“I know what I would like to do with you,” he murmured in her ear. She said nothing, but her breathing accelerated. Stuart shifted, sliding one knee between hers. Instantly her legs clamped together, but too late, and she shook as he settled himself more comfortably atop her, his thigh between hers. “I like your trousers,” he whispered. “Very much.” He palmed the curve of her hip, and she jerked.
“I was wrong about you,” Charlotte spat, still not looking at him. “I thought you were merely a common whore, trading on your looks and manner to gull women out of their money. I didn’t expect you forced yourself on them as well.”
“A common whore?” He frowned. “I doubt it. I admit to relying on my good looks and charming manners, but what of it? Women do as much when looking for a husband. And my intentions are always clear, about marriage or ... other things.” He paused, his fingers still playing idly up and down her side. Charlotte bit the inside of her lip—hard—to keep from betraying any reaction to that touch. Because she did not want to respond to it, or to him, and she especially did not want him to know that her body was responding in spite of her wishes.
“Still,” he went on in the same thoughtful tone, “I can see how one might mistake my intentions in this instance. I believe what I would like is very clear.” He slid his hips into the V of her thighs and grinned wickedly at her tremor of alarm. “But forcing myself on women? Oh no, never. Especially not on you. You, I think, will have to ask very nicely indeed.”
“You’re hurting me!” Charlotte burst out. How she hated this man cradled between her legs, using her body against her. She didn’t know what to do, squeeze or relax, and tried to kick him instead. He reached back and caught her knee, pulling it up until it was hooked around his waist. “Ouch!” she protested, even though it didn’t hurt at all, and even felt appallingly right.
His grip loosened, and his hand slid down the underside of her thigh toward her hip. “I don’t think I’m hurting you any more than you’re hurting me,” he whispered, his breath hot on her cheek. “And I don’t think you would be here at all if you were truly frightened of me.”
“I am not afraid of you,” she shot back. “I despise you, and all men like you. You’re nothing but a bunch of cowardly swindlers, duping innocent, naïve girls out of their fortunes.” He raised his head and looked at her, his mouth tight.
“You’re not a very good negotiator.” He rose up on his knees above her so quickly she didn’t have time to resist, and hauled her to her feet. Charlotte struggled again, with a hard kick to his shin and a quick elbow to his stomach, but he simply bent her arm behind her back until she went up on her toes with a gasp.
“And that was not very nice, either,” he said, breathing hard. “Come with me, little cat.”
Whimpering, Charlotte obeyed, letting him propel her into the next room. His bedroom, she realized as he shoved her onto the wide bed, tugging his cravat loose. As it came free, he grabbed her wrists and looped the silk around them, then stretched her arms up above her head again, and began lashing the cravat to the bed.
Panic rolled through Charlotte in a nauseating wave. Tied to his bed, she would be helpless, humiliated, trapped. She yanked desperately, to no avail. Grim-faced, he tightened the knot with one last tug, and then unleashed a terrifying smile at her. Heart slamming, Charlotte tensed, watching him with an almost feral fear as he got off the bed.
Then he walked away. Striding to the windows, he began unknotting the cords that held back the draperies. One fell closed with a shush of velvet, deepening the shadows. “You have nothing to worry about,” he said, going to the other window. “I won’t hurt you. In fact, I won’t even touch you. I’ d rather wait until you ask me, perhaps even beg. ”Shwush, the second drape closed. “Yes,” he said more decisively, tugging the drapes all the way closed. After all you’ve done, I should like to see you beg.”
“Let me go,” she said again. The room was totally dark now. She had no idea where he was or what he was doing. His hand closed around her ankle and she nearly jumped out of her skin.
“No,” he said with a hint of laughter. “Not yet.” He pulled, and Charlotte swallowed her protest, letting him tie her legs. The drapery cords, no doubt. The dark must be just an added bonus to him. Trussed like a Christmas goose, unable to see or anticipate any of his actions, she was completely at his mercy.
“I promised I wouldn’t touch you,” came his voice, very near her ear. She jerked, turning toward it and pulling away from it at the same time.
