by Anne Stuart
He held out his hand, and she surprised herself by taking it, using it to balance herself as she took off her recalcitrant sandal. She needed every advantage she could get. He took it from her hand before she could drop it on the ground.
"Such a small sandal. You have very delicate feet," he observed. "And lovely hands as well. I think I'm going to enjoy the next three days immensely."
Three days? Good God, what could he possibly find to do with someone for three whole days?
She'd been a fool to attempt this, she thought, sick with misery. She couldn't afford to waste time berating herself now—it would have to wait until she got back to the safety of her room. In the meantime, she had to concentrate on getting away from Rohan and any other degenerates roaming these grounds in
"Are you ready. Brother Silence?" he murmured, his voice mocking, as if he knew very well she wasn't who she pretended to be. Well, of course—he knew she was but someone masquerading as a monk, and he was playing along, barely.
But why hadn't he demanded to see her face? He'd made no effort to push the cowl back, thank God, but wasn't that slightly odd? Wouldn't he want to know what the person he planned on bedding looked like? Apparently not, and she could only count her blessings. There was still a chance she might pull this off, escape before he found out her identity.
Adrian was still holding her hand. She simply nodded and let him lead her toward the temple.
Evangelina picked up her heavy skirts and followed the servant out into the darkness lit only by the lantern the footman was carrying. The festivities had already begun—she could hear the sounds of carnal delight fill the evening air, and she suddenly thought of Charlotte. She'd meant to keep a close eye on her innocent cousin, perhaps enlist a few friends to make certain she was safe. One of those friends had been Montague.
She hadn't even noticed his collapse, his sudden disappearance, too intent on her twin purposes of keeping Charlotte safe and getting Adrian Rohan into her bed. Once the servant had found her and whispered in her ear, all Lina's plans had vanished, and she had taken off with the man.
As she climbed back into one of the flat-bottomed boats that were used to carry the revelers to and from the abbey ruins she knew a moment's misgivings. This wasn't beyond the realm of the Mad Monks-one of them could have dressed in Monty's livery to lure her away. Games like this one were simply part of the frivolity.
If that were indeed the case, she wasn't sure whether she'd be pleased or angry. But no, the man holding the torch wasn't anyone she knew, and he carried himself like a servant, not an aristocrat. Monty must truly be ill.
"Hurry," she said in a sharp voice.
"Yes, miss. Mr. Dodson told me I was to get you there as quick as can be. His lordship won't take his medicine and is insisting on returning to the party, and Mr. Dodson's that worried."
"Won't take his medicine?" Lina said grimly. "I'll see to that."
By the time the boat pulled up back at the quay by Hensley Court she was half-frantic, and she didn't wait for the footman to tie up and help her out, she scrambled onto the riverbank and took off across the wide lawn.
Dodson, Monty's devoted manservant, was waiting for her, wringing his hands and pacing. "Oh, your ladyship," he said, his voice shaken. "Thank goodness you've come. I'm at my wits' end."
"How is he, Dodson?"
He was already leading her into the house. "Not good, my lady, though he could be worse. If I could just convince him to retire for the night, to take his medication and rest, but he insists he must return."
"Insists, does he? I don't think so. He'll have me to reckon with."
Dodson paused outside the salon door. "It's just for tonight, my lady. By tomorrow Mr. Pagett should arrive, and he should be able to help the master..."
"What did you say?" came a roar from the room beyond.
Lina pushed the door all the way open. "You always did have devilishly good hearing, Monty." She smiled. "Now stop being a prima donna and let Dodson look after you properly."
In truth, Montague looked awful. His color was gray, and despite the coolness of the night his thin, powdered and patched face was covered in sweat. Nevertheless, he still managed to fix Dodson with a ferocious glare. "What's this about Simon coming early?" he demanded in awful tones.
