A Measured Risk

by Natasha Blackthorne

  “You said you were going to fuck me! You promised!” she exclaimed without thought.

  “And so I am. You must learn to trust me, Nan,” he said, his tone tender as he unfastened her cuffed ankles. His fingers gently massaged her legs. Then he removed her handcuffs and did the same with her hands. “As soon as you can walk, I want you to go back inside, prepare yourself and wait for me.”

  “Will you remove those hideous little balls?”

  He shook his head. “No, I am afraid I shan’t and you cannot remove them either. Elsewise I shall make you wait until midnight.”

  “I cannot possibly walk with these little devils inside.”

  “You cannot know what you are capable of, until you try.”

  “Oh God, you couldn’t be that cruel!”

  “What will you give me in return, if I relent on this point?” he asked.

  “Anything, anything you want,” she vowed.

  “All right, Nan, you get your way…this time.” He removed the orbs from her.

  He backed away and stripped out of his clothes with unhurried movements. Nearly drooling with her mindless need, she couldn’t tear her eyes away from him as he slowly revealed his powerful body. Then he approached and took her hand and wrapped it around heated, half-hard warmth.

  He hardened into a full erection almost instantly. Already. She cried out.

  “Do you see? That’s for you, Nan. All for you.”

  Tears of relief streamed down her cheeks. She was too far-gone to care. She couldn’t help squeezing his erection, feeling its thick weight. The prize she held in her hand.

  “Do you think it’s like that for anyone else?” he asked.

  The press of her emotions in her throat wouldn’t allow her to speak. She could only moan.

  “You have to trust me, Nan. I am not going to break my promises. It was simply too arousing to watch you in your sweet torments. If I had merely fallen on you and fucked you, it would already be over and neither of us would have enjoyed that much.” He caressed her straining nipples. “I always know what’s best. For us both.”

  His too-gentle touch made her desire flare, crackling along her skin and through to her core like lightning. It forced everything out of her mind but need. Unbearable, overwhelming need.

  “Oh, shut up and fuck me!” She grasped his shoulders, gripping him with her fingernails.

  He took her wrists and pulled her hands away from him.

  “On second thought, I can’t have you ripping my back to shreds.” The velvet cuffs slid back over her wrists. No matter. Whatever he wanted, he could do, so long as he put his cock into her.

  She moaned, her hips pushing up and down. She couldn’t control them. Tears still flowed down her cheeks and she was sobbing openly. She had never come apart like this. Not in front of someone else. It didn’t matter. Nothing mattered now but getting closer to that strong, hard body that she craved. She whimpered and writhed.

  With his tongue, he traced a tear’s track.

  “I know, my darling, I know.” His tone sounded oddly tender for a man who had been bent on tormenting her. “I’ll make you come quickly.”

  He mounted her then thrust into her, almost instantly finding that same sweet spot he’d located before. He hit it again and again and again. He touched her nub and bit the side of her neck. She hung on the edge of release.

  “That’s it, sweetheart, that’s it—give yourself over to me,” he crooned in her ear.

  He worked her with such finesse and control that her orgasm went deeper and stronger and longer than any she’d ever known. Wave after wave of pleasure coursed through her. Pleasure so strong she couldn’t bear it. She shrieked and shrieked until she was spent.

  As she floated back, he nipped her neck and crooned words she couldn’t comprehend. Then he fucked her long and hard, wringing four orgasms from her, each one just as intense as the last. She hadn’t even realised she could come that much.

  She lay underneath him as he rested against her. Maybe he’d come. But no, he moved within her now. To her alarm, her desire swelled once more. She couldn’t again. Surely she couldn’t—

  The familiar spiral pulled her under, exploded within her, her cunt contracting.

  “No, more.” She panted. “Please, no more.”

  “Who owns you, wench?”

  Her eyes fluttered open. He was staring down at her, his eyes like blades of blue flame, and he encompassed everything. Everything. She’d do anything he wanted. Give him anything he wished.

