She had nothing else, regardless.
She had to try or give up.
She managed to get her entire upper body through the opening before her butt wedged. For several unnerving moments, she thought she was completely stuck, but she managed to get her upper body back through the opening and began tugging again to make the space wider.
She’d stopped to catch her breath when she heard footsteps coming along the corridor.
Fright jolted through her.
Without a single thought to possible consequences, she dove through the window head first. When she wiggled her bottom out the weight of her falling lower body nearly broke her grip on her make-shift rope, but she managed to catch herself with teeth-gritted determination.
Unfortunately, she’d no sooner righted herself when she glanced up to discover the demon above her.
Shrieking, she began climbing down as fast as she could.
The demon let out a roar of fury, grasped the edge of the window, wrenched it upward, and then leaned out and grabbed a hold of her sheet rope.
To Bronwyn’s horror, he began to haul her back toward the top.
She began repelling downward at a breakneck pace, determined to get to the bottom before he could pull her back in through the window.
The demon began hauling on the rope faster.
Bronwyn reached the end … and discovered the bastard had hauled it all the way up and she was just below the damned window!
Sucking in a breath, she let go.
He released his grip on the sheet/rope and grabbed for her as if he’d read her mind and learned her intent. For a handful of seconds, Bronwyn dangled from his one handed grip and then he reached down with his other hand, grabbed her other forearm, and hauled her back through the window.
Bronwyn was too shocked and frightened to react, shaken from the near fall and the scary climb, and more unsettled by the furious look on his face. Without releasing her, he dragged her over to the bed, flopped down on the edge, and turned her over his knees.
Before Bronwyn could assimilate his intention, he’d turned her skirts over her head and she felt a fiery, ringing slap on her bottom that shocked her speechless.
The next blow was hard enough it made her rear up and try to buck off of his lap.
He gripped her more tightly, blistering her backside with his palm until she was screaming and crying with pure fury, and then well beyond that. It felt like her buttocks were on fire! She couldn’t even recall the last time her father had given her such a thrashing!
When she finally stopped struggling, he stopped. For several moments he did nothing at all, and then she felt the light stroke of his hand, soothing the sting that had gone numb.
The light stroke was so surprisingly gentle, so comforting, that Bronwyn held her breath, focusing on the touch that felt almost … tender, that mellowed the pain to the point that something warm and strangely exciting stirred in her belly.
Abruptly, he dumped her off his lap and let her hit the floor.
“You little fool!” he snarled. “You are lucky you did not break your neck!”
Bronwyn’s anger erupted like a volcano. She’d been so stunned when he’d dumped her on the floor, she was not just docile, she was repentant, but to be treated in such a way passed all bounds! She bounded to her feet and slapped him across the face with the flat of her hand. “How dare you treat me in such a way, you bastard!”
She’d no sooner felt the impact of her hand with his cheek than insanity fled and terror at what she’d allowed her temper to lead her to flooded her, leaving her weak and faint.
Expecting a brutal retaliation, she squeezed her eyes shut, flinching all over when he grabbed her and jerked her up against his chest.
That was why she had no clue he meant to kiss her until she felt the brutal assault to her tender lips.
And yet …
If she hadn’t been so stunned her defenses had already been weakened to nearly non-existence she might have felt nothing at all. She might have been closed up so tightly nothing could have pierced the walls of resistance she would ordinarily have thrown up.
But she was taken completely off guard and the heat and hunger of his mouth registered in her unguarded mind and body as a wholly welcome and pleasurable, tingling warmth.
Relief, she supposed, that he didn’t mean to beat her senseless for trying to knock his head off, accounted for much of the initial reaction of surprised pleasure.
But his taste and scent were so far from repulsive as to have swung in the entirely opposite direction and the hunger of desire she sensed in his touch awoke something she hadn’t known was lurking inside of her.
As his tongue danced along hers, laying waste to the little that was left of her defenses, she felt an odd sort of heated expansion inside, felt the blood begin to sing through her veins, felt her heart begin to race. Not with dread. With anticipation.
She wasn’t certain of what she hoped for, what she began to want with some of the desperation communicated to her by the heat wafting from him, but she didn’t get the chance to figure it out.
He ended the kiss as abruptly as he’d begun, snatching whatever it was she’d been reaching for from her so swiftly she almost felt as if he’d knocked her support out from under her.
She hadn’t realized how much her head had been spinning, how weak she’d become so that she felt oddly heavy and wobbly and floating all at the same time. Her eyeballs defied her will when she opened her eyes, swimming around in her head as if they’d lost connection with her brain functions.
She righted herself with an effort when he set her back on her heels.
Fortunately, he tucked one of her arms in his as he turned away.
“Dinner has been prepared. We will dine in the small salon.”
Chapter Four
It took more than a few moments for Bronwyn to recover her rattled wits and even when she did, she was so focused on sorting her reaction to the kiss that they’d traversed the upper hall and were descending to the lower level of the castle before her mind shifted away from the effects. Her attention was snagged, at last, however, by the curious circumstance of his oddly courtly manners.
