“You are dead wrong about that, my dear.” His voice was frigid. “With this insane scheme, you have guaranteed exactly the opposite result from what you intended.”
‘What do you mean?” she faltered.
“I would not marry you if you were the last female in the universe. I would rather be drawn and quartered than do so.”
Chapter 15
Rachel looked down at her captive, his handsome face set in hard lines of implacable hatred and absolute rejection. Her heart seemed to sink to her toes.
Gentleman Jack had warned her that Jerome might react like this. She tried to remember what the highwayman had told her that she must do to make the duke forget his anger at her, but she was so devastated by the hatred in his eyes that she could not think.
“I am curious why you want to marry me so much that you would pull this insane stunt.” Jerome’s voice was like shards of ice. “Are you that determined to be a duchess?”
Rachel was insulted. “Sweet heaven, no! I care naught for that!”
“I do not for a moment believe you. What other reason can you have for being so resolute about marrying me?”
She wanted to tell him the truth, that she had fallen in love with him, but Gentleman Jack had warned her most emphatically that she must not confess that to the duke. To do so, he had insisted, would deliver a mortal blow to her cause.
“He will not believe you,” the highwayman had told her. “He will think you a liar.”
Swallowing the words of love she longed to say to Jerome, Rachel belatedly recalled Gentleman Jack’s very explicit instructions on what she must do next. When he had given them to her, she had blushed crimson and said she did not think she could possibly follow them.
Now, she knew she could not possibly follow them when Jerome was so furious at her. Her courage faltered, but then she remembered the highwayman’s stern warning: You must do exactly as I tell you. It is your only hope of getting him to marry you.
Gritting her teeth, Rachel forced herself to unbutton Jerome’s shirt. He started at her touch, then grew rigid beneath her hand.
As she undid the final button, he demanded in an oddly hoarse voice, “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”
“‘Tis not obvious?” she asked in surprise, “I am undressing you.”
He swore at her. So much for Gentleman Jack’s insistence that a man loved to be undressed by a woman.
Nervously, she forced herself to focus on Jerome’s body. She pulled his shirt aside and found herself staring in helpless admiration at his golden chest, strong and muscled and lightly decorated with swirls of blond hair, a little darker than that on his head. Her breath caught, and she yearned to touch him, to feel the contrasting textures.
She sat down on the bed beside him and lay her hand on his chest, her pale extremity a sharp contrast against his golden skin. She ran her fingers over him, marvelling at his strength and warmth.
He seemed to cease breathing for a moment.
She loved the feel of him. His skin beneath her hand was strangely exciting, and she could not resist trailing her fingers down to the waist of his breeches and his flat belly.
He audibly sucked in his breath.
Her fingers moved upward again and lightly, innocently circled one of his nipples.
He moaned. His breathing became quicker and shallower.
She looked quickly up to his face. His eyes were closed, and his jaw was clenched as though he were in pain.
Alarmed, she asked, “Did I hurt you?”
His eyes opened, and he glared at her. “As if you did not know what you are doing to me, damn you!”
Rachel blinked at him in perplexity but his eyes had closed again.
Her hands were shaking with nervousness and her face was red with embarrassment as she tried to undo the first button of his breeches, the one at his waist. When she succeeded in opening it, he groaned and jerked at his restraints.
“Merciful God, stop it,” he ground out. “Do not touch another button!”
That frightened her. He sounded as though he were truly in pain. Was it that? Or could it be that he was shy about her seeing his body? If the latter were the case, she understood his feelings perfectly.
That was the reason she dreaded carrying out the next steps of Gentleman Jack’s instructions. She had protested against them vehemently, but he had been adamant that she must undress in front of Jerome. The highwayman had told her flatly that if she did not promise him she would do so, he would not help her.
Swallowing hard, Rachel stood up. Her captive was watching her with the strangest expression. She forced herself to smile at him as Gentleman Jack had instructed her to do. But when she tried to unfasten the skirt of her riding habit, her fingers were trembling so, it took her more than a minute to manage it.
Letting it drop to the floor was one of the hardest things she had ever done. Taking her horse over a high fence was easy compared to this.
“Rachel, I will not marry you, no matter what you do.” Jerome said hoarsely, looking almost, desperate as he stared fixedly at her face with hard, angry eyes.
That made it even harder to do what Gentleman Jack had told her she must do now. She hesitated and turned away. She could not do it. Then she remembered the highwayman’s firm admonition that it was the only way she could hope to get Jerome to marry her. She had to continue, and she did, hoping that he did not notice how badly her hands were shaking as she turned back to him and finished unbuttoning her shirt.
Her face, flushed with embarrassment, felt as hot as a fire. It took every ounce of courage and determination she possessed to slip her shirt off and stand before him in her thin white chemise, delicately embroidered with tiny flowers.
Jerome’s gaze flicked down to the garment’s deep neck that was cut so low it barely hid her nipples. It froze there, and a choked sound escaped him. His eyes were no longer stormy with anger, but had deepened to a rich cyan blue.
