Ruined

by Jess Michaels

  “You want to scream?” he asked, leaning down to blow a gust of warm breath on her clit. “Beg?”

  She nodded.

  “Then do it,” he murmured. “I want to hear you.”

  “Please,” she moaned, her body shaking on the edge of release. “Please!”

  Her wailing voice, coupled with her shaking body and her wet pussy drove him mad. He leaned in closer and sucked her clitoris between his lips, stroking her with his tongue until she screamed out his name, thrashing through a powerful orgasm. Her body bucked and squeezed around his fingers, she tugged on the bindings until he feared she would bruise herself, and the release went on and on until she finally collapsed, weak and limp.

  Only then did he slide in closer, lifting her hips, positioning his aching cock at her entrance. Slowly, he pressed inside of her. She was tight, so beautifully tight, and her body clung to him, making him work to press inside of her. Inch by inch, she accepted him, her body opening and squeezing. When he was seated fully inside, he reached forward and slid the blindfold away.

  She focused her wide-eyed stare on his face immediately and smiled. “Please, let me touch you,” she whispered. “Please.”

  He nodded, untying her hands one after the other. He relaxed over her, her arms coming around him in a tight embrace. She clung to him as he began to thrust in slow circles inside of her, grinding their pelvises together as she purred out his name mixed with wordless sounds of pleasure.

  He cupped her hips, digging his fingers into her soft flesh, clinging to her just as her wet body clung to him. He was already so close, already trembling with the power of this joining, of her surrender, of his love for her. But he wanted to give her more pleasure.

  He lifted her tighter, rubbing her against him as he thrust, and her fingernails dug into his back as she met the strokes.

  “Yes,” she moaned. “Oh, yes.”

  Her body rippled around him, milking him with a second release that coaxed his own seed from his loins. He barked out her name, pulled from her body and spent across her stomach. She smiled as the hot seed sank into her skin and then lifted her arms to welcome him back into her embrace.

  He gathered her to his side, letting his breath slowly come to match hers, and for a long while they lay like that, one breath, one heartbeat, one body tangled together. And he wished it could stay like that.

  And knew that it couldn’t.

  Claire had long ago come to realize that she had never loved Jonathon Aston. She’d thought she did when she ran into the night with him, following his promises of a life of adventure, free of the cares that weighed her down at the time.

  But she hadn’t loved him. The shine had worn off quickly, though the passion had lasted longer before it too faded into Jon’s obsession and her fear.

  Now, gathered against War’s chest, dragging little patterns against his skin, she didn’t trust her happiness. There was so much turmoil in her life, she couldn’t believe it would last.

  Nothing ever did. Not in the world of the Astons. Of the War Blackwoods. And, she supposed, not in her world, whatever that world was, either.

  So as much as she enjoyed these moments when War made her forget everything else, she had to keep her focus on Francesca. Her daughter was all that mattered.

  “You know, you don’t have to remain silent after we make love,” War said, sitting up to untie her ankles.

  He smoothed his warm fingers over her lightly abraded flesh and she hissed out a sound of pleasure. God, even his slightest touch could make her come undone. He was so dangerous.

  She shrugged. “I am quiet because I’m thinking.”

  “I see.” He looked down at her as he propped himself up on his pillows and brought her back into his arms.

  “Do you?”

  He nodded. “Of course. What we are here to do is a serious and dangerous undertaking. I think of what will be best all the time.”

  She arched a brow. “And what do you think would be best in this scenario?”

  He was quiet a moment, the silence between them putting her hackles up, though she forced herself to remain in his arms. “Before we left Idleridge, I told you I would require you to go see your family,” he said softly.

  The words brought all the pleasure remaining in Claire’s body to a sudden halt and replaced it with pain. She sat up, shrugging War’s arms away and sliding to the edge of his mattress.

  “I don’t want to talk about my family,” she snapped.

  “I realize that. But we must, I think. It may take a few days for me to get in touch with Jack and arrange a meeting,” he said, watching her carefully but making no move to hold her to him, even though he easily could. “It will be the perfect time to call on them.”

  “No,” she whispered.

  “It isn’t a question or a suggestion, Claire. You will do this.”

  “Damn it, War,” she barked, throwing herself from his bed and grabbing for the shirt she’d deposited on the floor. She tugged it over her head. “Why can’t you leave this be?”

  “Because they are terrified for you, Claire. And they need to see you, even if you have convinced yourself otherwise or told yourself that you don’t need to see them.”

  “I-I don’t need to see them,” she protested, but the sound was very weak, indeed. It betrayed the heart she was trying so desperately to ignore. The one that screamed that she wanted to see her siblings. The one that screamed she wanted her old life back. The one she could never have.

  “If you won’t do it for them, do it for Francesca,” he said, his tone even and calm, though he knew those words would slash her.

  Emotions slammed through her. Ones she had been avoiding for so long. She struggled to wipe away before she answered, “What does my daughter have to do with them?”

  “Your brothers are connected. If we can’t get to Francesca through Jack, or if Jack requires more than you or I can give, we may need them.”

  She squeezed her eyes shut. “Jack might want money,” she whispered. Of course she had thought of that. She had none.

