What to Read After FSOG: The Gemstone Collection (WTRAFSOG Book 6)

by London Casey

  He stroked her nape. “Don’t you want to be mine, Nan?”

  Warmth curled through her insides. “I am not even sure what that means when you say it.”

  A wicked light shone in his eyes. He moved closer to her and lifted her hair. With a fingertip, he traced a line from her ear to the base of her neck. A delicious heat raced down her spine and her nipples drew into points.

  “It means you shall be my little wench. Just as the lord of the manor with a dairymaid. Have you ever thought about that? What it would be like to be some gentleman’s plaything, to exist solely for his pleasure?”

  An image of his powerful body on hers, pressing her down, burnt through her mind. A fresh flood of wetness surged between her legs. She laughed, a nervous, hitching sound. “I daresay I have not.”

  “But you’re thinking about it now, eh?” He stopped caressing her and lightly gripped her neck. “And it’s making you wet, isn’t it?”

  At his words, gushes of wetness slicked her inner folds. She was going to leave his sheets soaked. She shifted, pressing her legs together and trying to staunch the flow.

  He laughed softly. “Nan, I can smell it.”

  Oh, God.

  She turned away. Why must he speak of such things? They weren’t animals.

  “And even if I couldn’t smell it, that glazed look in your eyes—that little catch in your breathing when I mentioned it—gave it away.” His speaking so openly only made her wetter. “You’re so hesitant. Tell me why.”

  “I am not this way…” Her voice grew halting. “Not normally.”

  “Oh, no?”

  “No. The greatest pride, or the greatest despondency, is the greatest ignorance of one’s self.” She quoted Spinoza. “I know myself and I do not shrink from the truth of it. I am not what you would call a…sensual woman.”

  “You don’t know yourself well.”

  “I know myself.”

  “You can’t possibly. You haven’t allowed yourself to experience enough of life. You don’t how you will be—not with me. I am something you haven’t experienced yet.”

  Hope ignited within her. Foolish, but there nonetheless. “You seem very certain. I tried hard with William, very hard. I couldn’t”—she drew in a ragged breath—“respond the way he expected me to. He turned away from me. He rejected me. I didn’t know what to do. It-it…everything died.”

  It had taken all her energy to get those words out. She slumped in their wake. No one else could ever have persuaded her to say them. No one but him. And now her words, her revealing of her deepest failing, had changed everything. She would never be the same. A chink had been taken out of her armour—a vital chink.

  “What if it wasn’t your worry? What if, of your own free will, you turned control over to me and made it my responsibility to make sure you responded to me? What if all you needed to do was submit to my will and place yourself into my keeping?”

  His words seemed to speak to a long-forgotten part of her. A part she’d never let herself acknowledge. A part that wanted to be cared for. It was like stripping her to the bone, revealing something she couldn’t bear anyone to see. It made her disorientated, dizzy. Not necessarily in an unpleasant way, just a fragile, vulnerable, uncertain way.

  “I shall help you Nan—I shall help you to find your true self.”

  “And why would you bother with that?”

  “Because the manner in which I shall do it will be eminently pleasurable to me. Here is how it shall be between us. My pleasure shall be yours. And if you kick over your traces or get too high in the instep with me, I shall punish you.”

  Chapter Seven

  “Punish me?” Anne couldn’t think. Jon’s words were so astonishing.

  “Yes, punish you. My hand on your bare, gorgeous arse.”

  A thrill of excitement rushed through her. She caught her breath and couldn’t help a shudder.

  “Don’t worry, Nan, you’ll love it.” He nipped lightly at her neck. His heated breath and his teeth on her flesh—a shockingly animal sensation—sent a second, more violent shudder through her. Her internal muscles contracted again and again and wetness flowed down the insides of her thighs. Soaking his sheets even more.

  “You’re mad.” She sounded breathless, as if she were on the verge of giggling. But she didn’t know if she wanted to laugh from shock or from giddy anticipation.

  He stroked her back. His touch felt so good. She wished he would stop talking and simply touch her. All over…

  “Admit it, Nan—you want this, too. That’s why you’re here.”

  She’d come here to be seduced, not to listen to all these absurd ideas of his. Irritation consumed her. “I don’t know what passes for romance in the circles you run in. However, I don’t care for romance at all. I prefer a bond based on mutual respect.”

  “Cranfield wouldn’t have known respect for a woman if it bit him in the arse.”

  “That’s horrid thing to say!”

  “He took and discarded women with little care. They stood in line to beg for his attentions, swayed by his charm and his boyish face.”

  Each word he spoke was like an arrow to her heart. She held herself stiffly, determined not to react. “So I understand, yes. He was quite in demand with the ladies.”

  “I am told—by one who would certainly know how to judge—that he had much skill in bed. And yet all that skill left you cold?”

  She suddenly shivered and hugged herself. “Yes. Guilty as charged. So now you know. That should tell you something about me—and my true nature.”

  “The reason you didn’t respond to him lies in your nature, but the failure of your marriage is not your fault.”

  “You’re speaking in riddles now.”

  “Cranfield didn’t give you what you need. He couldn’t.”

  “And you’re an expert on what I need?”

