The Damsel: A Villain Duology Sequel

by Victoria Vale

  He blinked, glancing up at her from his whisky. This close, the impact of her eyes was even more potent. He’d never looked into them from such a close vantage point and could now see why they appeared gray from a distance. Striations of the color spread out from her pupil, before fading into blue on the outer edges, as if storm clouds had gathered over a dreary sky. But, there was nothing drab about them. Quite remarkable, those eyes.

  Clearing his throat for what felt like the hundredth time, he forced himself to hold her gaze. “Well, I … I’m really quite flattered …”

  “Don’t be,” she said, that sharp voice of hers piercing him like the edge of a knife. “I want someone in my bed for the night. Any other man in this room will do, but as we are already acquainted I found approaching you more pleasing than any other option.”

  His face burned from the insult, but once the initial shock of it faded, a new thought sprang forth in his mind. That any man would do rang false. He’d watched her scan the room, her gaze falling on several other men before landing on him. That they were familiar actually increased the chances of her reputation taking a blow from this encounter, which ought to be reason enough for her to stay away.

  There was a reason she had chosen him, and he became overwhelmed by the desire to discover what it was.

  “I do not believe that any other man would do. You specifically chose me. Why?”

  A brief flicker of surprise showed upon her face, before she replaced it with the previous mask of apathy she’d been wearing through their conversation. So, she was not quite as confident as she appeared.

  “Does it matter why? I am offering you a single night with me, no questions asked, no demands to be made of you afterward. Most men would not think twice about accepting.”

  Most men of their acquaintance would be as shocked as him by such boldness from any woman, let alone a prim, reserved spinster such as Lady Cassandra Lane. He chose not to point that out, and instead blurted the next burning question weighing upon his mind.

  “Why are you doing this, my lady?” he asked, keeping his voice low so they were not overheard. “You are a lovely young woman, and had you approached someone else—someone with no scruples or morals —he might have taken advantage of you … it could end badly.”

  She scoffed, rolling her eyes in annoyance. “Spare me your gentlemanly concern, as well as your flatteries. I am five-and-twenty years of age, and besides that we both know I now lack the pristine reputation of some virginal debutante. We also know I am not ‘lovely’. So, you may keep your false words behind your teeth where they belong and stop speaking to me as if I’m some dimwitted girl incapable of thinking for herself. I wish to fuck you, and I wish to do it now. You need not worry that you must behave with honor or spare my girlish sensibilities, as I have none. Think of this as a purely transactional encounter, one that ends the moment you’ve spent. It is no different from an agreement you’d make with any Haymarket strumpet, only I do not want or need your coin.”

  Robert finished off the whisky in his glass and refilled it, certain he’d need all the fortification he could get when dealing with Cassandra. A dozen arguments against her proposition rattled about in his mind … That she might have a sullied reputation, but it was no fault of her own … That he still saw her as a lady above reproach and wished to respect her as such … That while she might be called plain by others, he found her to be far more intriguing than some other whey-faced debutante … That even as they discussed a transactional agreement, he could not bring himself to compare her to a whore.

  She seemed to think him still resistant, because she spoke again while he went about draining yet another tumbler of whisky.

  “As for why I am doing this … I want something that I’ve been taught I ought not desire. Unlike a man, I cannot go walking Covent Garden to find what I need, nor can I hire a mistress or some such. There is only this … me choosing the man I want with a mutual understanding of what it will entail.”

  Robert supposed that when she put it that way, he could respect her motives. Women experienced desires just like men; but whereas those of his sex were allowed—and even encouraged—to pursue those needs, a woman’s reputation could be destroyed for similar behavior. And Lady Cassandra's reputation could not afford another blow. In truth, he could think of no reason to refuse her.

  Daphne.

  Her face flashed through his mind, as it always did whenever he thought of things like passion or desire. Consorting with whores had been one thing, but he’d never allowed himself to be with any woman outside such encounters. He’d never courted anyone else, never so much as kissed another woman’s lips in all the years he’d spent pining after Daphne.

  Daphne belongs to Hartmoor now.

  The reminder doused him like a bucket of frigid water, chilling him and settling a heavy weight in his middle. What was there for him to hope for now? What cause did he have for saving any part of himself, when Daphne might be speaking her vows to another man over the blacksmith’s anvil as they spoke?

  Suddenly, he wanted her in a way he hadn’t at the start of their conversation. He wanted what she offered, if for no other reason than the prospect of losing himself in something else. Even if it were only for one night. Even if the woman in question had never displayed interest in him. Even if she was the last woman in the world he would ever have considered doing this with.

  He bolstered himself with another sip of whisky, and before could lose his nerve said, “I accept.”

  Something like relief seemed to soften her features, a bit of the tension in her back and shoulders easing. “Very well. Before we adjourn upstairs, there are a few things you need to understand and agree to. I will have rules, and you must follow them if you want the night to end well for you.”

  His eyebrows shot up as he found himself taken aback yet again. This woman really was unlike any he’d ever encountered. Instead of being put off by her candor, he found it refreshing. After all the time he’d spent trying to woo Daphne with limited success and then heartbreak, he could appreciate a forthright lady. He didn’t think he would have to worry about being strung along or given hope where there was none. They would go upstairs and fuck. That would be the end of it.

