Jocey spoke through the tears now clogging her throat as she stared at the uncompromising stiffness of Jericho’s back. “I believe you to already be guilty of that in regard to me.” The stinging heat of her bottom cheeks was testament to that.
“You do not know the half of what I am capable of,” the marquis assured her harshly.
But Jocey could imagine.
Jericho had been aroused earlier, not only from touching her intimately but also from spanking her. She would be lying if she claimed it had not had the same effect upon her, or that the sting of that spanking still caused a warmth and dampness between her thighs and caused her nipples to ache. She wondered what other unorthodox physical pleasures Jericho was capable of. Whether, in fact, he knew exactly what use to put those metal rings to, placed at the four corners of the beds upstairs.
Which was shameful of her, given the circumstances of having just learned of the death of one of her closest friends and Lord Worthington.
“Nor do I wish to know,” she answered him frostily—and untruthfully. To her further shame, she knew that Jericho’s suspicion toward her and the coldness of his demeanor had not lessened her feelings of attraction toward him. She did not like him very much right now, but that did not seem to prevent her from still being aroused by him. “I am going upstairs to rest.” Despite being exhausted, she doubted she would be able to sleep when her emotions were in such turmoil.
Jericho made no attempt to stop her from leaving. He wanted Jocelyn to go. He knew he was very much in danger of losing control and ripping the rest of Jocelyn’s clothes from her body before satisfying his lust between the heat of her thighs.
His painfully throbbing cock did not care if Jocelyn was innocent or guilty. It merely wanted…
To take her.
To thrust inside her heat.
Time and time again, until nothing and no one else existed but the two of them lost in that world of sensual pleasure.
He had brought Jocelyn here to force the truth out of her, whether by torture or torment, it did not matter. Instead, it was his emotions that were now in torment and his body tortured by the force of his need to make love to Jocelyn.
The image of Jocelyn spread-eagle naked upon one of the beds upstairs, ankles and wrists secured with several of his silk ties, allowing him to pleasure her body in whatever manner he chose, refused to quit his mind now that he had seen and touched her breasts and the plumpness of her pussy.
He had to stop thinking of her in this way if he was to retain his sanity!
What little of it he had left after learning of Worthington’s death.
Jocey had believed herself incapable of sleeping after Jericho had spanked and touched her so intimately, and learning of Priscilla’s and Worthington’s deaths. But as she came groggily back to her senses and saw through the window that it was already dark outside, she knew that was exactly what she had done. Not only had she fallen asleep, but it seemed she had slept the whole day away.
Not that the day held any joy for her anyway when she knew nothing would have changed while she slept.
Her dear friend Priscilla was still dead.
As was Worthington.
And Jericho believed her to be complicit in the accident that had caused those deaths as a diversion to her own guilt of having committed treason.
A treason Jocey did not believe Priscilla and Prudence to be capable of either.
The Germaine twins were two of the first friends Jocey had made when she’d entered Society three years ago. They were openly frivolous and fun, when Jocey’s life in Scotland with the Duke of Pomeroy had been one of drudgery and dourness. The twins had a serious side, of course, but it was not one they revealed in Society, only when the three of them were alone together.
The three of them would never be alone to talk and share secrets ever again.
And Prudence must now be forever changed after the death of her beloved sister.
Jocey wished she could go to her friend, to comfort Prudence, to hold her while she grieved. But Jericho’s implacable attitude toward her told Jocey he would never allow it. He had even made her remove her gown as an added incentive for her not to be able to leave this place until he had finished torturing information from her in any way he saw fit.
The fact she had enjoyed the form of torture he had chosen earlier was still shameful to her.
She moved restlessly to the side of the bed before standing and walking over to the window, having no wish to think of Jericho or her response to him. Nor did she care how much he was grieving for his friend when his behavior toward her today had been so cruel, so unforgiveable—
She turned sharply toward the door as a knock sounded on the other side of it.
“Jocelyn?” the marquis called imperiously. “I know you are awake because I heard you moving about just now. You have not eaten all day, and there is hot stew downstairs.”
Several angry replies sprang readily to mind, and Jocey clamped her lips together to stop herself from making any of them. She would not even give him the satisfaction of speaking to him.
Besides, the thought of food made her stomach churn and heave. How could she possibly eat, let alone face Jericho again, when she knew he believed her to be involved in the deaths of two innocent people they had both cared about?
“Jocelyn!” He turned the door handle but found the door locked. “Open this door immediately,” he ordered in that same implacable voice. A voice that commanded and brooked no argument to his instruction.
Jocey felt a shiver of…something down the length of her spine. Anticipation? Pleasure? Whatever that emotion was, she did not wish to feel it for this man.
She had felt nothing but relief earlier when she closed the door of the bedchamber behind her and saw there was a key in the lock. Nor had she felt any hesitation about turning that key to ensure Jericho could not enter the room without her say so.
Although, the aggressive manner in which he was now rattling the door told her he would not remain outside in the hallway for much longer. Even if he had to break the lock and splinter the door frame to achieve that aim.
