the anger in his eyes, but she would not, could not, turn back.

  “Perhaps, when I am rid of you, I will find a real man,” she bit out. “One who knows how to give, as well as receive. I am sure he will be most delighted with my newly acquired skills.”

  She watched his eyes, and reveled in what she saw there. Although his face showed no emotion, his eyes betrayed the damage she’d managed to inflict.

  He released her and she stepped back, but did not cower. Let him suffer, as she suffered.

  He smiled, but it was devoid of humor. “You’re very clever, aren’t you, bella mia? Do you think your words will drive me away? Or, perhaps make me so angry that I will allow you to leave?”

  He turned and went to stand before the fire, giving her his back. “Maybe you wish to return to your father, hmm? Do you think he is more of a man? Could he give you pleasure, do you think?”

  “You swine. That is beneath even you.” She clenched her fists and stood her ground. “I would be set free, to do as I please.”

  “Impossible. You are mine, and you will do as I please.”

  “Have I not earned my freedom, milord? Surely the use of my body these many nights has been worth what you wagered. You can not keep me here against my will.”

  “Can’t I?” He turned to face her, and she saw that he’d regained his control. “We shall see. I bid you goodnight.”

  She frowned when he left her room into the corridor, wondering why he did not simply enter his own suite through the connecting door. The sound of metal scraping against metal gave her the answer, and she rushed over to pull at the latch.

  “You can’t keep me locked up!” She beat at the heavy oak panel in vain. “Oh!”

  Turning away, she paced the room in anger. How dare he? After all he’d done to her, this was the ultimate humiliation, to be locked up like an animal. Or a prisoner.

  There had to be a way out. Marie had said she would send up some tea. Bridgett smiled. As soon as the door opened, she would be ready.

  Chapter Eleven

  Vincent dropped the key in his pocket and started down the corridor. His hands shook and sweat coated his brow.

  “Pardon me, milord!”

  He looked up in time to narrowly miss a collision with a maid. She carried a tray, laden with tea and a small plate of scones.

  “I will take that.” He relieved her of her burden. “Thank you, Doris. You may retire for the night.”

  “As you wish, milord.” The plump servant bobbed a curtsey and scurried back down the stairs.

  Vincent retraced his steps. At the door, he was forced to set the tray on the floor in order to release the lock.

  He pushed it open. “What the bloody hell!”

  She hit him at a full run, nearly knocking him off his feet. He stumbled back, but managed to catch her arm when she attempted to dart past him.

  “Let me go!”

  “Where?” he asked quietly, and pulled her into his arms.

  She stilled. “Don’t lock me in.”

  He closed his eyes and stroked her back. “You will stay, if I do not?”

  “I can not promise you that.” She spoke against his chest, her words whisper soft.

  He admired her honesty, but not enough to give her what she requested. He simply could not take the chance.

  “Then the door must remain locked.”

  She broke free of his arms. “You can’t keep me locked up forever!”

  “No, only at night. During the day, you shall have your freedom.”

  She put her ha
nds on her hips and glared up at him, a furious she-cat, her claws bared. “Freedom? How kind of you, milord. And will you have all of your servants watching my every move, or only a select few?”

  Vincent sighed, suddenly weary of the verbal sparring. “Go into your room, Bridgett. Go now, or I will carry you in and tie you to the bed if I have to.”

  An image, a half-formed memory, teased at the edges of his mind, and his cock stirred.

  “You wouldn’t dare.”

  He reached to caress her cheek, gazing into icy blue eyes. “Be careful, bella mia, for I would dare that and much more. I want you, even now.”

  Her eyes grew wide with understanding and she stepped back, into her room.

  “Then I will go willingly, milord, for I do not wish to be the recipient of your attentions. I fear I would die of boredom, should I be forced to suffer them further.”

  He stepped forward, but the door slammed in his face.

  “You can lock it, milord. I am going to bed.”

