“Touch me again, and I swear you’re a dead man.”
From the pitch of his voice Rufus had no doubt the “thing” before him was a young man. A boy really.
His tormentor stopped in front of him once more, and in reply to his threat simply reached out and cupped Rufus’s balls in his hand and lightly squeezed. “Magnificent.”
Rufus fought against his bindings, trying to escape his touch but to no avail. He swallowed the bile in his throat.
With a sigh the boy turned and walked toward the chest along the stone wall. “But you are not for me.” He glanced over his shoulder, and the mask split as he smiled. “Not yet anyway. My master is the only man allowed to initiate a new pleasure toy.” He took out a bottle. “But if I am very good, if I prepare you well, I get to play once he is finished with you.”
Rufus’s heart was pounding in his chest, sweat peppered his skin, and he thought he was going to vomit. The thought of the boy touching him terrified him. As the boy approached him, with his hands covered in liquid, he tried not to let his fear show.
“Who is your master?”
The boy began by sliding his hands over Rufus’s chest, working the oil deep into his muscles. The pungent oil made his nostrils flare, and he gagged. The smell was sickly sweet.
Opium.
The oil contained opium. They were trying to drug him.
“Patience. Don’t worry. There is not enough opium in the oil to render you unconscious. It’s simply the master’s way to help you relax. To make you more receptive to his touch ...”
The boy worked quietly but earnestly. He moved around behind Rufus and worked the oil all over his back, from his neck all the way down both his legs. Working it into every crevice of his body.
Rufus struggled against the chains, but it was hopeless. He screwed his eyes closed, trying to imagine himself anywhere but here. Trying to imagine he was not being molested. He could not help the automatic reflex to clench his buttocks against the invading hands.
Once his back was covered, the boy moved to stand in front of Rufus, and Rufus knew what he was going to do. Bile threatened to choke him. He swallowed. “When I get free, you’ll wish you’d killed me when you could.”
The boy ignored him, coating his genitals in the oil, stroking him intimately all over. The boy’s voice was breathy. “Once all the opium seeping into your skin begins to work, you’ll have no choice but to enjoy it.”
Rufus gritted his teeth and tried to disassociate himself from the feel of the boy’s hands on him.
He could feel the opium beginning to work. He tried to tell his brain not to respond to the stimulus. But the boy knew what he was doing. Rufus pulled on his metal cuffs. The pain of the metal chaffing his skin kept him from succumbing to the drug’s numbing effects.
He could hear the boy’s ragged breathing as he grew more aroused in his work.
“That’s enough, Samuel,” a voice growled from the door.
Rufus’s head swung around to the sound of a familiar voice. His taut muscles relaxed with hope, only a few seconds later to begin trembling when he saw the apparition before him.
His revulsion turned to horrified surprise.
“Ah, Rufus. I do wish you’d stop fighting your body’s natural response to stimulation. I suspect that like the rest of you, your erection will be splendid.”
Lord Christopher Hale stood before him. But not the Christopher he knew. This man was dressed in a gentleman’s dressing robe of deep blue silk, and he was obviously naked underneath. His pupils were dilated, and the skin at the V of his neck glistened with oil, too.
Christopher took another step toward him and whispered, “The veins in your neck look as if they are about to burst, you’re trying so hard to resist.” He reached out and ran a finger from Rufus’s chest to his groin. “That can’t be good for you. Let me tell you, my fine friend, not even you will be able to withstand the opium’s effects for long.”
Rufus couldn’t control the tremors racking his body, but he fought not to let his horror show, willing every muscle in his face not to flinch. The touch of Christopher’s finger revolted him, yet his body and mind almost welcomed the chance to focus his anger.
“Aren’t you a clever one?” His voice strangled in his throat. “But not that clever. I found your lair. If I can, then my men won’t be far behind.”
Christopher merely smiled and cupped Rufus’s cheek. “Your men do not know where you are. I saw you leave Rheda with the boy on the beach. I will think of you when I take her to the marriage bed. Did she tell you she’d practically begged me to marry her?”
