Angela had always helped with the chores at home. They were woefully understaffed due to their lack of sufficient finances. She’d felt responsible for the added burden heaped upon the remaining servants, so she’d often made daily rounds, assisting where it was needed. Her father could be unpredictable and quick to temper when they fell behind in their work or when mistakes were made.
“You’re such a dear, sweet girl, Miss Hopkins. I don’t know what his lordship was thinking to insist that you scrub floors. That’s why the housework should always be left up to us women. Men don’t know the first thing about running a household, don’t you agree?”
“Yes, Emma, you’re quite right.” Angela knew exactly what the barbarian was thinking – to work her like a scullery maid . . . but why?
THE MORNING WENT by quickly as Angela moved from room to room. Several times she’d tracked Emma down to ask for more difficult work, insisting she was perfectly able. She’d finally given up after being told everything was already covered. Angela suspected that the head housekeeper deliberately refused to give her anything more strenuous to do.
They were trying to protect her, Angela knew, and it warmed her heart that these strangers seemed to care so much for her well-being. She just hoped Blackridge didn’t get wind of it. She dreaded what he would do to the poor servants if he did.
For some unfathomable reason, her presence here seemed to annoy him. It didn’t make any sense. He’d offered such a large sum for her to take up residence. Why would he go to such lengths to get her here, and then behave as though he could hardly stand being around her?
It almost seemed as if he sought to punish her. She couldn’t imagine why he would want to do such a thing.
How would he react when he found out how nice the servants have been toward her?
Angela pushed those unpleasant thoughts from her mind, and enjoyed a tasty luncheon of sandwiches and lemonade in the kitchen with a few of the other staff. The event progressed, thankfully, uninterrupted by plate-snatching viscounts. Afterward, she continued her work in the master’s study. Emma had assured her the room was vacant, so she was free to dust to her heart’s content.
Moving methodically from one surface to another, Angela admired the beautiful figurines and statuettes in the room. When her mother was alive, she remembered that they also had such nice things in the house. After her mother’s death, however, items began to disappear one by one until eventually nothing of any value was left.
Angela was attempting to move a large, overstuffed wing chair. Her plan was to stand on the chair so she could reach a wall sconce she intended to clean, but first she needed to position the chair beneath it. She strained, trying to move the heavy piece of furniture.
“Miss Hopkins, let me do that for you,” Phillips, the doorman said, rushing over.
“It’s all right, Phillips, I can manage.”
“Please, let me do this for you, Miss Hopkins,” he insisted.
She chuckled good-naturedly, gesturing toward the chair. “If it pleases you, sir, then by all means.”
Phillips was a handsome young man, with laughing blue eyes and sand-colored hair. He was tall and gangly, having not quite grown into his youthful body yet. He’d been kind and respectful ever since meeting Angela this morning, and she had to wonder what other tales Rosemary had told.
It couldn’t be such a big secret what her purpose for being here was. They had to know she wasn’t a servant, especially since she’d brought her own maid with her. They were all being so nice to her. Phillips, especially, always seemed to appear when she needed a helping hand.
“To be sure, Miss Hopkins,” he said, easily pushing the chair into position. “A woman in your condition should not be moving heavy furniture around. In fact, if you’ll just hand me that duster, I’ll have it cleaned in a thrice.” He flashed a boyish grin.
Angela chuckled, smiling back at him. “That’s quite all right, Phillips, I can manage on my own, now. Thank you for helping me. It was very kind of you.”
Phillips’ neck flushed an interesting shade of pink. He dipped his head. “It was my pleasure, Miss Hopkins. If you need help with anything else, you just let me know.”
Ian stood in the doorway listening to Miss Hopkins and Phillips. She seemed to have wrapped Phillips sufficiently around her spoiled little finger. And the reference to her ‘condition’ had Ian burning with rage. She was quite a clever girl to make her bargain with him while she was already carrying another man’s bastard. No wonder she was so ready to acquiesce to her father’s pleading.
Ian wondered if perhaps she’d planned on pinning him as the father.
Not bloody likely.
“Excuse me, Phillips, but I would like a word with Miss Hopkins . . . alone.”
“Yes, your lordship.” Phillips bowed and hastily left the room.
Angela blanched a little at the dark expression on Blackridge’s face. It could mean nothing but trouble, the way he was looking at her. He stalked into the room, stopping directly in front of her.
He crossed his arms and glared at her. “Explain yourself, princess.”
He was such a large and intensely masculine man. He exuded confidence and virility from every pore, it seemed. Angela trembled, at a loss as to why he appeared so angry. “Please, don’t blame Phillips, it wasn’t his fault. I-I asked him to help me.”
Blackridge’s eyes were dark and serious. It was reminiscent of her father’s display of temper. Not that his face was red and he was bellowing at her, but in a much more subtle way. Blackridge held himself in check, keeping his displeasure under tight control. It frightened her more than her father’s anger ever did.
Would Blackridge strike her? She didn’t know him well enough to be sure that he wouldn’t.
“What are you talking about?” he asked, interrupting her thoughts.
