“Miss Merrill, you are free to believe what you will. As for Lady Follet, you speak too hastily of a lady you know not,” he said with an edge to his voice.
Heloise felt a stab of remorse for speaking harshly, but she had no need for the likes of him to point that out to her.
“I assumed…” she attempted, noticing with worry that the pupils of his eyes constricted.
“Why are you here, Miss Merrill?”
“You would not grant me an audience. And I would have you listen to me. I would have you listen!”
The earl folded his arms and waited. His frown did not diminish.
“If there is a shred of decency in you,” she began.
He lifted his brows. “I thought I was devoid of morals.”
She winced, regretting her earlier words, but there was nothing to be done. She could not retract what she had said, so she forged ahead.
“You have no need of someone like Josephine. Someone of your, well, stature can command any number of other women. Josephine is not worth your time.”
“Rather harsh words for a cousin you adore.”
“I meant—” she bristled.
“I know what you meant, Miss Merrill, but my mind has not changed on the matter since last we met, and I do not appreciate attempts to meddle in my affairs. I wonder that your cousin approves of it, but I take it she does not realize you are here?”
Again, she flushed. “I am here on her behalf, even if she would not approve of what I do. I realize I risk her affection, but I could not stand idly by and watch her demise. She may not know it, but she requires my aid.”
“Noble if not condescending sentiments. Your cousin is a grown woman, not in leading strings.”
“She is young and does not appreciate the arts a man of your sort would employ.”
This time it was he who turned color. “A man of my sort?”
Would he have her explain all to him? Heloise wondered, sensing a dangerous pit opening up before her.
“I think you know to what I allude,” she evaded.
“If by that you mean your shallow view of my association with women…”
Heloise blinked. He was the rake and would yet criticize her character? The man was beyond monstrous.
He continued, “I quite understand people of your sort and how threatened you feel by my enlightened position on the fairer sex.”
“Enlightened? Is that how you defend your wanton ways?”
He clucked his tongue. “Tsk, tsk. You make it sound vulgar, Miss Merrill. Why scorn the innate urges, the natural passions of our bodies?”
Her heart began to pound once more. Something in the way he spoke, the rich tenor of his voice, the enunciation—as if he were caressing the words—made her skin warm.
“The rhetoric of one who lacks the resolve to resist the base desires…” she began, but her tone lacked confidence even to her own ears.
He took a step toward her, and despite the lethargy she had felt from her journey and lack of sleep, every nerve in her body came to life.
“Are you possessed of such resolve, Miss Merrill?” he inquired.
His gaze seemed to probe into her past, and she was sure he saw it all.
“That is none of your concern and irrelevant to the matter at hand,” she said quickly.
“You made it my concern when you chose to meddle in my affairs,” he replied grimly, advancing another step.
“I think I am not possessed of the same, er, passions as you,” she answered, taking a step back.
“Indeed? How sad. Perhaps that can be changed.”
“I have no wish to change.”
“You may feel differently in three days’ time.”
Three days’ time? What did he mean by that? Instinctively, she glanced toward the door, her escape, but it was too far. And he stood in her path.
“I have no plans to keep my own company for the next three days,” he elaborated. “And as you have deprived me of Miss Josephine, you will have to take her place.”
“I have no intention of staying,” she protested, trying to stave off the panic that gripped her heart. But it was not the fear of immediate harm that alarmed her. It was…the flush of excitement coursing in her body, a sensation reminiscent of a time long ago when she did not ignore her curiosity or the urges of the flesh.
“Your intentions matter not. My coach will return you home only on my command.”
“You mean to keep me here? Against my will?” she cried.
“You came of your own free will, Miss Merrill. I would have advised against it.”
“I am to be your prisoner?” She attempted with what little indignation she could muster to mask her agitation.
He advanced toward her, but she stepped back until the back of her knees struck the bed. The nearness of his body took the air from her. The flush in her body grew.
“Do you know what I do with meddlers?” he asked.
Trapped between him and the bed behind her, all she could do was hold his gaze. Her mind grasped for a rejoinder but came up empty.
“I discipline them, Miss Merrill.”
Chapter Two
HE SAW FEAR in those bright almond-shaped eyes of hers.
Good, Sebastian thought. The little meddler needed a lesson.
Blocked from escape, she reminded him of a mouse trapped in a corner. He advanced a final step toward her, taking away the last shred of space between them, daring her to speak. Her silence gratified him. He waited to see if she would push him away or slap him in the face—he had received his fair share of those from women desperate to hold on to a semblance of propriety when inwardly they yearned to be seduced—but such an action would require her to touch him, and Miss Merrill leaned away from him so that her bosom would not graze his chest.
“You…” She faltered.
With one motion, he grasped her by the wrist, brought her arm behind her, and pushed her over his knees as he sat upon the bed.
Miss Merrill inhaled sharply but did not struggle. She lay still on top of him.
Sebastian observed the curve of her rump through her muslin and felt a sudden tug at his crotch. His hand itched to palm her arse, but he had meant only to scare her, not punish her.
