Return of the Prodigal Gilvry

by Ann Lethbridge

‘Must I?’ she asked, raising her gaze to his.

  Ah, a little bit of defiance. He let his mouth curl in a mocking smile. ‘You must if you don’t want me to hand you over to my men.’

  A shiver racked her body. She let the robe fall from her shoulders and slide to pool at her feet.

  ‘Up on the bed with you.’

  She glanced over her shoulder and then shook her head. ‘Sir, would you steal my innocence?’

  His shaft hardened inside his trousers at the words and the sound of her breathy voice. ‘Everything belongs to me now.’ He selected the whip from the box, a light riding crop, and ran it through his palm suggestively.

  She licked her lips, staring at the whip, then looked into his face.

  She would tell him no. He knew she would. Rowena wasn’t that kind of woman. His kind of woman.

  She turned, walked to the bed and climbed up.

  He let a breath go and stalked after her, standing at the side of the bed as she watched him approach, her arms and hands covering her body.

  ‘None of that now,’ he said with a scowl, tapping her fingers with the tip of the whip. ‘I want to see my prize. Lie back and put your hands at your sides.’

  After a moment’s hesitation she lay back on the pillows and placed her hands flat on the bed, her grey eyes fixed on his face, her breasts rising and falling with little breaths. Slowly her milk-white skin flushed and the air filled with the scent of arousal. Hers. And his.

  Damn, she was lovely. And she wanted him. Like this.

  Slowly, lightly he ran the whip down her body, over her breasts, watched the peaks tighten to hard rosy little nubs and heard a little whimper from deep in her throat.

  Not fear.

  She was too brave to be afraid. Too courageous.

  He couldn’t believe how aroused he was. It was a long time since he had played his little games with a woman. And he didn’t remember one who had entered into it with such abandon. He stroked the leather across the flat plane of her belly. Lord, but she was slender. Almost thin, as if she’d not been well fed.

  A surge of anger at her husband rippled through him. And guilt that he hadn’t noticed. He circled her navel with the tip of the crop and her flesh quivered beneath the touch. He traced the jut of her hip bones and the sensitive hollow.

  She flinched. Just as he knew she would.

  He shook his head. ‘Lie still, I said. Now you must be punished. Roll over.’

  She hesitated.

  ‘Now,’ he said harshly, giving her the tiniest flick with the crop. Not enough to leave a mark. Not enough to cause anything but a lick of pleasure-pain. And she moaned and rolled over, burying her face in the pillows, her hands on each side of her head.

  Her back was long and lovely, every bone of her spine visible through the skin. Her bottom was beautiful. Womanly. Round, high and firm, with its dark shadow below her tail bone. It really was the most delectable sight he had viewed in a long time.

  He hardened to rock and revelled in the agony of denial. For only when he was sure she was satisfied could he take what he wanted.

  He stripped out of his breeches and shirt, knowing she could hear what he was doing, and, seeing her hands curl into the sheet, he knew she wanted to look at him the way he was looking at her. Somehow she knew better than to take a peek.

  ‘It’s too late to be good,’ he said. ‘You deserve all you get.’

  Her buttocks tightened in anticipation. He bit back a groan at the sight of that little twitch. He wanted to bite each cheek until she cried for mercy.

  He knelt on the bed beside her and raised his hand. He slapped that lovely, sumptuous flesh, not hard enough to hurt—to hurt her would kill him—just enough to cause it to tingle and warm.

  She gave a little squeak of surprise.

  ‘That earns you five more,’ he said. And waited.

  She tensed.

  So he waited.

  Slowly she relaxed and he slapped her again, carefully, just enough to feel the weight of his hand, his strength. And he counted out loud until he reached five.

  Her bottom was a delicious pink, and warm beneath his hand.

  He swept her pretty brown hair aside and leaned over to breath in her ear, to flick his tongue around the tender little curls, then kissed the leaping pulse below her ear. ‘Will you disobey again?’

  She made no sound and his heart tumbled over. ‘You may answer.’

