Jill Noelle - The Dark Count (Ellora's Cave)

by james

  “Bloody hell!”

  Vincent gave chase, catching her easily and lifting her into his arms. She pounded his chest with her fists and kicked at his shins, but he tightened his hold and headed back toward his horse.

  Tempest tossed his head and pranced about at their approach. Vincent grabbed the reins, murmuring softly to ease the animal’s fears.

  “I’m going to set you up on this horse.” He addressed Bridgett as if she were a recalcitrant child. “Were I you, I would sit very still and not make a sound. Should he break free of my hold with you on his back, I doubt you would survive the ride.”

  He lifted her up onto the stallion’s broad back, holding her steady while she adjusted her skirt about her slender legs. When she’d finished, he tossed the reins onto the horse's neck and then mounted in front of her.

  “Put your arms around my waist and hold tight,” he told her. When she didn’t immediately comply, he turned, glaring at her over his shoulder.

  “Listen to me Bridgett, and listen well. You are mine. I won you, and I own you. When I tell you to do something you will do it. If you disobey me, or fight me in any way, you will regret it. Do you understand?”

  Heat spread through his loins at the sight of her tongue as she wet her lips, but he held fast to his anger. They had a long journey ahead of them, and he did not intend to spend it arguing with her over every little thing, or chasing her down.

  “Do you understand?” he repeated when she didn’t answer.

  “I understand.” She nodded, her voice thick with emotion. “You leave me no choice.”

  Her arms snaked around his waist, and his stomach muscles tightened at her touch. With great effort, he turned his attention back to Tempest and pressed his knees into the horse’s sides. The animal responded immediately, lunging forward to carry them out of the courtyard, leaving behind a cloud of dust.

  Vincent, his anger still simmering beneath the surface, gripped the reins tightly. Tempest tossed his head, and Vincent relaxed his hold. “I’m sorry, my friend, I know I shouldn’t take it out on you.”

  “Pardon me?”

  “Nothing. Are you all right?” The girl hadn’t spoken in the hours since they’d left her home, and he’d begun to wonder if she’d suffered some sort of lasting shock.

  “I’m fine.”

  She didn’t sound fine. She sounded weary, but with a steely edge to her voice that told him she was angry, as well.

  “We’ll be stopping soon,” he told her. “There’s an inn not too far from here, perhaps another hour’s ride. If you’re tired, you can rest your head on my back.”

  “I’m fine.”

  Vincent scowled. The ungrateful little chit. If that was the way she wanted it, then he was not going to coax her to speak to him. She wasn’t the only one whose life had been turned upside down by the evening’s events. What did a man do with a woman he’d won in a hand of cards? He sighed, briefly giving in to the weariness that had entered his soul. Perhaps his original plan, to give her a home and work on his estate, might still be an option. After all, she was not a lady, and as such, she might be perfectly suited to housekeeping. The stables, he decided, were out of the question. But what a waste, he thought, his mind drifting to the soft warmth of her hands pressed against his stomach.

  She shifted behind him, and he felt the lightest of touches as her head drooped against his back. Her faint breath heated the nape of his neck, and he suppressed a shudder of desire. What a waste.

  Loosening his grip on the reins to give Tempest his head, Vincent pressed his knees into the stallion’s sides and urged him forward, looking forward to the comfort of a warm bed for the night.

  Chapter Two

  Bridgett clung to her captor’s waist, desperately fighting the fatigue that threatened to overwhelm her. She struggled to keep her eyes from drifting closed, terrified of falling asleep for fear of losing her grip and finding herself on the ground, trampled beneath the hooves of her companion’s demonic steed. Her entire body ached from being astride a horse for what seemed like hours. They’d only stopped once, at a run-down tavern where the Count replenished their water supply. He’d left her alone, sitting atop Tempest’s back while he’d gone inside, but not before issuing her a stern warning not to move from the spot. “You’ll be safe here for a few minutes,” he’d told her. “If anyone should approach you, tell them you belong to the Count.”