It took all of Rufus’s skill not to shudder at the deep knife wound of betrayal spurred by his words. “You lie,” he said, but heard his own conviction waning.
He refused to flinch when Christopher whispered in his ear. “She told me all about you, Rufus. How you ruined her and how you are here in Deal hunting for a spy. Why would she do that unless she did not want you?”
Christopher was likely playing with him, but how did he know about Rufus’s mission? He couldn’t, unless someone had told him.
Cold ice spears struck. Betrayal, Rheda’s betrayal, cut him to the bone. She’d been in league with this monster, an abuser of children, all along. Her treachery hurt more than anything this man could do to him. His body went rigid with anger. His gaze cold, he looked at the monster in front of him and said, “You can have her. I came for you, and now I have found you.”
Christopher laughed. “Bravo. No, my sweet thing. I’ve found you. How like your father you are. He was a beautiful man, too. But alas, like father like son. He did not understand the pleasure to be found between men. I killed him for it. Just as I will kill you.”
Suddenly, Christopher grabbed Rufus’s head with both hands and kissed him violently. It was not a kiss of passion. It was hard and brutal. Rufus tasted blood as the man ground his teeth against Rufus’s dried and cracked lips.
When Christopher let go and stepped back, Rufus jerked on his chains and spat the blood from his mouth.
“But unlike your father, I intend to initiate you into my erotic world before I kill you. I have been salivating over tasting you since you were a young man.”
Rufus blocked the images his words evoked. “You killed my father? Why? How?” The shock and the opium had numbed his brain, slowed his reactions. Only now did he see that Christopher had begun to untie the cord to his robe.
“If you behave I might tell you—just before I kill you.” Christopher moved in close and licked Rufus’s nipple.
Rufus counted to ten and forced himself to ignore the threat standing before him. “You’ve fooled us all, Hale.” He gazed at his captor. “You’ve been wearing a disguise. Padding I assume. There is not an ounce of fat on you.”
Christopher preened. “So nice of you to notice.” He ran his hand down over Rufus’s chest, stomach, and around to his buttocks. “My body is not as magnificent as yours. Yours is all gleaming, solid muscle.” He sighed and stepped back, then turned his palms up, his robe falling open. “I deemed a disguise necessary. In case anyone witnessed a boy being taken. No one would suspect me. As an overweight, wet fish, mummy’s boy, I’m inconsequential. I’m overlooked, ignored, and never a suspect in any wrongdoing.”
“You appear to be well versed with wrongdoing, traitre.”
Christopher laughed. “Oui. I knew the boy had heard me speak in French. A pity that. The boy has to die.” His eyes flashed with anger. “As now will Rheda. You really should not have involved her. Your seduction of her upset my carefully laid plans. Although I take no pleasure in women, they are essential for one thing only—an heir.”
Rufus shook his head. He was missing something here. “Why kill Rheda? She works with you.” It did not take long to understand. It was silly what a rush of relief did to his spirits when he was still chained and in danger of being raped. “She doesn’t work for you. She doesn’t know who you are. She came to you for help, nothing more—”
Rufus kept his face expressionless, but his heart bloomed in his chest. Rheda hadn’t betrayed him.
“She came to me and told me everything. A bumbling idiot is never suspected of wrongdoing. She had no idea that I was anything other than what she saw.”
Relief flooded through Rufus, quickly followed by guilt. Rheda would never align herself knowingly with evil. Yet, Rufus couldn’t help his question. “Why on earth would she come to you?”
Christopher gave a satisfied smile. “To beg me to marry her so she could save you from your honorable sacrifice. She didn’t want to see you involved in further scandal by being forced to marry her. The silly girl loves you.”
Rufus closed his eyes against the anger. Anger at himself. If he’d not been such a coward and hidden from his true feelings for Rheda, she would never have sought Christopher out.