  “You do,” she breathed.

  “Try again. Repeat Jonathon Lloyd owns my cunt.”

  “Jonathon Lloyd…owns my cunt.” She sighed the words.

  He thrust quickly, three more times, holding her gaze the whole time. The intensity seared her, like racing up to the sun and being burnt to cinders. Then, with his eyes closed, he withdrew and shuddered against her. Hot seed spurted against her stomach, the scent hitting the air, earthy and sharp. She’d been waiting for that. Now she could die. Just die, she thought as the blackness consumed her.

  Jon removed Anne’s handcuffs, then after he’d used his handkerchief to clean her of his seed, he watched while she slept. How natural she felt there by his side. It was a strike in the heart, how much he wanted to keep her. But she wilfully resisted any changes to her plans. Moreover, each step he took her along the road to recovery took her a step further away from him.

  Anyway, it was a losing battle for him to even try to hold on to her. He was pledged to marry Lady Waterbury. Anne was far too proud and prickly to be happy for long in the position of mistress. She would need to be a man’s wife. She’d experienced power and position and had enjoyed her responsibilities. She’d eventually want to be a countess again—or even a duchess this time.

  She was a duke’s daughter. She deserved a coronet of her own.

  However, knowing that didn’t stop him from wanting to keep her.

  In the next stall, Sally moved about restively, bumping the wall between them. Anne startled, her body jerking, and he tightened his arm and dropped a kiss on her forehead. “It’s all right, I’ve got you. We’re quite safe.”

  Anne focused her eyes on his, half awake. He caressed her neck, wanting her to stay subdued for a while longer.

  “That’s just Sally, getting restless next door.”

  Her eyes came fully open and she looked around, her mouth falling open. “We’re still in the stable?”

  “Yes.”

  “My God,” she said, a touch of awe in her voice. “I can’t believe I am not bolting out of here.”

  He rolled over and covered her body with his, seeking to make her feel safe. He pulled her hand up to his lips. “I warned you there were far greater dangers to a wench in the stables than the gentle horses.”

  “So you did.” She laughed softly. “I have missed the smell of horses. It takes me back to my girlhood in Ireland.”

  “You may go to Ireland but you’ll never find the duke. Whatever you missed in your childhood is gone forever.”

  “I realise that. I don’t expect to find the duke anywhere. I don’t need or want him.”

  “Then what do you expect to find there that you can’t have here in England?”

  She went quiet for a moment and a faraway look entered her eyes as if she’d gone to a place he could not follow.

  It maddened him.

  Finally, she spoke. “Peace and independence. To live my life as I choose.”

  “Why do you believe you must isolate yourself in Ireland to have peace and the ability to live your life as you chose?”

  “Well, it is not isolation that I am seeking.”

  “Isn’t it?”

  “No, it about having a plan. Having purpose to my life. Being needed. The people on the horse farm need me.”

  “Yet you can’t get two feet within sight of a horse now.”

  “But you’re helping me with that.”

  “It isn’t going to go so fast, Anne. If you came with
me to Scotland, we could work together on your fears.”

  She sat up and hugged her shoulders. With purple shadows on her eyelids and her hair tangled about her, she looked very young. Very vulnerable.

  He touched one of those mussed tresses and felt its silken texture between his fingers. “Anne, will you come with me to Scotland for the winter? Then in the spring, I shall go with you to Ireland. I shall have a look at this horse farm your father left you and assess it for you.”

  “You needn’t worry yourself over it. I know much about horse farms.”

  “From a girl’s memory of what her father concerned himself with?”

  “No, I mean I have studied the matter. Deeply.”

  “Reading books cannot prepare you for the reality of managing a horse farm. I happen to know much about horses and their care myself.”

  “We couldn’t be alone there.”