  Tell them you belong to the Count. She closed her eyes and her head fell forward to rest against his hard back. You belong to the Count. You belong to the Count.

  Bridgett awoke with a start and sat up quickly, brushing her hair from her face. Her mind clouded with sleep, she found herself momentarily disoriented, but then she remembered. The inn. They’d finally stopped for the night, and Bridgett, numb and cold, had followed the Count to this room where some kind soul had built up a fire. Lulled by the warmth and glow of the flames, she’d fallen asleep the moment her head hit the pillow. The fire had burned low in the hearth, but gave off enough light for her to make out her surroundings. Nothing but a chair, a washstand, and the bed upon which she lay. Sparse, but heavenly after such a grueling ride, after such an emotionally exhausting night.

  She sighed and lifted her arms above her head, rolling her shoulders to ease her aching muscles. The blanket fell to her waist and she gasped. Where was her dress? Heat rose in her cheeks as she realized the Count must have undressed her as she slept. The thought of him viewing her body mingled with the memory of her encounter with her stepfather the night before, and she shuddered. Had he touched her? Heart pounding, she glanced down, certain there would be some outward sign if he had molested her while she slept, but other than her aching shoulders and thigh muscles, she felt no different.

  The door latch clicked and she looked up.

  “I see you’re awake. That’s good.” The Count entered the room, moving into the circle of light near the fireplace. “It’s nearly dawn. We’ll be leaving soon.”

  “I’ve only just awakened.” She eyed him warily, truly studying him for the first time. He seemed all darkness, with black eyes, finely arched brows and raven-colored hair that fell to his shoulders. His features, even cast in shadows, could not be mistaken for anything but those of an aristocrat. Aristocratic, and vaguely familiar. A distant memory tickled her subconscious, but she shrugged it aside, disconcerted by the intensity of his gaze.

  What had brought such a man together with her father, a man not known for his dealings with members of Society?

  “You know, when I was a little girl, I always dreamed that a handsome white knight would come and carry me away to his castle.” She bit her lip, appalled that she’d uttered such a silly sentiment, unsure of why she’d shared something so personal with this intimidating stranger.

  “I am no white knight, bella mia.” His voice held an edge that she did not understand.

  Looking into those dark eyes, she shook her head. “No, you most certainly are not.”

  But you are very handsome.

  “While I admit you make a most enticing picture, with your hair in disarray and the soft flesh of your full breasts glowing in the firelight, I’m afraid I must ask you to dress. We’ve a long day ahead of us.”

  Bridgett let out an indignant squeal. She’d forgotten her state of undress. Pulling the sheet up to her chin, she gave him a level look. “I will dress, if you will leave.”

  He stared at her for a full minute before crossing purposefully toward the bed. Before she could react, he ripped the cover from her hand and jerked it completely off the bed.

  Frozen with fear, she lay perfectly still as he placed one knee on the mattress and leaned over her.

  “Another rule, my fair one,” he whispered, “you will never hide yourself from me.”

  He studied her, his gaze traveling the length of her body, and she tried not to flinch under his perusal. She held her breath, nearly frightened out of her wits.

  “I wasn’t sure what I would do with you, b
ut I think I have determined your fate.” He trailed one long finger across the soft flesh of her belly and Bridgett licked her lips nervously, unsure of how to answer or if an answer was even required.

  His touch was gentle, and his eyes had turned from black to smoky-gray. She relaxed a little, sensing he did not intend to hurt her.

  He’d left his hand on her stomach, palm flat, and the heat of his touch made her grow warm. Terribly intimate, and yet her fear had dissipated, turning into something more akin to intrigue. A curious excitement made her heart race. He waited, staring at her, brow raised in a questioning gesture.

  “I…I assume I am to be your servant, milord.” She blinked, realizing she hadn’t given any thought to her future whatsoever. The encounter with her father had left her shocked and numb, her entire world suddenly turned upside down.

