Lord Regret's Price: A Jane Austen Space Opera, Book 3

by Joely Sue Burkhart

  More, they’d also somehow managed to infect Gil with that reckless lust.

  It wasn’t just the sex toys. Although perhaps such a simple device had managed to unlock some of the inhibitions they hadn’t even realized were holding them back.

  She worked Sig’s trousers open, watching his reaction through her tumbled hair. Heavy and dark as a midnight sky, his eyes bored into her. No reluctance, no hesitation, no guilt that perhaps the blood calling him to violence would stain his hands and therefore make him unworthy.

  That’s the core of our issue, she realized in a sudden lightning bolt of clarity as he twisted his fingers in her hair and drew her closer. He fears if I know the truth about what drives him to kill, I won’t be able to love him.

  Doesn’t he realize I’ve always known the truth?

  I’ve always seen that darkness in him, the coldness and detachment that allows him to kill without regret or guilt. That cold, hard edge draws me as much as his secret need to be bound.

  She pulled her head back and forth, ignoring his grip on her hair so she could torment him with the strands that had fallen from her coiffure. As punishment—or reward—he gave another tug on the chain dangling between her breasts. Her mouth fell open on a low growl and he pulled her mouth to him.

  She didn’t tease anymore by licking. No, she was too far gone herself for that. She took him deep into her mouth on a hard lunge, moaning around his length so that he could feel the vibrations of her need. Telling him what she needed, what she wanted, without words. And he heard. Because he dragged her head closer, forcing his length deeper. Force, command, control, when hers had disappeared. That’s what she wanted most of all.

  He pushed into her mouth until she gagged, and even then, he held that thrust one long moment, another, until she almost couldn’t bear it. Until she was on the verge of struggling. Her corset was too tight to allow deep breaths, and now he’d taken even the shallow possibility away by closing off her throat. Finally he backed away, allowing her to suck in a breath deeply enough the corset creaked around her ribs.

  She didn’t let him go, though. Not now that she had him.

  In fact, I’m determined to make him as wild and uncontrolled as I am.

  Tightening her mouth, she sucked as hard as she could while drawing her mouth up his full length. At the very tip, she carefully dragged her teeth across the sensitive skin. A long breath shuddered out of him, his grip brutal on her hair, drawing tears. But it felt so good, that small pain, blending with the throb of her breasts and the fire roaring through her veins. She leaned forward, giving him more of her upper body weight to support, so she could remind Gil where she wanted him.

  Her chest heaved for air, unable to fully expand with the corset binding her. Lightheaded, she careened deeper into that looming pit. Unable to control her breathing. Unable to control her need. She ached and burned, so greedy and starved she wriggled her hips and arched her back, lifting her backside for Gil.

  An invitation he couldn’t refuse.

  That big, broad palm moved down her spine, a heavy weight adding to the constraint of the corset. He kneaded her hips, drawing out an impatient cry from her lips. She could imagine all too well what he was doing.

  Staring at her naked flesh. Watching her mouth on Sig. Wondering how quickly she’d come once he sank to the hilt inside her.

  She widened her stance, lifting her buttocks in a silent plea. Sig pushed deep, blocking her throat again. Digging her fingers into his waist, she held on for dear life. Everything was sweeping away in a vast tidal wave. Tossed here and there, she truly felt like a little paper boat careening down dark floodwaters. Her breasts were on fire, an incessant thundering pulse of blood from her nipples to her skull and down to her core.

  Gil thrust deep, forcing her down harder on Sig. They held her pinned between them like that, filled to the brim and trembling on the edge for one heart-shatteringly long moment. Every muscle in her body clamped down so hard and viciously she would have screamed if she could have drawn breath. Sig tipped her head back, rocking her deeper. Gil shifted their weight so he was more under her hips, cradling her on the tops of his thighs. He didn’t thrust so much as fill every inch of her, skewering her while she shuddered through release.