  “You need dominance. I am offering it.” His warm breath made her ear, her neck, tingle.

  She forced another laugh with less success. “I’d never agree to such a thing.”

  “You’ll kneel at my feet and count yourself the luckiest woman alive for the privilege of doing so.”

  Was there a teasing note in his voice or had she imagined it?

  “Well, it sounds utterly absurd.” Indeed, she couldn’t believe she still remained here in his bed, calmly discussing this. No—not calmly, never calmly. She was about ready to faint from excitement.

  But had he really said he wanted to spank her bare arse? So absurd!

  He kissed her neck, his tongue lingering for a moment to trace a warm, silken trail on her flesh. Fire sparked in its wake. She trembled and moaned.

  It was as if her body was new, changed. She was someone else with him.

  “Obey me and you won’t have to worry. But I want you to understand just what it is you are getting into when you agree to be mine.” He licked her earlobe and sent hot chills racing down her spine. “Nan, I am going to take care of you—such very good care of you. You want that. You know you want that. It is why you came to me.”

  Had she known all of this before now, on some deeper level? He drew her—what use was there in denying it? Certainly he seemed to understand something about life and bravery. She had longed to get closer to him. Now he was offering her the chance, but…

  “But in return you ask for so much.”

  “Ah.” She heard the smile in his voice. “For the first time, you haven’t denied that you want to be mine. That’s progress.”

  There was no use denying it any longer. “But I thought we would…tonight. Maybe another night or two and then you would return to London. I can’t really be yours.”

  “Not forever, that’s true. But we can have each other for a while—certainly longer than a night or two. Anne, I am going to be married. We shall be announcing our engagement during the season.”

  His declaration should have meant nothing to her. So why, then, did it feel as if her heart were suddenly collapsing on itself? Well, i
t didn’t matter. “Congratulations to you and best wishes to your intended bride.” She took a deep, shuddering breath. “I never wish to be married again.”

  “You are very young to make such a decision. Of course you must remarry. You will need a titled husband and sons to secure your interests.”

  The calm assurance in his voice pricked her. “I am a wealthy woman. I need no one. I would be in Ireland now, living on my own estate, if not for my continued fears and weakness.”

  “Anne, this thing about horses—I can try to help you with it.” He caressed her back with slow, soothing strokes, as if she were already his to touch, casually, as he pleased. “I knew a man in my troop who was injured in battle. He developed something very similar to your aversion. And there’s no shirking duty in the Army. But we helped him. And later some others like him.”

  “What did you do?”

  “We gradually reconditioned him to being around horses and gunfire.”

  A log popped in the hearth. She jumped. “You would take the time to do that with me? But how could we do something like that?”

  “I shall take you into isolation, for a month.”

  His words stunned her. “Oh, will you? And have you forgotten that I cannot travel?” She couldn’t help the impatience in her voice. No one ever listened to her. No one cared. Was it any wonder that she didn’t trust people? She had trusted him, out of all others, and he couldn’t even be bothered to remember. He was the same as all the rest. She’d made a horrid mistake in opening up to him.

  She pulled away from him and held herself rigid, as if she could protect herself against the compelling force of his appeal.

  He followed her and grasped her shoulders lightly. “Easy now, Nan. You must learn to trust me.”

  His voice was gentle. She kept her shoulder muscles stiff beneath his touch. “I told you, I cannot bear the thought of riding in a carriage.”

  He ran his fingertips caressingly over her upper arms. “I have considered all of that.”

  Despite herself, her body relaxed.

  He continued, “Mr Kean has agreed to oblige me. He purchased the property that lies between Whitecross and Eastwood this past winter. There is an old, abandoned farmhouse with a stable. It is within a reasonable walking distance for you.”

  Her heart began beating very fast and heat washed over her.

  “Wait.” She whirled to face him. “You mean to tell me Mr Kean knows?”

  “He knows that I fancy you and want time alone with you. It’s hardly a lie. He is my closest friend—he will not betray my trust. We shall burrow up there as cosy as two badgers in the winter.”

  She gave him an arch look. “What about servants?”

  “We shall not need servants. We shall do for ourselves.”

  Her mouth dropped open. “Do for ourselves? You mean play at being cottagers?”

  “Yes, exactly.”

  “It sounds frightfully rustic.” And like nothing she would ever be interested in. It was as absurd as all his other ideas. Spending time alone without servants—oh, yes, Ruel would be there but she didn’t trust people of her own class. She’d spent her life surrounded by servants. They could be counted on only for their service, for which they were well-paid paid.

  “You’re afraid of going without your abigail?” he asked.

  She lifted her chin. “I prefer not to be without servants.”

  “I thought you needed no one.”

  His smooth, slightly amused tone ruffled her. “I don’t need anyone!”

  “Prove it.”

  “Prove it? Why should I need to prove anything? And to whom?”

  “Prove it to yourself. Because you are too dependent on others. You don’t know how to trust yourself. Unless you truly are afraid to—”

  “I am not afraid.”

  “It will be fine. Trust me.” His voice held a chiding note. “I shall help you overcome your fears, away from prying eyes. You would be humiliated if anyone else were to know the depth of your fear.”