Dodson had served Montague for too long to be cowed. "I thought it would be for the best, sir. You're getting weaker, you won't listen to your doctor or to me. Perhaps Mr. Pagett will be able to make you see
"The vicar? Pah!" he said in disgust, his voice breathless as he struggled not to cough. "He's a demmed parson! All he'll do is ring a peal over me, preach to me about the error of my ways. I tell you, Lina, there's nothing worse than a reformed hellion. Just because they've found God or some such nonsense doesn't mean everyone else has to."
"You'll pardon my saying so, my lord, but you've given him the living hereabouts. Isn't he supposed to help everyone else find God?" Dodson asked tentatively.
"Demme, but you're a nervy bastard tonight, Dodson."
"Yes, sir," Dodson said serenely.
Lina sank onto the tufted stool near the head of the divan where Montague lay, his body stretched out beneath a silken counterpane. "I imagine he was thinking of me," she said. "You won't listen to the servants and someone must make you behave. Since I'm one of the very few people who can keep you in line, that role falls to me, and he didn't want me to relinquish my entire three days of fun."
Montague surveyed her from beneath his lank blond hair. "Doing it a little too brown, my precious," he murmured. "Dodson has a fondness for you, and he disapproves of all this. I expect he'd like nothing better than to keep you out of it."
"My lord!" Dodson looked genuinely shocked.
"Oh, go away, Dodson. And when the vicar shows
one has arranged for a housekeeper for him." "Someone has," Dodson said with real dignity.
Since Dodson served as Montague's valet, butler and social secretary, that someone was certainly he.
"Milady, would you care for a cup of a tea, or a glass of wine, perhaps?"
Lina smiled pleasantly. If she was to spend the night by Montague's side and not in bed with one of
the Heavenly Host, then she had no need to drink. "Tea would be lovely. And a cold supper? Bring enough for his lordship."
"I don't want any demmed food," Monty said fretfully. "Unless you can bring me a sirloin and a pint of ale."
'A good beef broth, I think.” Lina said, ignoring him. "With some barley water."
"Barley water? Faugh!" He fixed a glared on both of them. "You may as well kill me now. If Dodson can send for Adrian Rohan instead, you may return to the Revels. Yes, I know you had your eye on him for this occasion, but my needs take precedence. Adrian will understand I can't bear such pig swill."
"Viscount Rohan will be just as strict, my lord," Dodson said. "No one wishes you to die."
A spasm of coughing shook Monty's frail body, and the he lay back against the pillows, exhausted, two bright spots of color on his cheeks. "Do you what you want." His feint voice was querulous. "I don't have the will to fight you. At this rate you'll plague me to death."
"Indeed, I hope not, sir," Dodson said with great dignity before retiring.
There was silence for a moment. The tall windows were open to the cool night air, and in the distance Lina could hear music floating over the water, accompanied by the sound of laughter. And because no one would notice, she breathed a sigh of relief. At least tonight she could be at peace.
"You're terrible to poor Dodson," she said.
Monty sighed. "Yes, I am, aren't I? It never seems to bother him." He paused, his long thin fingers plucking at the quilt covering his frail body. "You'll see to him, won't you, Lina? I've made what arrangements I could, but I worry about the old thing."
"Don't be ridiculous," she chided him. "Dodson's twice your age—you'll outlive him by decades and then you're the one in trouble. You'll never find anyone willing to put up with you the
way that brave soul does.”
Monty smiled faintly, but didn't bother to argue with her. Instead, he turned his head to look toward the abbey ruins. The moon was bright overhead, the two spires of the ruined abbey stood stark against the night sky. "It's a beautiful night, Lina," he said. "You know, I hate to admit it, but I'd rather be here with you than romping between the sheets with some lovely young thing. So would you."
She didn't bother denying it—he knew her too well. Though there were times when she wondered how many others saw through her fevered gaiety. Charlotte, for certain. There were doubtless others.
"There will be other nights to romp, Monty," she said, touching his thin hands.
Monty turned his hand over and clasped hers with weak affection. "More's the pity, love," he murmured.