“We could start with a good spanking,” he said.
Was that a whimper he heard? As she was lying facedown, he could not see her expression. She made no movement. Curious, he placed his hand on the arch of one buttock. This time she flinched but remained where she was, even though he had loosened his hold on her wrist enough that she could have wrested herself away from him.
She wants to be spanked, he realized. A low, burning desire pulsed in his groin. Despite his earlier suggestion that she take the place of her cousin, he was all too cognizant that Miss Heloise Merrill was not Miss Josephine. Nonetheless, he was not a man to deprive a woman.
Raising his hand above her, he brought it down on the buttock he had caressed seconds before—tame but sharp enough to command attention. Again she flinched but said nothing. There was more to this Miss Merrill than he had first perceived. To his further surprise, he felt a maddening rush of desire crashing into him. Desire he had lacked earlier. He suddenly wanted to show Miss Merrill all the joys of Château Follet. Wanted to take her senses to a realm she had never known before.
He tempered his desire. This was Heloise Merrill. Not some bit of muslin. He slapped her other cheek through her gown. Her arse had such a lovely, substantive curve to it. Some women appeared to have no arse at all. He wanted to see Miss Merrill bare. Wanted to feel her plumpness. He decided he would and massaged one buttock. Superb. He would enjoy giving her a sound spanking.
No. He intended to give her a set-down—not to engage in anything more.
As if coming to her senses, Miss Merrill tried to push herself up. He promptly pushed her back down. Now came her indignation, the blush of anger, but she would see that she was no match for him.
“I’m not finished with you yet,” he told her. �
��Lie still.”
She either did not perceive or chose not to listen to his directive for she continued to struggle. The grinding of her pelvis against his thigh caused the blood to course boldly through his groin.
“Lie still,” he commanded again and emphasized his words with a harsher slap to her derrière. God, how he wanted to hear the sound of her arse sans the gown and petticoats, but he had to proceed with patience with this one. He wanted to frighten her a little—that was part of the arousal—but he also wanted her to trust him.
“I am loath to issue my demands twice, Miss Merrill,” he informed her. “Now take your punishment like a good girl.”
He could guess her internal dialogue. She was a good girl. That was perhaps the problem. Perhaps she had never been punished and was bored with being the good girl. Perhaps she had been punished too often before she became the good girl and wanted a return to the days when she wasn’t so good.
She lay still across his thigh as he delivered several sharp blows. Was it his imagination or had she lifted her arse higher to greet his hand? He smacked her several more times before pausing to note her quickened breath, the stillness of her body and the flush upon her skin. His own body felt warm and he wished he had removed his coat earlier. His desire was hard with the weight of her upon him.
“How did that please you, Miss Merrill?” he asked, his breath less steady than he would have liked.
“Please me?” she returned, incredulous.
“Do not be so surprised by it, Miss Merrill.”
As if to prove his implication, he reached toward her ankle and slid his hand under the hem of her gown. She gasped when his hand came in contact with her stocking-clad leg. Her body jumped at the touch, but she could do far worse if she truly loathed what was happening. Gently he drifted his hand up the silk until he reached the softness of her bare thigh—a hundred times smoother and more delectable than the feel of silk. Heady with anticipation, he reached under her arse, between her thighs, and when he connected with her wetness, he closed his eyes, his breath ragged.
The blood was pounding in his groin, and he allowed a husky quality to creep into his voice. “Your body, Miss Merrill, proves the possibilities.”
Running his hand around her thigh, he palmed a buttock. Glorious. He grasped the flesh more firmly and heard her groan. Flipping the dress and petticoats over her waist, he laid bare the prize. Two perfectly rounded orbs, as unblemished as those of a babe, gleamed in the dim light of the candles. He licked his bottom lip as if he were about to feed on a succulent cut of beefsteak. He delivered a sharp slap with the back of his hand and watched in delight as the mound of flesh quivered.
“How many, Miss Merrill?”
“Hmmm?” came the dazed voice from beneath the layers of fabric.
He gave her a formidable swat.
“Four,” she answered quickly.
Sebastian smiled to himself. She could be trained.
“Eight it is,” he said. “If I have to repeat myself again, we will triple the number.”
Greedily, his hand slapped at her arse. The smack of bare flesh to bare flesh rang in his ears as melodious as a symphony. When he was done, he gazed with satisfaction at the red imprints his hand had left upon her pale skin. He could smell her arousal and confirmed it when he slid his hand between her and found her wetter than before. His erection pressed painfully against her hip.
Abruptly, he stood and pulled her to one of the bedposts.
“What are you—” she protested when he pulled her wrists around the post and tied them with a cord he had yanked from the bed curtains.
Stepping back, he admired her form pressed against the bedpost. Miss Merrill was not unattractive. Her rounded figure reminded him of Ruben’s portrait of Hélène Fourment. Supple. Ripe. He could see himself entwining his fingers in her lustrous dark hair. She had a complexion free of blemish and that required little in the way of powder or rouge. And those voluptuous lips…
A sense of remorse crept into him as he observed how Miss Merrill’s bottom lips quivered. She had very full lips. More succulent than her cousin’s. He wondered how such lips would feel beneath his own. He imagined taking her mouth would be like sinking into a rich, sweet strawberry.
