He slid his palms down her thighs, squeezing one and then lifting it, draping her leg over his shoulder to open her up. His tongue darted inside of her, swirling and plunging deep, his teeth gently scraping against the distended, pulsing bud at her center. She bit back another cry, hips bucking and her insides going up in flames as he went at her as if determined to devour her whole, licking up every drop of wetness he coaxed from within her. She shattered when he latched onto her clit, sucking with strong, merciless pulls that caused her legs to shake. He cupped her buttocks and held her in place, circling his tongue against her sensitive nub and drawing out her explosive ending.
She hauled him to his feet by his hair, then pushed him onto the bed. He went down with a little huff, coming up on his elbows to watch as she freed him from the tangle of his boots and breeches.
She couldn’t get to him fast enough, crawling over him before he’d gotten a chance to pull his legs up onto the bed. Straddling him, she took hold of his face and claimed his mouth, plunging her tongue in and feeding off the taste of her own arousal still lingering on his lips. He wrapped an arm around her waist and slid farther up the bed, taking her with him until they were stretched out, chest to chest and pelvis to pelvis, limbs entangled and lips locked. He threaded his fingers through her hair and held her close, returning her ravaging kiss with his own fervor, sucking and nipping at her lips. He nudged a leg between hers to part them, fitting her over his cock so all it would take was one stroke to enter her, to give them both the thing they wanted most.
He tightened his grip on her hair and pulled, lifting her head so she looked him in the eye.
“Take me,” he whispered, his lips brushing against hers. “I’m yours, Cass.”
She took him inside her with one swift motion, the way made slick by the attentions of his tongue. Bracing her hands on his chest, she rocked against him, rolling her hips and using the friction of his body to stimulate her clit with each motion. He took hold of her arse and urged her faster, harder, his hips raising to meet her every downward motion. She threw her head back and gave herself over to the moment, pushing aside the last of her anger and resistance.
Tomorrow, she had a mission to carry out, a vendetta to see through to the end. Tonight, she could have Robert—without thought, without worry, without reservation or fear. She’d already given it all to him, branding it into his skin for them both to see and feel. Now there was only this.
His tongue stroked a hot path from one breast to the other, then his lips latched on to suckle, drawing her nipple in deep and sending twinges of ecstasy straight to her core. She clutched his head and held him against her, burying her face in his curls and drinking in his scent, the feel of him against her, inside her.
The bite of his teeth against the tip of her breast sent a lightning strike of heat and pleasure straight to her core.
“Robert,” she groaned, arching her back in wordless plea for more.
He met her gaze, cupping her breasts with both hands while her movements atop him became more erratic, her explosive ending lingering just within reach. He planted his feet on the mattress and used it for leverage, quickening his own thrusts inside of her.
“That’s it,” he whispered, tugging at her nipples with gentle insistence, his cock steadily stroking right against the sweet spot inside her. “Let go, Cass …”
She was so close, panting and shaking as the building pressure within her seem to reach its zenith. The exquisite pleasure of his fingers pinching tight to her nipples stabbed through her and she spent with a shrill cry, collapsing on top of him and clinging tight as it washed through her with ten times the power of her previous one. Robert kept his up his pace, wrapping his arms around her and thrusting through her finish, strengthening each wave of her climax. He buried her faced in his neck and gave herself over to it, the strength leaving her limbs as her insides clenched and rippled around him, the intensity of it stealing the air from her lungs.
Finally, she came back down, her breath coming out in a rush as the pounding spasms within dulled to deep twinges she felt to the far reaches of her body.
Robert was right behind her, seeming to try to dig deeper with each surge of his hips.
“Cass, I … I’m going to …”
She forced herself off him before he could spill inside her, crawling down his body and taking his cock in hand. He gasped when she sucked him into her mouth, drawing him deep and swirling her tongue around his head. Then, his fingers were tangled in her hair as he thrust into her mouth and released, his entire body trembling with the force of it. She accepted it all, her palate bathed with the taste of both him and her at once.
When he’d gone still beneath her, his rough groans melting away into harsh, ragged breaths, she released him from her mouth.
Her own body surrendered to fatigue, the events of the day as well as their vigorous coupling taking their toll. She managed to crawl up beside him before she fell onto the bed with a heavy sigh, her eyes drifting closed.
For a long moment, there was only the heat radiating off him and the grating sound of his rapid breaths mingling with her own. Then, she registered movement, felt his arms coming around her and the coverlet drifting over her naked body. Instead of retreating from the shelter of his body, she sank into it, letting herself enjoy the press of his chest against her back, the tangle of his legs with hers.
Tomorrow, she’d have to fight again. Tonight, she was exhausted, worn thin, her walls cracked and crumbled due to the man who how held her in his arms.
He nuzzled her neck as she began drifting off to sleep, his breath now slow and steady against her ear, the thump of his heartbeat against her back now returned to normal.
“I love you, Cass,” he mumbled before pressing a kiss to her shoulder.
