DEVILISH

by Devilish (lit)

He stared at her in shock, then slapped her. Not hard. A sting, no more, and she had to admire his restraint for he was clearly outraged.

  “More language like that and you’ll be black and blue. You’re clearly not the lady you appear to be, but by God, as my wife you will be.”

  He picked up his knife and cut open her bodice, calmly and carefully peeling it back until her breasts were completely exposed. She couldn’t help but try to twist her hands free, but she could do nothing, nothing!

  “Very nice,” he murmured, tossing the knife aside and gathering both breasts in his hands. “Wealth, power, and a luscious body. I do appreciate my good fortune, wife. Never doubt that. Now, let me show you how nice this all can be.”

  He began to roll one nipple between his fingers, quite gently, and with a part of her shocked and horrified mind Diana sensed her body’s automatic reaction.

  She closed her eyes and tried to block out the feel of his intrusive hands and the irritating tendency of her body to respond like a mindless thing. Tried to concentrate instead on the searing satisfaction of killing him at the earliest opportunity.

  Taking out her pistol and shooting him. She could imagine the shocked disbelief the moment before he died…

  He was suckling her and her damnable rogue body twitched.

  Shooting would be too quick. Too indirect.

  Picking up his knife and plunging it deep, again, and again—

  Sharp sting on her cheek again.

  Her eyes flew open.

  “No, you don’t,” he said, still smiling. “Keep your eyes open. It’s not wrong for me to touch you like this. Not as your husband.”

  “You’re not my husband.”

  “Yet. I’d kiss you, but I fear you’d try to bite. Think what you’re missing.”

  Then he moved lower down the bed and used both hands to push up her skirts to her waist. She tensed, thinking he’d have to feel the pistol, but her pockets were stiff, and he was far more intent on her.

  “Very nice,” he said, pushing her knees apart to expose her further. “Stay like that.” He moved back to unfasten his breeches.

  No. Though she was powerless, she would not submit. She closed her legs as much as she could, took a deep breath and screamed. It felt so good, she screamed again, louder. Again, and again, and again!

  “Damn you, shut up!” He clapped his hand over her mouth. Gleeful to finally be fighting, she tried to bite. He grabbed his shirt one-handed and shoved it into her mouth, more and more until she was choking.

  “Now will you shut up?” he snarled, straightening, his hair wild, and his eyes more so. “By God, if you didn’t own a large part of the north I’d cut your throat and leave you to rot.”

  Panicked by the cloth against her throat, Diana made herself calm and breathe through her nose.

  He glared at her, then smiled again, extremely unpleasantly. “I think you need a lesson, wife. You can stay like that for a while.”

  He took something out of his pocket—a flask—and went to sit on a settle beside the fireplace. As he tilted it and drank, he watched her with sickening satisfaction.

  It might be wiser to close her eyes, but she felt she had to keep watching him, as if sight might help in some way. She struggled for every breath, struggled not to choke, struggled not to show fear.

  “Remarkable,” he said after a while. “I’m going to have to break you, of course, like a rogue horse. Or I could just clap you in a madhouse. Ah, a reaction. I gather the king’s holding that threat over your head. A husband is in a much better position, and I suspect I could goad you into public insanity quite easily. So sad. Your unnatural position is to blame, of course.”

  He rose, came slowly over to the bed, and pulled the shirt out of her mouth a bit. “Going to behave now?”

  Though she could hardly bear the thought of the cloth back deep in her mouth, she just looked at him. With a smile, he tied it in place, but not stuffed deep.

  “See, you are completely at my mercy. I can do with you as I please. Even be kind.” He picked up a rose petal again, and stroked it around and around her breasts. “Doesn’t that feel sweet?” He put it close to her nose, where she couldn’t help but breathe in the perfume. “Doesn’t it smell sweet?”

  Then he suddenly squeezed her nose shut, cutting off all air.

  “Or I can be very unkind.”

  Though a cry escaped, she fought not to breathe in through her mouth, not to suck the cloth back down.