  He smiled, but it held no humor, no warmth. “Oh, you will serve me well, my little one, but not in the capacity you imagine.”

  “I don’t understand.” She squirmed beneath the intensity of his gaze. How could she serve him, if not as a servant? He made no sense.

  The Count stood abruptly. “I know you don’t, but you will. Get dressed.”

  Bridgett didn’t need to be told twice. She scrambled from the bed and snatched her dress from the back of the chair. She had no underclothing, hadn’t had any since she was a small child. She pulled the simple, homespun gown over her head and tried to smooth the wrinkles from the skirt. She felt him watching her, and his steady gaze made her heart beat madly in her chest. He seemed to be judging her, taking her measure, and she suddenly became conscious of her shabby state of dress.

  “There is a town just before we reach my estate that is a bit larger than this one,” he told her. “I’ll see if I can locate more suitable attire for you.”

  She looked at him sharply. Was he mocking her? His face was an impassive mask, showing no emotion.

  “That would be nice.” She murmured her thanks, hating the embarrassing warmth that rose in her cheeks.

  He nodded and opened the door, standing back to allow her to precede him into the hall. “Come. We need to be on our way.”

  * * * * *

  The stables were dark and deserted at this early hour; no groom met them when they pulled back the large double doors and entered the cold, dim interior.

  The Count whistled softly. Immediately, a loud nicker sounded from a nearby stall.

  “He answered you.” Bridgett laughed, enchanted by the exchange between man and beast. “How did you teach him to do that?”

  “I raised Tempest from a colt,” he told her. “He responds to my whistle. Were he not boxed up, he would have come to me immediately.”

  “You sound as if you’re very fond of him.” She observed.

  He didn’t answer immediately, but went to open the stall door and lead the great horse out into the open. Tempest nudged the Count’s hand, snorting lightly and pawing at the ground. Bridgett giggled at the powerful animal’s playful antics.

  “I’m fond of all the living things under my care.” The Count gave her a pointed look. “Assuming they obey me.”

  Bridgett chose not to become offended at his obviously baiting comment, and cocked her head, taking in the sight of man and horse. “I’d say he does more than obey you, milord. It appears that he adores you.”

  The Count snorted, sounding remarkably like his horse, and Bridgett tried to hide a smile of amusement.

  “Tempest does not adore anyone or anything, unless it be carrots.” He led the animal to a hitching post and hooked him to a lead. Bridgett watched as he adjusted the saddle, and then slipped the bridle over Tempest’s head, placing the bit in his mouth. The great beast stood quietly while his master worked.

  His master. The Count was her master, too. She pondered the implications, marveling that the idea did not disturb her as much as she felt it should. Her life, up until last night, while reasonably tolerable, had held little promise. The most she could have hoped for was marriage to one of the local farmers. Respectable, but far from the dreams she'd secretly held onto from her childhood. Dreams of marriage to a chivalrous gentleman of means; dreams of becoming a Lady. None of which was likely to happen, not then, and not now.

  She shook her head and shivered in the pre-dawn air. Whatever the Count had planned for her, it had to be infinitely better than what awaited her should she return home. She’d spent nearly her whole life making the best of a bad situation; perhaps she could approach this turn of events in the same manner. Being a servant, even one who held the status of bondwoman, to a man of such obvious means could not be so terrible. She could cook and sew, and perform nearly every chore one could think of – had been doing so from a very early age. Perhaps he would allow her to earn back her freedom. But first she must make herself useful.

  As she watched him lead his horse out into the courtyard of the inn, she made a promise to herself. He had said she would serve him well. She would not make him rethink his words.

  “Stop daydreaming and come here.”

  The Count stood outside, waiting to help her mount, and she rushed to join him. He wrapped his hands about her waist and lifted her. Their eyes met, and she grinned at him, feeling a little foolish, and yet anxious to share her newfound resolve.

  “I will serve you well, milord,” she whispered. “I promise that you will be very happy with me.”

