"The wedding ceremony was legitimate, ma chérie. I am your husband. I have won the right to bed you and I intend to enjoy it." Robin tossed his boots aside.
"No!" Lucia backed away from him. "I refuse to come to your bed, Your Grace, merely because some words on a sheet of paper give you dominion over me."
Lynkellyn rose, his stockinged feet quiet on the Turkey carpet. In one stride, he was at her side. "Willful, are you? Have a care, ma vie. I've been gentle with you so far, but I'm not averse to using force to achieve my ends."
Lucia stared at him. "Gentle? Gentle! Abducting me, slinging me over your shoulder, tying me face down to a horse, and -- and spanking me is what you consider gentle? Violence and force are all you know, Your Grace!"
Robin grinned wolfishly. "I kissed you first, héin? That should be courtship enough for any spinster 'of four and twenty with no future'! And I saved you from a fate worse than death! A governess! C'est ridicule!"
Lucia's chin rose. "I did not require rescue! I am not a child! I can make my own decisions."
"And damnably stupid ones they've been, too! You turned down a ducal title, tates and fortunes worth a hundred thousand pounds and more, all so you could enjoy the enticing prospect of fading away in some musty schoolroom! C'est une acte démentiel!" Robin threw up incredulous hands. "très bien! Since you know no better than to whistle a fortune into the wind, I have taken charge of your affairs. You are my wife and I insist upon my conjugal rights."
"I shall not grant them, Your Grace." Her head high, she turned her back to him. "Please show me to another bedchamber. I am extremely weary."
"I can make you yield, Lucia." Robin's voice was deceptively soft as he stood behind her. "Do you remember the kiss we shared at Saddewythe Manor? I gave you a small sample of my strength then. Shall you have another?" His left arm banded her waist, holding her hard against him, while the long, white fingers of his right hand curled around her throat and slowly began to tighten. Lucia gasped for breath, her eyes widening in pain. Her arms flailed wildly and silent tears streaked down her face.
"Have I your compliance, ma douce?" Robin's breath was hot against her ear as he loosened his grip so she could answer.
Lucia dragged air into her lungs with a rusty, rasping gasp that ended in a fit of coughing. "Very well, Your Grace," she panted. "I -- I will bow to your wishes, but you are a coward and a bully, sir, to treat me so."
Robin shrugged, flinging himself into an overstuffed chair. "As your husband, I have won the right to use you as I see fit. Now, off with your clothes and let us go to bed. I'm growing impatient."
Beneath Amberley's malevolent regard, Lucia's trembling fingers worked at buttons, laces, and fastenings, her eyes smoldering. She turned away, unwilling to face him as she unlaced her gown. "You've stolen, not won, any rights you have over me, Your Grace! You may have my body, sirrah, but nothing else. Nothing save my hatred and contempt."
His eyes devoured her as her gown slumped off her shoulders. He removed his shirt and breeches. Muscles rippled through his lean, scarred frame and his gleaming auburn hair, freed of its riband, curled rampantly about his broad shoulders.
Lucia's stays and petticoats slid to the floor, leaving only her white chemise. She glanced at him, then turned her burning face away.
"Have you never seen a nude man before, ma chérie? I should have thought, considering your past..."
"That I was a slut, sir?" she interrupted, still looking away, her hands clenched. "My mother raised me to be modest, Your Grace. Indeed, I spent most of my life in breeches to avoid men like you. Perhaps I may know more about -- life -- than most unmarried women, but I've never -- actually -- been with a -- a man -- before." Her words trailed away into an embarrassed whisper as she lowered her eyes.
"Well, well," Robin sneered, spinning her around to face him. "A virgin bride! Faith, 'tis more than I expected. Off with your chemise, then, and we shall rectify any omissions in your education!" Deftly lifting her chemise over her head, he stared, thunderstruck, at the white cloth that encircled her body. "What the devil?"
"My-my bindings, Your Grace." Lucia blushed again, futilely trying to hide her nakedness behind her slim white hands.
"Robin!" Lynkellyn corrected her distractedly. "I don't understand..."
"When I confine my bosom beneath these bandages, fewer men -- notice me and I stand less chance of losing my situation."
