by Anne Stuart
But everything he did to hold Emma away from him only brought her closer and closer. He’d thought that by seducing her, showing her just how much control he really had over her, he’d be shaking off his own demons.
But it hadn’t worked that way. By controlling her body, her sensuality, by taking her desire and making her explode with it, he’d simply tied the ropes tighter around himself.
He sat without moving for minutes, perhaps for hours. And then he heard the sound from the bedroom beyond, and he almost ran.
He couldn’t bring himself to do so, even if it would have been the smartest choice. He simply sat there, his face composed in its usual mocking lines, and waited for her reappearance. Other women would be embarrassed, shy. Other women would hide beneath the covers, duck away from him.
But not Emma. She would confront him. He knew it as well as he knew his empty heart. He didn’t turn his head when the door opened. He was sitting back in the chair, long legs propped up on the table, seemingly at ease. He waited until she came close, ready to turn and look at her when he felt something crash against the side of his face, almost knocking him off the chair. It was her fist.
“Damn you,” she said furiously. She hit him again. “I hate you.”
He easily caught her flailing arms, not in the mood to be pummeled by an angry woman. Not in any kind of gentle mood at all. He hauled her into his lap, trapping her there. “I suppose I should be glad you don’t have a smallsword or a fire poker,” he said ironically.
She paled for a moment at the reminder, and thrashed helplessly in his lap. That wasn’t helping his condition in the slightest, and a distant part of him wondered how he was ever going to survive the day.
“If I did, I would kill you,” she said in a small, tight voice. She was wearing her chemise again, not much protection from his curious eyes, but she didn’t know that.
“I’m used to women wanting to hit me,” he said. “But they usually don’t do it quite so soon. You should be in greater charity with me, Emma, my heart. I just exerted myself to give you a sublimely pleasurable experience, and I left you a virgin in the bargain. Few men would have been quite so noble.”
“Noble!” she shrieked in a rage. “Nobility had nothing to do with it. You never wanted me—you’ve made that more than clear. If you had, you would have taken me. You’re not the sort of man who denies himself anything that catches his eye. I’ve been a game to you, a means of catching your worst enemy, and a toy to amuse yourself with. You wanted to prove to me just how powerful you were, just how helpless I was, and you did, didn’t you?”
He didn’t bother to deny it. “There’s an element of truth in your wild accusations,” he said with feigned weariness. “I’d forgotten how very tiresome virgins can be when their dignity is offended. I’m sorry. Obviously you wanted to deny me the pleasure of your quite wonderful body. I merely spared you the trouble. You should be grateful. You can still marry some decent, honorable yeoman and come to him a virgin.”
She kept struggling, and he shoved her off his lap. She scrambled a few steps away and stood there glaring at him, magnificent bosom heaving, fire in her eyes. “How very kind of you,” she said in an icy tone.
“I thought so. Apparently you don’t agree,” he replied mildly. “Would you care to explain your objections? Granted, I should have kept my hands off you entirely, but you made yourself irresistible.”
“Ha!” she said, “If I was irresistible you wouldn’t be sitting here fully clothed, and I wouldn’t have woken up naked and alone.”
He blinked for a moment. “Dear child, are you objecting because I didn’t deflower you?”
“No!” she said in quiet fury.
“Then what are you making such a fuss about?”
“That you never wanted me. That you took me, used me, abased me, without having the faintest desire for me, other than a need to belittle and shame me, and—”
He moved so fast he frightened her, bolting out of the chair and coming up to her, catching her shoulders and shoving her against the table. “I didn’t belittle and shame and abase you,” he said between gritted teeth.
“You didn’t want me...”
“God grant me mercy!” His control finally snapped. He caught her hand and dragged it down to his crotch, pressing it against the surging heat of his erection. “Do you know what this is?”
She tried to pull away, but he wouldn’t let her. He didn’t know whether he was hurting her or not, and he didn’t care. He pressed her hand against him, harder, rhythmically, unable to help himself.