  Sig was the one who thrust into her body. He kept her rocking back on Gil, pushing into her mouth too far, making her involuntarily squirm on the other man’s cock until she couldn’t stop shaking and fighting to be free.

  Not to escape from them. No. She needed the pounding action, the movement, the release. Not this never-ending pressure and fullness.

  A sudden burst of flame on her breast made her throw her head back despite the grip Sig had on her hair. The clamp. He must have loosened it. The influx of blood hurt so bad, so good. It lifted her up to dizzying heights and then sent her crashing hard to earth, grinding her against Gil, another torment, another overwhelming sensation.

  The other clamp released and she clawed at Sig, unable to see or breathe or move. All she could do was feel the agonizing flood of sensations. Swollen rivers raging through her veins. Not blood. Not even fire. Fire couldn’t even begin to describe the searing heat that crisped her brain cells.

  She had a moment to wonder if the redline surge of power flooding her system would be enough to short out and disintegrate her nanobots, when her men began exploding too.

  And then she broke into tiny pieces herself.

  Chapter Six

  Waking in a tangle of limbs—some of which were too thick and muscular to be feminine—wasn’t as alarming as it would have been a few weeks ago.

  Before Charlie.

  Sig opened his eyes but didn’t try to move away. Not yet.

  He was still too raw, the sensations and memory of last night hovering in the back of his mind like he was slowly wakening from a dream.

  Her head was pillowed on his chest, her arm curled low around his waist. Her hair was a mess. He let a smile escape, imagining her grumble when she awoke and her long-suffering sighs while she brushed out the tangled strands that hung down to her buttocks. She might complain, but she loved to torment him with her hair. And, honestly, there wasn’t anything better than the sensation of her luxurious, heavy hair falling over him, enveloping him in her scent. But it was more than the sensation and the vanilla spice of her hair that made his gut twist like he hadn’t had a meal in days.

  It was the intimacy. What that intimacy implied.

  Growing up in a privileged home of one of Britannia’s most powerful families, he’d never seen his mother let her hair down. She’d been perfectly coiffured and immaculately dressed every single moment of his life. Even while she’d abused him and his father. Not a hair out of place. Her gown a dazzling example of the current fashion, down to delicate, lacy gloves. While she beat his father with whatever implement she had at hand.

  Though she might curse him later if those gloves were stained with blood.

  Sig closed his eyes, trying to contain the hot flood of emotion that made him tremble. Not fear, not any longer. He wasn’t a child forced to watch while his father was beaten senseless. She couldn’t tie him to a chair and make him watch her break his father before his very eyes. But that’s exactly why he’d reacted so violently to the idea of Charlie bringing a flail into her bed.

  A harmless item, no doubt used countless times by others for titillation, but so it might begin. She already knew he enjoyed being bound. What if he enjoyed pain too?

  Like his father?

  He couldn’t bear the thought that he might be as weak and helpless.

  As a child, he’d hated his father for failing to stop his mother. Failing to stand up to her and protect them both. She only rarely ever struck Sig, but her verbal and mental abuse had been miserable. His father had been taller, bigger and stronger than his lady mother, yet he’d never once taken a stand against her. All he would have had to do was stand instead of cower. Pull that whip or crop or cane from her hand and beat her with it instead.
>
  Why hadn’t he ever taken a stand and told her no?

  After all these years, Sig still had no idea, unless the man had simply enjoyed the pain and brutality. Perhaps it’d been a gentlemanly habit never to strike a lady. All good aristocratic boys were raised to look to their lady mothers as the heads of the families, to honor their names and Houses above all. But, surely, when a man was injured and bleeding from extreme beatings…and seeing his son grow up under that yoke of violence and hatred…

  Why didn’t he stop it?

  Why didn’t he protect me?

  Years might have gone by, but those questions had never been laid to rest.

  Yet lying with Charlie and her other man after a surprising night of passion edged with raw sensuality, he couldn’t suppress the nagging fear that spread the darkness in his mind. In the end, was he no better than his weak, helpless father?