“Tying me down doesn’t count?” Ah good, some of the freezing scorn had come back to her voice, at least.
“No more, then. Let’s just talk, shall we?”
“I won’t pay you a pound.” It popped out of her mouth before she could consider the wisdom of it. But money was what he wanted, and she absolutely refused to give him a single shilling.
He laughed, a low chuckle that was more threatening for sounding genuinely amused. “I don’t want to talk about money.”
She thought hard. “I can’t retract what I said about you. Lady Kildair would never let go of gossip like that. But if you leave, I shan’t try to follow or blacken your name elsewhere.”
“Goodness, did you plan to?” Another quiet laugh. “How vindictive. I suppose then I’m doubly glad you decided to break into my rooms.”
Disconcerted, Charlotte seized on the only other thing that came to mind. “If you think to tumble me, you’ll sadly regret it.”
“Tumbling you ... Now there is something I could talk about. In fact, I could talk a great deal about it. Would you like to know all the things I want to do?” Charlotte turned her head away, uselessly. She couldn’t cover both ears at once. “It’s your own fault,” he went on in the same relentless, velvet-soft voice. “You really made an impression that night in the library. You asked if I would have made love to you if you hadn’t stopped me, and I think the answer is yes. God knows I want to now, even after you’ve ruined all my prospects and assaulted me in my own home.”
“It is your own fault for preying on Susan!”
“That’s a very harsh way to phrase it. I met her under the most proper circumstances and was a perfect gentleman at all times. But of course you don’t really care about all that; the mere fact that she has money, and I have none, has aroused your wrath. Isn’t that a bit hypocritical, wanting your niece to marry someone with money when you’ve gone to some lengths to prevent me from doing the same?”
“I don’t care if she marries a wealthy man or a poor one,” snapped Charlotte. “I want her to marry a man who loves her, and not just for her inheritance.” She could hear him smile.
“Ah yes, love. I already admitted I did not love her. But I did mean to be a decent husband to her. She would have made me wealthy, and I would have been grateful to her for it.”
“Gratitude is not the basis for a good marriage.”
“It seems far more fair to me than many others,” he replied, unmoved. “Good breeding, family alliances, lands and titles ... Gratitude at least gives the husband a reason to please his wife past the wedding day. Whatever faults you lay at my door, never lay forgetfulness, or ingratitude. When someone does something to me, or for me, I never forget it.”
Charlotte heard the implied menace in that statement, and felt a deeper kind of fear. That recklessness she had glimpsed in him earlier was shining through, and she knew with absolute certainty it was true: he never forgot his debts, for slights or for favors.
“But now, enough about that.” His voice deepened, warming and chilling at once. “Let us discuss the matter between us, Madame Griffolino. I owe you, for your little performance the other night. It was very good, I must say. No one’s ever tried to seduce me before the supper dance.”
“Why did you break into my house?” she demanded, trying to turn his attention from seduction. Holy God, he wasn’t going to try to do the same to her, was he? She was utterly confident of her ability to resist when she was in control of her own bod
y, but now she was roped down flat on her back, and had no way to turn the tables. Charlotte was aware of her own sexual power over most men, and she had the advantage over this one in knowing already that he wanted her. But he had taken that power away by immobilizing her, removing the flirtatious little gestures, the coy looks, the half smile she knew how to use against a man.
He clicked his tongue in reproof. “No, no, you have asked enough questions. You, signora, are not leading me anymore.” There was a faint sound, then a candle flared to life. Charlotte blinked, relieved for the light. He sat in a chair, pulled close to the bed. This room, she saw, was plainly furnished, almost spartan. Only the bed could be called luxurious.
As she watched, he unbuttoned the top of his shirt and loosened the collar. He had already removed his jacket, and now reclined in his chair in just his white shirt and trousers. He met her eyes, and another devastating, fiendish grin curled his mouth.
“Gads, I’ve never seen a woman look so vicious. One would think I planned to ravish you in fact.”