“I can guess,” she said.
Her prosaic answer stopped him only for a moment. “You bloody well can,” he almost snarled. “It’s a cock, my love. A painfully erect, needy prick. And I’m in that condition solely because of you, my angel. I do have my noble moments, difficult as that may be to believe. I’m saving your maidenhead for someone who deserves it. Someone who’ll appreciate it.”
She simply looked at him. She was breathing deeply, and he could see the darkness of her nipples against the thin white lawn. “You choose the oddest times to be noble,” she said.
“Damn you.” He jerked away from her, moving to stand by the table, keeping his back to her. “Go back to bed, Emma.”
He could feel her eyes on his back. He could smell the lavender and roses and warm, female flesh. Go, he prayed. For God’s sake, just go.
She started past him, and he kept his focus inward, thinking of nothing at all. He would have made it if her chemise hadn’t brushed against his hand. If she hadn’t paused one dangerous second too long.
He caught her, no longer caring what he was doing. She cupped his face, reaching up to kiss his mouth, and it was the last straw. He ripped at her clothes, ripped at his, a maddened beast, shoving her down on the hardwood floor, covering her with his strong body.
He pulled her legs apart, roughly, and thrust into her, forgetting for a moment everything but his own wild need. She was sleek and wet, and he broke past her maidenhead before he could stop. He heard her cry, a brief, pain-filled sound, but when he tried to stop himself, tried to pull away, she simply wrapped her arms around him and held him tightly, so tightly.
He reached down and caught her thighs, lifting them up around him. It was too late now. He’d fought it, and her, and now he was the one who had lost. He’d given in to a need so powerful it overwhelmed all others, and all he could do was revel in the feel of her hot, tight body around his, the furious pounding of her heart against his bare chest, her fingers digging into his back, scratching at him, tearing at him, as he thrust into her again and again, searching for a part of him he’d lost long, long ago.
The floor was hard against his knees, harder still against her back. He rolled over, taking her with him, so that she was astride him. She looked shocked, yet triumphantly sensual, and his hands trembled as he cupped her hips, showing her the motion. Her long red hair rippled around her, rippled around him, and he could see her face knot up as she reached unknowingly for her climax.
He touched her then, reaching down between their joined bodies to stroke her, and she exploded in a wild, high-pitched little scream as her body convulsed and tightened around him, pulling and gripping him, and he had no choice. He flooded her, spewing forth, filling her.
She collapsed on top of him, as limp as a rag doll. He lay beneath her in the cold, dark room, stroking her long hair, for the moment too replete to consider the damage. She had came with the same intensity she threw into everything, and her total and complete collapse afterward left him feeling both amused and tender.
She barely moved when he sat up, carefully disentangling their bodies. He kicked himself out of his ripped breeches, scooped her up in his arms, and started toward the bedroom. He had settled her against the fur throw when her hands suddenly caught his, her eyes wide and panicked. “Don’t leave me,” she whispered. “Don’t ever leave me.”
He looked down at her, knowing he was about to send her as far away
as he possibly could. “I won’t,” he lied. And he sank down beside her and took her shivering body into his arms.
She believed him, fool that she was. Within moments their body heat joined, and she was asleep once more, snuggled against him. Soft, warm, smelling of sex and flowers, she felt as if she belonged there. A dangerous thought.
No one belonged in his arms, in his bed. He needed to remember that. And lying beside her, his hand gently, mindlessly, stroking her hair, he stared into the fading darkness, far into the morning light.
Chapter 17
“I’m not certain this was a very good idea.”
Nathaniel stopped his headlong stride down the weed-choked road to stare at Lady Barbara. “I didn’t ask you to accompany me,” he pointed out with a shade less than his usual deference.
“I have a stake in this matter as well,” she replied frostily. “You’re concerned about Emma, and I’m concerned about Killoran.”
“Of course you are,” he muttered under his breath.