  He’d already allowed—no, begged!—her to tie him up. Would he allow her to beat him senseless too? Was that same weakness buried in his DNA, just waiting for her to find it and release it? And if so, to what depths of depravity would he then sink, helpless to stop her?

  Or worse, was there more of his mother in him than he’d ever suspected? Last night, he’d been harsher and coarser than he’d ever been with any woman. Let alone the feared and respected Duchess of Wyre. He’d used her mouth, for God’s sake, not gently but roughly, gripping her by her hair and shoving himself so deep into her throat she’d gagged, just so he could feel the muscles of her throat convulsing around him. He’d pinned her head while the other man thrust into her just as roughly. He’d tugged on the chains clamped to her nipples. And, yes, lying here with them in the stillness of their heavy slumber…

  He could see himself lifting that flail and bringing it down on her flawless skin.

  And enjoying it. A great deal.

  Maybe all these years he’d feared turning into his spineless father…while he should have been worried about becoming his violent, abusive mother.

  Self-disgust made his stomach heave. Carefully, he slipped out from beneath her and untangled his leg from Gil’s. She flattened out on her stomach, still asleep, but he wasn’t so lucky with Masters.

  The man opened his eyes and began removing himself from the bed just as carefully.

  Pretending extreme interest in retrieving his scattered clothing, Sig avoided meeting the other man’s gaze. Masters was a stand-up sort of man. Sure, he’d hidden his identity for a year, but he’d had solid, honorable reasons and he’d proven his love. He knew exactly what kind of man Lord Sigmund Regret was.

  An unapologetic killer.

  Now he was a burgeoning masochist and sadist, with the woman they both loved caught in the middle of that pain and violence.

  Masters followed him to the outer parlor, foiling his hope for a quick and silent escape.

  Pulling on his trousers, Sig tried for misdirection. “So are we actually going to let her go into the Forbidden City after she was already attacked?”

  “Do you think the lady would actually give us any other choice?” Masters didn’t bother dressing. Instead, he sprawled on a chair before the fireplace, not minding his nudity in the slightest. “She wanted to meet the Emperor before we ever got here. Now that she’s obtained the invitation, not even Queen Majel could keep her away. Did that call mean what she thinks it meant?”

  “A contract, yes, but so vague I don’t know even know whom I’m to kill yet, let alone who wants the person dead.” Sig pulled his shirt over his head. “Maybe we can buy a few days while she orders some appropriate gowns. You know her—she won’t step foot inside without a new spectacular wardrobe.”

  Masters laughed. “She’ll have every seamstress in Hoeng Gong working feverishly before breakfast.”

  Sig forced out a laugh and headed for the door. He’d gotten his hand on it, when the man’s low words struck him like a knife in the back.

  “Thanks for last night.”

  Frozen, Sig couldn’t open the door. He surely couldn’t turn around. Gratitude? After…

  “It was incredible. I’ve never seen her so wild and out of control.”

  He gripped the door handle so hard his fingers cramped, every muscle screaming at him to flee. It was all he could do not to scrunch his shoulders with shame and the man was thanking him?

  Masters chuckled again, a low, wicked sound like a punch in the gut. “I can’t wait to try on that ring and see if she can make me lose control like that.”

  Sig took a deep breath and held it until his chest ached. Then he let it out in a rush and whirled to face the other man. “We used her.”

  Masters arched a brow at him and drawled, “And she loved it.”

  Sig flinched. “That doesn’t make it forgivable.”

  “Sure it does. We didn’t do anything she didn’t enjoy. That’s the beauty of it. She loves us, Sig. She trusted us. That’s why it was so incredible.”

  Every word was like a hammer pounding a spike into his skull. “Which only makes it worse. She trusted us and we…I…abused that trust. I don’t know what came over me. I just barely touched her and she came apart in my hands. It was intoxicating. It made me a little crazy, I guess.”

  “Me too. I wanted things…” Masters shifted in the chair and Sig couldn’t help but notice the man’s erection.

