A butler wearing a grin opened the massive oak door before they’d ascended the five stone steps, but the smile faded the moment he looked at Ramsay and any greeting he’d prepared died on his lips. Instead he simply nodded and held the door ajar as Ramsay led her into a richly furnished foyer of dark green and golden hues. The marble beneath her feet was the finest cut Italianate with delicate gold veining, the tapestries on the wall expertly woven, yet faded from years of wear. The cool polish of her new home seemed a perfect fit for her new husband, a man who didn’t resemble in the least the exciting, easygoing man she’d become so closely acquainted with these past weeks. The rustic warmth she’d known with Julian in the humble cottage would never fit into these surroundings.
The thought filled Izzy with sorrow and her throat clogged with tears. That Julian had never truly existed, and that she’d never see him again was suddenly more than she could bear, especially since the only thing she wanted was to see a small hint of Julian in her husband. She stared at her feet, fighting the desperate need to cry.
Ramsay didn’t introduce her to the butler. Propriety was hardly on his mind, which was made all too apparent when he motioned her to precede him up the stairs with naught but a jerk of the head. Izzy had never been in this house before, but the servants at Rendstell would have sent on her belongings earlier in the day. She assumed he was taking her to what would be her bedchamber. As she stiffly ascended the stairs she couldn’t help wonder if this was how the regicides felt on their way to the gallows at the behest of the newly restored king.
Izzy breathed deeply, forcing herself to remain calm and think rationally about what was to come. Whether he took her to a bedchamber of her own or to his chamber, she need not fear unduly. Even though he was furious, even though he wasn’t Julian, this man had always been patient and tender with her in previous relations of this sort. ‘Twas normal to feel trepidation on one’s wedding night, for she was a virgin, but more than uncertainty of the unknown, she had nothing to fear. And perhaps once they were alone, together, Ramsay would be in a more amenable mood and they could talk about her false confession and laugh about it. Surely they’d have to speak at some time. Ramsay wouldn’t want to make love to her while he was so angry, would he? If they were to consummate the marriage this night, surely they must find common ground first. Or perhaps he was so angry he wouldn’t want to consummate their union this night.
She wasn’t sure which option she preferred, but finally, Izzy began to relax. Either way, there was nothing to fear overmuch.
Before they climbed even a third of the way Ramsay’s fingers tightened around her arm and he dragged her to a sudden halt. She turned to him in confusion, but he wasn’t looking at her.
“Hawthorne!”
The butler reappeared instantly in the foyer below, ready to please. “Aye, my lord?”
“We are not to be disturbed under any circumstance. No matter what you hear from my chamber, we are to be left alone. Is that understood?”
“Of course, my lord.”
Izzy went cold with terror.
***
Ram had waited for this night for one very long month, and while he was now saddled with a faithless bride, he’d at least get his full enjoyment on her. The thought almost amused him. Who could have imagined there’d ever be a silver lining when it came to having a whore for wife?
Though he’d pretended otherwise, he’d been aware of Izzy every moment of the day. Her coldness had been expected after the events in the baron’s study. But the haughty little bitch had spent the entire day in a sulk, rebuffing both her father and Belinda, too, presumably for the part each had played in the hellish farce that had culminated with the wedding. No doubt not getting her way for once had pricked her spoiled pride and mauled her shallow dignity.
’Twas obvious now she thought to manipulate him in order to gain the upper hand, hence the sudden portrayal as a shy, frightened bride. He snorted as he thought about her earlier request, that he indulge her, of all things. As if a lifetime of pampering and indulgence hadn’t already caused enough damage, hadn’t led her to believe she could behave any way she pleased without consequences. God, she was a consummate liar.
His heart twisted. Everything she’d done today was proof that the Izzy who had enchanted him these last weeks with her sweetness and innocent eagerness never existed. It had all been naught but a big lie. He’d fallen for a girl who wasn’t real, and the loss of the bright future he’d envisioned made him want to punish her, hurt her, for making him want something he didn’t even know he wanted, and now never would. Damn her! To come so close, only to discover in the eleventh hour that he could have her, but never the way he’d wanted her. Legally, he now possessed her body, but she would give him nothing more of herself and the marriage he’d looked so forward to would be empty. And he wouldn’t even be the only man to have possessed her body. The unmitigated gall it took for her to try to convince him she was a virgin after her outrageous behavior in the cottage, infuriated him.
Even still, misplaced hope forced him to consider her words. Could there be any truth to her claim? Was it possible she’d dallied with other men, yet kept the ultimate prize out of reach all this time? Noblewomen were clever and devious and used to getting what they wanted, all the while remaining within the bounds of propriety, even if they sometimes pushed at the very boundaries. They excelled at it. Was it possible she spoke true?