"So this is of a piece with those ridiculous damned caps!" Robin fumed. He went over to his riding boots and drew a dagger from a hidden sheath in one of them.
She gasped when she saw the blade, glinting in the firelight. She had agreed to his demands! Was he going to murder her anyway? Her stomach twisted like a gale-tossed bridge and her knees almost buckled as he strode toward her with the knife.
Sliding the sharp blade beneath her bindings, he sliced through them. "There will be no more caps and no more bandages! Mon Dieu! You are a very lovely woman. You should never hide that!"
As the cloth fell away, her breasts blossomed, unexpectedly ripe and full. Roaming over every sweet curve and enticing shadow her bare body offered, his eyes darkened with desire. He tilted her face to his, smiling. "I am not such an ogre if you please me, Lucia. Obey me and we shall deal well together." She jerked her head away from his fingers and his smile vanished.
Dropping his dagger, he cradled her face in his hands and coerced a thorough kiss from her reluctant lips, tumbling her back on the bed. His mouth trailed down the gentle curve of her neck, his eager fingers stroking her satin skin. Powerless, she closed her eyes against his caresses, terrified that if she did not obey him, he might injure her, or worse.
She had heard that losing one's virtue was painful. She hoped the duke would be gentle with her, but since he had treated her ruthlessly almost from their first meeting, she had little reason to expect anything but coarseness and brutality on her wedding night.
She swallowed hard on this new fear, then her eyes flew open. Suppose she liked it! She had met women who could not survive without a man to warm their beds. Such an addiction would be disastrous for her. Her own body's treachery would be the most powerful weapon in His Grace's arsenal. She must remain calm and detached. Let him touch her body, but never her soul!
His lips and tongue flicked over her breasts, pausing to tease her hardening nipples, as his hand slid down to stroke the sensitive place between her thighs. She closed her eyes again, struggling to remain passive and remote, forcing her mind elsewhere, but his touches were relentless, dragging her back again and again to contemplate the sweet, unwelcome fire that started to leap within her at his coaxing. Of its own volition, her body trembled and writhed and arched, basking in his wanton caress.
The last shreds of her detachment were wispy memories as she instinctively pushed herself against his agitating hand, his tongue dancing with hers in a frenzied, primeval kiss. She ached with a deep, savage hunger, craving something even stronger and more soul-shaking than the spiraling torrent of pleasure his churning hand provoked inside her.
His tongue replaced his fingers, its hot, tormenting caress sending wave upon wave of mindless, wanton pleasure crashing through her. It engulfed her; it ruled her; it enslaved her!
As if from far away, she could hear her own soft, whimpering moans, her own panting gasps; could feel the cool bedclothes crushed in her clenched fists. Quivering, she pressed herself against his mouth, seeking, demanding more, but he ceased tonguing her to drape his trembling body over hers. "Ma chérie! I want you so much! Give yourself to me!" he whispered.
He plunged his tongue into her mouth and she met him hungrily, relishing the blazing heat of his kiss. She tasted her own juices on his lips and the musky flavor only drove her deeper into lascivious intoxication.
His hand caressed her breast then stroked the inside of her thigh. She parted her legs for him, eager to feel the pleasure again. He slowly, gently entered her. Arching her hips to meet him, she moaned softly, wanting whatever was to come
next; wanting the pleasure.
Suddenly she felt a twinge of pain and stiffened. Pressing her shoulders into the bed, he drew back and thrust harder into her once -- twice -- thrice. At the unexpected agony, she screamed, bucking her hips to throw him off as she thrashed wildly at his head and body. Tears streamed from beneath her tightly closed eyelids. He gripped her wrists above her head as she writhed beneath him, weeping and begging him to let her go. His mouth smothered hers, hushing her.
Throbbing inside her, he rested a moment, listening to her sobs. He buried his face in her dark, rose scented tresses, guilt warring with desire. But the damage was done, he thought; she was his and he would not deny himself his hard-won enjoyment.
His lips caressing her ear, he whispered hollow words of love as he pulled out and thrust slowly into her again. She whimpered, struggling a little beneath him, as he shoved harder; and again; and again, growing hotter and stiffer and more frenzied with every sweet stroke into her.
