Sari Robins - [Andersen Hall Orphanage 01]

by One Wicked Night

  She jerked awake.

  He heaved his arms, struggling to pull free. “You’d better keep me tied! I’m going to kill you when I get my hands free!”

  Uncurling, she sat up and turned.

  Shock stole his breath. “Lady Janus?”

  She blinked, her gaze clouded, her hair mussed from sleep. Seeing him, her eyes widened.

  “Untie me,” he urged.

  She just sat there, as if afraid to move. Was she likewise a hostage in this nasty game?

  Her chest rose and fell as if she were out of breath, drawing his gaze to the swell of her creamy white breasts.

  He ripped his mind back to his predicament. “Were you drugged? Are you unwell? Untie me. I can help you. We’ll get out of here….”

  “I can’t.” She swallowed, slowly rising. She was half-naked, but he couldn’t think about that right now.

  “Why not?”

  Her eyes slid away.

  He felt the knowledge slam into him like a blow. “You did this to me.”

  She shook her head no, then slowly yes. “It was not my idea, but…yes, I am the reason. For Dillon, Lord Beaumont…”

  He had never felt the inclination to hurt a woman before, but the powerful urge pulsed through his blood like vengeful fire. His hands clenched and unclenched, eager for violence. He was panting, his heart clapping against his rib cage. How dare she? Poison, shackle and whatever she had in store…His anger ripped through him like a mighty cyclone, ready to wreak havoc in its wake.

  “You bloody bitch!”

  “This seemed the only way to—”

  “You think this will convince me to work for Beaumont?” he cried derisively as his mind raced through alternatives. This was her home territory; no hint of rescue if he called out. It was unlikely he could change her mind. So it was up to him to break free.

  Her chest, neck and cheeks were flushed red with discomfiture. “I need to prove to you that Dillon did not kill Lady Langham.”

  Eyeing the bindings, he saw that they did not look particularly complex. If he could keep her talking, she would be distracted while he freed his hands.

  “Prove it, then,” he sneered. “I am a captive audience.”

  “First I will have to, um…” She stepped forward.

  Alarm surged through him; he needed time to worry the knot. Seeing the pitcher on the bureau, he stalled, “What the hell did you poison me with?”

  “I don’t know what it was.”

  “At least give me a drink. My throat burns like fire.”

  A small spark of guilt flashed across her features. Good. She should feel culpable. Guilty as hell, in fact.

  Taking a deep breath, perhaps even a relieved one, she turned toward the dresser. The flimsy rail clung to the alluring curve of her derriere. This was no time to be distracted. He tore his eyes away from her bottom and hastily worked on the binding at his right wrist. Damned his fumbling fingers. The binding budged a smidgen but did not come undone.

  She faced him, holding the mug before her in both hands like a shield. She took one step closer, and then another. At least she was frightened of him, what little satisfaction that brought.

  She reached the mug toward him, touching the cool ceramic to his lips. Oddly, she seemed most careful not to touch him.

  Even though he had only asked for it as a ruse, the water was a welcome balm on his sore throat. Rivulets dripped down the sides of his mouth and onto his chest. She seemed diverted by their progression. As the water made its way down to the sheet, she averted her eyes. Not exactly the playful seductress, was she?

  “Enough?” she asked.

  He couldn’t free himself with her watching, so he nodded.

  She turned, resting the mug on the nightstand. He made quick work with his hands. The bond was loosening beneath his fingers. But he was not quick enough.

  She faced him again, her eyes sweeping the length of him as if trying to work out something. He was not used to such open examination and felt his skin prickle despite himself.

  “It’s a little late to inspect the merchandise,” he derided, the sense of impotence fueling his anger.

  Her face reddened further, the blush crawling across that lush swell of bosom. “I wish it were not so,” she murmured, as if resigned. “But this is how it must be.”

  “You’re just trying to make excuses, and there are no excuses for your despicable deeds.”

  “An innocent man’s life is at stake. Hopefully soon you will understand.” Stepping back, she slowly lifted the edge of her rail to the knee, exposing shapely, white calves.