“I saw her go to the cove and watched you follow her. So I set up a trap. Connor was a very convenient tool. You, of course, raced to his rescue. It was too easy. Soon, Napoleon will be victorious and I shall be free to carry on my life. Rheda was to have been my wife. When I was ready. Why do you think I encouraged her smuggling operation? For leverage, of course.”
“Rheda knew nothing of your treason. How do you use her to send the communiqués?”
“I exchanged wool for brandy. She never suspected anything. The odd bale here and there. She thought it quaint that a rich earl would risk free trading for brandy.” He laughed. “Little did she know that I’d woven messages into the bale’s warp and weft. This war will be over soon, and the French will win.”
“I hate to pour cold water on your fantasy, but Napoleon is never going to win.”
“That is what your father thought twelve years ago. France has never been stronger. Napoleon is on the verge of a great victory.”
At the mention of his father, Rufus’s heart thudded against his rib cage. His father had died at Hastingleigh. Knowing what he did now about Christopher, this could no longer be a coincidence.
“How does an English earl’s son become France’s deadliest spy?”
Christopher moved close, his mouth inches from Rufus’s lips. Rufus refused to flinch, refused to show how much his erstwhile friend now sickened him.
“You are not stupid, mon ami. A man with my tastes—my distinct appetites—is easy to exploit. I was careless in Paris in my youth. I found myself caught in a morally bankrupt position. I’m sure you can guess to what I’m inferring.” He placed a fleeting kiss on Rufus’s lips. “The French had enough evidence to have me imprisoned for ‘the rest of my unnatural life’ if I did not cooperate. For the future Earl of Hastingleigh, that would never do.”
“What has my father got to do with any of this?” All of his body felt cold, even with the fire blazing behind him, and he cringed at the thought of what he might hear.
Christopher’s mouth curled back in an evil smile. “Nothing. That’s the joke, nothing. The added bonus to killing your father was watching you fall apart.” He moved behind Rufus and began running his hands over his back, buttocks, and legs. “You put on such a stoic front when rumors of your father’s treason arose.” Warm lips pressed against his skin, and Rufus realized what it meant to have your flesh crawl.
“I didn’t plan to frame him for treason. Lord Ashford was at that time a field agent, and he was closing in. I had to turn his suspicions in another direction. When Lord Strathmore’s gun accidentally went off in our struggle, I immediately grabbed the opportunity presented. I planted a minor com-muniqué into his pocket. Nothing that would see him found guilty but enough evidence to raise doubt in Ashford’s mind and throw them off my scent.”
“So you killed my father for convenience. So heroic.” Christopher moved slowly around to face Rufus, his hand trailing over Rufus’s skin like a cold reptile. “No. I killed him because he was going to expose me—expose my ‘unnatural’ predilections to my father. He’d caught me with a young stable lad. He’d threatened to go to my father unless I left England immediately. I could hardly do that when the French already owned me.”
Rufus’s head lowered, and he let out a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding. His father was innocent. Now all he needed to do was capture Christopher and get him to tell Lord Ashford the truth. Fear slithered away as blood-surging determination to escape seized every inch of his body. His muscles tightened and flexed.
If he could clear his father, the Strathmore name would be all about honor once more. He yanked on his chains. He could perhaps gain a little of his life back. If he still had one by the time Christopher was finished with him.
He would survive. When he did, he’d be free to make his life what he wanted. What did he want? He sucked in a breath. He wanted—Rheda ...
Averting his eyes he gulped down his fear as Christopher slipped the robe from his body.
“You may leave us, Samuel,” Christopher whispered, desire hitching his voice.
“I want to watch.”
Christopher moved to the boy and kissed him passionately through the mask. “You may play with our new toy later. Once I have finished.”
Rufus’s insides turned liquid. He prayed he’d have the strength to endure. Stephen couldn’t be far away, unless—his breath faltered—unless Christopher had captured Rheda and Connor before they’d reached Stephen. He closed his eyes. Sweat trickled down his back, and yet he’d never felt so cold.
A warm hand on his chest made him open his eyes and brought him back to reality. The hand traveled toward his groin. He would not be this man’s plaything. He shifted his head back. “Christopher ...”