  War sighed. “I don’t know what Jack might want in exchange for his help. My brother is mercurial and hard to anticipate. But whatever his cost, it might be too high. Your brothers could help you, perhaps not as easily or swiftly as Jack would be able to, but they will still be able to exert their influence and fortunes.”

  She paced to the fire. “I never intended to tell them about Francesca.”

  War moved toward her. “Why? Why, Claire? They love you and you know they would love her. They all want you back.”

  She pivoted to face him and found him watching her quietly. His face held no judgment, no anger, nothing but gentle understanding despite the fact that he was obviously frustrated and confused by her resistance. She wanted so desperately to tell him the truth.

  But she couldn’t. She had never spoken that terrible truth out loud to anyone, and it had festered and grown in her chest. Now it was not possible to say those words.

  “My leaving put a stain on my family,” she said softly. “They all suffered because of me. And what I did while I was gone…I don’t belong with the Woodleys, War.” She turned away again. “I never have.”

  He let out a long sigh and then said, “You’ve said that before. I think it’s bullshit.”

  She looked at him, surprised at his language and the strength with which he said those words. “You don’t know.”

  “No, I obviously don’t, because you don’t trust me enough to let me in,” he snapped. “But what do you plan to do once you have your daughter back, if not return to your family?”

  “Go to the country,” she said at last. “Change our names, try to make a life. An honest life.”

  “By what, working?”

  She nodded. “I am capable of some things and I could falsify some references.”

  He shut his eyes. “So your great plan is to run away again.”

  That accusation
cut deep, but she shrugged as if it meant nothing. “What did you say to me when I first came to you? I always run. No one should expect anything different.”

  He shook his head, and on his face she saw something she’d never seen there before. Not anger, not sadness, but deep disappointment. She had let him down.

  She had let everyone down so many times. She should have been accustomed to it, and yet she wasn’t. She hated to see that look on his face. War, who had accepted her so fully.

  She bit back her pain, gathered up her discarded trousers and left his chamber. He didn’t call her back. He didn’t follow her.

  And as she went into her own room and crawled beneath her covers, she knew that was best for him. Just as she knew that staying away from her family was the very best for them.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Claire lay in the small bed in her chamber the next morning, staring up at the ceiling. She had not had a restful night. For a while, she had waited for War, hoping and fearing that he would come to her and continue their argument.

  But he hadn’t. Then her fear had changed. Had War given up on her at last? Not that she didn’t deserve just that. She knew she was being unfair to him, unreasonable about what he requested when it came to her family.

  He just didn’t understand her position and she was too afraid, too ashamed, to explain it to him.

  There was a light knock on her door and Claire sat bolt upright, yanking the sheets around her naked body. “Yes?” she called out, hoping it would be War who walked in.

  Instead, when the door opened it revealed Mrs. Dayton. The housekeeper smiled as she stepped inside and held out an arm, which had fabric draped over it.

  “Good morning, Mrs. Aston,” she said. “I hope you slept well.”

  “Very well,” Claire lied. “What is that?”

  “A gown, ma’am,” the housekeeper said as she placed it across the foot of Claire’s bed. Claire pulled the sheet tighter and stood up, taking it with her like a cover-up as she examined the dress and undergarments.

  “For me?” she asked.

  “Yes,” Mrs. Dayton said. “Mr. Blackwood has arranged for a seamstress to come today to fit you for a few new things, but for now I hope this will do.”

  Claire picked the gown up and shook it out so she could see it. It was a very pretty dress in dark blue with a pattern of lighter blue birds swooping happily. She blinked as she looked at it.

  “I realize it isn’t much for a lady such as yourself,” Mrs. Dayton said.

  Claire clutched it to her chest and stared at the housekeeper. “I have not had such a beautiful gown in a long time, Mrs. Dayton. But I don’t understand.”

  “It’s Eliza’s church gown,” the housekeeper explained, “though that girl isn’t much of a churchgoer, so she was happy to share it with you until you have your own things again.”

  “I will have to thank her,” Claire breathed as she held up the dress again and smoothed her hands along the fabric.

  She had been raised with much finer gowns, of course. Mrs. Dayton was right about that. But when she’d run with Aston, it had been with the gown on her back and nothing else. At first he had provided her with new things, but he had always used possessions to control her. Jewels could be taken away, gowns and books could be ruined when she didn’t do as he required. At first it had hurt her. Eventually, she had simply learned not to become too attached to anything she was given. Nothing was hers, truly. Aston would take it all.

  That fact was part of why she had later begun wearing men’s clothing. It was practical, of course. Wearing trousers made physical maneuvers and escapes much easier. But she’d also been trying to make herself less attractive to take away some of his power.

  “Eliza is a bit shorter than you are,” Mrs. Dayton said. “But it won’t come up too high on the leg, I don’t think.”

  “It’s perfect, lovely,” Claire said. She blushed as she looked at the back of the gown. She would never manage it on her own. Yet asking for help was so difficult. Finally, she sighed. “I—would you mind helping me button it?”

  The housekeeper nodded slowly. “Of course.”

