Dark Desires (Dark Romance Boxed Set)

by Cerys du Lys

  He, too, was groaning. “Oh, Anna, you must stop.”

  Naughtily, she continued, and he was forced to grasp her under the arms and drag her to her feet. His face was dark with lust, and before she could speak or move, he wrenched her skirts high into the air, and pulled at her loose undergarments. The linen stitching untraveled easily and he cast them aside. Then he lifted her up and pulled her forwards, his fingers digging into her buttocks. He moved slightly forward so that she was pinned to the wall and her legs had to go around his waist, and she suddenly knew what he was going to do.

  “Oh!” was all she could say.

  He smiled, and lowered her onto his thick cock, and she was opened out, wider and fuller than she had expected. The pain was exquisite and she let out a long sigh that began a moan as he began to thrust. Stuck as she was between his body and the wall, she was barely able to move in time with his jerking hips, but it hardly seemed to matter.

  “God, I love fucking you, Anna,” he grunted, his pace increasing. “I want this to last forever and I want to spill my seed into you over and over and over again.”

  She was battered and bruised and at the limits of her endurance and yet she was alive to his touch, and already their breath was rasping in time with each other. He was slamming into her, now, her breasts shaking as he lunged upwards and pulled her roughly down onto him with each movement. Her pussy was throbbing, tensing in waves around him, and all she could do was cling on and ride the rising wave of intensity.

  She felt him release his seed into her as he jerked one more time and then held her, his forehead pressed now to her shoulder as he grunted and swore, and his cock twitched as her own pussy throbbed in time to him. Then he reached between their bodies with his hand, sliding in so that his fingers could reach her clitoris, and within moments she too was claimed by her climax and she shuddered as waves of pleasure rippled through her, and the upswell of emotion finally broke her, and she began to cry strange tears of release, relief and confusion.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Tristan held on to her. Her body was warm and soft and he could have stay buried deep within her forever. He raised his head from her shoulder and was shocked to see that her face was wet with tears.

  “Anna,” he whispered, his voice hoarse from his ragged panting.

  “I’m all right,” she said. Her eyes were rimmed with red and she tried to smile.

  “No, you’re not.” He gently lowered her down but held on to her, afraid she might fall. She clung to him, and sniffed. “Anna. You have been so strong, so brave.”

  “No. I’m not.”

  He stroked her hair and kissed the top of her head. “Listen to me. If I tell you that you are, then you are.”

  She shook her head but allowed him to pull her into his embrace.

  Tristan sighed. “Did you escape because you wanted to come back to me? Or had you thought I was not coming?”

  “I thought you weren’t coming. Hugh came to Gallagher and said you weren’t.”

  “I didn’t know what I wanted at first.” Tristan’s throat ached with unspoken pain. “I have made so many mistakes in life. I thought you were nothing to me, and I was so wrong. You’re different, Anna, and that’s why you mustn’t go. You must stay. I’ve never even been this honest before. But if you’re strong enough, then so am I. For you.”

  She didn’t reply but he heard her swallow a sob, and she wilted a little against him. He suddenly realized she must be exhausted, in pain and at the limits of what she could take. He, too, was tired and sore. But he had a duty.

  He picked her up, not over his shoulder like before, but this time he cradled her in his arms like a baby, and began to carry her through the streets. Already, dawn was lightening the sky and even in the richer part of town, there were more people now up and about. Maids and servants who didn’t live in were making their way to their places of employment; delivery men and tradesmen were beginning their daily life.

  When he barged into his own house, the maids in the entrance hall jumped in alarm; they could usually count on having a few hours before breakfast to blacken the grates, mop the floors and make the house presentablt. He ignored their wide eyes and went on up the stairs.

  Anna was almost falling asleep in his arms. Her eyelids fluttered from time to time but he could tell from the heavy relaxation of her body as she went limp that she was fighting sleep - and losing.

  As he carried her along the corridor he caught sight of the housekeeper, and he called for her to bring warm water, towels, and light food to his room. She kept her face admirably impassive as she darted off.

  In his suite, his valet was laying out his jackets for the day, and he looked up in surprise. “Sir?”

  “Thank you - I need you to do something.”

  “Sir.”

  “Hugh is not to be allowed back into this house.”

  “...sir?”

  It was amazing how much meaning Jenkins could put into a monosyllabic word. “You must alert all the staff. At once, man.”

  “Sir.”

  Tristan was glad when the grey man disappeared. He laid Anna down in his bed, and began to carefully undress her. She rolled her head from side to side but she was very nearly passing out, and he was able, with calming words and gentle hands, to pull the once-fine, now dirty, ragged clothes from her. He bundled them up and threw them to one side of the room. She was naked when the housekeeper entered the room.

  Mrs. Roberts was followed by a silent maid who brought a pail of warm water. She put it by the bed and he sent them both away before attending to Anna’s sore and bruised body.

  He stroked her abused flesh as slowly and tenderly as if he were bathing a new baby. He marveled at her as if he were seeing her for the very first time.

