The Villain

by Victoria Vale

  “I do not … oh!”

  Her protest broke off on a surprised cry as he lowered his head toward her collarbone, then licked his way slowly up the side of her neck. Latching on, he suckled, drawing a breathless sound from deep in her throat.

  “Of course you do,” he whispered, his breath tickling the areas he’d left damp with his tongue. “I can feel you responding to me … hell, if you were any more aroused, I’d be able to smell you.”

  His crude words stunned her; yet, her cunt throbbed in response, her nipples tightening and her breath quickening. He continued lapping at her, like a cat enjoying a saucer of cream, forging a slow path down toward her décolletage. Releasing her throat, he gripped the front of her bodice, snatching it down to free her breasts. He paused, his lips poised just above the fleshy mounds.

  “Christ, you’re a bonny thing,” he murmured, his breath causing goose bumps to spread over her naked chest. “No, little dove … to answer your question, there is no woman here. Only you. Mine to do with as I please.”

  “For the next twenty-eight days, at least,” she replied defiantly, despite the urge to arch her back and place her nipple within reach of his mouth striking her hard and deep.

  He chuckled, nuzzling one of her breasts and teasing it with a quick swipe of his tongue. “Of course.”

  She gasped when he continued licking her clean, delving his tongue between her breasts, then tracing the crest of each one, pointedly avoiding her nipples. She squirmed in his lap, beyond caring that each movement caused her bottom to surge against his cock. The organ was full and thick, throbbing against her through his breeches.

  “I will not lie with another woman’s husband,” she managed between pants, her resolve slipping away as he went on teasing her, taking little nips at her breasts, nuzzling her neck, teasing her collarbone with his teeth. “Not even for thirty thousand pounds.”

  “I have no wife,” he grunted. “Now cease your prattling.”

  She gasped when his lips closed around her nipple, finally giving her what she wanted. The pleasure of his tongue circling the tight bud struck her deep, causing answering twinges of longing deep in her core. He suckled her with relish, his cheeks caving in as he drew as much of her into his mouth as could fit, as if he wanted to devour her whole.

  She became pliant in his hands, a bit of clay for him to mold how he wished. Even the discomfort of her arms being held behind her back faded as he released one breast and moved to the other. Nipping at her with his teeth caused her to cry out at the slight sting, then sigh, melting from the pleasure of his tongue soothing it away.

  When he stopped, she wanted to weep, the pulsing between her thighs now unbearable. She wanted to twine her fingers through his hair and hold him to her breasts, arching her back and inviting him to consume as much of her as he desired. Yet, the unrelenting hand wrapped around her wrists reminded her she was in no position to make demands of him.

  She’d lost her grip on rationale, craving the mouth of a man who, when he wasn’t making her feel this way, was hurling insults at her and speaking ill of her family. It defied explanation and reason, this notion that she could desire someone she loathed. She had always thought of softer emotions and desire to be intertwined, but Adam proved her wrong with every kiss, every touch.

  As if to further prove his point, he released her wrists and pushed her to her feet. Then, moving his chair back from the table a bit, he grabbed hold of her again, swiftly upending her so she lay over his knee. A gasp of dismay lodged in her throat as he began pulling up her gown with one hand, bracing the other against her back.

  “What the devil are you doing?” she screeched, kicking her legs once the cool air of the room kissed her backside, and shocking her out of her lustful daze.

  A large hand collided with the back of one thigh, stilling her movements. The blow had been a warning, she realized. She had already angered him with her questioning … perhaps it would be best to avoid pushing him any farther while he had her in such a vulnerable position.

  “Teaching you a lesson, little dove,” he replied, slowly smoothing one hand up the thigh he had abused, resting it upon the swell of her buttocks. “Should you fail to obey when I require it, or act like an uncultured harridan, I will take you over my knee.”

