“What do you have in mind?”
“Since you are so fond of…cravats and cords,” she paused, “I think the winner should be able to tie up the loser to do as he or she pleases.”
Mmmm. What a wicked proposition. Violet’s golden eyes were liquid amber. More beautiful than Eve, even the serpent would have fallen under her spell. Was it any wonder that he was falling in love with her?
In love with her body, he corrected.
“You have a bargain, my dear. Shall we seal it with a kiss?”
She didn’t wait for him. Violet’s mouth melted his, searing as she drank from his lips. He yielded, wanting to drown in her passion.
When she released him, she fingered his bottom lip with her thumb. “When I win do not forget that you agreed to the challenge.”
“I would never weasel out of a bet. Either way, I consider this a win, angel.”
No matter which way it went, he would be skin to skin with her, lost in the pleasure of her touch. It was the easiest bargain he’d ever made.
“Good.”
“Very good,” he said, licking and nipping her ear.
The warm light of the sun streamed over them, caressing his back and arms and dancing through her rich, thick hair. He slipped his fingers through the hair by her nape and pulled gently. Violet’s lips fell open and he could see her velvety tongue, which begged for him to seduce it.
At her intake of breath, he smiled. He could swear that he heard her racing pulse. Maybe the heartbeat he heard was his own.
“You attempt to distract me,” she whispered.
“I mean to keep you close by any means necessary.” Gripping her firm derrière, he pulled her against his body. The light friction of her linen shift teased the hair on his chest. Her soft thighs teased his, making him want to lift her legs and wrap them around his waist.
“Ah-ah. No sampling the goods before the bet is won.”
“Where are the dice?” he whispered.
Her gaze shot daggers at him. After giving her bottom a slow caress, he loosened his grip and let her go free.
She stood on her tiptoes and nipped his nose with her teeth. “I shall be back.”
With a tart glance, she walked over to the dressing screen to grab one of his dressing gowns. She walked to the door, not pausing as she slipped it on.
A few minutes later, she returned with a black lacquered box with mother of pearl flowers scrolling all around it. She gestured for him to come to the table and sit with her.
When she popped open the box, he saw a plain wooden cup, four wooden dice, and two decks of cards. She took out the cup and dropped two dice inside.
“Shall we roll for the main or do you want to choose?” he asked.
“A lady always loves to have a choice.” She smiled. “I could be cordial and offer you the first pick, but since considerate players rarely prosper, I shan’t feel too poorly about it. I will play sevens.”
“Then I will play six.”
“Do you wish to go first?” She asked, shaking the cup. The mere sound of the dice rolling around in the holder was enough to get his blood pumping and his fingers tingling.
As he grabbed the cup, the tips of his fingers stroked hers. He let them linger as he eased the cup from her hand.
They were both quiet as he shook the dice. His gaze lingered over the exposed skin of her neck. The dressing gown was loose enough that he got a glimpse of her cleavage, but no more. He looked forward to peeling the fabric off of her and sliding his hands under her chemise.
Kit turned over the cup and let the dice fall. Seven. If he’d chosen seven as his main, he would have won, but now he had to roll again.
Do not pull a six. Do not pull a six. He slipped the dice back into the holder, saying his prayers for a win. A seven would guarantee a win.
After a strong shake of the cup, he threw the dice down. Two. He’d lost. Now it was Violet’s turn.
Her long, slender fingers took hold of the cup as her other hand grabbed the dice. She pressed them to her lips, closing her eyes, then plopping each one into the cup. Something about watching her mouth touch the die or perhaps the way she lowered her lashes in a silent prayer made his mouth water and his cock harden.
She loosed the dice. Eleven. How had she managed that? He had to blink a few times to be sure of what he saw. But sure enough, one die read five and the other six. Violet had won the first round.
“Should I have checked that the dice weren’t loaded?”
“Do not be a petulant loser.”
“Perhaps your fingers are magic?” he asked, taking hold of her hand and kissing the tip of each finger. He teethed her index finger. When he pulled her arm closer so that he could kiss her wrist, she stopped him.
“Do not attempt to distract me. You seek to throw off my guard so that you will win.”
“What I seek is another taste of your delectable skin.”
“Roll the dice. Do you wish to keep your main?” she asked.
“I think I shall switch to five,” he said before giving two fast shakes and tossing. Six. Like it or not, he was stuck with it again. He stared at the dice, wondering at the chances of that happening when he heard a tapping sound on the table.
“Do not give up so easily,” she said. “Though perhaps I should encourage you to acquiesce now.”
He rolled the dice. Eight. He neither won nor lost. The third time, he rolled a twelve. Two sixes, but not the one he needed.
As he picked up the dice and dropped them in the cup, he felt a firm pressure against his thigh. He groaned and dropped the cup when he felt it move to his groin.
A glance at Violet’s face revealed nothing, though there was a twinkle in her eye.
“God’s blood woman, what are you doing?”
“Hmmm?” She rested her head on her hand. “What do you mean?”