  All women had been mere receptacles for him until he had met her. Now, he looked at her properly. The blue veins below the pale skin! The way her hair curled in tiny ringlets by her ears! He knew he was being sentimental and at that moment, he really did not care.

  He made sure there was food and drink in easy reach, dragging one of his small tables over to the side of the bed, and that she was covered by sheets and blankets.

  Then he stepped back, drew the curtains closed that his valet had only just opened, and left the room. He closed the door quietly even though he was sure that she would have slept through the Battle of Waterloo.

  ***

  He went to a guest bedroom, one of many that were kept in a state of readiness, and laid himself down. He had removed his boots and jacket but could not be bothered to undress any further, and he fully expected to fall asleep instantly.

  Infuriatingly, Tristan found that his brain was whirling and as alert as ever. Indeed, his body seemed to be throbbing and sparking with energy. He crossed his palms behind his head and stared up at the ceiling, listening to the distant sounds of the household waking up; so many staff for just him and his brother!

  And his brother - no longer.

  Tristan groaned. No, he did not think sleep could come to him yet - there was too much unfinished business to attend to.

  So he went to his study, although he found that his body was not half as alert as his mind was. He walked down the corridor in his socks, feeling as if he was wading through treacle.

  I have to do the right thing, he told himself. It’s too late, I know, for me. The right thing? After everything? This one thing cannot set everything else right, but it is something. A gesture, perhaps.

  Sitting in his study, at his desk, surrounding by the long accumulation not just of his life but his family’s history, he was suffused by a dragging sensation of loneliness. He attempted to write letter after letter of introduction, dredging up acquaintances and friends from the past, calling in favors and help.

  Each letter he spoiled, somehow. His words ran away with him into bitterness or sarcasm. He started with the traditional formalities but some devil took his pen thereafter, and he was unable to complete any of the missives he wanted to
send.

  I don’t want her to go, he thought. I just don’t want to do the right thing.

  And I think I justify it to myself by saying that she wants to stay… but she would not want to stay if she knew the truth about me.

  ***

  He did sleep, in the end, though he was sprawled in his wing-back leather chair by the dead fire in his study, and he awoke in the afternoon with a mouth that was dry and furry, and eyes that seemed to be gummed with glue.

  He called for his valet and spent a tedious thirty minutes washing and dressing and being made presentable once more; he found his bedroom empty, and was informed that “Miss Rossington was in the morning room.” Tristan went instead to the kitchens, startling the staff as he demanded food. There were a heap of calling cards on the silver tray in the entrance hall, and a messenger from Gallagher who insisted on waiting.

  Business ran along as usual, he realized.

  And once he had done what he had to do, and what he ought to have done a good deal sooner, he was ready to see Anna.

  Darkness settled on his shoulders as he entered the morning room. She sat on a floral chair, her feet in pale silk slippers resting up on a low stool, and her face was lit by the light that filtered past the vines that overhung the windows. She turned, and made as if to stand, but he waved her back into her seat. “Good afternoon. How is your ankle?”

  She grimaced but turned it into a polite smile. “Sore, thank you. Isn’t it strange how much one can do, when injured - and it is only afterwards that the true extent of the damage is revealed! I am afraid that walking is somewhat painful.”

  “I am sorry to hear that. Everything else? You had a mighty bruise on your thigh.”

  She pinked, and his mood lifted slightly to see her girlish embarrassment. “Thank you for your care and trouble last night,” she said. “I am very well. And yourself, sir?”

  What to say? After all, after everything - only the truth remained, and it would destroy them both. He paced for a few moments until he saw that he was making her nervous, so he grabbed a wooden carved chair, stiff and upright to match his mood, and dragged it over so he could sit by her.

  “Anna. I have been trying to write letters to obtain a position for you.”

  “Thank you, sir.” She didn’t look grateful. Her face was pale and her eyes downcast. Her long fingers fiddled with the edge of the ribbon that trailed from her waist.

  “But I do not want you to go.”

  She looked up then, her eyes widening as she fixed her gaze on his face. “I do not want to go!” she said. “Last night… remember…”

  “I remember everything. Hush. No, let me finish. I remember… too much. I have broken with my brother completely. He is not allowed back into this house. I am going against the dying wishes of my father…”

  She remained quiet for a little while, as he had told her to, but he was unable to continue, so eventually she said, “You told me that we were not as bound by the past as we thought we were. That it was an outdated way of thinking that would stultify all the progress of our country and our society. That society’s artifice was peeling away from me, remember? You helped me see that I was not obliged to marry the man I had been chosen for, the man for whom I was merely second-best.”

  “Yes. But the past… sometimes our mistakes…”

  He heard his voice crack and he coughed. She leant forward and put her hands upon his, her palms warm and comforting. God, he didn’t deserve her kindness.

  “Anna. Listen. Hugh and I had a sister, Beatrice.”

  “Yes.”

  “And she is dead.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “So am I. For I killed her.”

  There was silence, as he had expected. Her hands tightened on his, but remained there. “I know,” she said eventually.

  “How-”

  “Hugh, of course. I didn’t believe his version. So please, I would like to hear the truth of the matter. All I know is that there must have been trickery involved.”

