Seduced

by Pamela Britton

He held her gaze. “Nothing that you don’t want me to do.” He wiggled his brows lecherously.

  “Are you going to bed me, Lucien?”

  “Oh, yes,” he said fiendishly, his manhood stiffening at the vow. Odd’s blood, but that was unexpected. And unwanted, for he only meant to teach her a lesson, not actually go through with the deed.

  “Then I beg you to go slowly.”

  He almost dropped her. “I beg your pardon?”

  “Be gentle,” she said.

  He didn’t know what he’d expected her to say, but certainly not that. He stared down at her, wondering if she’d lost her mind. Surely she must have.

  “You are quite serious?” he asked.

  “Aye,” she said, her blue eyes huge and luminous.

  Demme. Now what?

  Chapter Seventeen

  Elizabeth stared up at the duke’s face, knowing what she’d just agreed to must shock him. And yet she knew, too, that consummating their relationship was the only chance their marriage had. She had no idea when that had become important to her. Likely when she realized she’d so badly misjudged him. But in the past twenty-four hours she’d come to admit that he wasn’t the rake and the reprobate everyone thought him. And if that was true, then there was a chance this marriage might work. Just a chance.

  And wasn’t it a chance worth taking?

  The option was living the life of a strumpet, of flirting with one man after another. Her flirtation with John had shown her that she didn’t have the stomach to behave thus. Deep down inside she’d always known that.

  “Very well,” he said, staring down at her with the oddest expression on his face. “If that is truly the way you feel, then I shan’t ask you again.”

  She stared up at him, too, his eyes a jade green today, eyes that had grown so good at concealing emotions from the world. What did he feel now? She would give anything to know.

  Instead, she waited for him to proceed to the bedroom, her heart beginning to pound even more so than it had before.

  “If you’re absolutely sure?” he said again.

  “Yes, I’m sure,” she reiterated.

  “There’s no going back once this is done.”

  “Lucien,” she said impatiently, beginning to think that he stalled, “at this rate the Prince of Wales will ascend the throne before we consummate our marriage.”

  She heard him swallow. Actually heard him swallow.

  ’Twas then that she realized he didn’t want to go through with it. She could see it in the way a tiny bead of sweat had sprung upon his brow. The way he suddenly wouldn’t look her in the eye.

  He’d been bluffing.

  And on the heels of that thought came the realization that he was good at bluffing. He’d bluffed his way into making society think he hadn’t cared about his brother’s death. Had hoodwinked society into thinking he was a rake, for Polly had confirmed that no licentious behavior had ever happened at the castle, nor anywhere else that she knew of.

  He had duped society about a lot of things. The wild parties. The fiendish behavior. Well, perhaps that was true at times.

  “Why, Lucien?”

  “Why what?” he asked.

  “Why do you pretend not to be affected? Why do you pretend that you are all set to consummate our marriage when in fact you want anything but?”

  He started. “I beg your pardon?”

  “Set me down.”

  He stared down at her for a moment longer before slowly letting her slip from his grasp. She met his gaze directly, trying to piece together the puzzles she knew of him.

  “Do not try to bluff, Lucien, for I have gleaned the truth. You don’t want me. The question is, why? I know you desire me.” She lifted her chin proudly. “Even I am not that innocent. Why then, I ask myself, do you not want to bed me? Are you afraid?”

  He gave a bark of laughter. “Don’t be ridiculous. What man doesn’t want to bed his wife?”

  “Then why are you stalling?”

  “I’m not stalling,” he said. “I am merely thinking on the best way to initiate you, my sweet.”

  And there he went with the lecherous rake routine. Another defense mechanism, she realized.

  “I see,” she said, forcing herself to place a hand against his cheek, wondering what his reaction would be.

  He acted like she’d slapped him. “What are you doing?”

  “Touching you. Trying to let you know that you don’t need to pretend with me. If there is a reason why you do not wish to go through with this, you can tell me why.”

  He had stiffened at her touch and leaned away from her. Elizabeth waited, breath held, heart pounding, for him to make the next move.