Nay. That was only wishful thinking. He need only recollect the afternoon weeks ago, when he’d almost lost control, when he pleasured her with his cock. Not once did she try to stop him or simply warn him she was a maiden. There wasn’t even an attempt on her part to be coy. Nay, she’d been so eager to fuck, she’d practically begged for it. Her repertoire included tricks that could impress even the most jaded of whores and courtesans. No innocent maid could know the things she did, it wasn’t possible. A potent combination of love and lust blinded him to the truth, but now it was all so glaringly obvious she played him for a fool. And she’d compounded it by blatantly lying to him in the carriage.
Did she think him an utter dupe? No matter what tricks she planned, did she really believe she could convince him she was virgin? Would she pretend shyness, or cry frightened crocodile tears, or cut her finger while he slept and leave blood on the sheets? As if he couldn’t tell the difference between a virgin and a woman of experience!
Fury, kept at a simmer throughout the course of the long day, now boiled over. She’d soon learn that she didn’t own even the smallest control over him. She would never twist him around her finger as she did everyone else. If he had to break her pride and her very spirit to make her grasp that truth, then so be it.
The object of his musings remained silent until he thrust her into his bedchamber and locked the door behind him. He laid the key on top of a tall wardrobe, far too high for her to reach.
“Julian, please, you must listen to me,” Izzy cried the moment he faced her.
“Ramsay.” He bit out. “My name is Ramsay. You may call me Ram. Or husband. Or better yet, Master. But do not call me Julian.”
She recoiled, putting more distance between them.
He removed his shirt, throwing it to the floor with no care for its condition. Izzy’s eyes widened in alarm.
“Jul- Ramsay, we must talk.”
He pulled off one black boot. “There’s been enough talk. What I’m interested in need not involve talking at all.”
She pressed herself against the wall, her face a mask of misery. But her theatrics would not sway him. She was an expert actress, he’d learned that firsthand.
His other boot landed with a thud beside the first. “You’d best get that gown off if you don’t want it torn from you.”
She gasped at the threat but made no move to comply.
He reached for the waistband of his breeches and began to peel them down.
A strangled cry escaped her and she flung out a hand in appeal. “Please. I don’t want our marriage to st
art this way! Please don’t do this. We’ll both regret it!”
He straightened, then paused, leaving his breeches open, sitting low on his hips. “In what way would that be, Isabelle? You don’t want to begin this marriage with deception? With lies? As a woman of loose morals? It’s too late for that! You weren’t worrying about the start of our marriage when you were out cavorting with any man you found! Perhaps I could have overlooked what you did before our betrothal, but tell me, Isabelle, just how many men did you fuck after we were betrothed?”
Her face paled but she didn’t flinch beneath his glower. He had to give her credit; she was a force to reckon with and she certainly didn’t cow easily.
That would soon change.
She pushed herself off the wall, taking a step toward him. “If you feel so strongly about this, about me, my God, why did you go through with this?” She gestured with one hand between them.
Why indeed? He could barely explain it to himself, let alone to his new bride. But she would never know that. “It was my duty to uphold the betrothal and wed you because I respect my father and this is what he wanted. And, as I’m over the age of thirty I have need of an heir. I may as well beget one on you.” He ran his fingers through his hair, frustration gnawing at him. “You might be more devious than Eve, but you’re pleasing enough to look upon. It should be no hardship to plough your field.”
Anger sparked in her eyes, turning them a deep blue shade. She stalked toward him, fury evident in every step. “I am not your brood mare!”
“You will be anything I say you’ll be!” he snarled, finally pushed to the breaking point. “You will be an obedient wife. You will submit your body only to me until you have quickened with my babe, at which time I’ll leave you to seek my pleasures elsewhere. Until then you’ll not leave this house unescorted, for I’ll not give you the chance to cuckold me beneath my very nose. Any child you give birth to, Isabelle, will be without a doubt mine!”
“You bastard!” The sharp sound of a slap echoed through the room as the flat of her hand landed against his cheek.
He grasped her wrist and wrenched it but she didn’t so much as flinch. “If you ever do that again I’ll take a switch to you, so help me.”
She snorted. “It wouldn’t be the first time I suffered the switch on account of you! How do you think I was coerced into agreeing to this sham of a marriage in the first place?”
He narrowed his eyes, weighing her words for truth. It rankled that the thought of marriage to him had so appalled her it had taken a whipping for her to assent.
“Be that as it may, we are married, which means I own you now. I control everything about your life. You can do nothing without my permission and anything you need or want depends solely upon my good will, so it might behoove you to resign yourself to finding a way to please me. And Izzy, you will obey me. You’ll not leave this house alone until you are delivered of my heir, do I make myself clear?”
“You cannot treat me like this! I’ll not be a prisoner in my own home! I told you I am still a virgin. I haven’t cavorted with anyone but you. Why won’t you listen to me? I have no need to lie, for you’ll soon find out the truth for yourself, won’t you?”
“You think I’m ignorant of the tricks whores play to make a man think he’s the first?” He grunted in disbelief. “You must know why I don’t believe you, Isabelle. The woman who had my cock in her mouth barely a se’nnight ago was no innocent virgin. I’ve had courtesans who couldn’t hold a candle to your skills, my sweet.”
