Rules of Surrender

by Christina Dodd

  His hands rested on her waist. "It is not our isolation which discomfits you, my sweetheart, my princess." He brought her closer to him. "It is your reliance on me."

  She could have informed him that it was more than that. Shared with him that the warmth of the chamber, its closeness and night's dark shadows gave her a sense of security, as if they'd found a place apart from their day-to-day life where whatever they did would be between them only.

  She was, she realized, weary of all the years of being on show. This lonely room fulfilled a compulsion she didn't even know existed.

  As usual, she wore her sensible governess gown of dark blue with the white collar pinned close at the base of her throat. As he bent her over his arm, his breath touched her neck just below her ear. Merely the warmth and the air brought a chill to her skin.

  She resisted him, not with struggles, but with her stiff and uncooperative body. "What is this place?"

  "A guest room." One hand slid up to her breast. Not to touch it, but to circle like a hawk circling for a kill. "The maids have been working here, preparing for the wedding company."

  She could smell the scent of beeswax and soap. She could also smell the scent of Wynter, of starch and clean flesh and knavery.

  "There is an aired bed with clean linens waiting for us should we desire," he added.

  Every muscle in her body clutched in panic. "You said I had until our wedding night."

  He chuckled, a deep, warm puff of air against her cheek. "So I did. But I will listen to pleas to take you now."

  She fortified herself with scorn. "As if I would."

  Putting his mouth against her ear, he breathed, "You will."

  His hand cupped her. His fingers found her nipple and gently massaged.

  She came up on her toes.

  Her gaze searched the darkness, seeking something to fix on, something that would distract her from the rhythmic movement of his fingers. But it was so dark in here! And he was so insistent, caressing her as if he had the right to make her miserable. Or perhaps 'miserable' was the wrong word. Perhaps the word was…'disturbed.' Restless. Desperate.

  She shifted her weight, trying to move away from him.

  He halted her before she had done more than shuffle. "Trying to escape already? Ah, Lady Miss Charlotte, we've barely begun."

  She struggled to sound dignified and managed to sound unbearably stuffy. "I wish you would stop touching me there."

  "As you command, oh siren most seductive." His hand slid up to her collar. He manipulated the brooch that held it together.

  She relaxed and grinned. As if he could open the pin with one hand! She couldn't even open the pin with one hand, and she'd had years of—

  Her collar loosened. Her brooch slipped away.

  By what trick had he contrived that?

  She grabbed, but she heard it drop to the floor. "That's mine!"

  "I do not like such a restrictive decoration." He slid the collar from around her neck.

  This time she better understood his dexterity, and clutched at his hand, but he unfastened the ivory buttons at a speed doubtless unrivaled by any libertine. "Stop that!" she said.

  "As you command, oh mistress of my destiny."

  He did do as she ordered, but only because he'd unbuttoned her bodice down almost to her waist. She pushed against his shoulders, but he clamped his legs together to hold her in place.

  Air brushed her skin as he spread the cloth apart.

  She aimed a clout at the side of his head, or where she thought his head might be—close to her chest. She guessed right, for her fist connected with the hard bone of his skull.

  He grunted.

  Wincing, she nursed her knuckles.

  He toppled her sideways and down.

  She clutched wildly, not knowing where she would land, but he cradled her until she rested on a soft, upholstered surface. A sofa. She flung her arm out. A sofa with no back. The end under her head was raised. A fainting couch.

  He bent over her, an invisible shape formed of powerful threat and impossible passion. "Charlotte," he whispered as he slid an arm up her side to support her head. The location of his other hand remained a mystery. When she tried to wiggle away she found herself trapped by his knee on her skirt. More than that, she felt trapped by him and by…what? Desire? Expectation? She only knew the novelty of being this close to a man made her want to explore these inappropriate sensations.

  If only she felt safe with him. If only she knew that when her limit had been reached, he would call a halt. But no. This man would always push her too far, too fast. She had to remember that now. She had to keep her head and not listen to the seduction of his accented voice as he called her name or deign to notice how his long fingers trailed across her skin at the edge of her chemise.