  He laughed and let her go, then ungagged her entirely. “Your choice, my arrogant lady. Kind, or unkind.” He unfastened his bulging breeches.

  She sucked in deep breaths, but would not give him the satisfaction of a reply. She closed her eyes, and resolved to keep them closed. That was the only power she had left.

  “Think you can resist, don’t you?” he said in an unnerving sneer. “But bodies are funny things, wife. You’ll doubtless not enjoy the first time, but we have the rest of the night, and I intend to use every minute of it.” He thrust her legs apart again. “I’ll make you explode with pleasure sooner or later, and then you’ll change your tune. Remember that.”

  “As final words, they have a certain memorability.”

  Diana’s eyes flew open. “Bey,” she whispered, wondering if her mind had escaped into fantasy.

  Lord Randolph, a step away now, red with fury.

  Lord Bryght, a pistol aimed at him.

  Bey here, with her, pulling her skirts down, and cutting her bonds with three quick slashes of a knife. Like a reflex, she jerked into a protective huddle, knees to exposed chest. He gathered her, still locked like that, into his arms.

  “Hush, hush,” he murmured, and she realized she was weeping.

  She didn’t want to weep!

  But weak tears poured like a river in flood, conquering any will to stop them. His arms tightened and he rocked her, still murmuring words she couldn’t hear as she wept till she ached, wept till she burned, wept till she could weep no more.

  “Hush now,” he said, words making sense at last. “Poor Lord Randolph is awaiting your pleasure.”

  That snapped her sore eyes open, and saw her would-be rapist, arrogant despite his still-open breeches. As she’d thought, Lord Bryght had him under control of his pistol. Bey seemed almost calm, but Lord Bryght emanated cold fury.

  Diana realized she’d unlocked herself from that protective knot at some point, and now she moved out of Bey’s arms, clutching around herself the coat she hadn’t been aware of before. Bey’s coat. He was in shirt sleeves, watching her with deep, dark care.

  Silently, he pulled a long cravat pin from the lace at his throat, and gently loosened her clutching hands from his coat. Deftly, he pulled her bodice together and wove the pin through the cut edges so she was decent again.

  Still shivering slightly, she dragged her pistol out of her pocket at last, and cocked it. “I vowed to kill him.”

  “He is yours.”

  “You can’t do that,” Lord Randolph said, suddenly pale. “For God’s sake, Lord Rothgar, take that off her before she has an accident.”

  Diana growled. “I need to kill him.”

  “He is yours,” Bey said again. “Somerton, she could put a pistol ball between your eyes at thirty paces, so wherever she hits you, it will not be an accident. I recommend between the legs, Lady Arradale.”

  Lord Randolph went white, and covered himself with his hands. “By God! Lady Arradale, remember the king!”

  “You stupid man, do you really think the king would have ordered this?”

  “I have his letter!”

  Bey put his hand on her pistol. “Perhaps he should live a little longer. What letter?”

  “He claims to have a letter from the king proposing this plan to prevent the union of our two estates. But Bey, de Couriac was part of this. It’s the French. I think it’s aimed at you—”

  “Hush,” he said. “I know. This place is well guarded now.” He looked at Lord Randolph. “The king will be ou
traged by this abduction, and he wants a marriage between myself and Lady Arradale.”

  “You lie. I have the letter in my coat!”

  Bey rose and went through the pockets of Lord Randolph’s abandoned jacket.

  “You’ll see I’m speaking the truth,” the man said. “Let me fasten my breeches.”

  “No. You were keen enough to unfasten them, I assume.” Bey stood with a folded sheet. He studied the seal in the light of the one candle, then opened the piece of paper.

  “See?” said Lord Randolph, folding his arms again.

  He wasn’t a stupid man, Diana thought, but one blinkered by arrogance and self-importance. He truly thought the king’s favor was real, and would save him.

  “Indeed I see. An excellent forgery. The king will be even more outraged.”

  “A forgery!” Lord Randolph stepped forward and snatched the letter. “It has the king’s own seal.”

  “Fabricating a seal is even easier than copying handwriting.”

