Portia Da Costa

by Diamonds in the Rough

  Her mouth was an angry line now, but he imagined it bruised from kissing. Kissing him, not some anonymous, purchased swain. Ire boiled up again, more acidic and fulminating than before. Who’d been kissing her? Who’d been touching her and fucking her? Somebody had, and he wanted to destroy him.

  Oh, why could he not contain this anger? There seemed to be no mental box that would hold it, and worse, it was dragging out other feelings, other hurts in its wake.

  “I don’t believe you, Della,” he growled, and a woman not too far away turned from her brainless conversation about some acquaintance she didn’t like, and looked his way. “There has to have been something in what you said, or else why say it?”

  Adela clamped her jaws together, fierce tension in her face. He knew he was right. She’d spoken the truth, even though she hadn’t meant to. And now that truth was making him a madman. He wanted to be ferocious with her, although not ever hurt her. He wanted to fuck her into submission, bind her and blind her with pleasure, so that she never again thought of another man.

  “I don’t wish to discuss this with you, Wilson. As I said before, it’s none of your business and you have no rights over me.” She turned away, reaching for her tiny coffee cup again, even though he could see from where he sat that it was empty. “Please go away. You’re embarrassing me. People are starting to look.”

  “Let them look.” He glared around at the curious faces turning toward them. Then forced a smile when he saw Mrs. Ruffington twisting her handkerchief anxiously. When he gave her a little wave, she smiled back at him, her entire demeanor signaling a sudden, intense relief.

  What had he done now? Given the clucking mama some false hope? He didn’t really care anymore.

  “Della, who are these men? I need to know.... I’m concerned for you.” It was only partially a lie. Who knew what she’d got herself into? She was a bold woman, though he’d never thought her foolhardy. But even the cleverest of either sex could be duped sometimes, especially when the urges of the flesh were concerned.

  “I won’t discuss it.”

  His desire surged. She was indefatigable. A warrior queen. His cock ached like the very devil and he wanted to toss her down onto the Aubusson carpet, fling up her skirts and mount her right now, regardless of the great and the good around them watching.

  “You’re a coward, Della. You’re afraid to be honest with me.” It was nonsense. She was the least cowardly person he’d ever encountered. But he had to get to her. “You ran from facing the truth with me before, and you’re shrinking from it again.”

  Now he was the coward, almost ready to physically shrink from her. She didn’t move, but in every other way seemed to reach out and strike him.

  “I won’t talk here. I have a headache and I’m going out into the garden to take some air.” Snatching up her reticule, she rose abruptly in an elaborate swish of black taffeta, already walking away from him. “If you care to join me, that’s your affair.” She flung the words over her shoulder.

  Not cowardly now. She was challenging him. He rose to his feet, walking behind her, his eyes on her slim waist and the proud line of her back.

  “Mama, I have a little headache and I think a stroll in the garden will revive me,” she said on reaching the group of ladies where her parent held court. Wilson waited for her to completely ignore his existence, standing behind her, but got a surprise. “Cousin Wilson has offered to escort me, to ensure I come to no harm.”

  He almost laughed out loud, but managed to curb it. What would Mrs. Ruffington think if she could read his churning thoughts and his animal urges? Clearly, she couldn’t, though, for the plump blonde woman looked almost ecstatic. One of her goals for this house party achieved, no less. Her plain daughter courted by the “target” gentleman, an answer to so many problems.

  “Oh, that’s such a good idea, darling. The fresh air is sure to make you feel better.” Mrs. Ruffington patted her daughter’s hand, and beamed around her in Wilson’s direction. “It’s most kind of you, Wilson. I know you’ll take good care of her.” She slid a black shawl off her shoulders and handed it to Adela. “Slip this around you, Della sweetheart. Just in case.”