“This,” she announced in an ominous voice, “is kidnapping. On top of housebreaking, robbery, and conniving to carry off my niece. If you do not release me this instant, I shall swear to the magistrate that you abused me in the most cruel and vicious manner possible.”
“Ah, yes, but how did you get into my rooms? I have two perfectly respectable acquaintances who will swear they accompanied me home from the tavern at half past ten. I would be very happy to fetch either of them so they might also swear that you are here, with no time for me to have gone all the way to your house, kidnapped you, and brought you back here. So either you came here willingly, or you came here for illegal purposes, neither of which will reflect well on you.”
Charlotte cursed him again, pulling against the cravat binding her wrists until her arms ached. He watched with faint amusement. “I shall picture this every time I wear that cravat,” he said when she lay still again, panting and furious.
Charlotte turned her eyes to the ceiling, swallowing her anger. He enjoyed it, she realized; he delighted in being able to make her so angry. She wanted to thwart him in that, but how? If she ignored him, who knew what he might do to provoke her. And it wasn’t her nature to lie still and quiet.
“Yes, that’s right,” Stuart said, leaning forward to see her better. Her dark eyes flashed toward him. “The memory of you in my bed will forever be linked to that cravat.”
She said nothing, but he could feel the violence of her emotions. This woman was beautiful when she was calm and in command of herself, but when she was angry, oh Lord, she was a sight. Her color was high, her breasts, unbound by any corset, quivered with each indignant breath, and her dark eyes glittered. His gaze traveled the length of her body, stretched out on his bed. She was slimmer than he had thought, although no less rounded. With her arms over her head, her jacket was bunched around her shoulders and under her chin. Stuart reached out and began unfastening the buttons.
“Take your hands off me!” she cried, trying to twist away from him. Stuart frowned, concentrating on the buttons until the last one was free. She wore just a thin linen shirt underneath, and he deliberately let the sides of the jacket fall open to the sides.
“I said I wouldn’t touch you, and I won’t.” He moved the candle closer. “Looking never hurt anyone.” She thrashed a bit, but only succeeded in working the jacket farther open. Stuart smiled.
“But if I were to touch you ... Oh, what would I do then? You know I want you; would you like to know how it would be? What I would do to please you? I want to please you; I don’t go to bed with women just for my own satisfaction.” Pure malice sparkled in her glare. He propped his elbows on the mattress. “And you would be a challenge, wouldn’t you? I expect you would deny yourself any sort of pleasure just to spite me.”
“I cannot imagine myself finding any pleasure at your hands!” Charlotte hated his self-assured smile almost as much as she hated the niggling feeling that she lied. Piero had told her he could hardly believe she was English, that her passions ran hotter and closer to the surface than any other Englishwoman he had met. He meant it as a compliment, that she was more continental, more Italian; Charlotte interpreted it as confirmation of her father’s parting words to her. An unnatural woman, he had called her, without temperance or restraint in her words or her deeds. And he had been right.
Her feeling toward Stuart Drake ran so hot at this moment, she couldn’t avoid the unsettling thought that if he could harness that feeling and use it for his own purpose, she would be in very deep trouble indeed. “I won’t listen to another word,” she vowed. “You’re a cad, a no-account rake who—”
“Hush.” He touched one finger to her lips, just firmly enough to silence her. “If you won’t be quiet, I won’t restrain myself to looking,” he added with a pointed glance. “I shall interpret your next word as agreement.” Charlotte clamped her lips shut and looked away.
“I know you dislike me,” he went on softly. “I don’t care much for your behavior, either. So ruthless, so unrelenting. But then, in bed, those qualities might be more promising. Such fire, and spirit! No fainting miss but a tigress, I’d wager, and I wouldn’t mind if the kitten showed her claws a bit.”
His finger left her lips and traveled over her chin, down her throat. At the collar of her shirt, it lifted, although Charlotte could swear she still felt the warmth of it on her skin.