Christopher moved his face closer. Rufus sent his head crashing forward, but the effects of the opium slowed him down. Christopher pulled back, and Rufus’s head found only air as his chin slammed into his own chest.
Christopher gripped Rufus’s chin in his large hand. “I shall enjoy taking you. I’ve dreamt about having you for years.” Christopher fondled him intimately and began to pepper kisses down Rufus’s stomach as he dropped to his knees. Rufus was like a caged wild animal, fighting his bindings, fighting to avoid Christopher’s disgusting mouth. His eyes screwed tight, not believing what was happening to him.
Suddenly, the door at the side of the chamber burst open. “Get your mouth off him, you pervert!”
Rheda.
Chapter 22
Equal parts fear, embarrassment, and relief swept through him as she stepped into the room and closed the door softly behind her, a pistol pointed directly at Lord Hale. Rufus ran his tongue over his swollen, bloodied lips. He tried to keep his voice steady so Rheda wouldn’t learn how close he’d come to breaking down.
“Find the keys and release me from these chains.” Christopher turned so he stood facing Rheda. Rufus saw the blush sweep up Rheda’s neck and onto her face as she saw the condition Christopher was in.
Christopher slid his hands down his body. “I’m happy for you to search me. However, being naked it is rather difficult to hide a key on my person.” Christopher stepped toward Rheda.
“Keep away from her—”
“It’s all right, Rufus. If he takes one more step, I’ll ensure he can’t molest anyone ever again.” She lowered her aim from Christopher’s chest to his groin, bravely staring the other man down. Christopher halted, a snarl curling his lip.
Rheda knew she shouldn’t think it, but Rufus looked magnificent. His split lip the only sign that he’d been hurt, although from what she’d seen when she’d thrown open the door, she wasn’t sure of what he’d had to endure. Terrible thoughts polluted her mind. He was alive; that was all that mattered.
She swallowed back a cry. But if Christopher had ... It would be her fault.
It was then she caught the first waft of the sweet sickly smell. What was it? It was a plea
sant odor, but one that sent unease skittering down every inch of her spine. She shook her head. She had to concentrate.
Before her stood a trim Christopher she did not know; one with no softness to his form or his eyes. His pale blue eyes glinted cold and deadly in the candlelight.
Her voice shook with rage. “I want the keys to unlock his shackles.” Christopher made to move. “Don’t move. Just tell me where they are.” He pointed toward the sideboard at the back of the dungeon. She made her way toward the keys, her eyes never leaving Christopher’s face. She scooped them up and made to throw them to Christopher. “Release him.”
“No. You do it, Rhe. I don’t want him near me.” She’d never heard Rufus plead before, and her heart constricted in agony. What had Christopher done to him? No. She’d done this to him. She’d betrayed his confidence, thinking as always that she knew better, and had sent him straight into a trap.
Would he ever be able to forgive her?
She managed to get the shackles at his ankles unlocked, but with growing horror she realized she couldn’t reach the manacles about his wrists. She tentatively touched his chest and looked deep into his eyes. “Rufus, I can’t reach,” she calmly uttered.
Her voice and touch seemed to soothe him. She could physically feel his body gather itself. He nodded, his expression murderous. She hated to think what he was planning to do to Christopher once he was free.
No doubt the same thought had occurred to Christopher. He would be getting desperate. She needed to watch him like a snake watches its victim before it strikes.
She beckoned Christopher closer and tossed him the keys. “You do it. If you touch any part of him except the chains, I’ll make you wish you’d never been born.”
Christopher approached Rufus as timidly as a deer advancing into an open field. At Rufus’s side he hesitated.
“Get on with it,” she ordered, trying to keep her voice firm when inside she was shaking like a leaf.
She knew the last lock had been released when Rufus swung his fist around and connected with Christopher’s chin. Christopher went down on his bare behind with a thud. Rheda would have smiled had not Rufus followed him to the floor, his legs buckling beneath him.
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