  He swallowed, his heart hammering to a new sort of danger. Moving closer, she rested one knee on the mattress. The smell of lilies permeated the air.

  “Perhaps I could get a real drink? Scotch? Brandy?” he stalled, hoping for more time to work the bindings.

  “Perhaps later.” Pulling herself onto the bed, she climbed atop him, straddling him between supple white thighs.

  He felt seared where her skin touched his about the waist. Despite himself, his shaft swelled, grazing her buttocks. He withheld a groan. Blast his traitorous body. She settled herself on top of him, the heat between her thighs making his cock burn to be inside her. His breath shortened to a pant.

  Azure eyes met his. Tense and wary.

  “Don’t think you’re so original,” he scoffed, trying to keep the lust from his voice. “I’ve had plenty of wenches try to seduce me into taking a case.” But never so intricately planned and never by someone who looked good enough to eat. It was usually a desperate widow who, as a last-ditch effort, shoved her bosom in his face and made suggestive remarks. “It’s never worked before, and it won’t work this time either.” Heaven help him, he was starting to wonder if he actually wanted to get out of this black widow’s web.

  Laying her hands on his bare chest, she leaned forward, providing him with an incredible view of lush cleavage. She shifted above him, lowering herself to his hips. The buttery caress of her thighs caused his cock to harden to iron.

  “It’s only a stiff staff. Doesn’t make a bit of difference to anything,” he told himself as much as to her. He would be damned if he was going to let her manipulate him into anything beyond sex. He had made no promises, certainly didn’t owe her a thing.

  Her lips parted, and she inhaled a quivering breath that he felt all the way in his shaft. Her eyes fastened on his nipples, and beneath that piercing blue gaze, the nubs peaked.

  “This is a mistake,” he bit out, knowing that if things went one step further, he would be gone.

  She licked her lips, shifting above him with a maddening rub of silken flesh. She removed her hands and stared at him, not doing much of anything.

  His body fairly throbbed with the need for release. Yet she did not touch him anywhere except for her inner thighs. Uncertainly, she eyed the door. Her brow knotted with unease. Something didn’t make sense.

  “What the hell is going on?” he demanded, wanting her to either get on with it and end his torment, or stop this madness completely. At the moment, he was actually wishing for the former.

  Again, her gaze shifted to the door. Was she waiting for someone to come crashing through to save her? The absurdity of it made him want to scream.

  “I can’t do this,” she muttered under her breath. The look of distaste was clear on her face now. She was no longer even pretending to be enjoying this little seduction. As if he was unworthy of even that small pretense.

  Then it hit him like a cannonball; she dreaded bedding him. Hell, she seemed barely able to endure touching him. She was lowering herself and couldn’t stand it. The wench would sell herself to a noble, openly living in sin, but couldn’t bear the thought of lying with a man of his class.

  Her eyes met his, and for the first time since this madness began, they looked certain. “I can’t do this,” she confirmed his assessment. “No matter how important, I just can’t see it through.”

  Climbing off, she sat on the edge of
the bed, her legs stretched before her. Her face was turned away, as if she couldn’t stand to look at him. “I just cannot bring myself to do it. Not for Dillon. Not even for me….”

  His teeth clenched, and he felt unsated lust and fury surge through him.

  “This was a mistake. I’m sorry….” The mattress dipped as she moved to push off it.

  Furious, he tore at the bindings. His right hand ripped free.

  Grabbing her about the waist, he flipped her over onto her back. His body covered hers, capturing those supple curves beneath him. Quickly, he freed his bound hand. Hunger and rage surged through him. He would have his satisfaction. She knew it, too. Her eyes were wide with shock, her mouth rounded in an astonished O.

  He would teach her a thing or two about dipping with the lower classes. He was going to leave her begging for more.

  “You want to play games?” he whispered huskily in her ear. “You should have asked about my rules.”