  “Come,” he said, grabbing her hand and dragging her toward the bedroom.

  Her heart, which had steadied, burst into a nervous rattle against her chest. When they entered the room, he let go of her near the door.

  “Where are you going?” she asked, when he turned away from her, a half-formed notion that he’d lost his nerve after all crossing her mind.

  He paused, halfway between the massive bed and the dressing room door, sunlight shining into his enigmatic green eyes. “I am going to remove my clothes,” he said drolly. “You may remain dressed, for I shall remove your clothes for you.”

  He was back to trying to frighten her. Odd how she could read him so easily now.

  “Do not go away, Elizabeth my dear. I shall be right back.” His smoky gaze lingered on her breasts.

  Tilting her chin to a courageous angle, she said, “As you wish,” serenely clasping her hands in front of her.

  He stared at her for a long moment, almost as if he expected her courage to desert her at any moment, and when that didn’t work, he let a slow, lecherous smile slide up his face.

  And yet Elizabeth wasn’t afraid. Not in the least. ’Twas odd, but she felt filled with a fierce resolve to see this through. To reach him. She watched as his smile faded a bit just before he exited the room. Elizabeth’s shoulders slumped.

  “Gracious.” She took a deep breath, crossing the massive room to halt before the window. A dark blue ocean stretched to a distant horizon, small, white-tipped waves coasting one after another toward the shore. The view from the window was spectacular, another sunny day having dawned. Funny, but she’d always envisioned her first time with a man to be in the evening, perhaps a few candles burning, white sheets turned back. Instead, the sun shone brightly in the room, the red bedspread pulled up to cover the pillows she’d slept upon for the past two nights. No fire burned in the grate to her left. No candle lit the room. But they wouldn’t need any light. There would be no concealing her body with soft beams of sunlight illuminating the room. The thought didn’t frighten her. Rather, it excited her, her heart beating an irreversible countdown until his return.

  She had no idea how long she stood there, only knew she seemed locked in a paralysis of anxiety and resolve.

  “Did you miss me, my sweet?” he asked.

  Elizabeth whirled to face him, her hands shaking as she swiped away a few strands of loose hair. “No,” she answered bravely.

  “Hmm. I shall have to work to change that.” He wore a dark purple satin dressing gown with foppish wads of lace sewn around the arms and neckline. Gaudy turquoise-and-red embroidery decorated the fabric. The thing looked like something worn in a boudoir.

  Another prop, she realized.

  “I have a surprise for you,” he said, smiling in a self-satisfied way.

  He looked more in control of himself. That worried her.

  He reached into his pocket.

  Elizabeth tensed.

  He pulled out … silk?

  “Wh—” She forced herself to breathe. “What are those for?”

  Lucien smiled. “They’re for you.” He came to her, holding out his hand so she could get a better look. “To tie your hands.”

  She jerked back, her eyes darting to his. “Tie my what?”

  “There goes your hearing again,” he
said happily. “My goodness, Elizabeth, I believe we should have a physician come and look at you. Perhaps you have wax balls.”

  “Stop it, Lucien. What do you mean tie my hands?”

  He lifted his brows, giving her a lecherous smile. “Why, Elizabeth, ’tis done all the time. It’s to heighten your pleasure.” The smile, if possible, grew bigger. “I also brought you this.”

  He reached into his pocket.

  Elizabeth tensed again.

  He pulled out … A feather duster?

  She didn’t want to know what that was for, she truly didn’t. The thing was small. In fact, ’twas oddly small. She tried to formulate a response. “Do you intend to dust my body?” she asked, trying to act as cool as he did.

  “Why as a matter of fact, I do. With this.” He shifted the ties to the hand with the feathers, reaching into his other pocket for a small pouch.

  She hated to ask. She truly did. “And what is that?”

  “Sugar,” he said, his smile still firmly in place. “Powdered sugar.” He shook the bag a bit, puffs of the stuff escaping. “I intend to lick this off your body.”