She tensed as the door ceased its rattling and there was only silence outside the room. A silence that continued until Jocey could stand it no longer. She moved softly across the room on bare feet to press her ear against the varnished wood.
Quite what she had expected to hear, she had no idea. Jericho breathing, perhaps? Or some other sign that would tell her he was still out there? Like a cat waiting to pounce on its prey—
“I will allow you five minutes to join me downstairs.”
It seemed as if he spoke directly to where her ear was pressed on this side of the door, causing her to rear back in alarm.
“After which I will return and break down the door,” he continued in that same soft voice. “If I am forced to do that, then the bare-assed spanking you will receive will not involve any pleasure whatsoever,” he added in warning.
“Except for you.” She could not remain silent any longer, once again feeling on the edge of tears. “You enjoyed spanking me earlier.”
“I did.” He did not even attempt to deny it.
“Bare-assed?” Jocey gasped, having realized what he had just said to her.
“For every time you disobey or defy me, I am going to instruct you to remove an item of clothing. As you are already wearing very little, I have no doubt that you will very shortly be completely naked.”
And she had thought his father was cruel for having more or less ignored her existence during the years she lived with him.
What she would give to have Jericho ignore her now.
Truly?
Jocey no longer knew what she wanted. This Jericho was insufferable. Arrogant. Dictatorial. And yet…
And yet her heart still pounded loudly merely knowing he was near. Nor was there any doubting her arousal earlier.
“I will need to freshen up before coming downstairs,” she informed him haughtily.
&n
bsp; She also needed to find some other form of clothing. She had not found the apron until after she had swept the downstairs of the house, and her chemise was smeared with dirt and dust. Her drawers… Her drawers were decidedly uncomfortable, especially between her thighs. Her cheeks flushed as she realized it was from where her juices had gushed earlier, and the material had now dried and was chafing against her flesh.
“Will you return my gown to me so that I might dress appropriately?” she pressed.
“No.” Jericho’s single-word reply was uncompromising.
Then Jocey could only hope Caroline Black had left some clothing in one of the wardrobes from her visits here. Even a robe that was twenty years old would be better than nothing. Being naked beneath that robe was far from ideal, but it would give Jocey opportunity to rinse out her undergarments ready to wear again tomorrow.
“I will join you momentarily,” she snapped.
“The clock is now ticking,” he warned before there came the sound of his footsteps moving down the hallway toward the stairs.
Jocey had absolutely no doubt that this Jericho would be merciless in his retribution if she went beyond the allotted five minutes by so much as a second.
Chapter 9
Jericho believed, for all her defiance, Jocelyn would join him in the kitchen within the time limit of five minutes he had given her. Possibly only by a second or two as a show of further defiance, but she would be here.
He was right; there was just four seconds of that time left on his pocket watch when Jocelyn appeared in the kitchen doorway.
She looked completely unlike the disheveled woman of earlier. Her face was clean and slightly flushed. Her dark hair was no longer secured at her crown with loose tendrils falling about her shoulders but had been released from its confinement. It was now tied back at her nape with a pink ribbon that looked distinctly like the ones running along the top of and fastening her chemise.
He had never seen the robe she was wearing before, but its color—bright red—and the luxurious material—pure silk—told him it had, in all probability, once belonged to his mother. Her favorite color had been red, and she had always clothed herself in the richest and most expensive materials.
His mother’s figure had been more voluptuous than Jocelyn’s, but the material was such that it clearly showed the outline of her breasts tipped by budding nipples. A matching silk belt was fastened about the slenderness of her waist before the sensuous material molded lovingly over curvaceous hips. Her feet were bare and must be feeling the cold of the flagstone floor of the kitchen, although the heat from the range had succeeded in warming the room itself.
She tossed her head back in challenge. “I could find no slippers to match.”
Jericho stood up. “As my mother never entered the kitchen, I doubt she ever saw the need for them.” His narrowed gaze swept over her from foot to head. “Are you wearing anything beneath that robe?” His voice sounded strained even to his own ears.
Jocelyn’s chin rose another notch. “As you did not see fit to bring any of my other clothing with you, I had no choice but to wash my undergarments and hope they will be dry enough for me to wear in the morning.”
Jocelyn’s lack of clothing was an oversight on Jericho’s part, but at the time, his only interest had been to take her away from Wessex Manor to somewhere he might question her without interference from Cousin Gwendoline. Which was no excuse, he accepted, only fact. Knowing Jocelyn wore nothing beneath the robe did nothing to deter his rapidly hardening cock.
That knowledge made him speak more harshly than he had intended. “As you appear to only be wearing that robe, and I warned I would make you remove one item of clothing every time you disobey or defy me, I advise you to curb your tone of voice when talking to me.”
She gave an indignant huff. “Next you will require me to get down on my knees in subservience to you.”
If Jericho had Jocelyn on her knees in front of him, it would not be in subservience, but in order to have her service his now fully engorged and straining cock.