  Chapter 8

  Lillian’s breath caught as she stared, stunned, into tempestuous cocoa brown eyes. Her captive was now the conqueror, eager to exact revenge for her offenses. Shocked, she tried to push herself up, but he was a block of iron, pressing her deep into the feather mattress.

  Snatching her wrists in his hand, he stretched them high above her head. She felt the wooden bedpost graze her knuckles, but it was too broad for her hands to grab. Her heart raced and her mouth dried to dust. His head slowly lowered, and a black lock of hair fell across his eyes. She winced, steeling herself for the punishment she knew she deserved.

  His lips hovered over hers, and his warm breath wafted over her. The scent of almonds and Cognac teased. Suddenly his mouth was gone, and a surprising shaft of disappointment slashed through her.

  Heat encased her nipple, burning through the thin fabric of her shift. She gasped, realizing that he had taken her breast full in his mouth. Her body shuddered with an unholy hunger she couldn’t place.

  He looked up, passion burning in his dark gaze. “You’re the one who brought me here. Now it’s time to finish what you started.”

  Icy shivers raced down her spine. This was not the way it was supposed to have happened. Not the way Fanny had promised it would go. She should have anticipated that Redford would not be played so easily. She should have known that she was toying with fire.

  He pressed an open kiss to her throat, searing her skin with his tongue.

  Her mouth went dry. Alarm swirled in her belly.

  “Mr. Redford…” she started huskily, hating how her voice betrayed her.

  “So formal,” he breathed. “The women who tie me up usually have the decency to use my Christian name.”

  “You’ve done this before?” she cried, aghast.

  “Haven’t you?” His husky voice rippled through her.

  Heaven’s no. “Listen, Mr. Redford…”

  “Yes, my captor?”

  His words caused a hot ticklish sensation in her middle. Oh, dear.

  “You have a request for me?” he purred, lifting her earlobe with his tongue. She felt his teeth nibble down on the soft flesh. She gasped. A shock rippled through her, straight to the heated joint between her legs.

  “I am at your command, my lady,” he murmured, the salutation coming off as anything but deferential. “Perhaps you wish for me to take your breast in my mouth again?”

  As if heeding his words, her nipples lifted and hardened.

  His eyes fixed on her nipples as they pushed up against the flimsy silk. “I’ll take that as a yes.”

  She felt his mouth on her nub, as if the thin rail did not exist. She bit her lip to contain a groan. Her body was betraying her, exposing the deep longings that had filled her lonely nights. She had never expected to know a man’s touch, to experience the feel of a man’s hard body pressing into her with desire. Her senses were unprepared for the limb-melting assault. And for the responding fire within her that yearned to be stoked.

  Redford’s tongue circled her nipple with hot, languid strokes, smoldered her already overheated skin and causing the most unholy dampness between her thighs. Part of her mind cried to unleash her hunger. To stop being so restrained…so afraid of losing control.

  From a young age she had learned to be careful, mindful of her every move for fear of raising Kane’s ire. That pattern followed her still. After breaking away from her stepfather, she’d guarded her every step in Society. It felt like every action in her life was measured, every move studied. Chaos beckoned. She longed simply to let go.

  A small groan hummed through his mouth, sending ripples of pleasure reverberating through her breast straight to her feminine core. Heat surged and her brain muddled to mush.

  Her lips parted and she closed her eyes, surrendering to sensation. His hot, wet tongue. The arousing rub of his skin against hers. Wetness pooling between her thighs.

  Her hips rocked. She moved beneath him as if riding to some unknown rhythm that he played on her breast.

  Suddenly his mouth broke free and cold air stiffened her nipple even more.

  “Or perhaps,” he breathed, hovering over her belly, “there’s some other place you’d like my mouth.”

  Excitement whipped in her belly at his frank suggestion.

  He pulled her arms down toward her head, and the tresses teased her fingers. With his knee he pushed her leg up to the side, her other imprisoned against his unmoving thigh. He pushed the night rail up around her waist. She felt suddenly exposed.

  Cool air teased her open flesh and she trembled. Slowly, he lowered. His hot tongue flicked across her inner thigh and her hips bucked.