  She jerked. He wanted to frighten her into backing out of this, she realized. But she refused to do so. “I see,” she said, steeling herself as she crossed to the bed. “Shall we begin then?”

  To her utter delight, he looked momentarily flummoxed.

  Hah, she told him with her eyes. Your ploy did not work.

  Ah, he silently answered back. But I am not finished yet.

  The battle lines had been drawn. The gloves were off. Who would be the first to back down? They each vowed it would be the other.

  “Just let me set this over here,” he said, turning from her to place the objects on the side table near the window.

  She felt her breath quicken. Knew the moment of truth was coming. Odd how she still wasn’t afraid. Anxious, certainly. But who wouldn’t be with his medieval scare tactics? Still, she knew he wouldn’t hurt her. That consoled her a great deal as she waited for him to come to her. And he did come to her, although his walk was more of a slink, a diabolically roguish smile upon his face. When he stopped before her, he held her gaze for a moment, then slowly lifted a hand. She tensed.

  He stroked his chin. “I’m trying to think how I want to do this. Tie you up now, or take off your clothes first?” He looked her up and down. “Do you have a preference?”

  She had to swallow before she answered, her throat—for all her resolve—suddenly dry. “Not at all,” she answered smoothly.

  He lifted a brow. “Hmm. Pity. I suppose before then. Goodness knows with you tied, those catches in the back might be a problem.”

  She tensed. He seemed to tense, too. Elizabeth knew he did though he tried to conceal it by placing one of those sublimely complacent looks upon his face. He lifted a hand. Elizabeth’s breath caught. He motioned with his index finger. “Turn around,” he said.

  She felt oxygen desert her brain, only to inhale deeply as she slowly did as he asked.

  “Closer,” he ordered, putting a hand around the front of her and pulling her up against him, his hand brushing her neck as if to swipe away a lock of hair.

  “Ah. Buttons. Very good. Never did like the eye hooks. They’re damnably hard to see.”

  Elizabeth barely heard the words, her blood rushing through her ears in a residual effect of being pulled up against him. She felt her dress move, felt him step back, the brooch she’d pinned beneath her breasts weighing it down. Her aunt’s favorite pendant, she remembered, the realization giving her courage.

  “You know,” he said, “I can’t decide if I should tie just your hands or your legs, too. I suppose you have no preference for that, either?”

  “No,” she said, surprised at how level her voice came out.

  He sighed, undoing another button. “My dear Elizabeth, your unwillingness to comment on this matter is most distressing.”

  “Is it, duke? I beg your pardon, then, for I mean no offense.”

  “Lucien,” he said, leaning next to her ear, his breath brushing the side of her cheek. Lemons again. “With what we are about to do, you should certainly call me Lucien. Duke sounds so terribly …” He searched for the right word. “Impersonal.” He undid another button. “And I assure you, my dear, what I’m about to do will be very, very personal.”

  He’d done it to her before, she reminded herself. And she to him. Still … She told herself not to move, even though every nerve begged her to grab him by the lapels of his foppish dressing gown and shake him. Instead, she felt the last few buttons give, felt the red dress slip off her shoulders, then drop to the floor.

  “Ah,” he said. “More buttons.”

  She tensed even more, reminding herself that as he had already touched her as intimately as he ever would, surely she shouldn’t be nervous?

  He meant to tie her up.

  But did he really? He’d bluffed before. Perhaps this was yet another.

  She waited, her breath coming faster as she felt him undo the buttons of her dress. All too quickly she felt it fall to the floor.

  “Hmm,” he observed. “I must say, your corset looks a great deal better on you than mine did on me.”

  She felt his hands on her shoulders, all but jumping at the feel of them through the thin gauze of her chemise.

  He leaned close to her again. She could feel the heat of him next to her nearly naked body. “You know, I’ve decided to watch you take off your petticoats. There’s nothing more exciting to a man than watching a woman strip.”