  “Thank you, Mama.” Adela’s voice was clipped and she almost grabbed the shawl, then stomped away. Wilson nodded to the matriarch and followed in her wake, smiling to himself. That little “act” must have stuck in Adela’s throat like a fish bone, but she’d carried it off. Now she was in a clear hurry to get out of the room, and it wouldn’t surprise him if she took to her heels once outside, so he quickened his pace, pausing only briefly at the French doors to salute her mother. Mrs. Ruffington favored him with another beam of approval, but Wilson noted a definite scowl from that solicitor, Blair Devine, adjacent to her.

  What was all that about? He filed the datum away for perusal later. Adela was his prime concern now, and just as he’d suspected, she was stomping away in an impressively fleet fashion down the garden path, every step an expression of animosity.

  You can run all you like, Della, I’ll still catch you. You’re mine and you can’t get away from me.

  Mine? Mine? The thought almost made him stop in his tracks...but not quite. Adela was getting away.

  * * *

  IT WAS HOPELESS. She would never get away from him. Wilson was tall and long-legged, with a stride like a Thoroughbred’s, and she was hampered by layer after layer of petticoats twisting around her calves and ankles. Wretched things.

  Sweeping along the edge of the formal garden, away from the house and the lights, Adela flung herself down onto a bench, panting hard. But it was more tension and annoyance—and her accursed corset—that made her gasp for breath, not exertion.

  Her cousin was but footsteps behind her, and before she had a chance to compose herself, he was there, too, sitting at her side, long lean legs once more stretched out in front of him. In the shadows, he looked threatening and mysterious.

  “So? Aren’t you going to interrogate me again? That is what you’ve come out here for, isn’t it?”

  His eyes gleamed in the low light as if they were polished, but he didn’t speak, the contrary creature.

  “Well, in that case...” Adela leaped to her feet again, but Wilson whipped out his arm, faster than should have been possible, and grabbed her in a fierce, unyielding grip.

  “Let me go!”

  “No. Sit down. I want to hear about these men of yours.”

  She tried to shake loose, but it was like being in a shackle, on a very short chain.

  “You’re hurting me.” It was a lie, but it worked. He released her instantly.

  If I run to my room he’ll only follow. If I lock the door, he’ll either break in or sit outside until I yield.

  With a sigh, Adela sat down again. “I suppose if I told you that I’d been exaggerating, you wouldn’t believe me, would you?”

  “No. When you first claimed what you claimed, it was spontaneous. A completely unfeigned and guileless statement. I know you weren’t lying then, even if you’d like to do so now.”

  Heat flowed through her body, not only from what she had to tell him, but because perversely, the prospect of telling him excited her. And she’d called him a contrary beast. He was a simple, basic, masculine animal compared to the swirling muddle of fears and desires that she’d become.

  “I’m not afraid of feeling desire for its own sake.”

  There was a long silence. The night air around them felt thick, like a blanket of deep thought pressing down on the pair of them.

  “Nothing to say now, Wilson?”

  Her cousin was staring out at the turf between his feet, as if some answer lay there.

  “I’m trying to bring order to my thoughts. To reconcile my natural reactions with what I know, intellectually, to be correct.” Apparently unaware of what he was doing, he assumed his inimitable position of pondering. Slumped back, he pressed his hands together and laid the tips of his forefingers against his lips. Adela could almost see the cogs of logic
disengaging, spinning free, then locking again.

  “Well, for those of us who aren’t philosophers, have you arrived at any conclusions?”

  He turned to her, eyes still on fire. “Why? Why would you seek out these gigolos? Wouldn’t it have been better...safer...to pursue marriage to satisfy your carnal urges?”

  Adela burst out laughing. She could barely believe it. Her free-thinking, progressive cousin...when had he turned into such a fossil? Such a throwback?

  “I never realized you were so traditional. I thought you of all men would be a supporter of the rights and emancipation of women? Of equality in all matters. Political, economic and not least of all the freedom to dispose of one’s body as one wishes?”

  He looked horrified, but whether at her or himself, she couldn’t tell.

  “I am...but I hate the idea of you paying to be serviced by strangers. It’s unsafe. You could get with child, catch some disease....” Shooting out a hand, lightning fast, he grabbed her arm again. “I can’t bear to think of them touching you.”