  * * * * *

  Vincent downed his drink in one swift motion, then reached for the bottle to pour another. He lifted the glass and stared at the amber liquid; swirled it, contemplated it.

  He could feel himself sinking deeper and deeper into the black hole where his memories lurked. Memories that both aroused and horrified him in a way that drove him mad.

  The liquor dulled his emotions; unfortunately, it also dulled his wits.

  He set the glass down and turned his back on it, unwilling to give in yet again to its siren song promise of forgetfulness.

  The fire crackled and hissed, casting dancing shadows on the library walls.

  Upstairs, Bridget would be asleep, undoubtedly plotting his demise in her dreams.

  He cocked his head and listened. To the snapping of the fire, to the silence beyond. He hated it. The quiet hours in the dead of night became a playground for the ghosts and memories of his past.

  He reached for the glass of sherry, picked it up, brought it to his lips.

  “No.” He turned abruptly and tossed the contents into the flames.

  His hands shook and his skin crawled with tense anxiety. Release. He looked up, as if he could see her in the room above. Pleasure.

  I doubt you know how.

  His cock grew hard, straining at the front of his breeches, and he smiled in anticipation.

  “We shall see, bella mia.” He started toward the door. “We shall see.”

  * * * * *

  Bridgett opened her eyes and stared hard into the inky darkness. A soft thud came from the other side of the room and she sat up.

  “Who’s there?”

  No answer, just a shuffling sound as the intruder drew closer to the bed.

  She opened her mouth to scream, only to shut it with a painful snap as a large, naked body landed on top of her. Her arms and legs were pinned beneath his weight, and she could barely breath, let alone draw in a deep breath to call for help.

  “You wish to experience pleasure?”

  She tensed and lay still, fighting the panic and instant arousal brought on by his words. She squinted into the darkness. His face, above her, was nothing more than a shadow, a dream-like specter with vague form.

  “Pleasure is a strange sensation, bella mia.” He moved his upper body to lie beside her, but kept her trapped beneath the weight of a leg that draped across her thighs. “The line between pleasure and pain is fine, indeed.”

  “Let me go.” Bridgett pushed at his chest.

  He gave a harsh laugh and grabbed her arms, pulling her up to crush her against the hard planes of his chest, their faces just inches apart.

  “If you understand nothing else, understand this. I will not let you go, bella mia. I will never let you go.”

  She shuddered at the intense possessiveness in his voice, but did not back down. “You said you would never force me.”

  He lowered his head and feathered kisses across her cheek, her lips, her eyelids and she caught her breath.

  “I will not force you, amore mia. There will be no need.”

  As if to prove his point, he placed his palm on her breast. Her nipple grew hard at his touch. Without thought, she arched her back and moved against him.

  “You see? Your passion will not be denied.” He nibbled his way up her neck to suckle at the soft flesh of her earlobe. “It was not your hatred for me that caused you to question my abilities, but your hunger.”

  Bridgett shook her head in denial. “I never said that I hated you, milord.”

  She might wish she did, but lying to herself, and to him, would be useless.

  “Perhaps it might be better if you did.”

  His hands went to the neck of her shift and he untied the laces. The heat of his fingertips against her cool flesh caused chills to race along her arms.

  “I fear you will not like the lesson I have planned for you this night.” He brushed the loose material of her gown down over her shoulders, freeing her breasts to his touch. “I had thought to spare you, but I’m afraid that will no longer be possible.”

  The inability to see his expression and gauge his intent made Bridgett dizzy and off-balance. Anxiety, brought on by his ominous words, warred with her body’s anticipation of his next touch.

  When he captured her nipple with his mouth, she nearly came up off the mattress. A coiled bundle of nerves, she reacted by grasping his head and pressing him close.

  He held her breasts together and moved from one to the other, sucking her hard until she cried out.

  He raised his head and she could feel the moist warmth of his breath on her face.