  She closed her eyes, clenching her hands, as close as she’d ever been to fleeing. Then she caught sight of the brooch again and a great calm came over her. She released a breath she hadn’t known she’d been holding, then forced herself to take another one, to make her shoulders relax, to make her body feel loose beneath him.

  “Is that so?” she asked, stepping away from the discarded gown and toward a new future. “If that is true. then I wonder why you didn’t have me strip for you from the very beginning?”

  “But my dear,” he said silkily, “you couldn’t have undone the catches in the back. But now that we are finished with those, I wish for you to entertain me as I will entertain you in the coming hours.”

  She opened her eyes, tilting to the right so that she could peer up at him. She saw him draw back before he checked the action. Ha. Try to frighten her, would he? They would see about that.

  “Then let us be done with this, shall we?” She turned suddenly, only inches away. She tugged at her chemise, and despite her resolve, she felt her breath catch as she slid first one shoulder free, then the next. The lightweight fabric slid down. She saw his nostrils flare. Saw his eyes narrow as she stood before him in nothing but her petticoats. She turned a bit, giving him her profile so she could stare up at him as she placed a leg upon the bed, then released the strings one by one, starting at the bottom and working her way up. But he wasn’t staring into her eyes. No, he watched her every move, his eyes almost a caress as they moved over her. He watched as she slowly, inexorably, pulled on the strings. When she was finished, she did the other leg, slowly tugged the last, tiny string until her petticoats, too, fell away. She stood up.

  He stared.

  Elizabeth felt the warming then, that heat that had suffused her yesterday when he’d kissed her so intimately. Except this was more intense.

  She reached up, slowly taking the pins out of her hair. She felt the weight of her tresses shift, tugged at the last pin. Her hair tumbled around her shoulders.

  “God, Elizabeth,” she heard him say.

  She, didn’t move, knowing he fought himself. He tried to maintain his composure, but his words and stance belied his expression. His chest rose and fell. His hands clenched. His body hardened.

  “Very nice,” he said. “Very, very nice.”

  Lucien the rake had returned.

  She didn’t know how he’d done it, but she knew he had.

  “Lie down on the bed,” he
instructed.

  She had her answer then, an answer she hadn’t even known she’d been searching for. He meant to go through with it. Meant to tie her up.

  He will not hurt you, Elizabeth.

  Ah, but he did not know she knew that. She held the realization close to her heart, knowing he still tried to intimidate her. She wouldn’t let him.

  She went to the bed, taking her time as she climbed up on the massive mattress. When she looked back at him, he’d moved, having crossed to the side table. He turned back to her, the silk ties in his hands.

  “Lift your arms.”

  She almost closed her eyes, then felt the stain of embarrassment cover her body. But there was that other heat, too. Persistent. Building. Pulsing. She did as instructed.

  His nostrils flared again. She could see him battle for control again. She bit back a triumphant smile.

  “And your legs,” he added.

  She almost told him no. Almost resisted. But that was his point. He wanted her to resist.

  She spread her legs.

  He turned away from her then. Elizabeth knew it was because he fought for control, not because, as he pretended, he needed to fiddle with the silk ties. It was a moment before he turned back to her again.

  “You surprise me, Elizabeth, for I truly thought you might balk at this.”

  She swallowed. “I am full of surprises.”

  “So I’ve noticed.” He came toward her.

  She stiffened, despite her resolve. He seemed to have to gather himself as he reached out to pick up her arm. But he didn’t clasp it normally. It was like he touched something he didn’t want to touch, his contact light as he drew her arm toward the massive headboard. With his other hand, he wrapped the fabric around her wrist, then placed her arm back on the bed as he used both of his hands to tie the silk around one of the bedposts.

  And it was done. She studied his face as he drew back, observed the way his skin appeared chiseled from stone. The way his eyes burned into hers for a moment before he looked away, turned, and did the same thing to her ankle.

  Elizabeth’s heart began to flutter in her chest. Her chest rose and fell rapidly, no matter that she urged calm upon herself. How could one be calm when one felt the oddest mix of anticipation crossed with fear?