Plunging faster, he was soon mindless of all save his own driving need, save the feral, unbridled pleasure burning through him, blazing ever higher, ever more savage, ever more compelling until it exploded in his soul and mind and body. "Mon Dieu! Mon Dieu!" he gasped, forcing himself deeply into her as he poured out his essence. He collapsed atop her, covering her tear- streaked face with kisses.
Cradling and caressing Lucia as she shook with silent sobs, Robin slowly regained his senses. When at last he rolled off her, she turned on her side, her back to him, and brought her knees to her chest protectively.
Rising, he crossed the room and took two dressing gowns from a large wardrobe against the wall. Laying one on the bed, he donned the other and moved to a washstand to cleanse himself, staining the water red with the aftermath of Lucia's violation.
Filling two glasses with brandy, he downed one glass immediately and refilled it. He took the other to Lucia's side of the bed and sat beside her. "Drink this, ma chérie. You'll feel better," he promised, smiling.
She sat up, clutching the bedclothes to her chin with a furious blush, her eyes lowering shyly when they met his. Accepting the brandy without a word, she took several sips. "Thank you," she said with fragile dignity.
Robin reached out to stroke an errant ebony curl and she cringed as he drew near. He dropped his hand abruptly and rose from the bed. "Here is something for you to wear." He waved his hand toward the second dressing gown. "It's a bit large, but it's warm. There is a pitcher and basin in the corner should you wish to cleanse yourself."
He sat on the sofa, sipping his brandy and glowering into the fire as unaccustomed guilt overwhelmed him. Lucia had flinched at his touch, he thought. And why should she not? He had offended her in every possible way! Had practically raped her not twenty minutes ago! And now, perversely, he wanted her to become his friend. Sneering at such a sentimental impossibility, he drained his goblet of brandy and refilled it.
Her mind leaden with fatigue and her present situation nightmarishly unreal, Lucia rose slowly. She ached with the bruises and scrapes suffered during her humiliating ride to Brackenwell Hall and the duke's assault had left her shaken in body and soul.
She donned Robin's robe and was almost lost in its voluminous folds. At the washstand, she soothed her agony of flesh and spirit in a basin of cool water, then tied the robe securely around her. Picking up the dragging hem, she started toward the bed, hoping that at last she might be allowed to sleep.
"Come sit by the fire with me." Amberley's invitation was a cold command.
"Your Grace, please! I am very tired and..."
"My name is Robin!" He turned icy grey eyes upon her.
Lucia bristled, but she knew she had to keep her temper and tongue in check with this dangerous, omnipotent man. Reluctantly approaching the sofa, she sat down at the far end, putting as much distance between Amberley and herself as possible.
"I trust you are somewhat recovered?" Robin asked, moving the length of the couch to close the gap between them.
"Yes, thank you, Your G -- Robin."
"Bon." He poured two glasses of brandy and tried to give one to her, but she shook her head, glancing at the first one, still on the night table, purposely unfinished. She dare not let spirits dull her wits in his presence.
"Take it!" he insisted, thrusting the goblet into her hands. "I detest drinking alone! Mon Dieu, but I've done enough of it!"
He gently touched her shoulder where a large, round, white scar showed at the open neckline of her robe. "Tell me about this," he said, smiling as her eyes widened with surprise. "Oui, ma chérie, I noticed all the scars," he said. "On your shoulder! On your back! Even over your heart! Badges of survival that speak eloquently of your life's battles."
Lucia stared down at her hands. "My scars do me no credit. They are but shameful reminders of my disgrace."
"'Tis your family that has disgraced itself, ma chérie! Abandoning an innocent child to starvation and the streets! Forcing her to beg and steal and cheat to live! Subjecting her to all the horrors of -- " Halting in the middle of his tirade, Robin flushed slightly. "Just thinking of your situation makes me furious, Lucia. You have no reason to be ashamed."
He sipped his brandy and stared darkly into the fire. After a moment, he said, "I would like to know you better. Après tout, we are destined to be in each other's company constantly for at least a year. Won't you tell me about these -- er -- souvenirs of your adventures?"