She massaged his cock with her feet, pressing her heel into his scrotum. Gripping the table, he closed his eyes, unable to move. How could he possibly concentrate when she did such devilish things to him?
He shot her a dark look. “Your foot.”
“My what?”
“Your foot is on my—oh, good God.” She pressed his cock into his belly, rubbing the underside up and down with the ball of her foot.
“My feet are cold.”
“Cheater.”
“Your body is so warm…” The low, breathy voice was designed to do one thing—make him utterly helpless to her seduction. By the saints, it was working.
He exhaled deeply, willing his self-control to return. Somehow, he managed to pry her foot from his cock and set it down on the floor.
Another cold foot climbed his leg and slipped over his knee and up his thigh.
“I’m of a mind to tie you up now,” he said.
“You will have to wait until our game is done. Let me remind you that it is your turn.”
He threw down the dice and finally managed two threes. He got his six. But if she won her set, they would have to keep playing until one or the other won this round.
“My turn!” As quick as you please, she pulled her foot away. He reached down and caught it before it hit the ground. He lay it across his knee and began kneading and stroking it.
“My foot!”
“And?” He continued his ministrations. This thumb circled the inside of her ankle. “You said your foot was cold. I am warming it up for you.”
By the look of her pursed lips, she was not happy to have the tables turned on her. But he would not release her leg until she played her turn.
“I assume you are playing sevens again?”
“Yes.” She spoke the word like a curse.
He used his thumb to knead the arch of her foot. She closed her eyes, the cup almost tipping the die over. But before they fell, she gave the cup another shake and threw down the dice. Twelve.
“Bloody murder!”
Kit laughed. So much for him being the petulant loser. “One-to-one, angel. Shall we play this round fair-and-square?”
>
Her leg dropped down the ground, making a loud thump. “Fair-and-square.”
She handed him the dice cup.
“Playing six, since now that seems to be my lucky number.”
He lifted the dice in his fingers and held it up to her lips to kiss for him.
“Now you want me to give you luck so that you can best me?” She folded her arms over her chest and turned her head away from the dice.
“Suit yourself. I will win regardless.”
He rolled the dice in his palm for a moment before throwing it into the cup and tossing the play.
Nine. Not what he was hoping for, but at least it wasn’t a three or eleven.
“You will not make the nine you are hoping for,” she said. “Rolling that nine might as well be digging for a needle in a bale of hay.”
His chances were not so grave as that, but he rarely rolled nines, so he could not count on a quick victory.
Eight. Close, but still off the mark. He rolled again, this time getting two deuces. He wasn’t out yet, but this might take a while.
Violet tapped her fingers on the table.
“Patience is a virtue.”
“Says the man who is always chomping at the bit.”
The next try yielded another four. Which would have been great if only four was the chance. But no, he’d gotten nine and getting that roll was as good as squeezing blood from a stone.
“Seeing as how you need all the luck you can get, I shall kiss your dice for you.” He held them up to her lips then threw them back into the cup. Unfortunately, luck was not with him, for this last roll was a three. He was out unless she lost her turn.
“Try not to look so defeated,” she said, stroking his hand with her palm. Then she licked the corner of her lips. “Save that for when I have you shackled to the bed.”
“You little tart!”
“I am a little sweet and a little sour. But as much as you like to punish me for my wayward tongue, I think you rather enjoy it.”
That he did. There was no merriment in pushing down a weak flower. He liked a confident woman.
“Roll.”
She fingered the dice for a moment before tossing her hand. Seven. How in the name of Beelzebub did she do that? She’d managed to roll a winning hand on the first roll. Twice.
“Mine!” she yelled excitedly. “You are mine to do with as I please.”
He kissed her hand, conceding the match. Then he got up from the table and walked over to the bed.
“Where would you like me, madam?”
“I’d like you to go and see about taking a bath. Then meet me downstairs.”
“I thought you would like to truss me up and torture me.”
She winked. “I did raise the stakes on this wager, but my initial bet still stands. Gather your necessities and I will have the servants draw up a bath for you. I shall take one myself.”
In three steps, he was behind her, slipping his arms around her waist. “We could always take a bath together.”
“I think we shall barely squeeze you into the copper tub as it is. Fitting us both in would be a feat.”
He tucked a lock of hair behind her ear and whispered. “You could sit on my lap.”
“I am sure you would like that very much.” She blushed. “Particularly considering my attempts to distract you into yielding the game. But we shall have plenty of time for more leisurely pursuits this evening.”
“And then you shall inflict your wicked will upon me?”
She turned in his arms to kiss his cheek. “I have not yet decided. We never specified when the prize should be collected.”
His mind churned at that thought. At any time, any place, she could ask him to kneel or lie down and secure him to a bed, a door, an armoire, a staircase. Though the staircase was unlikely, as Violet did not want to display her depravity in front of the servants. She reserved it for him.
Which only made him love her more.
There was that word again. That feeling. Was that what this was? Did he love her?
He lusted for her, dreamed about her, adored her passion and her sense of humor. He even adored the part of her that always wanted to be practical and useful. The part of her that hadn’t balked at cleaning his open wound or bathing a complete stranger.