“You have a lovely throat.” His voice had become a soft quiet growl. “So smooth and soft. One would never know it hides a steel core. The curve where it meets your shoulder, there”—she shivered involuntarily at the faint stirring of air above her shoulder—“it cries out for a man’s mouth. A man could feast on the slope of your shoulder.” His finger tugged lightly at the collar of her jacket, and Charlotte opened dry lips to protest, but then it drifted away.
She flinched when it landed on her breastbone, just below her throat. “You’re touching me,” she said through clenched teeth. His finger rubbed back and forth slowly for a moment, then lifted.
“Ah, yes, so I was. My mistake.” He was leaning over her, his face in shadow. All Charlotte could see was the gleam of his eyes. “Your pulse is so fast,” he said softly. “Here.” Again his finger dipped, almost but not quite touching the hollow at the base of her throat. “Does your heart beat faster, to imagine what would happen if I kissed you, here?” He bent lower, and Charlotte felt the hot rush of his breath across her skin. She struggled against the bonds that held her to conceal her body’s visceral reaction.
“Stop,” she gasped. “Please!”
“Your waist is so narrow,” he went on relentlessly. “I could almost wrap my hands around it entirely.” The worn linen of her shirt moved, sliding over her belly. He wasn’t touching her, but he was touching her clothing, making it move over her skin in a caress worse than the touch of his hands. “I could lift you, over and over, and let you ride me,” he whispered. “Do you like it on top, Charlotte? Do you like your lover spread beneath you, in your power? Do you hold him down while you take your pleasure, or do you show yourself off to him while he pleases you?” Charlotte made an inarticulate sound as his hands drifted, snagging on her shirt and pulling it over her breasts.
“I can see you rising above me, taking me inside you. Would you move slowly, I wonder, or fast? I couldn’t lie down, of course; I can see your nipples, Charlotte,” he murmured, working the shirt from side to side, letting it abrade her breasts. She had thrown away all her undergarments, and there was nothing underneath the shirt to protect her from its friction. Charlotte closed her eyes, taking deep breaths in an effort to calm her screaming senses. “Open your eyes,” he said. “See how perfectly you fit my hands.” She shook her head, squeezing her eyelids tighter. “Just ... like ... this,” he said softly, and she felt the lightest touch along the lower curve of her breast as he cupped it. She flinched, and his laugh was almost a groan. “And when you mount me, I want to suckle them. Gently at first ...” His t
humb moved, swirling lightly over her rigid nipple. Charlotte bit her tongue to keep from arching her back and pushing against that thumb. “Then harder. The faster you ride me, the harder I’ll suckle.”
Charlotte prayed for lightning to strike him. For lightening to strike her. She prayed to go deaf, to faint, or simply to fall asleep, anything at all to rescue her from the havoc he was creating in her. He was the lowest scoundrel, and yet her mind was betraying her, weaving his words into vivid moving images that made her body liquid with desire. She could see herself mounting him, his large body resplendently nude in her imagination. She could feel him driving deep into her, and the hot, wet rasp of his tongue on her skin.
“But you need to be shown who’s master.” His voice got even softer. “After you’ve had your turn on top, I’ll have mine. I want you against a wall, where you have nothing to hold on to but me. Your arms around my neck”—there was a zing of sensation along the underside of her raised arms—“and your legs around my waist.” His fingers feathered her knee, and Charlotte caught her breath. He was touching her again, but the word stop lodged in her throat. She couldn’t bear his touch, but she might explode without it. “And I’ll hold you here.” His hand slid lightly over her thigh. “And here.” His other hand stroked her hip. “You’ll be at my mercy. I want you to touch yourself where I enter you. I want to feel your fingers holding me while I’m deep inside you.” Charlotte gasped, picturing it in spite of herself and feeling herself growing slippery wet at the thought. “I want you to bring yourself to climax there, with your back against the wall, and your ankles locked behind my waist, and me inside you. And when you come, I want to hear you scream.”
His fingers danced up her inner thigh, and Charlotte raised her hips in shameless invitation. Her hatred of him was all mixed up in the unnatural, blatantly sexual response she had had to him from the start, and her body was begging for release from the tension.
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