Biting her lower lip, she choked back a moan. He was touching her as if he existed in her dreams and knew what she imagined a lover doing to her as she lay alone in her bed. As if he’d touched her before and already knew every contour and pleasure spot to be found.
As if he wanted to ensure no man could ever touch her this way again without causing her to think of him.
The bloody bastard.
She could not fall prey to his seduction, to let him make her forget why she was here. Her family was destitute, and he held the funds she needed to set things right. All she had to do was let him use her without losing hold of her good sense in the process.
“Aren’t you going to fuck me?” she asked, panting her words out between ragged breaths.
With a grin, he tickled her entrance with his index finger, still steadily plying her clitoris with his thumb. “Eager for my cock already? Sometimes, a man simply wants to sample the goods before the plunder.”
Meeting his gaze with a defiant tilt of her head, she sneered. “Or maybe a man simply isn’t up to the challenge?”
He froze, his fingers stilling between her thighs, his eyes flashing with golden lightning strikes. The feral gleam there warned her she’d gone too far, but she remained powerless to avoid her fate as he snatched one of her hands up from the table, causing her to fall onto her back. Dishes rattled when she hit the surface, and as she attempted to prop herself up on one elbow, he took her other hand and pressed it to the fall of his breeches. She gasped at the feel of his cock against her palm, the organ seeming to have grown even more since he’d pressed it against her earlier. It fairly throbbed with power and promise, a threat too large to be ignored.
“Does it feel as if I’m not up for the challenge of fucking you until you beg me to stop?” he challenged. “Or maybe you won’t beg me to stop … maybe you’ll plead for more.”
Even knowing that needling him would be dangerous to her well-being, Daphne could not resist. “Me, beg you? Never.”
Pressing his thumb to her clit again, he smirked. “Never? Are you certain?”
Her mind went vacant, all rational thought fleeing as he began stroking her again, this time with increased vigor. Her chest heaved with the effort it took to hold in the moans simmering in her throat, begging to be released along with the tension coiling low in her groin.
Bloody hell, she had gotten herself in over her head. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. His touch was supposed to repulse her, not make her feel … feel … well, like the surface of her skin had been set on fire. Like she would die if he ever stopped.
“Do not make the mistake of thinking me some ham-handed Neanderthal who will spend the next thirty days rutting on top of you for less than a minute each night before falling into a sound sleep,” he said, his gaze boring into her as he joined his hand with the other, his thumb steadily circling her clit while a finger stroked the entrance of her channel. “I intend to savor you, little dove … take my time and use you in every way I can think of. By the time I’m finished with you, there won’t be a place you haven’t felt me in, a body part your future lovers will touch that I have not touched first.”
Bending down over her, he rocked his hips, adding more of his weight against the hands tormenting her dangerously closer to the edge. The moan she’d been holding back spilled out, the sound high and keening—completely foreign and driven by the primitive need driving her to buck her hips up against his hands.
“You will take my cock into every orifice,” he taunted. “First here.”
His tongue came out to lap at her lips, and he plunged it inside as if to mimic an act that made her face flame hot.
“Then here,” he added, his index finger gaining an inch into her cunt, and then another.
Her eyes slid closed, and she buried her face against his shoulder, too far gone to care about his crass words and their implications, too overcome with pleasure to think past the thumb pleasuring her most sensitive place while his finger slowly stroked her inner walls.
“And here,” he groaned, sliding a second finger past the first and toward the tight hole of her back passage. “Fuck, your tight little arse will feel so good around my cock.”
She choked on a gasp when his second finger slipped into the tight ring of flesh, just enough to send another jolt through her. This pleasure was foreign to her, tinged with a slight burning sensation. Taking a man there was a prospect she’d have never thought possible. It made her flush with embarrassment, discomfiture and curiosity mingling in a way that seemed to enhance the pleasure of his thumb against her clit. No matter how much her mind told her the mention of such acts should revile her, her body came alive at the promise of what his words and touch offered.
What the devil was wrong with her? She needed to put a stop to this, to push him away and demand he unhand her unless he claimed to get on with deflowering her. This had not been part of their agreement—him forcing pleasure on her, taking away her determination to lie beneath him and passively surrendering her maidenhead.
God help her, she was spiraling, her entire body going rigid as the tension unfurled in a fell swoop she had no choice but surrender to. Throwing her head back, she let out a keening cry, her back arching as currents of pure pleasure jolted through her, all converging between her legs in pounding spasms that sent her eyes rolling back into her head.
When it had calmed, she went still beneath him, her body now limp upon the table. Her limbs went slack, and she doubted she could even find the strength to lift her head.
Her eyes stung, hot tears pooling in the depths. What had she been thinking challenging this man? Not only had he stripped her of her armor, he had proven to her that she possessed not a single weapon with which to fight him.
Adam gazed down at her, seemingly unruffled by what had just passed between them. And why should he feel anything? This had been about proving he could make her desire him—that she stood no chance of simply lying passively beneath him and pretending to be someplace else. He would not allow it.