  The words to upbraid him came readily to her tongue, but died a swift death at the first blow of his hand to her bare arse. A gasp lodged in her throat as the thud shifted her body, her skin blossoming with a sting that spread from the point of impact. Before she could recover, his hand rose and fell again, this time punishing the other cheek. Again and again, he struck her, increasing his force every other blow, until she felt certain she would be unable to sit for days. But then, the burn of pain faded into something else, a warmth that infused her entire body, causing her to relax against him, her head falling forward as she ceased fighting the punishment.

  Yet another new sensation she did not understand. His blows hurt, truly punishing her for acting out of turn. However, her body had translated the pain into something else … something frightening and exquisite all at once. She could hardly fathom it before it had ended.

  Seeming satisfied with her submission, he stopped spanking her and began caressing her sore buttocks, his touch so feather-light, it felt like a soothing balm. She sighed, the tension in her body melting as he kneaded and massaged her buttocks, easing away the pain as effortlessly as he’d caused it.

  Then, he delved two of his large fingers between her legs, slowly sliding them down toward her quim. She gasped at the first touch of his fingers to her folds, and he made an answering sound as he began to caress her.

  “So wet for me, little dove,” he said, his voice hoarse and gruff as he found her clit and gave it a little pinch.

  She gasped at the pressure, then moaned when he dipped one finger inside her. The digit merely caressed her inner walls before pulling out again, and she issued a grunt of annoyance.

  He chuckled, stroking his fingers over her in circles, his touch gliding over her silken wetness. “And such a greedy thing you are … needing pleasure again so soon after this afternoon. If you aren’t careful, I’ll make you burn for me … day and night, yearning for my touch.”

  She wanted to deny it, to declare he could never do that to her. Giving him the satisfaction would just be one more thing he could laugh at her over … just one more thing he would take from her. Aside from that, she needed to deny it for herself, to reassure herself that she had not fallen too deeply into this pit of depravity.

  Nevertheless, she was burning for him now, whimpering and arching her back, attempting to urge his fingers where she wanted them, where she needed them.

  “Yes, that’s it, Daphne,” he whispered, grasping her clit and pinching it again, harder this time. “Stop holding back and let yourself feel. There is no one else here but you and me … No one ever need know you enjoyed it.”

  No … no one would ever know. Just as no one had ever known about the secret passion she’d shared with her neighbor, or the times she’d given in to her debauched urges and teased herself toward climax with her own fingers. But, she would know … she would always remember.

  In spite of that, she could not make herself put a stop to this … could not conjure words like ‘stop’ or ‘no.’ Not that she believed he would heed them. He was paying quite a bit of money to do what he pleased with her, and refusing him might cause him to renege.

  Closing her eyes, she bit her lip as he slipped his finger back into her slick entrance, teasing her clit while delving the digit in and out. Her insides snapped, the tension of her need dissipating and spreading outward on waves of euphoria. The strength of her rapture shook her to her core, making her grateful for Adam’s strong hold keeping her from toppling off his lap. He went on stroking her, his touch gentle and light as he eased her back down slowly.

  When she went still and silent, he withdrew his finger, the sound of him licking it clean causing her core to clench once more, a
n echo of her fading orgasm.

  Swiftly snatching her skirts down, he righted her so quickly, her head spun. Falling back into the chair she’d previously occupied, Daphne hardly realized he had stood before he was striding for the door. Dumbfounded, she lifted her bodice back over her breasts with shaking fingers, the chill of the wet fabric shocking her into lucidity.

  Shame washed over her at the realization of what she’d just done—reveling in the touch of the man who had destroyed her family—not just once, but twice within the same day. She’d brazenly lain across his lap and allowed him to debauch her, to make her forget who he was and why she was here.

  Pausing in the doorway, he glanced at her over his shoulder, his expression as unreadable as always.

  “Have a care, little dove,” he said, a heavy warning in his tone. “The next time, my punishment will not be so merciful.”

  Slowly rising on shaking legs, she curled her hands into fists and met his gaze, refusing to be intimidated into looking away. “You are, by far, the most despicable man I have ever been forced to lay eyes upon.”