  “That was a mixture of both pleasure and pain, was it not, bella mia?”

  She refused to give him the satisfaction of an answer.

  His hands moved to the open neckline of her gown. There was a sharp tug, then the fabric ripped in two. The sound of its rending echoed in her ears and she cringed.

  Cool air caressed her bared skin, and she lay perfectly still, feeling vulnerable, afraid she’d pushed him too far.

  “But there is more to pleasure.” He spoke harshly. “Let me show you.”

  She felt him shift and pull away from her, taking the heat of his body with him. She waited, tense and expectant.

  “Spread your legs for me.”

  She could barely make out his shadowy image, kneeling on the bed near her feet.

  Frightened by his intent, she tightened her muscles, resisting the pull of his hands on her thighs.

  “Please,” she whispered, and cursed herself for begging. But the thought of reliving the pain of taking him inside her made her nearly frantic.

  “I promised you pleasure,” he reminded her.

  He caressed the soft flesh of her upper thighs and she calmed beneath his gentle touch.

  Boneless, her legs drifted apart of their own accord.

  “There are several different levels of pleasure.” He sounded distant and detached, and she shivered.

  Long fingers slid upward to stroke the swollen folds of petal-soft flesh between her legs.

  “There is the kind you receive when you sip a fine wine, or that brings a sigh to your lips following a passionate kiss.”

  Bridgett, lulled by the hypnotic tone of his voice, closed her eyes and concentrated on the delicious sensations between her thighs.

  His seeking fingers, slick with her arousal, hit upon a particularly sensitive spot, and she gasped.

  “Your clitoris,” he told her, and circled the hard little bud with his fingertip. “A ‘pleasure point’, if you will. Which brings us to the next level.”

  He began to apply rhythmic pressure, and a frightening tightness formed in the pit of her stomach.

  “There is pleasure, sweeter than a kiss, more intoxicating than wine. The kind that over-powers and overwhelms with its intensity.”

  His finger moved faster and Bridgett moaned. Her toes began to tingle and she lifted her knees, wanting… She closed her eyes in denial against the thought �
� the image – that flitted through her mind. The image of him straddling her, mounting her, filling her.

  “The kind of pleasure,” he continued, as if reading her thoughts, “that fills the emptiness.”

  “Oh, God!” Bridgett cried out as he plunged his finger into her.

  He moved it slowly, in and out, while he continued to manipulate her clitoris with the pad of his thumb.

  “If only for a little while,” he whispered.

  Bridgett panted, unable to draw a full breath, and a light sheen of sweat coated her skin. The tension that had begun in her belly spread, and she met each of his inward movements with a thrust of her own.

  “And finally, bella mia, there is the pleasure you seek now.”

  His movements slowed, his finger withdrew, and she whimpered in protest.

  “It’s a pleasure so intense that it is nearly painful. A pleasure for which some men, and women, have willingly sold their souls.”

  He pulled away and she felt the mattress spring back as he stood.

  “For the giver, this pleasure is awesome and fearsome in its selfishness. For the receiver, once having tasted of its fruit, it means certain slavery. Those addicted to it become driven to feed a voracious appetite that is never appeased.”

  Bridgett struggled to understand his meaning. “How can someone who gives be selfish?”

  “It depends on one’s reason for giving, does it not? I have just given you pleasure. Do you believe I did it for your sake, or my own?”

  She frowned. “But could it not be for both of our sakes?”

  He sighed, a sound filled with sadness and pain. “In another life, perhaps.”

  “Why?” She poured all her confusion and unhappiness into a single word.

  The next time he spoke, his voice came from across the room, near the door to his chamber. “Go to sleep, Bridgett. It’s very late.”

  She could tell that he’d withdrawn from her again, that the conversation was over.

  “And how will you sleep, milord?” Anger, and the illusion of safety provided by the darkness, gave her the courage to lash out. “You have received no pleasure this night. In your selfishness, can you cope with that?”