Backing away from her a step, he continued staring down at her in a way that left her on edge. It was the same way he’d looked at her just before offering to buy her body for thirty thousand pounds. His upper lip curling as if she disgusted him now that it had ended, he hurled his words at her in a tone that made the warmth following her climax die a swift death.
“Your father … your uncle … your precious brother … they are not the men you think they are.”
Turning on his heel, he left the room as if he couldn’t be away from her fast enough. Behind him, the door slammed, rattling in the frame and causing her to flinch. A cold numbness washed over her, his words penetrating her middle like a sharp icicle and lodging deep.
Slowly sitting up, and then standing from the table, she began to shiver, her entire body as cold as if her blood had suddenly turned to ice water. His words echoed in her mind, tumbling over and around each other as if some part of her could not make sense of them. What had he meant by them, and what had he hoped to achieve by hurling cruelty at her after making her feel such pleasure? It was as if he’d purposely timed it to ruin the moment, to tip her back off balance.
It had worked, making her head spin and her gut churn as she tried to pull herself together.
She wrapped her arms around herself and walked to where he’d left her dress, kneeling to pick it up in a stupor. Her hands shook too badly for her to put it back on, so she simply held it up over her naked breasts as she crossed through the connecting door to her chamber.
CHAPTER THREE
aphne awakened a few hours later with a pounding headache. After breakfast with Adam, she’d been unable to do anything other than retreat to her guest chamber and crawl into the bed, leaving her clothing in a pile on the floor. Pulling the blankets up over her head, she’d curled into a ball, hiding from the world … from the man who had so easily controlled her body before waging war on her mind.
Your father, your uncle, your precious brother … the
y are not the men you think they are.
The words had haunted her dreams, and now, they reverberated from the walls of her chamber. She needed to escape them, as well as this room, for a time. She located the garments she had discarded that morning and quickly put them back on. The blue ribbon she’d worn as a choker remained on the floor. She made sure to step on it as she walked toward the door, giving her heel a little twist. If she never saw the scrap of satin again, it would be too soon.
Planting her hand on the doorknob, she yelped and backpedaled as it moved against her fingers. The knob turned, and the heavy panel swung open to reveal Adam. Inclining his head, he smirked at her—as if he knew he’d frightened her out of her wits, appearing on the other side of the door just as she was about to open it.
Sweeping into the room, he paused just before her. He smelled of horse, leather, and the outdoors. His hair had been pulled back and tied with a scrap of ribbon, but stray tendrils framed his face as if tugged free by the wind.
He’d just come back from riding, if Daphne hadn’t missed her guess.
“How fares my little dove?” he teased, folding his hands behind his back and giving her a once-over with his eyes.
“Tired of staring at these four walls,” she confessed.
He nodded. “I assumed as much. I’ve come to give you a tour of Dunnottar, should you be amenable.”
“Yes,” she agreed quickly, choosing to be grateful for the chance to walk freely instead of annoyed by the company she’d be forced to keep.
She could not avoid him for the entirety of her stay if she wished to earn the promised thirty thousand pounds, so she might as well accept the fact that she’d be forced to cater to his whims. Perhaps acquiescing instead of fighting would earn her better treatment.
“Excellent,” he said, standing aside and gesturing toward the open door. “Shall we?”
She moved past him as swiftly as she could, her shoulder brushing against the door frame as she tried to avoid walking too close to him. After his unpredictable behavior this morning, she half expected to be pounced upon, dragged to the bed, and ravished.
But no. He had assured her he had no interest in taking her maidenhead quickly. He would prolong the act, leaving her wondering exactly when she could expect him to ruin her.
It was far more frightening than the prospect of being pounced upon, dragged to the bed, and ravished. At least if he did those things, it could be done with swiftly. This game would wear on her before long, the wait becoming unbearable. She would need to steel herself for the days to come. Thus far, he had managed to disarm her in a matter of minutes, and it was only the first day.
“Come,” he commanded, turning left to guide her down the corridor.
The directive bristled along her spine, stirring her ire at him. Yet, she said nothing about the way he’d barked the order at her as if she were a dog. Desperate for some exercise—even if it was only a walk through the massive castle—she pressed her lips together and fell in line.
“Are you familiar with the history of Dunnottar?” he asked as they neared the main hall.
“I’m afraid not,” she replied, turning in a slow circle to take in the light streaming through large stained-glass windows.
The colored glass sent rainbow prisms dancing across the stone floor while the rich tapestries adorning the walls filled what might have otherwise been a dreary room with rich bursts of color. It looked like the sort of place where a king might hold court, and she could imagine a large throne against the far wall.
Adam stood beside her, hands folded behind his back, seeming content to let her take it all in. “In the beginning, there was only a chapel here upon the rocky headland. St. Ninian founded it sometime in the fifth century. No one is quite sure when it became a fortified keep, but over time, walls went up and additions to the property came and went, some eventually torn down to create better ones.”
“That would explain the assortment of outbuildings I passed on my way in last night,” she replied.