  Ire burned like acid in Adela’s chest. A dozen different kinds of anger. How dare he be so possessive now when in all likelihood he’d barely spared a thought for her in seven years? How dare he think so little of her common sense, her intelligence? Against all the odds, she’d believed that he knew her, and knew her worth.

  “What kind of featherbrained nincompoop do you think I am, Wilson?” She jerked her arm, trying to free it, but his hand was an iron clamp again. “I know there are ways to avoid pregnancy, and disease. I’m not one of these silly little chits who just succumb willy-nilly to the attentions of men.”

  Wilson snorted with laughter as Adela realized what she’d said. Seven years ago she’d succumbed willy-nilly. Seven years ago, she’d opened her legs for Wilson without even the knowledge that there were “measures” to be taken, much less the idea of employing them. She could only thank the heavens that her cousin had been as virgin as she, and that by some trick of luck she hadn’t conceived her first time.

  “I’ve grown up a lot since then, Wilson. And learned a great, great deal. I might have been an idiot that once with you, but never since.” She pulled again, and this time his grip seemed to loosen a little, but he still didn’t release her. “At the establishment I attend, all precautions are taken. The gentlemen happily submit to regular examinations by a doctor...and, um, whenever congress occurs, French letters are employed.”

  A vile, profane oath seemed to split the very molecules of the night air. Adela was aware of the word Wilson used, but had never heard it spoken—shouted—in anger. Her cousin, the rarest and most handsome man she’d ever seen, looked almost ugly, like a ferocious beast, enraged and hurt.

  “What? Would you prefer they not use a device? Don’t be ridiculous.”

  Wilson released her. Did he think her polluted? She couldn’t tell. But he looked as if he’d been poleaxed.

  “I’m entitled to pleasure, Wilson. Like every woman,” she said in a low, gritty voice. She wouldn’t be cowed or shocked, or reveal any fear. “And as there have never been any admirers or suitors at my door, there’s been no opportunity to obtain what I wanted through those more conventional means. So I took my chances...bartered a commodity I had in abundance, so I could experience what I lacked.”

  “You could have come to me.”

  What? What nonsense was he speaking? Adela glared at her cousin and matched his stubborn expression with one of her own.

  “Don’t be ridiculous! You didn’t want me. You didn’t want anything to do with me. You sought other women...” How could he not see how impossible this was? “Wilson, you just weren’t there!”

  “Well, I’m bloody well here now!”

  Like a great cat from the jungles of Africa, he lunged forward, pushing her against the back of the seat, holding her with the weight of his body while he took her face between his hands and jammed his mouth against hers in a hard, savage kiss.

  The urge to resist was pure instinct, and she thumped Wilson and pummeled at him even while her traitor mouth yielded. His tongue dived in, pushing against hers, teasing it and taunting it, his fingers around her face and head, digging into her hair and making it impossible to get away from him.

  Animal!

  Her eyes were wide-open, and on that thought, his shot wide, too, silver-blue and brilliant like metal fire. Dear God, he was laughing at her, though in silence. He was amused by her struggles and their lack of effect on him.

  So, much as she refused to admit that she enjoyed the fierce kiss, and wanted more and more and more, Adela redoubled her efforts. And this time, she grabbed at Wilson’s shaggy hair, tugging it until he yelped and let her loose.

  “Ooh, you’re a vicious witch, Della. You always fought unfairly.”

  “As do you, you towering hypocrite!”

  His eyes were still wild, their centers black, pupils dilated. Pulling his hair had only incited him further. He gasped, and shook his head when she released him. “You’ll not do that next time. I’ll shave my head.”

  I should be terrified. He’s bigger than me, wiry and athletic and strong, and he doesn’t care about anything.

  But it wasn’t fear she felt now. Just a chaotic mix of anger and sudden, overpowering lust. Her body was on fire, every bit of it sensitized, every square inch of skin ready and demanding to be touched. By Wilson. Her breasts ached like fury, and in the pit of her belly, desire ground, a relentless mill wheel, inexorable. The division of her sex was molten, running with the silk that welcomed a man.