“Besides, I don’t know why you think Emma can’t handle him. She’s kept him in line so far, hasn’t she? And he’s hardly taken her all the way out here for licentiousness.” Lady Barbara looked at the lodge with a faint moue. “If he’d wanted her, he could have had her in his own room, not in this seedy place. That huge bed is vastly comfortable.”
She’d said it on purpose, waiting to see Nathaniel’s reaction. His expression darkened for a moment, but he ignored the provocation. “I consider it any gentleman’s duty to look out for the well-being of innocent young women.”
“That leaves me out,” she said with an extravagant drawl. “I haven’t been innocent since I was in leading strings.”
She tossed the statement off lightly enough, but she’d underestimated Nathaniel. He paused at the door to stare at her.
Lord, it was a sin for a man to be so handsome and so damned noble. She would have no trouble if he were simply the rotter most men were. Instead he had to look at her out those concerned blue eyes, and she started dreaming dreams that were out of the question. Why couldn’t he be ugly or mean? Or both?
“Barbara—” he began, but she pushed past him.
“Lady Barbara,” she corrected him in her frostiest voice. “I don’t think Killoran is going to be any too pleased at our arriving on his doorstep in the middle of the morning. There was no need to go haring off in the dark of night.”
“No need for you.”
“I have my own interests to protect. I won’t have that red-haired innocent replacing me in Killoran’s affections,” she said stiffly.
“You aren’t in Killoran’s affections. I sincerely doubt anyone is.”
“True, but it’s unkind of you to point it out,” she admitted. “Then let me say I don’t want her replacing me in Killoran’s bed.”
It was a deliberate taunt, but this time she’d gone too far. “If you share a bed with Killoran, it’s not his,” Nathaniel said flatly. “I’ve been in residence for more than a month, and I’ve yet to see him bring any female home.”
“Except for dear saintly Emma,” she said in an acid tone. “Besides, Killoran can be very discreet.”
“He’s hardly likely to bother.” He stared at her. “What have you got against Emma?”
She gave her young hero her most brittle smile. “Jealousy. Killoran’s fascinated by her, and you’re ready to battle dragons for her sake.”
“I’d battle dragons and worse for your sake.”
“Too late,” she said, her voice cool. “Shall we see if we can catch them in flagrante delicto?”
“He swore he wouldn’t touch her. I believe him.”
“Then you’re a bigger fool than I thought.” She pushed the door open, then paused, momentarily flummoxed.
Killoran sat alone by the fire, dressed simply in black breeches and shirtsleeves. There shouldn’t have been anything terrifying about the absolute lack of expression on his face, yet Barbara felt a chill of apprehension.
“You made enough noise out there,” he said coolly. “I wondered whether you were going to continue arguing for the rest of the day. To what do I owe the pleasure of this visit?”
Nathaniel pushed Barbara inside, following her and closing the door. “We were concerned.”
“Indeed? About what?”
Barbara’s initial nervousness began to abate. “Don’t be obtuse, Killoran. Nathaniel’s worrying about his little pet. Not that she’s so little,” she added in an acid tone. “He’s afraid you debauched his innocent darling.”
The temperature in the cool room seemed to drop several notches as Killoran turned his frighteningly bland expression on Nathaniel. “I hadn’t realized you were enamored of my sister.”
“She’s not your sister, damn it,” Nathaniel said in a tight voice. “And I’m not enamored of her. I care about her well-being.”
“No,” Killoran agreed, some of the dangerous tension leaving him, “she’s not my sister. And her well-being is none of your concern.”
“Where is she?”
“Still in bed,” he said lazily, his eyes alert.
“No, I’m not.”
They all turned to look, Killoran more slowly than the others. She stood in the doorway, her long red hair braided loosely and tied with a strip of cloth, her black clothes neat. Barbara took one look at her and knew the truth.
“You bastard,” she said, to Killoran.