His intense gaze remained fastened on her breasts. It seemed to penetrate the thin fabric of her chemise. She felt as though he were physically touching her. Her nipples hardened, peculiar shivers rocked her, and suddenly a hot flood of moisture welled between her legs. Rachel was shocked and utterly baffled by her body’s reaction to him.
With clumsy, shaking fingers, she undid the top button of the chemise, but her fingers faltered beneath his hot gaze and her affronted modesty rebelled. She had exposed more of herself to his eyes than any man had ever seen. If he had thought her brazen for returning his kiss, what must he think of her now?
The thought shrivelled her resolve. She had hoped that Jerome would want her, that he would discover that he cared about her as she cared about him, but it was clear that he did not.
And nothing would be worse than to be married to a man who did not want her. At least Lord Felix wanted her, although for the wrong reasons. Rachel could not force herself to follow the remainder of Gentleman Jack’s instructions. She turned away from Jerome and tried to rebutton her chemise, but her hands were shaking so badly she could not manage it.
“Do you mean to stop now?” he asked in a strangled voice.
She nodded, keeping her face averted, so that he could not see the tears welling up in her eyes.
Cursing violently, Jerome pulled furiously, vainly, at the ropes around his wrists, gouging bloody furrows into them.
“Dear God, stop it,” she cried, whirling around. Horrified by the bright red drops that were dripping from his wrists, she grabbed for them, trying to restrain him. But she could not reach the one on the far side of the bed.
Hardly realizing what she was doing so frantic was she to stop him from hurting himself, she clambered up on the bed, yanking the skirt of her shift out of the way, and straddled his upper chest. Leaning forward from this position, she managed to capture both his wrists and hold them down.
He went absolutely still. Indeed, he seemed to have stopped breathing.
“Are you all right?” she asked.<
br />
“Hell, no,” he replied in an agonized voice.
“You have hurt your wrists terribly,” Rachel said, fighting back tears at the sight of the raw, ugly wounds he had inflicted by fighting the ropes. “I have some salve that will ease the pain. I will get it for you if you will promise to stop these futile struggles.”
“Yes, for God sakes, get it,” Jerome croaked. Anything to get her off of him. She was sitting so far forward on his chest that he could actually smell the seductive perfume of her feminine essence, and it was driving him out of his mind. No man not already in the grave could possibly resist such temptation.
Angry as Jerome was at Rachel, her innocent efforts at seducing him had made him want her as he had never wanted a woman in all his twenty-nine years, and that made him all the more furious. Furious at her—but even more so at himself for his own weakness.
She scrambled off of him and ran to the cupboard in the corner, returning with a container of salve that she applied liberally to his wounded wrists. Rachel looked so distressed by them that he was afraid she was going to burst into tears. He was touched, in spite of himself, by her concern for him.
The pain in his wrists, however, was nothing compared to the one in his groin. His manhood was straining, aching and throbbing, against the confines of breeches that had become far too tight.
He had to have the little witch. Jerome was quite certain that he would die if he did not. He was so desperate for her now that he was willing to agree to anything, except marriage, to have her.
When she had finished ministering to his wrists, he asked in a voice that was as raw as they were, “Are you going to remove that damned shift?”
“I cannot do it.” Her voice was suffused with mortification and defeat. “I had hoped . . . I would rather die than marry Lord Felix, but I cannot do this.”
She turned her face away to hide her tears from Jerome, but he could see the wet track down her cheek as he watched her profile. Every other woman would have sought to use her tears as a weapon, but she tried to conceal them.
She reminded him of one of those forlorn kittens she was caring for beneath the hedge in the maze. Jerome forgot his lust and his anger at her in the involuntary swell of compassion that her drooping, humiliated figure generated in him. Had he not been bound he would have taken her in his arms and comforted her.
“Rachel,” he said, his voice suddenly gentle, “I do not blame you for wanting to escape marriage to Lord Felix, and I will do anything I can to help you do so—except marry you myself.”
Nothing on earth would persuade him to do that. He was not such a fool that he would spend his life wondering who had really fathered his purported children.
“You will?” she asked, turning to him, her violet eyes bright with tears. “Then would you... do you think you could at least bring yourself…”
He smiled encouragingly at her. “What are you trying to ask me?”
Her face was crimson. “Will—will you be so kind as to ruin me?”
Jerome sputtered at her choice of words. “It is hardly a kindness that I would be doing you,” he exploded. “Do you know what will happen to you if I do? No other man will marry you.”
“Including Lord Felix,” she pointed out. Jerome should take what was being offered to him. He was not a damned saint. Yet, his conscience troubled him, deflating the physical evidence of his desire for her. She was such an innocent that he wondered whether she even knew what she was asking him to do. “Look at me,” he said sharply. “Do you know what ‘ruining you’ involves?”
She nodded, her eyes grave and certain. “Yes, you will tumble me.”
“And if I do, you will be robbed of husband, children, everything that a woman yearns for. Think of what you will be giving up.”
“Better that than being married to a man I despise and who will make me miserable.”
Perhaps it was. And, when he thought about it, it did not much matter whether he tumbled her or not. After the note she had left, she was effectively ruined no matter what he did. He would be assumed to have slept with her whether he did or not, and he would be roundly castigated for refusing to marry her.