  Mrs. Dayton turned her back and Claire did the same before she dropped the sheet and stepped first into the chemise and then the dress. “I’m ready.”

  Mrs. Dayton moved up behind her and began to fasten her from the bottom up. Though Eliza might be shorter, Claire had lost weight since Francesca had been taken from her. The dress fastened easily and was even a touch loose through the waist.

  Moving to the mirror once it was done, Claire stared at herself. “I look like a woman again,” she laughed, though she wasn’t certain that was the best of things.

  “A pretty lady like yourself, I can’t imagine you’ve ever looked like anything but a woman,” Mrs. Dayton said.

  Claire lifted her tangled hair up. “I’m not certain my usual severe bun or swift braid will do this justice.”

  “I could try to help,” Mrs. Dayton said. “If you would like.”

  “I know your job isn’t to cater to me.” Claire said as she faced the housekeeper.

  “It will give us a chance to talk,” Mrs. Dayton offered. She motioned toward the seat in front of the mirror. “Come.”

  Claire hesitated a moment, but finally took the place Mrs. Dayton motioned to. The housekeeper grabbed a brush from the drawer in the dressing table and began to stroke it through Claire’s hair. Claire shut her eyes with a sigh of satisfaction. No one had done that for so long—it was rather heavenly.

  After a few strokes of the brush, Mrs. Dayton said, “Mr. Blackwood seems to think very highly of you.”

  Claire let her eyes come open and examined the housekeeper’s reflection. Most servants wouldn’t dare be so bold with a houseguest, but then again, she knew this woman’s own history with War. He had saved her, just as he had saved everyone in his employ. They felt they owed him.

  Claire owed him. She was doing a piss poor job of repaying him too.

  “I think very highly of Mr. Blackwood. We have known each other a long time,” she confessed softly.

  Mrs. Dayton nodded as she began to separate sections of Claire’s hair and weave them together. “I thought I sensed a history with him, not that the man ever talks much.”

  Claire smiled. She’d heard that complaint about War before. Although he never seemed reticent with her. She liked being the one he talked to.

  The housekeeper continued, “I’ve never known him to bring a lady ‘guest’ to this house.”

  Claire’s eyes went wide. “That is hard to believe. I cannot imagine that Mr. Blackwood doesn’t have many admirers.”

  “He could likely have any woman he wants with that fine face,” Mrs. Dayton admitted. “But I’ve never seen one who interested him until you.”

  The housekeeper met her gaze pointedly and Claire blushed despite herself. “You are very direct.”

  “I am protective of him, yes,” Mrs. Dayton said. “I realize that isn’t proper, but his staff isn’t exactly made up of trained professionals.”

  “Being protective is a fine quality,” Claire assured her. “And I understand it, for War explained some of the circumstances surrounding who he hired to worked for him.”

  Mrs. Dayton’s expression softened. “We are all deserving of a second chance.”

  Claire caught her breath. A second chance. Most people never got one, yet War had offered just that to everyone who worked for him. He was trying to offer her the same and she had refused it. Refused him.

  “You needn’t worry about my intentions when it comes to War,” she said softly. “He and I are of an understanding about what we’re doing for each other. I don’t want to hurt him. And I am trying very hard not to take too much advantage of him.”

  Mrs. Dayton looked at her for a long time. “I hope not. I have a sense about you, Mrs. Aston, that you have been through something difficult. I hope you don’t let that define you.”
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  Heat filled Claire’s cheeks and her heart began to pound wildly. It was good advice, but advice she feared she couldn’t follow. What she knew about herself, what had sent her running from her family, that did define her. And what she had done when she was with Aston also defined her. She couldn’t pretend otherwise.

  “Now look,” Mrs. Dayton said, pulling a hand mirror from the drawer so Claire could see the back of her hair.

  She looked in the reflection and caught her breath. The housekeeper had twisted and tucked her blonde locks into a beautiful and complicated style that would have impressed the highest and snootiest duchess in the land.

  “Mrs. Dayton, it’s lovely!” she gasped.

  The housekeeper blushed. “Oh, go on now. Well, I should get back to my duties. There’s a breakfast waiting in the dining room if you’d like it. Or Mr. Blackwood is in his study, if you were of a mind to drop in on him. Good morning, Mrs. Aston.”

  “Good morning, Mrs. Dayton,” she replied as the housekeeper left her.

  Claire looked at herself in the mirror again. She looked like a shadow of the girl she had once been when she first met War. She hadn’t been even that for so long that it almost didn’t fit anymore.

  She smoothed her hands over Eliza’s borrowed dress. It was clear Mrs. Dayton thought Claire should go see War, and she wanted to, if only to see his reaction to her transformation. Only the part of her that always ran wanted to avoid him after last night’s confrontation.

  But didn’t she owe him better than that? With all she was asking, she knew she did owe him more. And it was time to start paying that debt.

  War felt her presence before he saw her. It had always been like that with Claire. He’d sensed her every time she snuck into the stables to talk to him, felt her in his veins like a slow-acting poison. Now he knew she was standing in the doorway of his study, and he drew in a long breath before he lifted his gaze to acknowledge her.