"I received the shoulder scar from a pistol ball. I held up a coach and -- it went badly." Her face was grim with the memory. Glancing furtively at Robin, she was relieved to see no spark of insight in his eyes. "As for my back, the weals were punishment for an orange I stole when I was ten years old. Papa had gone off to find a card game. Maman was ill and we were both starving. After begging futilely in the streets of Barcelona for an entire day, I stole some fruit. The shopkeeper caught me and I received thirty lashes as a thief." Lucia stared bleakly into the hissing fire.
"And the heart-wound?"
"'Twas a duel of swords on my twentieth birthday! It had rained the night before and just as my opponent's blade found my heart, he lost his footing in the mud. He fell backward and his sword only scratched me. If he had fallen forward instead -- " She shuddered, drawing the dressing gown closer around her. "After so many brushes with death, I wrote to my relatives, begging for a little charity. I was so. -- so tired of the world and the way it is that the sheltered life of a poor relation or governess seemed infinitely preferable."
"And has it been?" Robin tossed off his brandy and refilled the glass.
"It has had its own humiliations," she admitted, "but nothing to compare with staggering, alone and bleeding, down a dusty road with a pistol ball in your shoulder." Suddenly her voice surged with bitterness. Her eyes glistened with unshed tears and, her glass trembling, she gulped down half a goblet of brandy all at once. "I shall never go back to that life! Never!"
Robin tilted her face up to his. "You need only to obey me in all things, ma chérie, and your security will be assured. If you choose another course, however, you may find yourself leading the very life you wish to avoid."
In contrast to his threatening words, his lips brushed hers with a playful caress, then his kiss deepened, his tongue plundering her mouth as his passion rekindled. "And now, let us go to bed, my pretty duchess," he murmured in her ear. "I intend to be an expectant father by sunrise."
***
When Robin joined Georges in the breakfast room the next morning, he was immaculate in a full-skirted velvet coat, its color matching the copper of his unpowdered hair. These tresses, carefully coiffed, were caught in a black silk riband at the nape of his neck. Ebony lace foamed at his throat and wrists and a quizzing glass hung around his neck on a black solitaire.
Partaking heartily of the English fare he claimed to despise, Georges smiled a welcome. Robin surveyed his friend's heaping plate through his quizzing glass. "Do you propose to eat me out of house and home, Georges?"
&nbs
p; The marquis grinned. "Hardly, mon ami! The fortune you secured for yourself last night would make such a feat impossible."
Robin laughed. Waving away the footman who approached to serve him, he filled a plate from a large selection of food laid out on the sideboard and sat down beside de Valiére at the breakfast table. Amused, Georges flicked the dark froth at Robin's wrist with his fingers. "Black lace! très joli! Rather arresting, en effet!"
"Merci. It pleases me." Robin bit into a scone.
Georges watched the solitary footman bow and leave the room. Then, leaning closer, he asked, "And did the governess, pardon, the duchess please you as well?"
Robin looked up from his plate in surprise. "Georges! That is an unseemly question to ask a man after his wedding night!" The Frenchman arched an eyebrow and waited patiently for an answer. "très bien!" Robin grinned, relenting a bit. "If you must know everything, mon ami, she did please me, very much. There is a wealth of passion in that woman and I intend to savor every golden drop of it in the fullness of time."
"But you won't have time, Robin. You will have only one year, during most of which, avec un coup de chance, she will be enceinte. You will not want to jeopardize the babe and thus lose your legacy, will you? And after the child is born, you promised her, amongst a great many foolish things, her freedom."
Robin's smile was charmingly wicked. "So I did," he conceded, "but that was before, when she could have accepted my proposal willingly. I married her under my rules and I'm not going to let her go until I grow weary of her."
"You did not satisfy your appetite last night, then?"
"She is addictive, mon ami, like opium! The more I sate my desire for her, the more I want her. I made love to her until dawn, until I was exhausted, Georges, but when I awoke this morning, I wanted her more than I did last night! She was sleeping so peacefully after yesterday's adventures, though, that I had not the heart to wake her. Besides," he laid down his fork to massage his temples, "I've the devil's own head this morning."
The Rogue's Revenge Page 7