1 he moon had come out. In the distance Charlotte could hear the strains of music. There had been a small orchestra set up near the dais, and the music, simple and slightly sinuous, snaked its way into her consciousness. She could see Rohan a bit too clearly from beneath her enveloping cowl, and she swallowed nervously, unconsciously flexing her bare toes in the grass as she walked.
He held her hand. It was unnerving—she couldn't remember ever having held a man's hand outside of dancing. When she was young, her father had certainly never bothered with her enough to hold her hand, and all the servants who'd looked after her were female. Being a short-sighted, overgrown, ginger-haired and befreckled creature, she had obviously never excited the interest of a gentleman enough for him to take her hand.
In fact, disposing of Rohan's company would be quite simple. All she had to do was drop the cowl to her shoulders and let him see just who he'd managed to capture. He'd drop her hand as if burned.
That was only as a last resort. His grasp was light, casual. She didn't doubt his fingers could tighten very swiftly, but the longer she allowed her hand to remain in his the more his guard would likely drop.
He wore no gloves. Neither did she. Another shocking circumstance—she'd barely touched anyone without layers of kid leather between them, back when she'd attempted to dance. She'd never been fond of gioves, except for riding or gardening. They made her palms itch.
But she could suddenly see the wisdom of them for social occasions. There was something so...intimate about skin on skin, flesh on flesh. His fingers, warm and strong, wrapped around her unresisting ones.
She allowed herself a furtive glance up at him from beneath her enveloping hood. She could see the ruined spires of the abbey behind him, and for a moment they looked oddly like devil's horns. She blinked, then wanted to laugh. She was being ridiculously fanciful. Adrian Rohan was nothing but a man. A spoiled, wicked, far too pretty man, but human. By coming here she hadn't somehow managed to sell her soul to the devil.
Should she dare attempt to speak? If she could manage some kind of low-throated rumble of a voice. it might serve to further convince him she was a man.
There was no way he could suspect who she really was—the very proper Miss Spenser would hardly be cavorting with the Mad Monks of the Heavenly Host.
Not that she'd yet cavorted, and she had no intention of doing so. This had all been in the service of a very ill-judged curiosity. Really, couldn't her imagination have sufficed? And who would have thought she'd run into Adrian Rohan?
She had.
The truth came flooding in. She had known perfectly well he would be here, indulging his debauched appetites. She had come here to see him, watch him, if possible, from behind the safety of the disguise. She wanted to see him naked, flushed with desire, so she could capture that in her memory.
She supposed she wouldn't be happy seeing him direct that powerful licentiousness toward some other woman, and if Lina succeeded in bedding him she would walk away, go back to the house and try to forget.
It might even break the powerful hold Rohan had over her mind and her emotions. Because nothing else had managed to have any effect so far. Her longing for him was unbearably painful.
In truth, she looked at the beautiful, spoiled, self-indulgent man and saw a wounded, angry child. One who needed her.
She mocked herself silently. This man didn't need her at all; he needed the next willing body and open bottle and game of hazard. He had no use for someone like her, even though she knew she could be the making of him.
No, if Lina had taken him it would have all been over. Her cousin would have moved on, and Rohan would find other beauties to flirt and dance with, to bed. Nothing would change.
She'd been a fool and a half to come here.
She gave a faint tug on her hand, just to see how alert he was, but his fingers tightened immediately, not to the point of pain, but just short of it. She had the impression that he knew how to judge his strength perfectly, which made her even more uneasy. For him to have such intimate knowledge of pain he must have a fair amount of experience, and that was most definitely one thing she had no intention of witnessing, much less participating in. She should have suspected that would be part of his particular interest.
It was a good thing he hadn't realized the smaller, softer hand in his belonged to a female. In truth, her hands were probably larger than those of many shorter men, and she never used unguents or whitening agents on them, unlike many in the ton. At least that part of her anatomy wouldn't betray her, and that was the only part of her he was going to touch.
They were in a cul-de-sac. The earth had risen around them, leaving them in a landscaped depression, reinforced stone walls all around them, and only one door in the impenetrable fortress.