  “The devil you say. Don’t you have a maiden aunt or two you could dredge up to play chaperone?” He touched her cheek. He wanted to help her with this. He needed to help her with this. She had been left alone all her life, to cope as she could. She wasn’t his responsibility, that much was true. They could play at being lovers for the remainder of the month. He could do his damnedest to get his fill of her and part at the end without any obligation to her. But he needed to be her friend, now, as well as her lover. “I wouldn’t stay at the estate, I could simply visit during the day.”

  “I don’t think our continued association would be a favourable idea.” She looked up at him, her eyes large and earnest. “Y-you know I am correct. We both entered into this knowing it would last a short time.”

  Her prickly tone settled over him like freezing rain. “Well, I am no longer satisfied with that.”

  “You must be.” Her expression was cold, resolute.

  She went aloof when she felt threatened. And she felt threatened when she felt deeply beyond sensuality. Those two thoughts eased his ire. Softened his heart. “You’re that afraid of needing someone else? You will not allow yourself to accept my help?”

  “I appreciate your offer to help. I can oversee the financial aspects of the farm.”

  “Yes, but the practical things, the day to day care of so many animals. I doubt your father bothered himself over such matters or taught them to you.”

  She looked down at her hands. He had her there. She’d have to accept his help.

  Then she looked up, her face full of ducal arrogance. “My father’s head groomsman is very capable and his son as well.”

  “You need someone of your own class to assess things. To hold your best interests first.”

  “What about your own estate? Are you ever in residence? How do your people fare with an absentee earl?”

  “My cousin is a very good bailiff. It has always been that way, even when my grandfather was earl. I am not needed there.”

  “More likely your bailiff is cheating you and withholding aid to your tenants.”

  He fixed her with a stern look. “Anne, I am not Cranfield. I would never allow anyone to steal from me—or to mistreat those under my care. But you are being needlessly stubborn.”

  Her face closed over. “I don’t—I mean I won’t justify myself to you.”

  She was here, alive and vital in his arms, yet the days were already taking her away from him. How ironic. Fate’s damned jest on him. Back at Whitecross Hall, not so long ago, he’d had thought to have her once in Richard Bourchier’s study, on that crimson divan. Maybe if she had pleased him, he’d have taken her once more, in the dead of night in her bedchamber. Then he would have returned to London and thought no more of her.

  What nonsense had ever led him to believe he could ever get her out of his mind.

  Now here he was, as helpless to prevent her from leaving as he had been powerless to convince the military leadership’s decisions in New Orleans.

  Suddenly, all he could think about was breaking through the self-protection that kept her from him. He fixed her with a steady look. “Nan, earlier you spoke to me several times rather sharply. I overlooked it because you lack experience and this is new to you but I shan’t the next time.”

  * * * *

  “Well, come here.” Jon’s tone was deep, commanding and sent her heart pounding and her palms slicking. On feet that seemed to be pinned to the floor, Anne attempted to walk towards him. Towards the last two stable stalls where the horse waited. For the past four days, she’d been helping him to feed and water the horses. In addition, at his pleasure, she’d spent considerable time blindfolded and handcuffed in the empty stable next to Sally’s. Nevertheless, today, her feet froze. She laughed uneasily. “I can’t seem to move.”

  His expression softened and he came to stand behind her and placed his hands on her shoulders and gave her a gentle push. “You can do this. I’ll be right here, the whole time. Nothing can hurt you here—I won’t allow it.”

  Cradled by his strength, her muscles relaxed and she let him lead her to the mare. As they approached, the horse whinnied loudly and Anne startled.

  “It’s all right, I’ve got you,” he said, caressing her upper arms as he held her. “She’s just greeting you.”

  The urge to back away from the animal threatened to overwhelm her and she resisted only by summoning every ounce of will she possessed. “I don’t know about this.”

  He wrapped her hand about the brush. “Try it.”

  She couldn’t bear it if he lost respect for her and that alone kept her from pulling free and running back to the cottage. The mare regarded her with a mild, dark, liquid eye.

  She gripped the brush in a hand slick with sweat, unable to picture herself actually reaching out and touching that large beast. He closed his hand over hers, lifted it and together they moved the brush over the silken hair. The mare nickered, a sound that rumbled directly in Anne’s stomach.