She stiffened in his hold, prepared to roll away from him, to leave the room altogether and run back to Suffolk on foot if she had to. Anything to be away from him, from the words that had the power to break through the last of her defenses.
He tightened his hold as if he’d expected such a reaction. She squirmed in his grip, but could not break it—a stunning reminder that he’d always been strong enough to subdue her if he’d wished, to hurt her if it were in his nature.
“Shh, it’s all right,” he whispered. “You can go back to running from me tomorrow if you like. Just know that I don’t intend to stop chasing you. I love you, and it won’t be any less true in the morning than it is right now. Now, sleep … I know you haven’t been resting.”
She hadn’t been, and didn’t even possess the strength to wiggle out of his hold. So, she relaxed in his arms and allowed him to nestle her even tighter against him, the softened length of his cock pressed against her arse. He’d be hard again before long, the organ in the perfect position to enter her from behind. But, even that did not worry her. Robert had earned her trust, and she could sleep secure in the knowledge that he would never take advantage of her vulnerability. She was as safe as she’d ever been at that moment.
Closing her eyes, she relaxed against him. Within moments, she’d drifted into a peaceful, dreamless sleep.
ROBERT SAT on the edge of the bed in Cassandra’s hotel room, staring down at the mask in his hands. She had distracted him this morning, shifting his focus from confronting her over her identity as the Masked Menace, to making certain she understood he could not be chased off. He’d faced her anger, taken on her pain as his own, and melted with her into a pool of heated ecstasy. He’d slept in her bed, holding her in his arms and reveling in how it felt to be allowed such closeness.
He had roused before her, the bright light of the late afternoon sun shining through the window facing the front courtyard. Instead of awakening her, he’d lain there and drunk in the sight of her, still and peaceful in sleep. Her beauty seemed different when she was at rest, her face completely still, the defensive expression she often wore wiped away. Even with dark circles showing beneath her eyes from lack of sleep, she was a dream, soft and
warm and entirely his.
But, once he’d left the bed to get dressed, he began to steel himself for the fight ahead. For, fight him she would. Now that he’d dared to ferret out her secrets, now that he’d confessed his love for her, she would battle him like never before. He was prepared to stand his ground—not just for her love, but for her life, which would be forfeit if she carried on with her dangerous vendetta.
He hadn’t realized how deep and dark the pit of rage and revenge she’d buried herself in actually was. As it turned out, this thing with Sir Downing represented only a fraction of Cassandra’s deeds. He was not making something out of nothing—a person who rode about on horseback alone with a mask and domino in her possession proved a likely suspect. When he thought over what he knew of the victims, and that the attacks had not begun until after Bertram’s trial, the evidence seen to point vaguely in Cassandra’s direction.
She needed him far more than she would admit, more than even he had realized. No matter how she tried to convince him she did not require saving, Robert believed otherwise.
She needed to be saved from her anger, from the deadly noose of vengeance, from herself.
He turned to find her stirring, a deep sigh rushing through her nose as she stretched before rubbing her eyes. Remaining silent and still to allow her to come to full wakefulness, he observed the phenomenon of her transformation. Her soft expression hardened by degrees, eyes going shuttered and mouth tightening, as if upon awakening she’d found the world to still be as dark and miserable as ever.
Blinking, she turned her head to find him sitting there, then lowered her gaze to the mask in his hands.
“Good afternoon,” he murmured, drawing her gaze back up to his face.
Having settled Felix in lodgings of his own with instructions to await his return, Robert had brought only a valise with a few essentials. Thankfully, she hadn’t destroyed his breeches, and he’d had the foresight to pack a fresh shirt and waistcoat. He was now as decent as he was like to get, his hair falling in disarray without Felix’s pomades to arrange it into their signature tousle. He hadn’t bothered to shave either, two days’ worth of stubble prickling along his jaw.
“I thought to wake you and send for a meal, but you slept so peacefully I didn’t wish to wake you,” he said as she sat up in bed and tossed the coverlet aside.
She found her discarded shirt on the floor and bent to pick it up. Once she donned it, she turned to face him, the garment hanging to her thighs. Its buttons remained open, offering a tantalizing glimpse of her cleavage. It slipped to expose one shoulder as she sat in a chair facing the bed, hands folded in her lap as she stared him down.
“Well, I suppose I cannot be rid of you, can I?”
Despite the harshness of her tone, he grinned. “Never. I meant what I said last night.”
Her gaze faltered, landing the mask in his hands. She seemed determined to ignore this morning’s declaration, as well as the vulnerability he’d coaxed to the surface once again. It did not matter that she’d taken a crop to him first, forcing him to withstand the brunt of her anger. After that, he’d gotten the same glimpse of her he was always allowed when he submitted and gave her every part of himself.
Rather than press the issue, he decided to get to the most important matter. He held up the mask, turning it over in his hands and studying the gaping holes for eyes.
“You are the Masked Menace. I questioned you last night, when in my heart I already knew. You all but told me when I asked you what you loved, what you would fight for. Justice, you said.”
He paused, leaning forward and seeking out her gaze.