There was no escape, she realized with sudden panic, only back the way they came. She was certain he must have sensed the immediate tension in her body. His hand tightened on hers, and she knew there was no way to take him unawares.
Kicking him would be useless in bare feet. She could use her elbows, her knees; she could use her fingernails and teeth. She wasn't going to submit
She took a deep, calming breath. He was under any number of false assumptions. Once she explained he would let her go. She'd hoped to escape without having to say a word, but escape she would, whatever the price.
She hadn't moved, and he didn't try to rush her, seeming content to take his time in the cool night air. The bright moonlight was unkind—it lit the planes and hollows of his face, only accentuating his dangerous beauty, and for a moment she was back in her dreams where he held her, kissed her, stroked her body until she woke up alone, convulsing, her own hands between her legs.
The memory shamed her, even as it enticed her. But it was her own fantasy, as those hands, embarrassingly enough, had been her own hands fisted beneath her body as she rocked against them. His touch would be anathema.
Fear finally galvanized her. "I'm not what you think I am," she said in a low, gravelly voice in one last attempt to deceive him.
He looked amused, not surprised. "It speaks!" he said in a marveling tone. "And how do you know what I think you are? Believe me, child, I was under no illusion that you were truly a monk under a vow of silence. I'm pleased you've decided to talk—we can't negotiate until you're willing to parley."
"Negotiate?" The word caught her. "What have we to negotiate?"
"Why, the terms of your surrender." The fear was arcing through her now, threatening to overpower her. "I surrender" she said promptly. "Now let me go."
"I'm afraid you don't understand the concept of surrender, my pet. There is no true surrender until I am thrusting inside you, finding my own completion and yours. There is no surrender until you take me into your mouth. There is no surrender until you beg me for my touch, my kiss, my cock."
Panic washed over her full force, and she tried to yank herself away. But his grip was too strong. Painful now, just a little bit.
"You don't understand," she said, breathless, her voice a notch higher in her panic. "I'm not a man."
"You don't understand," he mimicked. "I never thought you were. I only like to fuck women."
The deliberat
e crudeness of his language made her flinch. She knew that word, even if some of the others were unfamiliar. That had been the hardest word Meggie had taught her. That he would use it with her was shocking.
Her resolve grew stronger still. "Not this woman," she said firmly. No one gets forced, Lina had promised her. All she had to do was say no and he'd release her. "We'll go back and find you someone more amenable. As for me, the answer is no."
If she'd hoped he'd look abashed she was disappointed. "It's a hit too late for that, my precious. The moment you stepped through the Portal of Venus you signified your willingness to take on the first man who claimed you. Just be thankful I wrested you from Reggie. He's not particularly nice in his notions, and he would have hurt you."
A faint smile curved his elegant mouth. "Only briefly, and I'll endeavor to make it as painless as possible. Losing your virginity always hurts a bit, or so I'm told, but I expect I can soon make you forget all about it."
Oh, God. "What in the world makes you think I'm a virgin?" she protested in her falsely deep voice. "This is hardly the place for innocence."
"Which is why you're so delectable," he said. "And I can tell by the way you walk, the way you flinch when I touch you, when I tell you what we're going to do together. Only a virgin would be so plainly terrified. As to why you're here, I have absolutely no idea. I've been trying to figure it out for some time
"Momentary insanity," she said. "I'm recovered now." She pulled at her hand, knowing it was useless, fighting anyway.
"Sorry" he said, not sounding the slightest bit regretful. "We've already come too far.”
She could push back her cowl, shock him into releasing her. But she still held off, hoping there was some way to escape this terrible mess she'd gotten herself into without betraying her identity. And the dismal truth of it was that she wasn't so much afraid of the social aftermath of him knowing she'd been there. She was afraid to see that light in his eyes flicker and fade with disappointment once he saw who he really had in his net.
She reached up her free hand to tug the cowl lower over her face. "As for this Portal of Venus you keep going on about, it was a mistake. My...my dear friend who brought me here was going to point it out but she got...distracted. How was I to know what the Portal of Venus was?"