  "Charlotte." His voice was closer, much closer.

  She braced herself to ignore his kiss on her lips.

  He kissed her bare breast.

  "No." She grabbed handfuls of his hair and tugged. "Beast!" His lips closed around her nipple and he suckled, pulling the tip into his mouth and laving it with his tongue.

  Her breath left her in a rush. Her hands flattened on his head. Her back arched. For one magnificent moment, she couldn't think. Sensation and instinct held her triumphant in their twin grip, and she gloried in the pleasure.

  Then consciousness intruded. She held Wynter's head pressed to her. She wiggled against his mouth like a wanton. She moaned…had she really forgotten herself so much she moaned? But she knew she had; the sound still echoed in the still, dark room. Deep inside she hurt from craving him.

  This was what he meant by making her beg. He would inflict intimacy on her until she lost her mind and her pride. She wouldn't do it. But oh—she smoothed her fingers through his hair—how much he made her want.

  "That's enough, Wynter." She sounded remarkably strong for a woman in the throes of revelation. "You've proved your point, I believe."

  His breath gusted over her damp breast. He was laughing.

  She responded with a tightly puckered nipple and restless lower limbs.

  "I have barely begun to prove my point, Charlotte." When he said her name, he made her sound like the most precious jewel of the universe. "There is so much more you don't know."

  "I do too know. I am not ignorant." His fingers were massaging her scalp, making her very aware of the lie she told. For she had never been informed that a man could create pleasure with his touch on her head. Like a cat she relaxed into his touch. "I simply have no practical experience."

  Disregarding her claim with the scorn it deserved, he said, "You are the brightest of shooting stars in a velvet sky." His restrictive knee rose off her skirt and he placed it on the other side of her. "I alone will catch and hold you." He straddled her, looming above like Zeus come to seduce in secret. His lips trailed lightly across her cheeks, her lips, her eyelids, bringing gifts of renewal to her starving senses.

  She stilled. Like Alcmene, she allowed the sorcery, reveling in his delicate caress. Her eyes fluttered closed. She breathed deeply, concentrating on just that touch.

  So his next tactic caught her unprepared. Somehow, his hand had reached under her skirt. Sliding his hand under her knee, he lifted it and curled his arm around her thigh so that he held her in place while his finger touched the most intimate part of her…drawers.

  She tried to sit up, to dislodge him, but his upper body blocked her, his knee trapped her by her skirts and he whispered, "Shh." He delved into the slit in her underwear. "Don't move."

  "Don't move?" She found herself whispering, too, but it was a furious whisper as she tried ineffectively to close her lower limbs. She found his second leg in the way. "This is unacceptable! You cannot just…just put your hand wherever you want."

  "I only want you." His contact was as subtle as that of his lips on her face.

  But he was stroking the tips of the hair that covered her secret parts! She tried again to dissuade him, but her voice wobbled. "Th
is isn't proper or acceptable."

  "But agreeable, yes?" He sounded almost…curious, as though he didn't quite know that chills skittered over her skin, her toes curled, and deep inside, her womb clenched as though wanting a deeper bond.

  She swallowed. "Please. Wynter."

  His fingers opened her. His thumb slid up and down until he found the moisture she couldn't control. "Ah…"

  She could hear his smile, and she wanted to smack it right off his face. Except she couldn't quite remember how to lift her arms.

  Nuzzling her neck just behind her ear, he said, "Lady Miss Charlotte, I have pleasured you." His thumb touched a sensitive place. One that brought her to painful rigidity in his arms. "Think how much more you will be pleasured when I place my mouth here"—his thumb slid lower—"and kiss each place"—he penetrated her slightly—"and caress you with my tongue."

  She tried not to listen, tried to fight the whimper that rose in her throat, but his stroking, combined with his words, created such pressure inside! Her womb felt heavy and needy. His thumb deliberately stroked in and out, each time delving deeper. She clutched at the edges of the couch as if some great quake threatened to toss her off, yet as her lower limbs moved aimlessly he anchored her ever more firmly with his weight.