  ‘No,’ she said. ‘I’ll not disobey again.’ The laugher in her voice said she probably would. And something warm and very tender filled his chest, soothing the ugliness inside him.

  ‘Turn over and face me.’

  She flipped on to her back. Her gaze raked his body, her eyelids drooped sensually, a smile curved her wide mouth, making her look beautiful and lascivious as she took in his rampant arousal.

  ‘So,’ he said, jerking his chin, ‘you like what you see.’

  She raised her gaze to his face. ‘I like it very much.’

  ‘Speaking again, unbidden?’

  She bit her lip.

  ‘Another punishment is in order.’

  She eyed the whip warily.

  He set it down alongside her and rummaged in the box. ‘Ah,’ he said, like a gloating pirate who had just found buried treasure. ‘Close your eyes.’

  When he turned back to her, her eyes were squeezed shut. He quickly tied the blindfold around her head. Now the real fun would begin.

  * * *

  Darkness. Not a scrap of light penetrated the silk binding her eyes. All she could hear was the thunder of her heart and her rapid breathing. And all she seemed to feel was the slight sting of her buttocks. It seemed so much more intense now she couldn’t see.

  Panic surged. The word uncle forced its way up into her throat.

  A firm warm hand gave her shoulder a gentle squeeze. ‘Give me your hands, little one,’ his dark voice murmured.

  Little one? She choked back a laugh, more hysterical than amused. No one had ever called her little. Not since she was a child. But this was Drew. Humouring her with the game she’d wanted to play. Not some terrible stranger wanting to do her harm.

  Her fears dissipated. Her body relaxed and she lifted her hands.

  He caught them in his and she heard the clink of metal and felt the grip of something solid around her wrists. Solid, but soft. The manacles lined with velvet. She remembered how she’d held them in her hands. They snicked closed.

  Slowly, infinitely carefully, her hands were drawn upwards and another click above her head made her test the bonds that held her fast.

  ‘You’ll not be escaping from there,’ he said gruffly.

  But she could. She just had to say the word and he would let her go. But she didn’t want him to, not yet. The shivers of fear had turned to trembling excitement. What would he do next?

  Something stroked across her breasts. She gasped at the way her skin tightened at the unexpected touch.

  What was it? Not the riding crop. It had been nowhere near as light a sensation. It swirled around first one nipple, then the other. Her breasts seemed to become heavy and full. Her nipples hardened. She could feel them puckering and pulling tight. It felt wickedly delicious. Unbearable.

  She almost cried out when it stopped. Almost begged for more. And then it touched her lips, a delicate whisper of touch. The feather. It had to be the feather. Who would ever have thought such a soft delicate thing could create such torment?

  She moaned.

  ‘Ah, my little beauty,’ he said. ‘If you think this is bad, just wait.’

  The feather, for she was certain that was what it was, trailed a path across her cheek and swirled in her ear. She shivered and twitched.

  ‘Be still,’ he ordered, without a smidgeon of mercy for her
predicament.

  She was trying, but it was hard in the face of such delicate torture. She gulped in a breath of air and tried to control her body’s reactions.

  He chuckled softly as she lay still.

  ‘Oh, my brave beauty,’ he said softly.

  The touch of the feather left her. Silence surrounded her. Every nerve in her body awaited what he would do next.

  The feather ticked her inner thigh.

  She gasped. Shocked. Surprised.

  ‘Open,’ he said in a rough command.

  A shudder of pleasure hit her hard. She complied instantly.

  He continued his torment, stroking each inner thigh in turn, then gently brushing her woman’s flesh, which sprang to life, hot and wanting.

  Did he want her, too?

  She didn’t know, couldn’t tell in her dark world, though she could hear his harsh breathing somewhere beside her. Above her. All around her. Her fingers twitched in their bindings with the longing to touch him, to feel the hard mass of his arms and the deep chest she had glimpsed so briefly.

  But she couldn’t. He had her held fast. His captive.