  “Someone sent me a letter in your handwriting,” Diana said. “That was cleverly done, too.”

  “I apologize. I should have thought to set up some code to verify such things.”

  Diana gathered his coat closer around herself. “If you try to take the blame for this, I’ll shoot you. Despite illusions on the subject, you are not God.”

  He laughed briefly, but Lord Randolph exclaimed, “His writing? You thought the note from me.”

  “No,” she said, “I didn’t.”

  “You strumpet!”

  Bey backhanded him so he staggered back into the wall.

  “You are a fool, Somerton, and the world would be better off without fools. You deserve to die for what you did here, but that is in Lady Arradale’s hands. But if you say one word more that is less than respectful, you will meet my sword.”

  “Perhaps I would win,” the man blustered, hand to his face.

  “You must be extremely good then, because not only am I skilled, I hunger to drive a blade through your heart.”

  At the calm but chilling words, Lord Randolph’s face turned a bizarre mottling of terror and rage. “I won’t meet you! You can’t make me!”

  “Then I would kill you where you stand. Now, tell me how you received the message from the king.”

  “It was slipped to me. I don’t know how! I thought it was real!” He was shaking now, eyes darting between Bey, Bryght, and Diana. Weak though he was, she almost felt sorry for him.

  “And you wrote a letter inviting Lady Arradale to the tryst? And sent it where?”

  “As instructed. To Mistress Mannerly’s. You will see in the letter that it says so!”

  Bey looked at the letter again, and read it completely. “You are indeed a fool, Somerton, to believe His Majesty would go to these lengths.”

  “I didn’t know.”

  “So, what of de Couriac?”

  “Who? I don’t know a de Couriac!”

  “The Frenchman who helped you.”

  “Dionne. He’s called Dionne. I met him at Lucifer’s. He turned up at my rooms just after I received the note… I suppose I must have spoken of it. He offered to help. For a little money. I took him up on it though. I’m short of cash at the moment. It was a false name?”

  “Very similar to D’Eon,” Diana remarked.

  Bey folded the note and put it in his pocket, then gently drew Diana to her feet. “Come here, Lord Randolph, and lie upon the bed.”

  The man went white. “By God, what do you intend?”

  “That you do as you are told. If you live, you have many lessons to learn, and obedience can be the first.”

  “Go piss yourself.”

  Diana glanced at Bey wondering what he planned, and how he was going to enforce his will. He simply looked at the younger man, and after a time of silence that seemed almost unendurable, Lord Randolph staggered toward the bed. “What are you going to do?” he asked, but in a broken whine.

  Bey pushed him quite gently on the shoulder so he sat, then again so he was lying. “I have no designs on your beautiful body,” he said, picking up a strip of cloth. “Stay still.” He began to tie Lord Randolph’s wrists to the bed. “Diana, if you wish, you may do his feet.”

  Diana put down her pistol, appalled by this calm application of terror. It didn’t stop her fierce satisfaction at tethering her tormentor’s trembling feet to the bed so he ended up as helpless as she had been, his floppy private parts exposed by his open breeches.

  “What are you going to do?” he asked again, white-edged eyes darting around the room. “For God’s sake, Rothgar, Malloren…”

  Bey looked down at him. “I am going to do nothing. We men are going to leave you at Lady Arradale’s mercies. If you survive, I will send people at dawn to cut you free and put you on a boat for the Americas. Your father has property there, I believe. Do not return.”

  “No! Look, I never meant her any harm. We were to be married! You know what women are like… !”

  The door shut behind the two men, and Lord Randolph stared up at her. He tried a weak smile, fighting his bonds. “You don’t want to hurt me. I didn’t really hurt you.”

  She leaned forward and slapped him, just hard enough to sting.

  He grinned a bit. “There, see. You feel better now, don’t you? Hit me again if it helps.”

  She thought of fondling him, but whether he’d like it or hate it, she couldn’t bear to touch him there. She remembered her need to kill him, but now he was a broken, pathetic thing, her loathing had shrunk to a nugget. He wasn’t worth it.