  He laughed, the sound dry and humorless. His face almost appeared haunted, the color of his eyes so dark from this distance, they appeared fathomless.

  “Poor Daphne,” he said in a tone tinged with regret. “You haven’t the slightest idea. The most despicable men you’ve ever known are the ones who claim to love you … the ones you trust to protect you. I almost pity you for the lesson you are about to learn.”

  Outrage bristled her spine as she thought of her father, of dear Bertram, of her uncle who had taken his own life because of this man. How could she have forgotten that so quickly and allowed him to seduce her?

  “Say what you will about the Fairchild men,” she ground out, her entire body fairly trembling with rage. “But they do not need to force a woman into their bed using tricks and bank drafts.”

  Adam’s menacing smile appeared, the one that reminded her of the grimace of a lion. “No, they resort to brute force and threats to take what they want from the fairer sex.”

  His words slapped her in the face, the accusation echoing through her mind so loudly, she could never hope to block it out. “How dare you? My father and brother—”

  “Oh, not your father,” Adam amended quickly with a casual shrug. “Just Bertram. You know, the brother you braved disgrace and scandal to rescue.”

  “No,” she whispered, shaking her head rapidly from side to side. “You’re lying.”

  “Why would I?” he challenged, his hold tightening on the doorknob. His voice began to quake, the only hint of any emotion. “It would gain me nothing to lie to you.”

  “It would!” she accused, unable to help that her voice had risen enough to echo from the high ceiling. “It would destroy my love for my brother, just as you have destroyed everything else!”

  What he was accusing Bertram of was unconscionable, the complete opposite of her brother’s nature. No one knew him the way she did; they’d been the best of friends since she’d been old enough to follow him about, wanting to do all the things he did. And he’d let her … indulged her in a way no one else ever had. More than that, he’d never told her to be anyone other than who she was. Unlike her father or mother, he’d never tried to change her.

  “Yes, that’s right, blame me … the heartless villain,” he taunted with a derisive snort. “It will not change what Bertram is … or the things he has done.”

  Without another word, he quit the room, slamming the door so hard, the walls around her seemed to shake. Hands trembling, Daphne sank back down into her chair, ignoring her stinging bottom. Her head spun with the ramifications of what Adam had just revealed.

  The things he’d said about her uncle had rung true, lining up with his penchant for over-imbibing and gambling. But this … it was not true. It simply made no sense. Her brother was a man the debutantes of London flocked to. Bertram could have had any woman he wanted for marriage, or in his bed.

  It simply did not make sense for him to force anyone into anything when there existed so many who would do whatever he asked with nothing more than a sweetly whispered word and a smile. Just the thought of him losing everything had sent her from London to Scotland, seeking answers on his behalf. It was for him, above her uncle and father, that she had done this.

  She simply refused to believe she’d risked ruin and her own body to avenge a rapist.

  There must be some mistake … some rumor that cast Bertram in a bad light. Adam was wrong … he must be. And the moment she saw him again, she would tell him so.

  CHAPTER SIX

  aphne woke the next morning feeling as if her mouth had been stuffed with cotton. Her head pounded like the devil, and when she sat up in bed, the room began to spin. She could not remember how much Madeira she’d drunk the night before and did not know whether she suffered the aftereffects of overindulging or of encountering Adam. His accusations hung over her head like a cloud, the implications of what they could mean having kept her awake for most of the night. When she’d finally fallen asleep, it had been restless, her mind refusing to allow her peace in slumber now that Adam’s words had sowed themselves in her mind.

  Finding a glass of water on her bedside table, she took it up and drained it, flopping back onto the pillows and pulling the blankets over her eyes. She drifted back to sleep for a while, relieved to find her dry mouth and pounding head less acute when she awoke the second time. Leaving the bed, she stretched and blinked as her eyes adjusted to the brightness of the sun streaming through her parted drapes.