  "Think," he murmured, "how it will be on our wedding night when we are unencumbered by clothing, when we are twined together as bare as Adam and Eve. You'll open your arms to me. I'll take my place between your legs. I'll enter you slowly"—with his thumb, he matched action to declaration—"and you…"

  His whole hand pressed against her, cupping her, putting pressure where she needed it most.

  She didn't understand…her lower body…no, her whole body lifted toward him. Her hands found his shoulders. She gripped with all her might and cried out, "Wynter!" Everything within her concentrated where his finger was…no, deeper…God, so deep…the spasms went on and on, encouraged by his touch, his voice, his weight.

  And when the contractions finally halted, and she rested panting on the couch, he smoothed her loosened hair off her forehead and promised, "I'm going to make you do that again and again, until you submit and avow that you love me."

  She didn't know where she drew the strength. She certainly couldn't lift her head or even raise a blush. But somehow she managed to whisper, "No."

  He chuckled, a low, erotic sound of appreciation. "That's right, oh flower of the oasis. Fight me. Fight me with all your will. That will make the victory all the sweeter."

  "Charlotte, I have brought you a gift."

  Charlotte looked up from pouring tea to see Wynter posed in the doorway of the gallery. He wore his traveling clothes and, for a change, footwear, and held a flat box of carved and polished wood like a showpiece. The visiting ladies, numbering fourteen, murmured in curiosity.

  Instinctively, Charlotte touched the broad ribbon she had pinned around her throat. It covered a brand he had placed with his mouth just last night. The round, purple mark looked painful, but she hadn't noticed his activity at the time. Or rather—she hadn't noticed that particular activity. Her attention had been wholly retained in trying to stop him from untying and lowering her drawers.

  So now she wore a ribbon and resolved that, regardless of his sleight of hand, he would not unpin this brooch and embarrass her before their guests.

  Adorna sat relaxed in a comfortable chair, indicating by her indolence her confidence in Charlotte's hostessing abilities. "Dear boy, I wondered why you rushed off to London again so abruptly. You went to purchase jewelry for your betrothed." To Charlotte, seated alone behind the tea table, she said, "You two are a perfect couple. I couldn't be more pleased."

  She meant it, Charlotte knew. In the week since the engagement had been declared, Adorna's objections had vanished as if they had never been. Thank heavens, for the constant preparations and parties had proved exhausting for Charlotte, and without Adorna's support she might have collapsed.

  "Can we all see, Wynter?" Adorna asked.

  Of course they could all see. Charlotte should have known jewels would be his next ploy, for to the fullest of his ability, Wynter was making a spectacle of their engagement. He wished to make his possession of her so unequivocal as to be indisputable.

  Placing the pot on the tray, Charlotte smiled, a mere movement of the lips to please their audience. "How kind of you, my lord. I am aquiver with excitement."

  She had hoped to annoy him. Instead he smiled, a real smile that mocked her coolness. "That is exactly how I like to see you, Lady Miss Charlotte."

  Someone gasped. Mrs. Burton smothered a chuckle.

  Picking up the tea table, Wynter placed it off to the side, then knelt so close he pressed against Charlotte's knees. Even kneeling he was taller than she was, and over his shoulder she could see the ladies gaping at them in anticipation of a scene.

  Worse, she feared they might get one, for Wynter continued to be ruthless in his pursuit of her. Every day and every night, wherever she was, whatever she was doing, he was there. In company he would rub her back or take her hand and press a passionate kiss on her fingers. Despite her best efforts, he seemed always to be able to catch her alone, and then the loving would begin in earnest. He held her against him, allowed his hands to roam where they would, allowed his mouth the freedom of her body and occasionally, just occasionally, made her shudder with that disreputable emotion.

  But no matter what he did or how often he did it— or how much she responded—Charlotte still had not yielded her declaration of love.

  She thought he might be getting a little frustrated. She hoped he would perish from discontent.