  She picked up the knife still lying on the floor, and laid it against his flaccid penis.

  “No,” he choked. “Don’t. Don’t…”

  “Just remember,” she said, looking into his terrified eyes, “for the rest of your life, remember that any woman you meet might be like me. We’re clever at hiding our strengths, we women, so you’ll never really know. And no man can guard himself day and night forever, especially not from a lover or a wife.”

  She stroked the tip of the blade up and down him. “If you’d completed what you planned, I would have killed you at the first opportunity. But before I killed you, I would have gelded you. Remember that. Remember me, and treat all women with the fearful respect we deserve.” She pressed the blade into his flesh, then, just enough to cause blood to run.

  He cried out and twisted up to look at himself, then collapsed back again, weeping. Probably with relief.

  She dropped the knife on the floor. “Goodbye, Lord Randolph.”

  With that, she left the room.

  Bey was waiting and she went straight into his arms.

  “How is he?” he asked, as if it was of little concern.

  “Intact. Are you disappointed?”

  “Not unless you were merciful out of weakness.”

  “I don’t think so. I don’t want anything about him to linger on me, not even his death. Can we go now?”

  “Of course.” He made a gesture and a man rode forward and dismounted to offer his horse.

  She saw that as he’d said, there were men around on guard.

  Even so, she said, “I think I was bait. I think de Couriac’s out here, trying to kill you.”

  “I suspect not, or not yet. I was supposed to be here much later. But we should leave. Can you ride?”

  “Of course.”

  Bey helped her mount, adjusting the stirrups and arranging her skirts as decently as possible, then he mounted his own horse.

  “Slow or fast?” he asked.

  “Fast. Fast riding makes a poor target, and it’s what I need.”

  Chapter 29

  She kicked her horse hard and it took off, thundering down the lane, the wind whipping through her hair. Dangerous in the dark in unknown territory, but she wanted this, needed this. In moments he was by her side, guarding, but not controlling.

  She grinned for him and watched ahead, blessing the moonlight. They’d been on a road before turning into this lane, so t
here must be a turning soon. A signpost helped, and she swung the horse around the bend, hardly slackening at all. Then she headed flat out for London, the dome of St. Paul’s a dark silhouette in the distance against the paler sky.

  Illegally, she jumped the toll gates, not allowing anything to get in her way. She wanted to fly, and she wanted to carry him beyond danger.

  He stayed with her, but a glance back showed their escort falling behind. Not wise, perhaps, but speed was better. And she needed the blood rushing through her body and the power of the horse between her thighs, the wind against her skin, and the target growing closer and closer.

  She almost went down twice on the rough road, but she held the horse up and he was strong and gallant. As fields became town, the road improved, and as the way became easier her madness eased. She slowed to a canter, and then down to a walk, patting her horse and murmuring praise, so he arched his steaming neck with pride.

  Bey slowed beside her, and side by side, they walked the horses along streets silent except for the drumming hooves of the escort trying to catch up.

  If de Couriac had been around, he could not be here now.

  “Was that ride wisdom or folly?” she asked.

  “Who can tell? We seem to have survived. If I had been more careful, it would not have been necessary at all.”

  “I believe I commented on this illusion that you’re God.”

  He didn’t smile. “There were a number of things I could have done to prevent this.”

  “Bey, if you take any injury to me as a wound on your soul, I cannot bear it!”

  “A dilemma, is it not?”

  He was in a damnably strange mood, and she couldn’t deal with it now. “Should we let Lord Randolph live, even abroad? He might hurt others.”

  “We are not God,” he said dryly. “And it was your choice.”

  She glanced over at him, white shirtsleeves and skin cool and pale in the moonlight.

  “I could not kill him,” she confessed, “and now I don’t know whether it was strength or weakness. I’m even weak enough to feel a bit sorry for him, tied up there. What if someone comes across him. Or rats… ?”

  He did laugh then. “A tender heart after all. The man whose horse you ride stayed behind to make sure he doesn’t get badly nibbled. Bryght’s gone to organize his escort to a ship.”