“Don’t be tiresome, Babs. Since when have you become the staunch defender of womanhood?” His voice suddenly sharpened. “Don’t.” That was addressed to Nathaniel, who was approaching him with a furious expression.
“‘Bastard’ is too good a word for you, you son of a bitch!” Nathaniel snarled.
“It’s a waste of time to insult my parenthood,” Killoran said in a voice like ice. “But I wouldn’t push it if I were you. I would regret having to kill you.”
“You think I’m afraid to meet you?”
“I think you’re young enough and idealistic enough to think that a just cause will carry you through. You haven’t lived long enough to know that only the good die young. You wouldn’t stand a chance against me.”
“Stop this!” Emma stepped into the room, her voice strong and angry. “You’re acting like a couple of children. What makes you think you have any need to defend my honor, Nathaniel?”
“Lord, she’s still innocent,” Barbara said in disgust, throwing herself down in one of the rickety chairs. “In soul if not in body. Trust me, Emma, dear. One look at your face and we know just how you spent the previous night. Not to mention that bite mark on the side of your neck. Vampire tendencies, Killoran?”
In another lifetime Emma’s flush of color would have amused Barbara. In another lifetime she would have watched this little melodrama with cool interest, waiting to see who would battle whom for the honor of the fair damsel. But Nathaniel’s righteous indignation, and his very real danger from an experienced duelist like Killoran, made the situation deadly serious.
She was jealous, Barbara realized with sudden shock. And not of the bite mark on the side of Emma’s neck, nor of the dazed look of awakened passion in her eyes. Even if Killoran was the first and only man who’d ever resisted Barbara’s overtures, it wasn’t Killoran she cared about.
It was Nathaniel’s blind nobility that made her heart twist and ache. No one had defended her, ever, when she’d needed defending so very badly.
“Lud,” she said aloud. “Aren’t you making a fuss over nothing? Emma certainly doesn’t look as if she’s been forced to do anything she didn’t want to. I think, dear Nathaniel, we should take our leave. We’re not wanted here, and—”
Something stopped her. Something in Killoran’s face. No one else in the room would recognize it, but Barbara knew it. Knew the desperation and emptiness that were always hidden by the brittle smile, the cool distance, the urgent sophistication.
“Indeed,” Killoran drawled. “If you’re so concerned about Emma, Nathaniel, you may feel
free to rescue her from my clutches. Take her back to London with you, posthaste. Take her anywhere.” He leaned back, one slim, elegant hand toying with a half-drunk glass of wine. “You may leave Barbara with me.”
Even a practiced manipulator like Killoran had managed to stun them into silence. All three stared at him in varying degrees of shock.
It was Emma who spoke first. Vulnerable, foolish Emma, who was clearly in love with him. Most women fell in love with the first man to bed them, Barbara thought cynically. And Killoran was very adept.
“You’re sending me away?” she asked.
Killoran glanced at her lazily. “The novelty has worn off, my pet. An occasional infatuated virgin is refreshing every now and then, but in general, I prefer experience. I was thinking I might take Babs to Paris. If I put my mind to it, I think I could manage to incite even her frozen appetites.”
“You keep away from her!” Nathaniel said between gritted teeth.
“Are you going to defend every female of my acquaintance against my rapacious appetites, dear boy? You’ll grow very weary. If you don’t force me to kill you first. Ask Babs. She’s been throwing her lovely self at me these past few months. I thought it was time to take pity on her. If you like, you can take over Emma’s sexual education. She’s an enthusiastic student, and a fast learner. I’ll wager in a few months she’ll be far more adept than a dedicated whore like Barbara could ever be.”
Nathaniel dove at him, his face dark with murderous fury. Barbara shrieked, leaping out of the way, certain they were going to kill each other. The two men went down with a crash, and what Nathaniel possessed in youth and fury, Killoran bettered with experience and cold-blooded intellect. Within moments Nathaniel lay, dazed and motionless, on the hardwood floor.