Of all the many times she’d heard the tale of the demon beast in the castle it hadn’t once occurred to her to wonder at the status of the demon beast before he’d ended in the cursed woods.
It seemed inescapable that he’d been born a gentleman.
Soooo … He was a lord?
Had been, she corrected herself—of some stature. Certainly well born, enough so that he’d been educated and taught the manners of the aristocracy.
And she didn’t suppose it mattered beyond the fact that she could catch the occasional glimpse of courtly manners.
Or beyond the fact that he seemed less inclined to behave in a beastly manner perhaps because the blood that ran through his veins was blue.
If he’d been a commoner and she at his mercy it seemed doubtful there would have been any discussion at all. He would’ve fallen upon her and ravished her—thinking she would be so impressed with his prowess that she would instantly fall in love with him!
Her fate was sealed, regardless, had been since she’d climbed upon the back of that twice damned mare!
She brooded over that for a few moments with a mixture of fear and anger and then something her father had often told her flickered through her mind.
Honey, he had often chided, gathered more flies that vinegar!
Was it too late to try honey?
Would he respond? Or would he be instantly suspicious?
Maybe she could convince him that she was mellowing toward him and then bash him on the head with something and escape?
It occurred to her that she would probably have more hope of success with any sort of plan of that nature with a common lout than a gentleman, but she had to work with what she had.
He was still a man, in any case, and surely as subject to his nature as any other man?
Th
e room he took her to was cozy by castle standards, certainly not the great hall filled with throngs of castle folk—servants, commoners, and men-at-arms—that she’d expected.
A ripple of something unidentifiable went through her when she realized they would be sharing an intimate meal—alone—and no sign even of servants. Uneasiness certainly, although that wasn’t the dominant emotion.
A memory of the kiss flickered through her mind, lifting goose bumps along her back and arms, elevating her pulse, making the muscles in her lower belly flutter.
She didn’t mistake that reaction as uneasiness.
Unless one discarded the definition of anticipation and replaced it with wary.
She pushed that from her mind and examined her surroundings as the demon escorted her to a seat near the head of a small table built to seat no more than a half a dozen people.
It was a well appointed room and scrupulously clean if not especially lavish—beyond the table, already set with a silver service and a massive candelabra—the room boasted only a mismatched pair of side boards. But it wasn’t a large room by any stretch and didn’t give off the sense of poverty the bed chamber where she’d been imprisoned did, furnished at it was with nothing more than a bed and a washstand.
Although, to be fair, the bedstead itself was a work of art clearly designed and built by a talented craftsman and the mattress and linens had been outright opulent.
It was a very great pity she’d felt compelled to shred the bed linens to fabricate a rope for her attempted escape.
More of a pity that it had been for naught!
He settled at the head of the table after he’d seated her and removed the domed lids that, she discovered, covered their plates.
Steam rose up along with intoxicating smells when he lifted the lids and then carefully set them aside.
Bronwyn was vaguely surprised when no servants appeared, but the hunger that instantly assailed her with the fragrant perfume of the food wafting past her nostrils commanded most of her attention. And she was too divided between a desire to dig in and appease the clamoring of her stomach for food and uneasiness that the rumbling and grumbling might be loud enough to be heard by her companion.
She thought by the faint smirk she detected that he probably had, but she resisted the urge to smack him and focused on her dinner.
It seemed terribly impolite to simply dig in and gobble her food without even attempting to entertain her host with conversation, but her mind failed to supply her with anything beyond praise for the cook’s endeavors. Since the demon lord’s only response was a grunt, she was almost immediately bereft of any sort of conversation at all.
Shrugging inwardly, she focused on not gobbling the food, forcing herself to chew slowly and thoroughly before she swallowed.
Even the delicious flavor of the food wasn’t enough to entertain her mind long, unfortunately. She found it wandering back to the violent kiss that had made her so warm, and weak, and each time she glanced at his large, elegant hands, she felt a renewed tingle over her backside.
Her enthusiasm for her food waned as the strange warmth invaded her.
Over and over, she dismissed her wayward thoughts, but she found her gaze irresistibly drawn toward the demon lord again and again, felt the tingling warmth spike each time her gaze settled on his strong hands, crawled over his broad chest and grazed his strong jaw and well formed mouth.
He had a very nice mouth—surprisingly appealing considering he was evil incarnate!
Well, maybe not surprising.
Wouldn’t evil have to have animal appeal, at least, to tempt?
He was a boldly, harshly male creature—not handsome by any stretch—but … manly in a way that made it far easier to remember the feel of his body crushed tightly against hers with pleasurable excitement rather than revulsion than it should have been. And each time she glanced at his hard mouth she almost imagined she could feel his masterful kiss, taste him .…
She nearly choked on a bite of meat. It took her several attempts and half a glass of wine to dislodge it and wash it down. And she was not only dizzy with fright and the wine by the time she’d swallowed it, she’d completely lost her appetite.