“All of them, my lord. The – the servants, I mean. I’m the one you should punish. None of it was their fault.” She clasped her hands in front of her, fighting the urge to twist her fingers. He’d told her she was to have no assistance from anyone.
Ian had seen how she’d manipulated the other servants into giving her easier work. He’d been covertly watching her throughout the morning. She’d done nothing more strenuous than lift a feather duster. But for her to take the blame for it was uncharacteristic of his impression of her. Why would she take full responsibility for her actions if she was such a devious person? And why did she think he would punish his servants for coddling her? Not only that, she’d asked to be punished in their place. She obviously had it all wrong why he was angry.
“I’m talking about your condition.”
“What?”
“Whose bastard do you carry in your belly?”
Angela gasped. “I-I beg your pardon?”
“A woman in your condition – come, now, princess, surely you know what that means?”
“Y-you think I’m w-with child?”
“Yes, with child, as you so delicately describe it,” he ground out, advancing on her. He was beyond annoyed – he was livid. And she had the audacity to plead ignorance.
She’d flinched at his outburst, taking a cautious step backward, but he continued to move toward her, closing the distance until only a few inches of air separated them.
Angela could barely breathe. He was too close. Too large. Too male.
“What’s this?” Without warning, he raised his hand toward her face.
She recoiled instinctively, bringing her arm up to protect herself. But then she quickly lowered it when she realized he wasn’t going to strike her. She was embarrassed by her cowardly action. All she could do now was stand her ground, maintain eye contact with him.
“Where did you get this bruise?” He ran his fingertips lightly over the faded purple area around her eye. When he retracted them, he rubbed them together, examining the residue left behind. It was the face powder she’d used to cover the bruising.
His proximity was setting Angela’s nerves
on edge. He was standing so close to her she could feel the warmth of his body. “I-I took a tumble down the stairs the other day, tr-trying to save a kitten,” she said, repeating Rosemary’s lie.
“A kitten, hmmm?” He placed his warm hand against the side of her neck. With his thumb, he stroked her bottom lip. “I suppose your tumble down the stairs caused this, as well,” he murmured low, referring to the tiny cut in the center.
“Y-yes, it did. I also have an impressive bruise on my lower back.” She was having difficulty concentrating while his thumb moved sensuously over her lip, making it tingle.
“Maybe I should rub a soothing ointment on your back . . . make it feel better,” he suggested in a silky tone.
“No! I-I mean, Rosemary, er – my maid can help me with that, my lord.” She wasn’t usually this flustered around men. But then she’d never been this attracted to one before.
My God! She was attracted to him, even though he seemed to despise her. Except that right now, he didn’t seem to despise her at all. It was very confusing.
“Are you sure?” he asked huskily.
“Yes, I’m sure,” she whispered, mesmerized by his golden gaze, hooded and sensual and filled with promises.
He leaned in, parting his lips, and then tilted his head as though he were going to kiss her. She held her breath, waiting for the contact. Instead, at the very last minute, he stepped back, lowering his hand. The skin where he’d touched her instantly cooled, causing her to shiver. Her lip still tingled as though his thumb continued to caress it.
“So, you’re not pregnant?”
She blinked. “Not only am I not pregnant, but I’m still a virgin, my lord,” she said, her face burning.
Chuckling softly, he said, “Considering the shade of your complexion at the moment, I’d be inclined to believe you.”
“I’m telling you the truth.”
“Yet, you agreed to be my mistress. Why?”
“I have my reasons.”
“You could save yourself for marriage.”
“It no longer matters to me,” Angela said flatly. Those dreams had been permanently crushed the moment she’d stepped foot in his house. Now all she wished for was freedom from her father. In three short months, she would also be free from her obligation to Blackridge. She had no desire to be under another man’s control ever again.
“What do you know about pleasure?” He brushed a stray strand of silky hair away from her cheek, rubbing it between his fingers.
“P-pleasure?”
His huskily asked question, his proximity, and the way he was fondling her hair, sent her pulse racing. Her gaze was inexorably drawn to his mouth, and she couldn’t help wondering what it would be like to kiss him. Why was she so fascinated by him?
“As my mistress, I expect you to have a certain level of experience. I need a woman who knows how to give pleasure, as well as receive it.”
Angela straightened her spine. “You know very well that I know less than nothing about such things, my lord. Maybe this was a m-mistake.” She moved away from him until her back met the wall. The strand of hair, a golden tether which had momentarily held her bound to him, slipped through his fingers.
“You gave your word, remember?” he said softly, following her, stalking her.
“And of course I intend to stand by it. I was merely allowing you the option to back out, based on my lack of experience.”
He gave a short bark of laughter. “Ah, but there are ways to remedy that.” His eyes gleamed with wicked intent. “And I shall be your teacher.” He closed the distance between them, the full length of his body making contact with hers. Placing his hands against the wall on either side of her head, he leaned his weight into her.
“What are you doing?” she whispered, feeling alarmed and breathless at the same time. The shock of his hard body pressing against hers created a sensation unlike any other Angela had ever experienced. His size and strength and scent engulfed her, surrounded her.