  His words gave her pause. She had not considered that aspect. Perhaps no servants would be best. Yet something else disturbed her far more than the lack of servants. “But the risk of being caught…”

  “You could use a little risk in your life. You’re barely alive now.”

  She scoffed. “You say the most insulting things in such casual tones. I don’t need to play the reckless wanton to be alive.”

  He laughed softly. “You don’t mean to tell me that you are afraid?”

  “Of course I am not afraid.” She stiffened her spine. “I just don’t know about taking such wild risks.”

  Well, it had been one thing to consider having an affaire with him, here at Whitecross, in the dark of night. It was quite another to contemplate planning and scheming to sneak away together.

  “Anne, your problem is not so rare. You’ve decided somewhere along the way that you can’t control the dangers and risks in life. It’s true. No one can. But you see this inability to control fate as a personal failing.”

  “But life is so random.”

  “You can, at times, decide to trust in the process of life to carry you through. You can choose to take measured risks to gain more confidence in your personal fate. Cranfield died because it was his time to die.”

  “Personal fate? I’ll never believe that—and what rubbish, that I can gain confidence in the process of life, whatever that means, by becoming your…how did you put it? Your little wench.”

  “All I am saying is, take some risks again. Give yourself the chance to see that it needn’t always mean sheer disaster to live a little. And then you’ll find yourself more able to cope with these fears you have. You’ll be better able to let go of this need you’ve always had to isolate yourself.”

  “I just don’t know if I can justify the risk.”

  Wait—was she actually beginning to consider this? His logic was persuasive. She could learn to be braver, feel more alive if she took some measured risks.

  “Trust me to know what I am doing. No one will discover you. I shall never humiliate or shame you publicly.” He gripped the back of her neck with one hand. “But I do demand your obedience.”

  It was strange how natural it felt for him to touch her in that way. It was even stranger how it seemed to quell all her fears and doubts. She began to feel once more as if she were someone else. And if she couldn’t trust herself, then she was truly lost. At an uneasy quivering about her navel, she placed her hand over her stomach.

  “I am not so sure about that part.” She took a hitching breath. “I am not so sure about any of this.”

  “I know. It’s near dawn. I am going to take you back to your bed now. But before I do, I want to give you some instruction.” His voice was firm, commanding. Something inside her took notice, seemed to awaken and become very attuned to him.

  He released her neck, reached over her shoulder and lifted William’s locket. “If you agree to being mine and going away for the month, then you will let me know by coming to the ball tomorrow night, sans this necklace. You will take it off and put it away. I don’t want to see it on your neck again—not as long as you are mine.”

  He let go of the necklace and she grasped it protectively. “I can’t.” She choked on the words.

  “I insist. If you can’t obey me in even this little thing—”

  “It is no little thing. This is the last gift he gave me.”

  He lifted her hair. Cool air made gooseflesh rise on her nape, her nipples instantly stood to attention and her breath began to come in short, rapid inhalations. He wrapped the mass of her tresses around his hand and gave it a steady tug. The dull discomfort seemed to paralyse her. Her heart raced and fire flared in her sex.

  “Nan, never interrupt me when I am giving you direction.”

  Her channel contracted several times, hard, as if he spoke directly to that private and primitive part of herself. Her body seemed to turn boneless. Her breasts swelled and ached. She wanted his ha
nds on them, touching her with this harshness. The notion made her catch her breath.

  “Do you understand me?” His velvet-smooth voice seemed more dangerous than his coolness had been.

  “Yes,” she said breathily and she dropped the necklace.

  “I don’t think you do, Nan.” He curled his hand around her neck. “For the next four weeks, there will be no part of you held back from me. No part of you will belong to anyone else—not even your late husband.”

  “William has no part of me.”

  “That’s not true Anne. You must learn to be more honest with yourself—and especially with me. I won’t tolerate you hiding yourself.” He released her neck and took her arms in his hands. There was something primal, fierce in his gaze. It made her throat dry. He slid down to encircle her wrists. A shiver raced through her, equal parts apprehension and excitement. His grip locked tight and she swallowed hard. “He still owns those parts of you that dared hope for fulfilment. He lingers in the bitterness of your disappointment and the self-punishment of your guilt.”

  Her heart began to pound, rapidly, in a sheer panic of self-protection. He saw too much. He was dangerous to her. Suddenly, she wanted nothing more than to get away from him. Now. Before it was too late. She struggled against his hold.

  He held her still, pulling her arms behind her. Like her dream-lover, restraining her. She found herself melting again and thrills pulsed through her. His large, long-fingered hands constraining her were the most arousing thing she had ever known in waking hours.

  “Do you see, Nan? I’ve got you.”

  A sense of comfort, of security like she’d never known, spread through her like butter on warm toast.

  He maintained his grasp of her wrists with one hand and touched her cheek. She didn’t—couldn’t—stop him as he tilted her face up and back. She was forced to look at him. His eyes were like flames. He would burn her. Consume her—but God help her, she wanted to be burnt, consumed.

  “I will fulfil you, Nan and then his ghost—and all the doubt and guilt associated with it—will be put to rest for you.”