She shouldn’t be so distracted by his completely unwelcome advances, she chided herself!
It wasn’t as if she’d never been kissed.
Of course, that was as far as she’d ever gone in sexual experimentation—a stolen peck here and there, but she had been kissed!
There was no point in trying to lie to herself, she conceded in the next moment.
Those stolen pecks didn’t begin to compare to what she’d experienced with the demon lord!
Because they had been respectful! Displays of affection, not carnal desire!
She didn’t think she would be able to keep her wits about her well enough to use kisses to her advantage.
Very much of that and he would seduce her!
And then she would be ruined!
She didn’t know if it was unfortunate, or fortunate, that it suddenly dawned on her that everyone that knew what had happened was going to be absolutely convinced she’d been ravished whatever she might think to say to the contrary. She’d been kidnapped by the lord of the Demon Castle!
No one would ever believe he’d behaved like a gentleman!
Her reputation was already in tatters. Her father would have to buy her a husband!
Not that she thought he would mind. He would’ve had to pay a fairly large dowry anyway since she was a merchant’s daughter and he was set upon settling her with a man of higher birth!
There was no point, she realized, in refusing to give in.
In point of fact, the sooner the better because the longer he kept her imprisoned in the castle the worse everyone would think of her!
If she returned quickly enough she might be able to convince people she’d simply been lost in the woods!
She didn’t stop to examine her reasoning for flaws.
She told herself it was inevitable anyway and she was choosing the only road open to her.
Sucking in a deep, sustaining breath, she put her utensils and her napkin down and met the demon lord’s gaze.
“I’m willing to desire you and sex you … but only if you swear on your honor to send me home when we … uh … when you’re done,” she said, keeping her voice steady with an effort.
* * * *
Raathe studied the girl with so many chaotic emotions churning inside him that he couldn’t tell which was most dominant. It was a tossup between anger, outrage, amusement and, loathe though he was to identify it—empathy.
He debated whether or not to attempt to explain that desire wasn’t a choice—one either felt it or they didn’t. But he quickly deduced he was not currently in any mental state to attempt such a challenge.
The amusement and the anger arose from the same artless comment.
The outrage was due to her clumsy attempt to control him by trying to bargain with him.
He didn’t have to bargain with her, gods damn it to hell!
He could take what he wanted.
Should!
Fortunately, he still possessed a particle or two of reason and a voice in the back of his mind prompted a struggle to control his rage and think the offer over—as badly as he wanted to throw it in her teeth.
She’d said she would be willing.
As much as it infuriated him, he had to consider that that might be as close as he ever got to finding a maiden who desired him as he was.
But, of course, there was the little problem that he was currently in a state that made desiring her more than a little difficult.
Additionally, there was the caveat that he had to promise to allow her to leave once she had desired and sexed him.
He could break his word, of course, agree to her terms, take the offered desire and sex, and then do as he pleased afterward. She couldn’t take back the willingness to cooperate after the fact.
Or could she, he wondered, fe
eling uneasiness slither through him.
What if it did work? But then he was ungentlemanly enough to go back on his word and hold her and the spell was renewed?
What did he care if she stayed afterward?
It wasn’t as if he felt any … affection for her!
Maybe sexual interest, perhaps a nearly infinitesimal bit of intrigue, curiosity, admiration for her spirit, but nothing of any real note.
It wounded his ego right down to his soul, though, that she had made that a part of the demand!
No, he argued with himself. It was her attempt to control him that irked him beyond bearing!
He despised being manipulated and controlled!
It was that more than anything else that enraged him about the spell that had been cast upon him! He had been tethered, imprisoned. It wasn’t that he wanted to go out among the great unwashed! It was simply that his will had been shackled! It wasn’t his decision—whether to go or whether to stay.
That thought brought him back to Bronwyn’s demand and some of his anger abated.
They were kindred spirits, he realized abruptly. She was merely struggling to have free will as he was.
He thought.
But she was a woman. Women didn’t have free will, didn’t need it. Did they? They needed someone strong to take care of them and make their decisions for them. Would she desire that? Or was he gifting her with his own motivations?
Maybe he was. Maybe he had looked at it entirely wrong because he was a man and couldn’t see with the eyes of a woman.
Maybe the entire episode wasn’t a show of bravery as he’d thought but merely a fear of being discovered? Maybe the little idiot thought if she performed quickly enough she could get back and no one would be the wiser? No one would know she’d fornicated with the devil’s spawn?
The spike in his anger brought his speculation to a halt. If he went down that road he might well grow too angry to see reason at all.
What did he care what her motivations were? She’d offered something that might be the key to his freedom.
He might decide to teach her a lesson later, but for the moment ….
“Yes!” he growled, standing so abruptly that he tipped his chair over. It fell to the floor with a clatter that made her jump, but he was in no mood to soothe her. If she was brazen enough to make such a bargain, perhaps the lie was that she was a maiden at all!
Bronwyn and the Beast Prince Page 3