  Her insides seemed to melt. Her body flushed with the heat of desire.

  The feather returned to her breasts, stroking all the places that loved to be touched: behind her knee, the rise of her breasts and the hollow of her throat.

  And tormenting all the places that jumped and flickered: the hollow of her hip, the soles of her feet, the place below her ear.

  And never did she know where he would touch her next. She was panting and breathless and almost out of her mind with longing and pleasure and exquisite pain from her sensitised skin. Almost ready to cry uncle.

  The bed dipped. Him, shifting his weight. Then the warmth of him beside her hip. A knee pressed between her legs. ‘Wider,’ he said.

  And then he was between her thighs, the rough hair on his legs just as tormenting as the feather.

  Then she felt his fingers at her entrance, parting her folds, and the blunt tip of his shaft pressing against her.

  ‘You will take me,’ he said. ‘All of me.’

  And he drove home to the hilt and she dissolved into bliss.

  And he continued to drive into her, bringing her to the peak and beyond twice more, before he withdrew and spilled his seed on her belly.

  He collapsed beside her, his hands reaching up to untie the blindfold.

  She blinked at the sudden light as she regained her vision. He was up on one elbow, working the lock of the manacles. She was rewarded by seeing a look of sensual bliss and contentment on his face. He looked younger. Less careworn.

  He freed her wrists and looked down at her face. She couldn’t stop herself. She stretched up and kissed his mouth.

  He gazed at her with what was clearly astonishment. ‘Are you all right?’ he murmured softly.

  ‘Oh, yes,’ she whispered, smiling. ‘Thank you.’

  If anything his expression of astonishment grew more intense. He shook his head. ‘Rowena, rest now.’

  He must think her exceedingly strange, but there was a slight smile on his lips as he lay down beside her and pulled her into the crook of his arm, positioning her so her head rested against his shoulder. Gently, he stroked her hair where it fell over her breast.

  ‘Little one,’ he said. His eyelids drooped and his breathing deepened.

  * * *

  ‘Mr Gilvry.’

  Rapping. On a door. And a weight on his shoulder. Drew jerked awake. The warmth at his side was a woman. Rowena. The knocking on the door?

  Careful not to wake his sleeping companion, he slid out of bed to another round of knocks.

  ‘Who is it?’

  ‘Eva, with your supper.’

  Right. No food since earlier in the day. No wonder his belly felt empty. He glanced over at Rowena. She pulled the sheet up over her head with a mutter about the racket.

  He scooped his shirt from the floor, pulled it over his head and unlocked the door.

  Eva trotted in. She glanced at the tangled sheets on the bed with a knowing grin. ‘Madam Belle thought as how you might be in need of a bit of sustenance.’ She set a tray on the table.

  ‘Thank her for me.’

  The girl gave him a saucy smile. ‘She’s lucky, your lady is, having such a well set-up fellow as you, even with that face. You should see some of the flawns and dodderers the girls have to put up with.’

  ‘I’ll take that as a compliment.’ Drew fished sixpence from his coat pocket and slipped it into the girl’s palm. ‘I’ll leave the tray outside when we’re done. No need to come back until morning.’

  ‘Thank you kindly, sir.’ She dipped a little bob and scuttled out.

  Drew locked the door behind her.

  Rowena threw back the sheet and gazed at him, her expression puzzled and her eyes misty with sleep. ‘What is happening?’

  ‘Eva with supper.’

  ‘Oh.’ She sat up, careful to keep herself wrapped in the sheet. As if he hadn’t seen her a few minutes before in nothing but her skin. And a beautiful skin it was. Very responsive. And silky soft.

  His blood thickened and his thoughts must have shown on his face, because hers turned red.

  Dammit. He hadn’t wanted to make her embarrassed. Not after she’d given him the most pleasurable interlude in his life.

  He still couldn’t quite believe that he had found a woman who had participated in his deepest, darkest fantasies. Had her enjoyment been real or out of gratitude?