  “Hugh.” Tristan wanted to throw half a bottle of brandy down his throat, but he stayed where he was. He couldn’t look at Anna. Instead, he stared at her hands, fixing his attention on the way her veins were so delicate and blue below her translucent skin, and tried to explain what had happened with his beautiful, infuriating sister.

  “Beatrice was younger than either of us, and our parents’ little treasure. The longed-for girl. Spoiled, of course. And as she grew up she soon learned that her beauty and her wit gave her any man that she cared for. They were throwing themselves at her, and she played them for all she was worth. She did the things that society women ought to not do, but with her connections and her manner, it didn’t matter. The scandal that followed her didn’t seem to taint her as it did other, lesser, women. She had affairs and dalliances and it was all light fun.”

  He stumbled to a halt. Anna stroked his hand. “And then she became ill,” she prompted.

  “She did. Diseases of Venus, of course, what else? Syphilis. And it was aggressive; many people recover for years, until it attacks again in later life. But she was ill very quickly, and very badly. Perhaps there were other maladies as well. That would not have surprised me. Our mother had just died, and father was so sunk into grief that when Beatrice retired to her rooms, he did not notice.” Tristan sighed. “She knew what faced her. It came on so quickly. Madness, inevitably. She begged us for release; both Hugh and I. She could not take her own life, she said, for she would condemn herself to hell. Even if she disguised her suicide as an accident, God would know.”

  Tristan paused to gather his thoughts. He touched his hand to his chest, feeling the outline of the locket that contained a lock of her hair.

  Anna said, “Was she religious?”

  “No, only in the last days of her life. I think that is common. Only as we understand we’re mortal do we long for the reassurance of Everlasting Life. Suddenly, it was the most important thing to her. She wanted to repent and return to the fold, and atone for her deeds and her life. Only Hugh and I could do that, she said. Only we could help her.”

  “Hugh said it was you…”

  “Yes, it was me. At first, she had asked him alone - I had no knowledge of what was transpiring. She asked him because he was as dissolute as she was. And - oh, it will make you laugh, Anna, but I was a moral, upright person, you know. Hugh agreed. He was to give her an overdose and sit with her; but he could not, in the end! She began to scream and cry - the madness, perhaps, or desperation. The ruckus was waking the house. He dragged me there, insisted I do it; it all happened in a whirl. She was on her knees, begging. She showed me her sores, her ulcers, her growing deformities; what else could I do? She begged for a merciful death.

  “And I gave it to her.”

  He hung his head, but he was not crying. He suspected that all his tears had gone a long time ago. “I miss her, Anna.”

  They sat together in silence for a long time. At first, Tristan was wound up in his own pain, and regret, but then he began to think about what Anna would feel about him. He was a monster, surely, and a murderer.

  Her fingers twitched, and resumed their gentle stroking, as if she were trying to calm him.

  “You are still here,” he said, sounding stupid to his own ears as he forced himself to meet her eyes.

  “Of course,” she said. “Why would I not be? You are the bravest man I know and if that dreadful situation were ever to happen to me, I should be honored to have you by my side.”

  He could barely comprehend it. “Do you understand? I am damned, and I am haunted, my sister is gone, and my wife has left me, and Hugh knows what I did.”

  “Is Hugh your enemy?”

  Tristan snarled out a humorless laugh. “He is my brother. And yes…. now, he is also my enemy.”

  “So you’re at war,” she persisted.

  “Yes, I suppose that we are - Anna! Why are you laughing?” The tension in the room was breaking up, and her eyes were sparkling.

/>   “You love it,” she said. “The chase, the fight, the war itself. I know that now. This is what you need, sir. Tristan. I was foolish to try and tame you. I fell for you as you were - don’t change.”

  Her smile was wicked, and ignited the old fire in his belly. He couldn’t help but grin back at her. “You minx.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “I ought to spank you for your cheek.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Except that is what you want.”

  She raised an eyebrow, and suddenly both of them were laughing, and clinging to one another, and shaking their heads. He pulled her close and inhaled her fresh scent. “I don’t want to let you go. But…”

  “What?”

  “It is your choice. I can find you a position and you can have a normal life. But with me - you must understand this, Anna, your life will not be normal.”

  “I know.”

  “Marriage… my wife...”

  “I know.”

  “Society will judge you more harshly than it does me.”

  “Yes. I know. I choose you. And your life, abnormal though it is.”

  He squeezed her so tightly that she had to struggle to breathe, and he hid his tears falling into her soft, pale hair.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Snow fell lightly, making London appear new and white. The dirt of the streets was covered, inch by inch. The poorer parts of town were soon turned to muddy, grubby slush but in the wealthier areas, fewer carriages traveled. There were no street hawkers here to disturb the air, and already the servants were drawing the velvet drapes to hide the encroaching night. A lamp-lighter walked through the crisp snowfall, his long pole held aloft, neatly avoiding the bare tree branches overhead.

  A figure in a deep purple coat and low-brimmed hat waited by a tree. She had her hands buried in a white fur muff, and a matching stole about her slender shoulders. As the lamp-lighter approached, she looked around carefully, before stepping out from behind the trunk.