  Reaching for the dressing gown laid across the bench resting at the foot of her bed, she covered her thin nightgown and strode over to the writing desk. The inkwell, quill, and notes she’d jotted down concerning her uncle remained inside the drawer, but on the desk’s surface, she found a sealed envelope with her name scrawled across the front. She recognized the writing as Bertram’s, the seal on the back revealing itself to be his.

  Her heart leapt into her throat and remained there as she swiftly broke the seal and retrieved the letter inside. Maeve must have delivered it while she slept, and its appearance here surely meant her father and brother were now aware of her location.

  Sure enough, the letter had been written by her brother just the day before. Her eyes grew watery as she detected his familiar scent on the paper, his words swimming before her eyes. She missed him … just as she missed her parents and their home in London. Blinking to clear her vision, she focused upon the letter.

  My dear sister,

  Word has reached us concerning your whereabouts. While Father and I do not approve of you rushing off to Scotland and risking your reputation to confront Hartmoor, we certainly understand why you would do such a thing. Oh, Daphne, why would you put yourself within reach of that lecher? I’ve been fit to kill since Father read me that blackguard’s letter informing us he has you in his clutches. Nevertheless, he has reminded me that going after you would cause an even greater scandal. So, please know we will do everything we can here in London to keep gossip about your disappearance to a minimum. In the meantime, do what you must to return to us. We will be waiting with open arms when you make your way back home.

  All my love,

  Bertie.

  Folding the slip of stationary, she lowered her head, her throat constricting so tight, she could hardly breathe past the sob lodged there. It hurt to know her brother would not come rushing to Scotland to save her; yet, even if he did, she would not wish to be rescued. She’d come here of her own free will and agreed to Adam’s shocking proposal all on her own. She was doing what needed to be done for the sake of her family, and she could not leave without the promised funds.

  Bertram’s letter reminded her of Adam’s revelation the evening before, and she clenched her jaw at the thought. The man might hate her family, and the things he’d said about her uncle might prove true, but this … the very thought of her brother being the sort of man who would abuse a woman went against everything
she knew about Bertram. It simply could not be true.

  Rising from the writing desk, she placed the letter in the drawer and turned away, determined to get to the bottom of this. She started with a gasp when she found Maeve in the room, her concentration upon the letter having distracted her from hearing the woman enter.

  “Apologies for startling you, my lady,” Maeve said with a soft smile. “Are you ready to dress for breakfast?”

  “Yes,” she replied. “Is His Lordship in his study, or will he be joining me for the morning meal?”

  Maeve smirked as she removed an emerald green gown from the armoire. “The Master rose early and has already taken his breakfast. He went to the stables just now to prepare for a morning ride.”

  Despite her empty belly, Daphne would not be able to keep down a single bite until the inevitable confrontation had passed. “Then I would like to dress for riding … quickly, please, so I might catch up to him.”

  Maeve’s smirk turned into a full-fledged smile, and she gave Daphne a knowing look.

  She fought the urge to roll her eyes and inform the maid that she did not seek out her ‘Master’ for any amorous reasons she might be imagining. Quite the contrary—she pictured ripping his tongue out for the slanderous things he’d said about Bertram.

  She hurried Maeve through helping her into a plain brown riding habit, her hair hastily braided into a single plait before she rushed from the room. The habit was well made, fitting her like a glove, and it reflected the latest military style with brass buttons and braided rope draping her from shoulder to shoulder. She felt very much like a soldier marching off to do battle with the man who had destroyed her family … who seemed determined to destroy her, despite the fact that she’d never knowingly done him harm. If she unraveled the entire mystery, surely, she would discover the answer.

  Bursting through the front doors of the palace, she trotted down the front steps, hands balled into fists as she spotted the stable and Adam standing just outside it, the reins of a massive black stallion held in one fist. He turned as if feeling her heated gaze upon him and leaned against the animal’s flanks, raising an eyebrow when she drew near. He had done away with the finery of last evening, his white shirt unbuttoned to bare a wide swath of his chest, worn buff breeches clinging to his thighs.