She was the first and last thing on his mind every day. Hmmm.
He turned her to him and kissed her, slipping his hands into the robe, which was far too masculine for her sumptuous curves. She deserved delicate muslins and beautiful brocades. Laces and gold threads would complement the fine jewels he could give her.
He’d start with emeralds, which would bring out the green in her hazel eyes. Next, he would try rubies and garnets to match the flush in her skin when she slipped back into her proper demeanor. No, it would match the fire in her, the heat that she revealed only to him. And he would bring her diamonds. Diamonds so that everyone who looked at her would know how much she was treasured.
As he lifted his face and looked into hers, he realized he was besotted. When he’d lost his memory, he’d lost his mind, too. He never allowed himself to become too attached in his relationships. He had fun, he devoted himself to his lovers’ pleasure, but when he needed to move on, he never gave a second glance.
Would he still feel this way in a month or two when he was gone? Perhaps the intensity of his feelings would subside once he no longer spent each day in her company. He must feel this way because he was too accustomed to her presence.
* * * *
Violet sank into the hot water, praying that the day never ended. Waking up with Kit reminded her of how safe she felt enveloped in his arms. She’d slept more soundly than she had in months.
When she thought of last night, how he’d bound and blinded her, rendering her completely helpless to his assault, she flushed. His assertiveness and creativity surprised her. He made every moment feel vibrant and alive, like racing a horse at full speed.
Even now, her heart beat faster at the thought of him.
Violet dipped her towel into the water and steamed her face. She’d sent Miriam away so that she could have a moment alone. The truth was, she didn’t want the girl to see the bruises from Kit’s intense lovemaking.
“Lord help me,” she whispered. She would let that man chain her to a dungeon wall if it meant he would kiss and stroke her from head to toe. He never pushed her farther than she could go, but she was afraid of the dark need within her. The need for him to strip her down bare, to divest her of the walls of her control, until she was a mass of dough ready to be kneaded by his deft fingers.
What kind of woman let a man tie her up and tickle her until she screamed? What kind of woman wanted a man to spank her until her bottom was red and chafed? And what kind of man would do that to his lover?
She should run. But she did not dare. With Kit, she felt alive. There was no pretense. No compulsion to be the dutiful widow, no need to see to every minute detail of the household, no obligation to be anything but herself.
How could she run away from that freedom? Because in his arms, she yielded her body, but her soul was free.
Chapter Eleven
Nine days later
As Violet took a sip of steaming hot tea, Kit leaned across the desk. The smell of bacon and eggs permeated her study. She reached for a scone, but he stole it from her fingers.
“I want to build a snowman.”
“What?”
“It’s a crisp morning, and the snow is fresh and thick outside. Let us go and build a snowman.”
“It is cold outside, and yesterday, you got dizzy when you tried to mount your horse. I think we should stay indoors.”
She took a bite of her eggs and noticed that he’d hardly touched his plate. For a man who ate about as much as a boar, this was a rarity.
“I have been indoors for far too long, I want to enjoy the snow. I want to play with you in the snow.”
She filched the half-eaten scone from his fingers. “If you think I am going to
let you lift up my skirts and pummel me into the icy ground, you are wrong. It is bad enough when you tried to fondle me in the stables. What if Hinkley had seen you?”
He lowered his voice. “As much as I would love to have you naked under me and torture your nipples with snow and chips of ice, that is not what I meant.”
“Then what did you mean?”
“When I was a boy, we would go out into the field and make scarecrows in the autumn and snowmen in the winter.” Sometimes he would throw apples at the scarecrows until they fell over, which often resulted in Bella screaming at him for wasting their hard work.
“Are you remembering more of your past?” Violet asked after swallowing the last bite of the scone.
“Not really,” Kit lied. “I mean I remember playing in the snow and getting toys at Christmastide and I recall picking apples in the autumn, but how does that help me to recover my identity?”
“It is a start. Every bit you remember tells you something about yourself. It may not be your name, but it solidifies your sense of who you are.”
She was so earnest. He should save them both the pain by telling her the truth, but he couldn’t bring himself to do it. Every day he spent with her was a day he was free. There were no obligations, no lectures from Bella and Freddy, nothing he had to do but treasure every moment with Violet.
“So what do you say? Shall we go and build a snowman?”
“I have never done such a thing before.”
“Then I will teach you.”
After they finished breakfast, Violet went to change into her wool stockings and Kit asked Mrs. Norris for a scarf and greatcoat. His was still stained from the shooting, but the divergent color was only noticeable up close. He’d have to order a new coat once he got to Oakfield.
Violet came down in a green pelisse and matching hat. She wore thick gloves and a yellow scarf. When she took the last step, he grabbed her waist and kissed her.
Her eyes went wide. “Kit!”
“I wanted to thank you for agreeing to go out today,” he said. He adjusted her cap, which had gone askew, grabbed her hand and led her outside.
They trekked a few yards until he saw a spot where the snow was especially thick. In his pockets, he had a few buttons, a pipe, and an old red cap.
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