  Even as the thought flittered through his mind, he knew it wasn’t true. The blush on her face was not embarrassment. It was desire. For some unfathomable reason, the fates had sent him a woman who liked the opposite of what he liked.

  He hardened. And inwardly cursed the thrum of hot blood in his veins. Even if it had been a long time since he’d been able to indulge in his particular vices and even if she was willing, he’d tormented her enough for one night.

  They had important matters to see to tomorrow and they would both need their wits about them. ‘Come, sweetling. You need to eat.’

  She blinked and then smiled. ‘I can’t believe how hungry I feel.’

  ‘It’s not surprising,’ he said, raising a brow. He picked up her robe from the floor and handed it to her, turning his back so she could slip out of bed and put it on.

  He didn’t do it because he didn’t want to see her. He did it because he knew if he caught so much as a glimpse, she would never get as far as the table.

  He pulled out a chair and she gave him a smile and sat down. ‘What have they sent up?’

  It was a cold supper of the sort of plain fare Belle would have available to her customers downstairs. He’d partaken of it often enough in the past. Cold meats and haggis, fruit tart, bread and cheese and a flagon of small beer. They tucked in. He was glad to see that she ate heartily, though nowhere near as much as he, and when she was done she watched him finish his meal.

  ‘Do you really think your brother will help us?’ she asked when he, too, sat back with a sigh.

  Of all of his brothers, Niall was the most likely not to toss him out on his ear. But if he did? What then? ‘Dinna worry. We’ll find someone else, if he cannot.’ There was something else troubling him. ‘I still do not see why Lady Cragg was so set against me.’

  Rowena frowned. ‘I never heard her say any such thing.’

  ‘Did you no’ say that she told Mr Jones she would be glad to see me deported? That was why she had McKenzie’s men lying in wait for me when I left.’

  ‘Oh.’ Her eyes widened. ‘It wasn’t Lady Cragg talking to Mr Jones. It was a gentleman.’

  ‘The duke?’

  She frowned, as if trying to recall something. ‘It could not have been the duke. Mr Jones
called him my lord. Not your Grace.’

  ‘It might have been a slip of the tongue.’

  ‘Mr Jones does not seem the sort of man who would make such a mistake.’

  ‘Aye, but if it was no’ Lady Cragg or the duke, who the devil was it? What did he look like?’

  ‘I couldn’t see him very well, he was the other side of a very thick hedge. I had the sense he was an older gentleman, by his voice.’

  ‘If you heard that voice again, would you ken it?’

  ‘I believe so. The air was clear and their voices carried, farther than they might have guessed, I think.’

  ‘It is too bad I didn’t know this when I was a guest of McKenzie’s men,’ he mused. ‘Morris liked to talk. He might have told me.’ He frowned. ‘He did say something about me giving them the slip once before. I assumed he was talking about Logan.’

  It couldn’t be Ian. Not if it was an older man. But someone working with Ian? Someone like...Carrick?

  Not possible, surely?

  But the men who had delivered Ian’s message had been Carrick’s men. And it was Carrick who had offered him a place in his American business.

  ‘What is it?’ Rowena asked. ‘You look worried.’

  It surprised him that she could make out any expression at all on his face. It was as if she saw right past the ruined flesh and only saw the man behind it.

  His heart gave an odd little lurch.

  Now she was looking worried and he did not want her bothered by his musings, which had nothing to do with her problems. ‘No, not worried. Just thinking. Don’t be concerned about Niall. We’ll know very quickly if he will help us or no’. We have a great deal to do in the morning, I think it is time you went to bed.’

  She looked down her nose at him. ‘I’ll decide for myself when I’m ready for bed.’

  He let his glance slide to the chest standing on the table.

  Her breath gave a little hitch. ‘Oh.’

  He shook his head. ‘Much as I’d like to play some more, I need my sleep, even if you don’t.’

  She went bright pink. ‘Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t wish to be disobliging, I just didn’t want you to think you could order me around.’ Her colour went brighter. ‘As a general rule, I mean. In the daytime.’