  Which only made his own more prominent. After the night they’d had…

  I could go in there right now and make love to her for hours…as rough and long as last night.

  Sig tried to swallow the lump in his throat, but it was choking him. “I didn’t know it could be like that.”

  “Especially with her.”

  “That doesn’t make me feel any better,” Sig retorted, running a hand through his hair. “It’s not supposed to be like that.”

  “What, hot as hell?”

  “Dirty.”

  “Hot,” Masters repeated, his voice hard and heavy. “Don’t you understand? It was her choice. Her desire. If she hadn’t wanted us, do you think Charlie would have had any hesitation in telling us so? You had a knife to her heart yesterday and she didn’t even flinch. If she didn’t want you to put your hands on her rough and hard she would have ripped your cock off instead of sucking it.”

  “She’s a lady.”

  The other man stared at him as if he’d suddenly started speaking Razari.

  Talking through gritted teeth was damned hard. “She’s the same as our lady wife, the Duchess of her House, whether the Queen recognizes her thusly or not. One does not treat a Duchess like a common tavern wench and hope to remain intact.”

  “Is that honestly what you think?” When Sig could only stare at him in confusion, Masters shook his head. “Damn, man. I thought you understood her better than that.”

  “I lost my head. That’s my only excuse. I’ve been on edge and when I saw those chains, and those clamps…”

  Not a good idea to talk about it. His erection strained to be free, so he could take her again, as rough and hard and fast as he could slam into her.

  “She wanted you to lose your head. She wanted you to lose control. That’s why she dragged us into that shop. That’s why she bought the gifts. That’s why she’s interested in trying that flail. She loves us so much she’s willing to give up her own control and explore anything, everything we could ever desire. Why would you regret that kind of gift?”

  Sig’s pulse thumped so hard in his head he couldn’t think. He couldn’t come up with the words to explain himself. Why the idea of the calmest, smartest lady, with enough daring to stand up to the most powerful woman in the known universe, making herself less, giving up her control, to the likes of him…

  Masters shook him by his shoulders. Stunned, Sig jerked his gaze up to the man, unaware he’d even stood and approached. “A gift, man. A woman like her doesn’t show that kind of vulnerability to just anyone. She doesn’t give that kind of trust to a man she doesn’t love beyond any shadow of a doubt. Don’t spoil it by regretting
the passion and the magic we shared last night.”

  “But—”

  “A gift,” he repeated. “Treasure it. Explore it. That was just the beginning.”

  Sig nodded so the man would let him go, but his heart weighed heavier as he dragged back to his own room. That’s exactly what I’m afraid of.

  Chapter Seven

  It was amazing how many glorious gowns could be handcrafted in a matter of hours when thirty of the finest seamstresses plied their needles around the clock. Surveying the racks, Charlotte was mentally planning which gown she would wear to be introduced to the Emperor the first time. It must make a statement. It must be unforgettable.

  To match her dreadfully legendary reputation as Lady Doctor Wyre. Someone wanted her dead before she could enter the Forbidden City. So she intended to play the part of the wildly dangerous and extravagant Britannian lady with her utmost ability.

  So which gown would showcase her most extravagant personality?

  She honestly couldn’t decide, which irritated her to no end. Once upon a time, she’d chosen what styles and fashions anyone of consequence would then copy throughout the Season. She’d decided if feathers would be worn in the hair or if they would be the height of gauche stupidity. Red or blue or lavender, lace or velvet, jeweled slippers or heels, fans or shawls… The enormous responsibility to set the fashion had been hers and she’d relished every moment of it.

  Now she was as nervous and anxious as a debutante going to her first ball.

  There really was only one thing to do when becoming anxious, so she made a pot of tea. The fragrance alone began to untangle the knots in her stomach. A few sips and the warmth flowed through her limbs, easing the muscles straining in her neck and shoulders. Smiling, she sat back and surveyed her new wardrobe with fresh eyes.