  Soon.

  Holding the box before her, Wynter opened the clasp.

  Tawny yellow and beaten gold flashed in the light. As Charlotte focused, she saw a necklace and bracelet of polished amber set in gold, earrings in the same style and a ring that looked too big for her hand. In fact, everything looked too big for her, for the style was rough and almost medieval in its workmanship, yet…yet each piece embodied a particular stormy magic. Unwillingly drawn to them, Charlotte reached out one finger and touched a stone in the necklace. The surface slid away like cool silk, and a fire of red licked at the saffron inside.

  "Yes." Wynter spoke quietly, for her ears only. "I thought you would like them. I chose each stone remembering always the flame of your hair, and I insisted that the setting be like you—polished and crafted, yet always unique…and wild, Charlotte. You are so wild."

  Enthralled by his deep, rough whisper, she looked up at him.

  Fool! He captured her gaze, holding her hostage as he leaned toward her.

  Unnoticed, the box slid off her lap.

  His lips parted, his head tilted. He was going to kiss her, right here in front of the neighbors and the curiosity-seekers from London…and she was going to let him.

  In one stratagem he had been successful. He had trained her body to desire at the mere sight of him.

  Her eyelids fluttered shut as his mouth closed on hers. To the ladies seated around the circle, the kiss might have started out looking innocent, but his tongue touched Charlotte at once, opening her lips, sliding inside and filling her with the taste of him. Boldly he pressed her against the chair until her head rested on the back and illicit passions rioted through her veins. Her nipples—her nipples! she still couldn't believe she ever even thought the word—puckered so tightly as to be painful, and her fists rose from her lap and grasped the lapels of his jacket.

  His marauding fingers slid into her hair, rumpling her carefully designed chignon, yet she thought of nothing but the pleasure of his touch. When at last he drew back, her eyes opened and she came to consciousness gradually.

  Not a breath from the onlookers broke the silence. Not a sound could have distracted Charlotte from the sight of him. Of Wynter, his eyes alight with desire, his lips damp from hers, soft and red, lips made for kissing, his long fingers trembling as they slipped away from her face.

  Perhaps he made a
display of their craving to stamp her with his ownership, but as he taught her passion he drove himself as wild as he claimed she was. She knew as soon as he left she would be embarrassed by their exhibition, but right now…right now she just wanted to go with him to some private place and let him touch her where he'd touched her before.

  His plan to conquer appeared to be working.

  Her grip loosened from his jacket. Her hands fell limply into her lap.

  "I wish you would leave your magnificent hair down for me." One of his hands tugged softly at a loose strand until it curled over her shoulder. "It contains the color of fire and the texture of silk, and I dream of our wedding night when I will spread it across a pillow and bury my face in its fragrance." Leaning over, he gathered the jewelry off the floor. He clasped the bracelet around her wrist, bestowing it with a kiss on her pulse.

  She tried to take the earrings away from him, but he made it clear he would decorate her himself and she had no wish to lose both a wrestling match and her dignity. The kiss he placed at each earring barely touched the sensitive skin beneath, yet goose bumps skittered up her spine and she caught her breath.

  Sliding his hands under her hair, he fastened the necklace around her throat; then, moving as smoothly as the lover in her private fantasy, he turned her head to one side and pressed a kiss on her throat. Her heart raced beneath his lips and she scarcely subdued a whimper as his mouth slipped lower, just to the edge of her collarbone. Would he have stopped there if her modest collar had not been in place?

  His lids were heavy over his eyes as he reached for the last piece of jewelry. The ring. The band slid over her slender knuckle and settled solidly at the base of her finger. The amber stone blared its blatant message. Wynter's woman. Wynter's property. Too late she tried to wrench her hand away from his, but he took her fingers in both of his and brought them to his lips. The kisses he pressed to the ring, then to the tips of her fingers, then on her palm, bore no resemblance to his other, sweeter kisses. These kisses answered her challenge, telling her without words that he would woo her and he would take her whether she wished it or not.