He turned his back on her to hide that arousal as he moved toward the hot range where the stew had simmered for most of the day. He ladled some of the steaming food into the two bowls he had left warming. “At the moment, all I require is that you to sit down and eat.” He placed one of the bowls on the table before taking the other and resuming his seat on the opposite side.
Jocelyn sat, giving a pained grimace at she did so. But she still made no move to pick up the spoon beside the steaming bowl of tasty-smelling stew.
“Eat,” Jericho instructed abruptly.
“I am not hungry.”
“Eat,” he repeated through gritted teeth.
She drew in a ragged breath. “Even if it makes me sick?”
“It will not make you sick.”
“You cannot know that.”
“Just try it, damn you.”
Jocey gave one glance at Jericho’s angrily glittering eyes before picking up her spoon and dipping it into the bowl, sure that the first mouthful of food would choke her.
Except it didn’t.
She almost groaned as the flavor of the rich and meaty stew burst on her taste buds, her cheeks warming as her stomach gave an unladylike growl of approval of the first food she had eaten today.
“Good?”
Jocey kept her lashes lowered. “Very good.”
“The more so because of your efforts to collect the wild vegetables and herbs this morning.”
She gave him a quick glance. “Does that mean I am forgiven for leaving the house?”
“Am I forgiven for having spanked you for disobeying me?”
She glared. “No!”
He gave a dismissive shrug. “Then it would seem we are at an impasse where neither of us is willing to forgive the other.”
Jocey made no reply as she continued to eat the thick and flavorsome stew, feeling more like herself with each meaty morsel.
Jericho could stand the situation no longer after they had eaten in silence for ten minutes, the only sound their spoons entering and leaving the bowls. “I was not merely being bloody minded earlier when I instructed you not to leave the house in my absence.”
“No, you were being unreasonable and dictatorial too,” she came back pertly.
Jericho agreed with the latter but not the former. “There are wild animals roaming this part of the forest. You might have been attacked and seriously injured by one of them whilst I was gone.”
She snorted. “As if you would care.”
“You are my ward.”
“I am your captive,” she corrected meaningfully. “Besides, I saw no wild animals.”
“That does not mean they did not see you.”
“You are merely trying to alarm me now,” she accused.
He placed his spoon carefully down in his half-empty bowl. “And I believe you are deliberately trying to provoke me into administering another punishment.”
Her cheeks flamed bright red. “I am not!”
Jericho leaned back in his chair to consider her through narrowed lids. Her cheeks were that blushing red, her eyes feverish, her lips slightly parted. Of course, she could merely be coming down with a cold, but he did not think so. “I believe you are.”
“Believe what you wish,” she snapped. “You intend doing so no matter what I say or do.”
Since the numbing ice had melted about his emotions, Jericho found that he was feeling altogether too much. Desire. Arousal. Anger at feeling both those emotions for a woman who might be a traitor to England and in part responsible for the death of one of his closest friends. Contradictory emotions that were playing havoc with his self-control and resolve. None of it was helped by how beautiful Jocelyn looked with her hair down and wearing only that red silk robe.
A red silk robe against which Jocelyn’s nipples now clearly showed as being plump and fully engorged.
Because she felt those same conflicting emotions toward him?
He
pushed his chair back and turned so that his legs were free of the table. “Come and sit here.”
Jocey gave Jericho a startled glance in time to see him patting the top of his muscular thighs in invitation. She pushed her back against the chair. “I do not think so. Thank you,” she added quickly in case he should take offense at her refusal. But her bottom was sore, far too much so to take another beating just yet.
Just yet?
Did that mean that she might wish Jericho to spank her again in the future?
Absolutely not. It was barbaric to treat a lady in such an undignified manner.
Even if it had aroused her?
Even then!
“My only intention is to kiss better that which I hurt.” Jericho spoke softly.
“I— What?” Jocey’s eyes widened in shock at the implication of those words.
“You were obviously in some discomfort when you sat down earlier.”
Was Jericho suggesting— Was it his intention to kiss her there? “I am not a child whom you might kiss better and all is forgotten and forgiven,” she dismissed indignantly.
His jaw tightened. “Come over here now,” he repeated in that voice which brooked no argument.
Jocey rose slowly to her feet, tears blurring her vision as she stepped closer to Jericho.
He gave one of his thighs another inviting pat. “Sit.” Again, he used that deep and compelling voice.
A compulsion Jocey was unable to withstand as she stepped between his parted legs to lower herself until she sat stiff and uncomfortable on that muscular thigh.
“I apologize for having spanked you earlier.”
Jocey gave Jericho another quick glance at the unexpected apology. He certainly looked sincere, and he was no longer talking in that voice that demanded she obey. “It was humiliating.”
“Was that all it was?”
“And unforgiveable,” she stated firmly, her cheeks hot from the things she was not saying. Having Jericho alternately spank her and then caress between her thighs had been beyond pleasurable too.
“But you will forgive me?”
“I—”
Wicked Captive Page 7