  Vincent drove Tempest hard in his haste to make the next village before sunset. It would not do to be caught in the woods through which they traveled after nightfall. There were miles of forest between here and his estate, growing thicker by the hour, with only two more towns to break its seclusion. Thieves and poachers roamed this area in relative safety, and even Vincent would not tempt fate by traveling these paths alone after dark.

  Bridgett held tight to his waist, never uttering a sound, though he knew she must be uncomfortable. Even the most experienced horseman would find their pace nearly intolerable.

  They’d traveled all morning, only stopping briefly for water and a quick meal of biscuits and dried beef. Bridgett had questioned him about his home, and he’d told her about his family’s castle on the cliffs near the sea. She’d hung on his every word, gasping with excitement when he’d told her that, yes, there was a tower in the castle.

  He frowned. She’d begun to treat this whole experience like an adventure. No tears or complaints, no recriminations or accusations. She hadn’t even mentioned missing her father. Not that he blamed her; life with that drunken imbecile could not have been pleasant. Still, one would think she’d be angry, or at least upset, at suddenly finding herself on the path to an uncertain future with a man she’d just met. Her confident acceptance of the situation, an attitude she’d seemed to adopt that morning, bewildered him.

  He felt her slump against him, apparently giving in to her fatigue, and her breasts brushed his back in a most erotic manner. He reached to cover one of her hands, where she clung to his waist, and stroked it lightly. Heat spread through his loins and his cock grew hard. He wanted to stop the horse and take her. Right here, right now, on the rock-strewn path. He imagined plunging into her, gazing into those sky-blue eyes as he buried himself within her wetness. The feeling was not foreign. Not to the Dark Count, who’d spent the last year finding his pleasure wherever, and with whomever, he pleased.

  He shook his head in self-recrimination. It was not what he’d planned when he’d gone to claim Bridgett. No. At the time, he had intended to save her from just such a fate. To rescue her from a father who would gamble his virgin daughter to a stranger in a game of chance. But that was before he’d seen her, before he’d realized that his prize was not a child at all, but a lovely young woman.

  Eager to please.

  I will serve you well, milord. I promise that you will be very happy with me.

  Young, innocent, voluptuous, pleasing to look upon.

  More precious than gold.

  He continued to caress her hand, deep in thought. M
emories, dark and forbidding, yet still holding the power to arouse, flooded his mind. Years of careful training at the hands of his father’s friends had turned him into a creature that would sell his soul to appease his burning lust. Hating himself for wanting it, yet unable to resist. Willing to follow any command, no matter how demeaning, for just a taste of the satisfaction they’d been willing to give him.

  He shook his head, trying to deny what he already knew, but the painful hardness between his legs and the rush of excitement that shot through his veins told him he would go forward.

  Finally, he would be the one in control, the one who would dictate every movement, every sensation.

  She belonged to him. A possession with which he could do as he pleased. If he desired, he could take her now, and again and again, until he’d had his fill. There would be nothing she could do to stop him.

  But that would be a waste. Instead, he would take her through the same lessons he’d learned so many years ago. Introduce her, one tiny, agonizing step at a time, to the pleasures of the flesh. He would do it in such a way that her baser needs and desires would grow until they could not be ignored, until they controlled her, until she would do anything, be anything he asked in order to satisfy her hunger.

  And she would. If there was one lesson he’d learned, it was that even the most highborn lady had within her the soul of a whore.

  She sighed, her breath hot against his neck. He squeezed her hand and she snuggled against him, like a trusting child.

  He smiled. Her naiveté would aid him in the implementation of his plan. No doubt she would be flustered by his attentions, easy prey to his charms.

  Vincent shifted in the saddle to ease his discomfort. A heady excitement coursed through his veins. Like a concubine in the tent of a sheik, Bridgett would exist solely for his pleasure.

  He pressed his knees into Tempest’s sides, urging him to increase his speed. They were approaching the edge of the village; he could see it in the distance, and was eager to begin his instruction. Tonight, she would have her first lesson.