  “All right,” he said. “What rules?”

  “First, you are to be bound by your wrists to the bed,” she stated as if remarking upon the weather. “Second, you are to follow my lead. There will be no attempts from you at dominating the encounter or ordering me about.”

  It was a good thing he’d already swallowed his whisky, or he might have choked. She wanted him to allow her to tie him up and lay there while she …

  Now her assertion that she would fuck him made sense.

  “I see. I suppose I can agree to that, though I typically prefer to be a bit more … active, when I’m with a woman.”

  Her gaze dropped to his mouth and lingered there as she inched closer, just close enough that he could detect the scent of cloves and oranges—a fragrance he might not have found feminine until he registered it on her. It made his cock twitch in his breeches.

  “I promise you will not regret it,” she whispered, her voice lowering and taking on a husky quality that grew his cock to half-mast. It made him wonder how she’d sound moaning her pleasure, whispering his name.

  What the devil was she doing to him? It had been some time since he’d had such a strong reaction to a woman. Not since …

  You will not think about her. Not tonight. You came here to forget, and that is what you will do.

  “Any other rules for me to observe?”

  It seemed absurd—rules regarding intercourse. Yet, he knew without being told that she’d rescind the offer if he didn’t agree to them.

  “Only that Peter there will remain outside the door … for my protection. I am certain you understand.”

  He followed her gaze to the large man who had accompanied Cassandra and her friend, and found the man watching them. He had no doubt the chap would break
him in half if he so much as sneezed in Cassandra’s direction. As much as Robert wanted to balk at the idea of him lurking outside the room, he supposed he could understand why she’d want protection.

  The idea put a bitter taste in his mouth, made all the more sour by the knowledge that she’d been hurt once before. If he did nothing else tonight, he would make sure she enjoyed it.

  “Understood,” he agreed.

  She nodded. “Very well. I will go up first with Peter. Wait a few moments, then follow.”

  Without giving him a chance to reply, she swiveled with a swish of her skirts and bounded toward the shadowed staircase with long, graceful strides. Peter followed at a discreet distance.

  Robert remained for a long while, the effects of the whisky causing his head to swim, though his mind raced with surprising clarity. His decision to bed a lady in a roadside public house did not fit with his usual gentlemanly ideals. He might come to regret it.

  As he pushed aside the tumbler in favor of finishing his spirits straight from the bottle, he pushed that thought aside. Caution and gallantry had gotten him nowhere with Daphne, so what use were they? Tonight, at least, he could forget the pain of his loss.

  What did he have to lose?

  CASSANDRA PACED AWAY from the small hearth, which Peter had lit before going to stand guard in the corridor. He would remain out there until she emerged, unless she cried out for help—at which time he would charge in, prepared to strangle her bedmate to death. She hardly thought she’d need to call on him, given Robert’s amiable nature, which ought to have relieved her.

  However, she was more anxious than ever, her hands sweating and shaking as she paced the cramped but clean chamber.

  She only felt this way because she stood so close to her goal, and Millicent had assured her being nervous was normal. But, was she supposed to feel as if she might be ill, or swoon in a dead faint? Despite the frigid weather outside, this room emitted a stifling heat, causing her to snatch off her cloak and toss it aside.

  That he hadn't refused her outright had been a relief, which helped ease a bit of her tension. One part of her mission—getting a man to agree to spend the night with her—had been accomplished. Now, she must get through the rest. She must touch him and taste him and … take him inside her body.

  She closed her mouth, bile rising to the back of her throat at the thought. Then, she took a few deep breaths and attempted to calm her racing pulse.

  She could do this. Millicent had urged her to try pleasuring herself first, so she’d know what she liked best. She’d even given Cassandra a box of implements she had called ‘dildos’; phallic shaped things made of lacquered wood, ivory, jade, and glass. She'd made use of the small ones first, unable to even look at the larger without succumbing to panic. Once she’d learned to use them and found she enjoyed it, she’d moved on to the larger ones and liked them even more.

  Millicent had told her to keep them, and so she had—and often used her favorite, the ivory affair with a particularly large tip. So, it was not that she couldn’t abide penetration. It more to do with the thing going inside her belonging to a flesh and blood man.

  Her heart kicked up its rhythm, pounding against her breastbone as she braced her hand against the wall and doubled over. She felt as if the wind had been knocked from her as memories came unbidden to her mind—recollections of Bertram pinning her with his weight, the brutal invasion of him battering his way through her.

  She heaved, but nothing came forth, her body convulsing and her stomach twisting as if wrung like a dishrag.

  It is over and behind you … it has been five years. You can get through this … you can move on with your life.

  For so long she had lived in a state of perpetual anger and fear. She’d thought helping Bertram’s other victims take him down would help, that seeing him tried, found guilty, and hanged would help her sleep easier at night. As of this morning, her assailant no longer drew breath, giving her a bit more peace of mind. At least she knew he could never hurt another woman again.