His head swam with lust, and he needed to clear it before he did something he did not intend—such as tearing the clothes from her and ravishing her. He reminded himself of the anger that he had felt earlier. The impudence of this woman, to foil his plans for a pleasant weekend and deprive him of the joys of exploring Miss Josephine’s lovely body. The effrontery of her to stand there in judgment of him with those wide brown eyes—eyes possessed of such clarity that he could see every emotion through them. He almost feared looking into them too deeply.
Worst of all, she had had the audacity to speak to his own reservations where Miss Josephine was concerned.
“Miss Merrill, I leave you to contemplate your situation.”
Her eyes widened and pleaded with him.
He could not let her go—did not want to let her go—but could not trust himself to stay. His arousal, hard as the post she was tied to, stretched agonizingly. He turned, avoiding her gaze for fear that he could too easily give in to those doe-like eyes, and left her to seek the reprieve of his own chambers and ponder what the hell he was to do with her next.
* * * * *
Heloise yanked at her bindings with enough desperation to cause the rope to chafe against her wrists. She simply had to escape.
But escape from what? a sardonic voice inside her asked. From his exquisite touch? From facing the fact that she had, indeed, enjoyed what he had done to her—that her body had been aroused to wetness by it?
She shook her head vehemently at the voice. Who knew what other devious plans the earl had in store for her? Her backside still smarted from the spanking, which had been utterly mortifying—especially as she had been aroused by it. She sensed the danger in her situation. Even now the warmth remained in her loins.
She strained once again at her bonds, her arms sore from their position, and attempted to undo the knot, chipping three of her fingernails in the process. There simply has to be a way out.
The door opened and the earl appeared, a touch disheveled but no less dapper. He had removed his coat and loosened his cravat. She stared at the sinews of his throat and felt a wave of warmth washing over her. She quelled it.
“Miss Merrill, I have decided—” he began.
“You will set me free or pay dearly for it,” she informed him hotly.
He paused, then raised his brows in amusement—a reaction that only fueled her anger.
“My uncle will see you brought before a magistrate,” she continued. “If you do not release me, then prepare to spend your time at Newgate.”
He crossed his arms and leaned against the wall. His bemusement when he should have been daunted by her threats both infuriated and worried her.
“On what charges would I be sent to Newgate?” he asked.
Damn his insolence, she fumed.
“On kidnapping!” she snapped. “And…and surely there are laws against this…”
“This what, Miss Merrill?”
“You know quite well to what I allude!”
She pulled at her bonds for emphasis, but he continued to wait for her elucidation. She let out a sigh of exasperation.
“Of forcing your attentions upon me!”
To her horror, he laughed. He pulled away from the wall. “Tell me, Miss Merrill, did you not come here of your own free will?”
She bristled. “Yes, but—”
“My coachman was not under orders to abduct anyone.”
“Yes, but—”
He took a step toward her. “Did you not lie willingly across my lap?”
Her flush of consternation began to pale.
“You—”
“And requested I spank you four times?”
“I did n—”
“And enjoyed it?”
He st
ood a breath away from her, invading her space and further scattering her thoughts. Her volleys had not struck their target. She needed a new approach.
“How would you explain to a magistrate that you submitted against your will when the evidence reveals your pleasure?”
“Please,” Heloise attempted. “Surely you are not without conscience or sensibility…”
“Only devoid of morals,” he reminded her.
She swallowed at the verbal blow but pressed on. “You can understand why I might—why I thought I had no other recourse?”
After probing the depths of her gaze he stepped away from her. Without the intrusion of his body, she took an easier breath.
“It is no small effort you have made to protect your cousin’s virtue,” he acknowledged. “Indeed, you have risked your own ruin to save her.”
“I will explain to my family that a dear friend took ill and I went to visit her.”
“In the middle of the night? Without packing a valise?”
“I was beside myself.”
“I find it hard to believe that Miss Merrill could ever be so discomposed.”
“My uncle will have no reason to doubt my word.”
“And what of Josephine? What will you tell her?”
“I will beg her forgiveness and hope that she will, in time, come to understand the wisdom of my action.”
“Perhaps that will come to pass,” he said as he began to walk around her. “Or more likely, she will find another man to whom she can attach her fancy and forget her lost invitation to the Château.”
Heloise found herself having to agree with the earl. Nonetheless, she professed, “I hope someone who merits her affection. Someone who will make her happy.”
“And what do you hope for yourself, Miss Merrill?”
The question was an unexpected strike. No one had ever asked her that before.
“Myself?”
“What sort of man will you marry or take a fancy to?”
“This is hardly a subject—”
“Pray tell you do not see yourself as a lonely spinster, content after some time to marry a kindly but boring vicar with limited prospects.”
An Indecent Wager: A Scorching Hot Historical Romance (Super Steamy Regency Collection Book 1) Page 2