He might as well deserve the censure that would be his.
And enjoy the pleasure of bedding her.
He was convinced now that it was the only way that he could cure his body’s hunger for her.
She swallowed hard. “Please, will you ruin me?”
She was so earnest and anxious that he could not help smiling. “With pleasure. But if I am to do so, I must be untied. It will be impossible otherwise, unless you wish to ruin me.”
She looked at him suspiciously. “Will you run away?”
He gave her a wicked grin. “And miss all the fun of—er, ruining you? Not likely.”
“Oh,” she exclaimed naively, “will you enjoy it?”
“I intend that we both will,” Still he gave her a final chance to back out. “But I must be certain that you fully understand I will not marry you. Nothing will force me to do so.”
“I do not want you to when you feel that way,” she said proudly, and he knew that she was sincere. “I cannot think of anything worse than being married to a man who does not want me. Even marriage to Lord Felix would be preferable to that.”
Rachel untied Jerome’s wrists. With a sigh of relief, he brought his stiff arms down to his sides, rubbing and flexing them to chase the numbness from them.
She released his feet, then watched him with nervous eyes. Despite his promise, she was clearly afraid that he would bolt. “I am not going anywhere,” he assured her,
He reached out to draw her down beside him on the bed, but she instinctively jumped back.
He gave her a teasing grin. “It will be quite impossible for me to ruin you if you insist upon keeping that much distance between us. Now, come here.”
Still she hesitated.
He rolled off the bed and stepped toward her. “I give you my word, Rachel. I won’t hurt you.”
At least not physically. But she would pay a terrible price for this night. He knew that better than she. His earlier fury at her was forgotten. Her courage, her kindness, and her stubborn determination had touched him. He would make their costly night together as good as he possibly could for her.
Rachel let him draw her into his arms. As he held her tightly against him, breathing deeply of her lavender and roses scent, he could feel her body quivering and knew that she was still afraid. He wanted her trembling for him but not from fear.
He stroked her long, beautiful hair and murmured again, “You will enjoy this night. You have my word on that, too.” He continued to hold her to him. Caressing her hair, her face, and her back with his hands until he felt her fully relax against him.
Then he gently tilted her chin up, and his mouth descended on hers in a long, slow kiss that was at first tender and reassuring, then became coaxing and seductive as his tongue traced and teased her lips into opening for him, then explored her mouth.
His hands moved over the curves of her body, warm and soft through the thin cambric of her shift. His body was hardening again, hungry for her. Without breaking their kiss, he stepped back slightly so that she would not feel what was happening to him.
His hand came up to cup her breast, and his finger lightly circled its rosy tip, bringing it to instant attention. His lips dipped to her throat trailing kisses down it.
Rachel was adrift on an ocean of sensation so wonderful that she never wanted to come ashore again. Pleasure and an odd yearning licked through her like a newly set fire.
His fingers unfastened the remaining buttons of her chemise, freeing her breasts. Her cheeks flaming, she started to protest, but then Jerome’s head dipped to one of the sensitive peaks, and he drew it into his mouth. She gasped at the delight radiating through her. He suckled her as a babe would its mother, and it was so exciting she buried her hands in his thick blond hair, holding him to her.
His hand, warm and gentle and unspeakabl
y exciting against her bare skin, slid up beneath the skirt of her chemise, caressing her thighs and belly.
When he at last lifted his head and withdrew his hand, she was so lost in bliss that she hardly noticed what he was doing. She gave a little gasp as her chemise suddenly fell away from her and dropped to the floor.
No man had ever seen her naked before, and she instinctively tried to hide herself from Jerome’s eyes by closing her arms around herself. But he would not let her. Instead he looped her arms over his neck and pulled her into his own,
She revelled in the warmth and texture of his skin pressed against her breasts, and she could feel the fierce beat of his heart, its accelerated pace matching her own.
“Do not hide yourself from me—you are the most gorgeous creature I have ever seen,” he murmured against her ear, his voice hot and husky and enticing. “Let me look at you.”
And she did, shyly thrilling to the appreciation, as loud as words, in his hot, cyan eyes.
Smiling, he asked, “Would you like to finish what you started earlier with my breeches and unbutton them, or shall I?”
Rachel looked down and gasped at the sight of the bulge in them. “Sweet heaven, what is wrong with you? Have you been bitten by a poisonous creature?”
His eyes alight with amusement, he said, “You are the poisonous creature, my sweet temptation. It is the effect you have on me.”
“What an unkind thing to say to me,” she said indignantly certain that there was no way she could be responsible for such an obviously painful condition. “You cannot blame that terrible swelling on me. I have not even touched you there.”
“No, more’s the pity,” he said hoarsely. “That swelling is not normal.”
“Believe me,” Jerome said grimly, “it is very normal when I am around you.”
She looked at him, baffled. “I do not understand.”
“I see that you do not, but you will soon.” Rachel was still worried for him. Such swelling must surely be dangerous, and she said, “I want to understand now.”
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