“The sort of justice you were denied until it was too late,” he continued when she said nothing. “The sort of justice countless other women are denied. You grew tired of being the victim, of being afraid and helpless. So, you decided to fight for people who cannot fight for themselves—in the same way you wish someone had fought for you.”
Her jaw flexed, her nostrils flaring as she seemed to fight against reacting to his words. Reaching across the space between them, he touched her knee, forcing her to acknowledge him. She flinched, but did not pull away from his touch. Her eyes burned with a barely contained fire, the silver streaks in her blue irises flashing like lightning.
“Will you at least tell me I’m right?” he prodded. “Tell me it’s true.”
She crossed her legs, prompting him to take his hand away. Settling more comfortably in her chair, she sighed.
“When Randall first came into my service, he was fresh out of mourning,” she said, her voice giving no hint to how revealing this must make her feel. “I had decided I’d had enough of the ton’s pious judgment. With the trial over and Bertram dead, I wanted nothing more than to move forward with my life. But, you see, moving forward was all but impossible when my assailant seemed to be everywhere, all the time, haunting me. I saw him in the other men around me—some who might never have done me harm, but others who certainly would if given the chance. When I caught Randall weeping in the stables one evening, I asked him what the matter was. He confessed that while he was out of mourning, he still had not recovered from the crushing loss of his wife. When I asked him what happened to her, he did not wish to tell me at first. I think he believed it might have been difficult for me to hear given my own trauma. But, eventually I coerced him into telling me.”
Her words ripped him to shreds, despite the matter-of-fact way she delivered them.
“She was set upon by two men thinking to make sport of her,” she went on. “Because she was a servant, they saw her as easy prey. Apparently, she put up too much of a fight and one of them struck her. The blow to the head caused her death.”
Robert flinched, his chest aching as he thought of anyone suffering such a fate. Knowing what Cassandra had endured he found himself grateful that she’d survived, at least.
“Did Randall report what he knew to anyone?”
She snorted. “His former master was one of the men responsible for her death. He is an earl who Randall feared going against publicly. No one would believe a servant over a lord of the ton, and he knew that. He resigned his post, and found himself in my service. I do not think he ever imagined that his new mistress would take such an interest in avenging his wife.”
He turned the mask over in his hands and imagined her wearing it, descending upon her prey in the dark with her eyes blazing through the slits.
“The Masked Menace was only a facade,” he whispered as the fragments of what he knew came together in his mind. “You used it to strike out at men who had harmed women.”
“I started with the earl, tracking him down along the road to Norfolk. Then, I found his friend a few nights later just outside Town. Taking their valuables only covered up my true aims … meting out punishment for the atrocities they thought they’d gotten away with.”
“How did you punish them?”
“With the only thing men like them seem to understand,” she hedged. “Threats and pain.”
Thinking of what Millicent had told him, he could imagine just how she went about delivering that pain. She’d learned to fight, to use a knife and a pistol. He doubted she was above using them when necessary.
“From there, I decided that I must take it upon myself to sniff out more secrets,” she said. “It is interesting, the things a person can hear when the world ignores them. I listened and I investigated, and I sought out the men who think it their right to abuse the women in their care. It was working … they were all afraid—so afraid that not one of them has revealed that the Masked Menace is really a woman. The papers do not even make mention of the things they suffered at my hand, because they are ashamed to admit what I did to them and why they deserved it—as well they should be.”
He stood, leaving the mask on the bed. “Cass, I understand—”
“How could you?” she exploded, coming to her feet as well. Her eyes flashed with lightning strikes of fury, hands balling into fists. “What do you know of
my pain—you, with you perfect, pretty face, and your loving parents, and your idyllic life. The woman you loved tossing you over is the most tragic thing that’s ever happened to you, and it led you straight into my bed. Oh, how horrid that must have been for you!”
Her words fell on him like physical blows, their strikes effective. She wanted to hurt him, to push him away. It was the same thing she’d done last night, lashing out in an attempt at scaring him off.
Stepping closer, he took hold of her wrists and eased her back into her chair. She tried to fight him, but he tightened his grip, forcing her to go still.
“You think I don’t know pain?” he rasped, the ache caused by her words coming through in his voice.
He hadn’t meant to allow her to shake him this way, but her assumption rankled more than he care to admit. It had felt like an accusation, as if she saw his lack of anguish as some sort of character defect.
“You do not know what you are talking about,” he snapped. “You’ve no idea the pain I have felt, or the losses I have endured.”
Releasing her wrists, he went to his valise, which sat open on the other side of the room. He reached inside and took hold of the three miniatures he never left home without. He liked the idea of taking his brothers with him everywhere he went.
He returned to Cassandra, cradling the three frames in his arms. Her gaze grew curious as he took one in hand and extended it to her. The young face of Andrew stared up at them—so solemn for a boy so young.
“This was Andrew, and he was the first of my brothers to die.”
She started as if his words had shocked her, wide eyes moving from the miniature to him. “I had no idea you had a brother.”
The Damsel: A Villain Duology Sequel Page 23