  “See, she likes it.” He released her hand.

  Her hand shook but she managed to take several lone strokes.

  “Can you believe you are grooming a horse?” he asked, grinning down at her, his azure eyes glowing with pride.

  Pride for her.

  And no, she couldn’t believe it. However, it was happening. Suddenly, after a year of darkness, life filled with hope again.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Hours later, Anne’s heart still thrummed with joy. She lifted her face and let the mellow September sun warm her while she inhaled deeply of the rich green smells. They were walking along the bank of the stream that wended through the woods behind the cottage.

  “Midday feeding, a good time to catch fish,” Jon said, stopping and pointing to the stream.

  Anne shielded her eyes and followed his gaze. The current flowed between the rocks and made clear pools. Many large, silvery-white fish swirled in the dark blue depths. Alongside the pools, riffles rushed, frothy white over pebbles that gleamed in the warm sunlight.

  “But we didn’t bring a pole,” she said.

  “We don’t need a pole or fishing line.” He grinned at her while pulling off his leather glove. “I think you ought to have the pleasure of getting your fair hands dirty for once.” He stripped down to his shirtsleeves, knelt down and crawled out flat on the mossy bank. “Now watch me.”

  He reached into the placid dark pool and tickled and coaxed a fish. Then he grasped the fish in both hands, leapt to his feet and rushed over to her. A wicked light entered his eyes.

  Oh, she was coming to know that look too well. She squealed and backed away.

  He followed her and thrust the flopping fish at her face.

  She screamed again and ran. Stopping a safe distance away, she turned back to him. “Oh, you’re too cruel! You’re like an overgrown schoolboy.”

  He laughed at her. “I have my dinner, now you must catch your own.”

  “I can’t lie on that bank, I’ll soil my dress.”

  “Then take it off and lie in your chemise.”

  “But—”

  He came to
her and touched the buttons of her dress. “Nan, there’s not a soul around.”

  With her dress removed, they lay together flat on the bank, she on the bottom and him on top.

  “Now, don’t squeal or scream,” he whispered directly into her ear. He took her hand and led it to the water. She touched the white-silvery underside and the scaly, slick skin and she bit her lip, holding in her exclamation as a shudder went up and down her spine. Imitating his actions, she tickled and coaxed the fish.

  “Yes, just like that,” he said. “Now grasp it and stand up. Quick but careful.”

  She placed both hands about the fish, staring at it, transfixed to have such a thing in her hands.

  “Hurry, toss it,” he said, rolling out of her way.

  The fish squirmed and she squealed, struggling to maintain hold of her prize.

  “Toss it!” he ordered.

  She lost her balance, teetering on one foot.

  “Oh, oh, oh!” she cried and fell sideways into the stream. Cool water soaked her clothes and she bent her chin to see the fish writhing on her chest. She screamed. Floppy wetness skimmed her face. She shook her head wildly, sitting up in the shallow pool. That fish had touched her. In the mouth.

  She scooped quantities of water over her mouth again and again, shuddering at the memory of the fish against her lips.

  At his laughter, she looked up.

  He stood there, hands on his hips. “Ah, you let it go. I warned you not to let it go.”

  His cocky stance enraged her. She was tired of his never-ending arrogance. She gave a cry and lunged for his lower leg and tugged on it, biting on her lip with the effort. He came toppling into the pool with a crash. Water sprayed her face. She wiped it away and chortled in victory. But when he emerged from the water, the playful light in his eyes made her suspect he’d let himself fall.

  He pulled the wet bonnet off her head and plunged one hand into her loose curls, tilting her head up to put his mouth over hers.

  * * * *

  Later, Anne lay in bed, listening to Ruel’s even breathing as he slept. The events of the afternoon kept running through her mind. How he had showed her how to gut a fish and how he had laughed at her revulsion and kissed her on the tip of her nose and called her his spoilt sweetheart.