“Quite right,” he said. “One thing that never changed … Dunnottar has always been one of the most impregnable fortresses in all of Scotland. The sheer cliffs and the flatlands around it ensured no one could approach unseen, and they would have a steep climb to the gates. There are only two ways in or out—the front gate, which would make raiders vulnerable to attack from all sides, and an underground tunnel on the northern side.”
Her eyes widened at the thought of being able to explore the underground entrance. She’d always read of places like Dunnottar in her novels—dark, gothic castles filled with mysterious secret passages. Adam’s home seemed like a place from a dream.
“How utterly fascinating,” she said.
Feeling his stare on the side of her face, she turned to meet his gaze. He studied her in silence, his face inscrutable, his eyes betraying none of his thoughts. Almost as if he wondered whether her interest could be real, or feigned in order to gain his good favor.
“I think I’d like to see the tunnel,” she added sincerely.
He gave a curt nod. “Perhaps another time. There’s more for me to show you. Come.”
This time, she was happy to follow as he led her toward another corridor stretching in the opposite direction.
“Dunnottar has changed hands many times over the years,” he continued as they walked. “During King William the Lion’s reign, it was the administrative center of Kincardineshire. It fell to King Edward I at one time, only for it to be snatched away from him a year later by Sir William Wallace.”
“Sir William Wallace,” she repeated. “The knight who led the rebellions during the war for Scottish independence?”
Pausing near a closed door, Adam turned to her and smiled. “The lady knows her history. Aye, the very same Sir Wallace. Dunnottar would not fall back into the possession of the English until 1336. Sometime in the sixteenth century, it was granted to the Keith family—the Earls Marischal—by King James the fifth. It remained the seat of the Marischal for over one hundred years. During that time, the keep was transformed into the lavish palace you stand in now. I’ve had a bit of work done to refurnish much of the place, but have kept it mostly the way I found it.”
He opened the first door to reveal a large library, each wall covered in shelves upon shelves of books. A hearth remained cold, but she could imagine the space becoming quite cozy with a crackling fire casting light and warmth into the room.
“So many books,” she murmured as she glanced about the large space. “Our library at Fairchild House could fit inside this one several times over.”
“If you ever wish to visit and read, inform Maeve … she will see to it that the hearth is lit,” he said.
Following him back into the corridor, she smiled. “That is generous of you, Adam. Thank you.”
He waved her off as if it were of no consequence and led her on, opening doors as they continued down the long hall. There were several drawing rooms, all decorated in an intriguing mixture of old and new. In the midst of the corridor lay the study she’d been ushered into—Adam’s domain.
“How did Dunnottar fall to you?” she asked as they reached the end of the corridor and a winding set of stone steps leading upward.
“In 1715, the Earl Marischal was found guilty of treason and stripped of his titles and lands—including this castle. It was acquired by the York Building Company, and remained in their possession until I purchased it five years ago. A lavish expense, some might think, but as a direct descendant of William the Lion, on my mother’s side, I thought it a necessary one. A piece of my heritage, I suppose.”
“I had wondered which of your parents was the Scottish one,” she mused as they came to the landing of the second floor.
He raised an eyebrow at her and smirked. “Was it the burr that gave me away?”
Despite what he’d done to her this morning, she could not help but smile back at him. It seemed a genuine grin, unlike the flash of teeth and snarl he’d flashed at her pre
viously, reminding her of a predator preparing to attack its prey.
“It isn’t strong,” she assured him. “Just pronounced enough to be noticeably Scottish.”
“I can make it stronger when I’m of a mind to, lass,” he said, the accent becoming more pronounced with every word. “Most cannae tell when I dinnae want ’em to.”
Daphne suppressed a giggle, reminding herself who this man was. This was no courtship—he was not a suitor flirting with her while giving her a tour of his home. He was a lecher who had stripped her naked in front of his butler before throwing her onto a table to do wicked things to her. He was the man who had ruined her family.
Adam’s demeanor shifted as if he’d had the same thought at the exact same time. His expression hardened, his jaw clenching as the humor fled his eyes. Jerking his gaze away, he inclined his head down the corridor.
“Shall we?”
Holding her head high, she kept pace with him as he led her down a corridor which opened into a long gallery at the end. They paused there so she could inspect the paintings hanging on the wall, with stained glass windows appearing here and there along the stone. Instead of the family portraits she had been expecting, the gallery had been filled with art—expensive paintings commissioned by some of the most famous artists in London. In some places, she found stone sculptures and busts. Aside from those things, the gallery remained mostly empty—except for the weapons rack she found at the very end of the hall.
She gasped in delight when her gaze fell upon the fencing rapiers hanging there, along with a selection of face masks. A trunk lay on the floor beneath them, and she would be willing to wager it contained the necessary padding needed for the sport of fencing.
“You fence?” she asked.
“Aye,” he replied, opening the trunk and revealing that it did, in fact, contain fencing attire. “Do not tell me you have taken up the sport of fencing, little dove? Do ladies of your social standing not indulge in the typical pursuits of sewing, singing, and the pianoforte?”
Daphne huffed. “I become all thumbs with a sewing needle, am an abominable singer, and find the pianoforte to be a tedious instrument. I’ll have you know, I’ve been fencing since the age of twelve.”
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