  “Oh, God,” she cried out before she realized it.

  “Not yet, my lady. There’s more.”

  More? Lord help her.

  His tongue slipped between the secret folds of her flesh, sending tremors shooting through her core. He slid up and down in her wetness, driving her to madness. Sensation soared. His mouth fixed on her hard nub and sucked. She cried out.

  His head lifted. “You liked that?”

  She was panting, her heart pounding. She felt like she was in a race, trying to catch up but not quite making it.

  His tongue flicked across her womanhood and she gasped.

  He looked up, watching her. Sweat glistened on his forehead. His breath was shallow. His gaze smoldered to near black with fiery passion. His mussed raven hair lay across his forehead, making him look wild, brutish with masculine strength. He was a warrior god, a stranger. Yet her body seemed to know him. Welcome him, even.

  “Tell me you want me,” he urged.

  It was true. She desired him. Hungrily. Desperately. She always had. For all of the convoluted reasons for this seduction, none of this would ever have happened if not for the simple fact that she desired him, like a starved woman beguiled by forbidden fruit. And now this. This unbridled passion. This beckoning desire to abandon control, to lose all restraint. To capitulate to his passionate onslaught. It was all too much to deny.

  “Yes?” he asked.

  “Yes,” she breathed, amazed by how easy it was.

  “I want you too,” he murmured, pressing an open kiss to her inner thigh. The rough yearning in his voice sent her final trepidations flying off.

  Bracing his hands alongside her, he moved up her body in a long, slithering stroke. He lay on top of her. His member, hard like granite, but searing like fire, pressed into her innermost thigh. He shifted. The head of his manhood pressed into her core, causing liquid fire to surge inside her. She heard herself moan.

  “What is your command, my lady?” He pressed himself against her nub, rocking gently. Her hips rose to meet him. “You only get what you ask for.”

  “Please,” she moaned.

  “Please what?” His shaft slid in her wetness, slick with desire for him.

  She shook her head. She couldn’t say it. She didn’t even know the words.

  “Tell me where you want me to put it.”

  Her heart slammed again
st her chest. She felt like she could cry from wanting him so badly.

  “In…inside,” she whispered, her face burning with shame. But she did want him there. Needed him to fill her.

  His manhood slid lower, edging near the entrance to her core.

  She held her breath.

  His hips bucked forward, ramming his shaft deep inside her, infiltrating her most delicate muscles. She screamed as her maidenhead tore. Shock rippled through her and she shuddered, closing her eyes to the truth of it. He was inside of her. Deep, full, stretching.

  She was panting, fear and wonder surging through her. She had done it. She was an innocent no more.

  “You conniving bitch!” His face was a mask of contained fury. “What schemes do you play?”

  She caught her breath. “No schemes. You…wanted…proof…for Dillon—”

  “This doesn’t prove a bloody thing!” He reared up on his elbows, glaring down at her.

  His manhood shifted. A thrill shot through her, and she gasped. That’s when she realized that the pain was gone, just as Fanny had described.

  She swallowed. “We need to talk about this…about Dillon…”

  “Damned Beaumont. He’s not the one swiving you right now.”

  She froze and blinked, an unseen pain slashing through her heart. She turned her head away, unable to endure the fury in his gaze. This was the most intimate connection she had ever had with anyone in her life, yet she felt his anger like a battering ram, hammering at the invisible walls of her self-worth. The man looked like he reviled her. Mortification swept over her like a torrent. She felt none of the heat she had felt before, only coldness from deep in her heart. What they were doing was not right.

  “I only did this to prove…that Dillon…did not murder Lady Langham.”

  “Bullocks!” He pulled out, slick and wet, leaving her cold.

  He showed no discomfiture at his nakedness, standing bold and magnificent in the candlelight. He raked his hand through his dark hair, obviously troubled. He turned and leaned both arms on the back of the armchair, giving her his back. His shoulder muscles bunched with tension as his hands clenched and unclenched.