“I’m beginning your first lesson,” he said hoarsely, his mouth only a feather’s width away from hers as he dipped his head.
Everywhere their bodies touched, her skin burned beneath her clothes. Her breasts began to feel heavy and full, her nipples erect, straining. When his lips finally met hers, she became lost in a violent storm of tastes and textures and sensations.
5
Villarreal / The Devil Rogue
Chapter 5
THE KISS WAS light at first, fleeting caresses that teased and tantalized, compelling her to want more. The intimacy of this man’s mouth on hers was an experience completely foreign to her. She had never been kissed like this before. She’d had suitors whose kisses were sweet, but brief, sometimes awkward and fumbling. Those kisses had been nothing at all like this one. Those kisses hadn’t even come close to the all-encompassing, blazing contact of Blackridge’s mouth on hers.
When she closed her eyes and parted her lips on a soft sigh, he slipped his tongue inside, deepening the kiss. He made a low sound in his throat as he angled his head, his lips tasting her, his tongue penetrating and thrusting with unmatched skill.
She was focused entirely on him, on his mouth, his tongue, his body. The hard ridge of his sex boldly pressed against her stomach, and suddenly she knew he definitely had one of ‘those things,’ just like the Greek statues.
She instinctively captured his tongue, sucking it deeper into her mouth, savoring the sinful pleasure derived from such intimate contact. He growled low, bringing his hands down to her sensitive breasts, cupping them firmly.
Her own hands, which had been hanging uselessly at her sides until now, found their way up and over his shoulders. She caressed the back of his neck, and then raked her fingers through his hair.
They were both panting as he continued to fondle her breasts, rubbing his thumbs over the hard points of her nipples. One of his hands then snaked around to her bottom, pressing her lower body firmly against his aroused member. He groaned.
Ian was hard, the burning need to thrust himself into her so compelling he could barely hold himself in check. Her response to him was nothing short of astonishing, shattering his self-control. This was only to be a quick lesson, an introduction to a simple kiss. But the way she had boldly engaged her mouth with such artless enthusiasm had him behaving like an inexperienced boy with his first woman.
He may have a rake’s reputation, but never had he dealt in deflowering virgins. Ian’s tastes had always run to the more experienced woman, a woman knowledgeable in the art of seduction and pleasure.
Was Miss Hopkins a virgin just as she claimed – or was she an accomplished deceiver, able to present the façade of maidenly innocence? He would have his answer, soon enough, when she came to his bed. Ian had to consciously recall the reason she was here – her role in the death of his friend.
He broke off the kiss and stepped back, but not far enough to release her from the circle of his arms. Her upturned face was fetchingly flushed, her lips plump and looking well and truly plundered. When she opened her eyes to look at him dazedly, they were as dark as the deepest part of the ocean, the pupils hugely dilated. If he were not careful, he would succumb to their depths like so many sailors of ancient lore.
“Oh, my goodness,” she whispered.
Ian released her then, putting more space between them. He cleared his throat. “Indeed. I think that will suffice for your first lesson.” He felt as though he were the one who had just been given a lesson. “Are you sure you’re as innocent as you claim?”
“I assure you, my lord, I am as virginal as a nun.”
He laughed softly at this prickly little sprite. “You may be a virgin, princess, but you are certainly not convent material. I will find out the truth soon enough, and as my mistress, you will learn what pleases me.” And he would discover what pleases her.
The reality of her situation hit Angela like a bag of bricks. Soon, she would be laying naked with this man, doing unspeakable things, nameless things, things
that were completely unknown to her. Her mind drew a blank as she tried to conjure the mental picture of what he alluded to. Ignorance was bliss, she supposed, for if she knew what was in store for her, she may be inclined to run screaming from the house.
She drew herself up with false confidence. “I am prepared to fulfill my end of the bargain, my lord.”
“And I look forward to the consummation of our bargain, as well, princess,” he drawled. “However, due to your condition, as it were, I will give you time to recover from your injuries. You have a few days reprieve, a week at the most, and then I expect you to perform your services as agreed.”
“You seem to be under the impression that I will back out, my lord, considering the number of times you feel the need to repeat the terms of our agreement. Rest assured, I am a woman of my word, and would not conceive of reneging.”
“Point taken, princess. Now, I believe you have some chores to finish?”
“Yes, my lord. May I ask you a question?”
“You may.”
“Y-you won’t punish the other servants? I-I mean, as I told you, it was really my fault they’ve behaved as they have.”
“I think you are lying, princess. I know my own servants, and I’m in no way fooled by your attempt to cover for them.”
Angela began to twist her hands together, unable to help herself. Fear and panic wedged its way into her heart. “Please,” she implored, not caring how pathetic she must appear. She could not allow others to suffer because of her.
“You don’t wish them punished?”
“Of course not! As I said earlier, if you would punish someone, punish me.” Angela had to suppress a shiver of dread, wondering what kind of punishment he would deign to administer. Would he beat her? Would he lock her away without food and water?
“Are you going to cry?”
Angela thought she might have detected a flash of concern in his voice.
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