  Now she must face the thing that had terrified her since the day Bertram had raped her. As a young, idealistic debutante, she had listened to her elder sisters whisper about what went on in the marriage bed and experienced excitement. She’d thought she would marry someone kind, who would initiate her gently. Perhaps she would even enjoy it.

  Bertram had robbed her of that, but Millicent had insisted all was not lost. She could learn ways around her fears and overcome them. She could know what it was like to be with someone of her own free will, and maintain control the entire time.

  So far, so good, she thought as she straightened and turned just as the door to the room swung open.

  Robert stood there. He had waited before following her, just as she’d asked. She supposed others might call him spineless, and perhaps he was, but a man who would bow to her wishes was exactly what she needed. As he closed the door and turned to face her, she couldn’t help but wonder at his reasons for saying yes to her. Millicent had insisted that no man would turn down such an offer, yet Cassandra had noticed the way he'd seemed to give this much thought before agreeing. He’d seemed intent on finding out her reasons for making such an offer, as if he actually cared to know and understand.

  Nonsense. Since when has any man other than Papa cared about your thoughts or feelings?

  She’d once thought Bertram did, but of course that notion had turned out to be false. Robert would be no different.

  He began striding toward her.

  “That’s far enough for now,” she barked.

  He paused mid-step, now halfway across the small room, brow furrowed. He seemed bewildered by her, but Millicent had told her not to worry about that. That he might not understand all her actions would add to the mystery, and once his prick was wrapped in her cunt, he’d cease caring.

  She came away from the wall, clenching her hands behind her back so he wouldn’t see how they trembled. Raking her gaze over him from head to toe, she could not avoid the realization that he might be the most beautiful man she’d ever laid eyes upon. If nothing else, her boldness had earned her a night with one of London’s most coveted bachelors. If word of this ever got out, no one would believe it.

  “Undress,” she commanded, raising her chin.

  Then, she backed toward the bed and sank down, bracing both hands on the edge of the mattress. He watched her while working at the knot of his cravat, his gaze far too assessing for someone who’d finished off an entire pint of whisky almost entirely on his own. But he was looking at her in that way of his again, making her skin tingle and her hackles rise.

  Hurry up and undress so I can maul you.

  Her mouth went dry at the sight of his throat. Such an innocuous body part, but it was long with tender cords begging to be bitten, and she could see the way his pulse hammered at the base of it. She bit her lip and forced herself to remain seated. That he could affect her this way proved a good sign. She would want him bad enough to go through with it, no matter her trepidation.

  His coat came next, joining the neckcloth upon the floor. As he flicked open the buttons of his waistcoat she watched his hands, which were as perfect as the rest of him. Long-fingered and dexterous, they would probably be soft and nimble.

  It was too bad she did not intend to let him touch her.

  She didn’t trust him enough for that, so she focused upon something other than his hands. Looking at them would only tempt her to make him use those fingers to toy with her nipples, or even stroke her clit.

  No touching.

  It was the one rule she meant to hold firm to, and tying him to the bed would ensure he did not forget himself and do it anyway.

  Dropping the waistcoat, he then pushed his braces off his shoulders, letting them hang from his breeches while he worked at the buttons of his shirt. A fluttering sensation began low in her groin as he revealed a wide swath of his chest, the smooth skin sprinkled with downy-looking hair the same light blond shade as the strands
on his head.

  Then, he jerked the garment free of his breeches and pulled it off over his head, causing the sensation between her legs to go from a flutter to a steady pulse.

  He was well-formed, his chest wide, his slender torso displaying light lines of definition, and that enticing trail of hair leading down to his fall. Against the fabric, she made out the intimidating outline of his cock.

  The bile began rising again, but as he bent to attack his boots, he did not see her close her eyes and take a few deep breaths and work to calm herself. It was just a prick. It was no different than any of her dildos, with the exception of being softer and warmer. She thought of the way she could make herself spend using her favorite ivory phallus, and decided this would be like that. She would use him and get what she needed.

  By the time he straightened to open his fall, she had recovered, sitting up straight and watching as he unveiled the rest. She clenched her thighs together at the revelation of his cock—a long thick organ already half-hard, rising up from a swirling nest of dark blond curls. His bollocks hung heavy between two sculpted thighs, his calves sturdy and defined from riding.

  Robert Stanley unclothed certainly proved a pleasant surprise.

  He stared at her, raising his eyebrows as if to ask ‘what now?’

  Right. She was supposed to be maintaining control of this encounter. Rising to her feet, she gestured to the bed, where two short lengths of rope lay coiled near the headboard.

  “Lie down."

  She moved away from the bed as he approached, turning to face him as she reached for the fastenings of her gown. She had been intentional in selecting her clothing, opting to wear a carriage dress that buttoned down the front so she would not need help taking it off.

  Robert’s rapt gaze followed the motion of her fingers as she opened the garment to reveal that she wore nothing but a chemise underneath. She’d gone without stays or a petticoat, despite the cold weather, wanting to make this as easy on herself as possible. Fewer layers to remove meant less time undressing, and therefore a limited window of opportunity for her to back out.