  “No, you won’t.... Now leave me alone, Wilson. Go away.”

  He laughed again, the sound lighter this time, like music in the night air.

  “Now who’s the hypocrite?” He reached for her again, with a softer touch, cradling her chin, but delicately. The hold secured her as surely as his fierce grip a moment or two ago had. “You don’t want me to go away. You want me to stay and make love to you. Don’t deny it. I can see it in everything about you. You’re panting for me, cousin.” He paused and licked his plush lower lip in a slow, lascivious stroke. “You’re dying for it...ready for it.” His eyes narrowed. “Is this how you feel when you haven’t visited one of your gentlemen for a while? When your body is racked with lust? You claim that you’re entitled to feel desire just like a man.... Well, if you are, why try to hide what it does to your body?”

  Without warning, he plunged forward again. He didn’t grab for her head, or tighten his grip. Adela could have broken free easily. But she didn’t.

  She yielded her mouth to his ferocity, let him plunder and taste, batter her tongue and make her jaw ache. All the while drinking in his darkness like the sweetest wine of life.

  When he set her lips free again, she could have sworn she’d just swigged down a pint of brandy, soaring on a wave of delirious intoxication, but without the faintest hint of the less pleasant aspects of the grape.

  And now she was literally panting. If not for him, from the force of his kiss.

  “Do they kiss you like that, your gentlemen? Are they as good as me? Are you thinking about them, and their cocks, when I touch you?” His voice was hard, rough. A trial to answer.

  The strange thing was, she’d barely thought about any of them at all while in the vicinity of Wilson. Yuri, Clarence and Lionel, the men who’d answered her needs, were all handsome, accomplished and finely versed in every erotic skill...but none of their caresses, nor their polished techniques, meant anything in the face of Wilson’s raw, primitive force. They didn’t actually kiss much on the lips, but it was difficult to remember any of their accomplishments when her cousin was raging around her like a physical storm and blotting out all thoughts of any other man on earth.

  “Do they kiss you?” he demanded, making Adela realize she’d been drifting.

  “Yes, they do, of course,” she lied. “And they’re all very good at it.”

  “Not as good as me, admit it.... You can’t lie. I can tell.”

  H
e was right, and he knew she knew it. But she wasn’t going to yield quite so easily, even if she wanted to.

  “But you’ve barely done anything, Wilson. A little dalliance, a few rather rural kisses... Heavens, you haven’t even fucked me in seven years, and that’s a long, long time.”

  He gave her that slow, calculating, almost vulpine smile again, and through the satin of her glove, his fingertip slowly stroked the skin of her wrist. “Ah, but I will fuck you, Della, and I’ll fuck you soon, mark my words.” The finger moved, circling now, and Adela’s clitoris leaped as if he were at work between the lips of her sex. “Maybe not tonight, or tomorrow, but soon...and you’ll be hot and wet and begging for it when I do.”

  She was almost on the point of begging for it now.

  “No, you won’t, and no, I won’t be.” She wanted to curse because her voice shook a little bit, betraying her lie.

  “Why do you talk such nonsense, cousin?” He seemed calmer now, not so wild and out of control. Adela shuddered, recognizing even greater danger. She knew she should rise from the bench, walk away, not look back. She knew Wilson wouldn’t stop her.

  But she still couldn’t move, much less leave.

  “What does it take to prove to you that you want me? Even if I am just a substitute for your precious gigolos.”

  Never that, never that...they were the substitutes.

  “Let’s get things out in the open, reveal your readiness....” Moving quickly, he plucked at the hem of her gown, and in a panic, Adela grabbed a hank of his hair again as he bent down.

  “No, no, no...” Without any effort at all, he prized her fingers from his hair and quickly grasped both her hands in one of his. With his free hand, he deftly loosened his soft tie and flicked it from around his neck, then in a heartbeat, he had her two hands secured, the foulard fastened around her wrists.

  “Wilson! You devil!” she cried. “What are you doing?” She flexed against the silk but it wouldn’t yield.