Her hand slammed against his cheek again and the control he’d held onto by the thinnest of thread snapped. He grasped her wrist, ruthlessly twisting her arm behind her back, then dragged her against him and lowered his head so they were nose to nose.
“I warned you not to ever do that again.” By God, he’d hear her apology or he would take that switch to her, wedding day or not.
She stared in mutinous silence, her eyes sparking with rage.
“You’ll pay for that,” he promised.
She spit in his face. For a moment he stood utterly still, stunned. Pushed finally beyond his breaking point, he unleashed the full force of the fury boiling within him. Letting go of her wrist, he wiped his face, then burrowed his fingers into her hair, grabbing her forcefully by a large hank. She winced but didn’t utter a sound. It only infuriated him all the more that he couldn’t intimidate her into submission. He was angrier than he’d ever been in his entire life and she didn’t care a whit.
He dragged her toward the bed. The faster he consummated this union the faster he could retreat to his study. As for Izzy, a night and day spent locked alone in her chamber with no one to fawn upon her wouldn’t go amiss. She’d soon thoroughly learn that repercussions would follow her actions.
As realization of his intent dawned on her she finally lost her composure and fought against him. She clawed at his arm, but he didn’t halt, unperturbed by the attack.
When he reached the dais upon which his bed sat he lifted her off her feet and tossed her onto the mattress. She immediately got to her knees to spring from it, but he pinned her down with the weight of his body atop hers, holding her immobile. She squirmed beneath him, then aimed a kick at his groin, but he clamped his legs over hers, at the same time freeing his hands. He grasped her delicate beaded gown by the neckline and tore. The sound of rending fabric filled the room. Her eyes widened and filled with panic.
“Nay! Nay, you can’t do this. Please, Julian! Please, don’t.” Desperation laced her voice, making it shrill, and satisfaction surged in his veins. He’d finally got a reaction from her other than haughty anger.
He pulled the torn edges of her gown apart and reached for her petticoats, ripping them with the same savagery with which he tore the gown. “My. Name. Is. Ramsay.”
She closed her eyes. Her throat worked as she swallowed rapidly. “Ramsay, please, I-I don’t want this. Not like this. You’re truly frightening me. If we could just talk”-
Her silky undergarments were no barrier to his ravaging hands. He shifted off her long enough to tug the ruined bridal clothing from beneath her.
“What’s to be frightened of? You know what to expect. Not once in all the times we were together did you show maidenly timidity or fear. And we both know why.” He tossed her garments from the bed. “This marriage will be consummated tonight. I’ve waited too long to have you and the wait has come to an end. You can fight me or you can yield to me and participate, I care not which,” he lied, “but this will not remain a marriage in name only beyond the next hour.”
He tried taking her lips with his. Despite his anger, if he could coax her into a giving mood the night could still be pleasurable for the both of them and something might be salvaged of the miserable day. She turned her face away, clearly rejecting him, which only enraged him all the more. Fine. If she wanted no tenderness, he certainly wasn’t going to waste his time convincing her. She could play the martyr if she so desired, it made no bloody difference.
He didn’t try to kiss her again; instead, he bent his head and took her nipple into his mouth, sucking hard. When she moaned low in her throat a primal surge of satisfaction sparked in him.
Now here was the Izzy he knew, the wanton who responded to his touch and his tongue. His seeking hand slid between her thighs. She clawed at him and clamped her legs shut in response, but he pried them open easily with his own legs. With one hand he grabbed both of her wrists and held them pinned above her head, then returned to finding the treasure he sought with the other.
He was somewhat surprised to find her dry to the touch, but as he ran the pad of his finger through her folds, hot moisture seeped from her.
She could try to act as cold as she wished, but he knew exactly how to warm her.
He released her to remove his breeches. As soon as he shifted his weight from her she scrambled to the other side of the bed, launching herself from it. He shed his breeches and then, fully nude, stalked her across the bedchamber.
&nb
sp; Izzy stood quivering against the door, using her arms to cover her nudity, and for a moment she looked small and truly terrified. Ram tamped down the urge to take her in his arms and offer comfort. But she didn’t deserve his comfort after what she’d done. Moreover, he’d be damned if he crawled to her and set the precedent for this marriage. If she wanted peace, she’d have to come to him in willing surrender.
She crept toward the wardrobe and stood on tiptoe, trying in vain to reach the key.
“You’ll not reach it. That door remains locked until this marriage is consummated. How long that might take depends upon you.”
“We’ll be locked in here through eternity if you await my consent” she spat.
“I neither seek, nor require your consent, wife.” With those words, he charged. She tried to duck around him but he grabbed her around the waist, swinging her into his arms. He bore her, struggling, to the bed and dumped her on it unceremoniously, once again pinning her beneath his weight.
“Now where were we?” He slid his hand between her legs. “Ah yes. We were right”-he flicked her hidden bud with his finger and she arched against him with a gasp. “Here.” Perhaps she hated him in this moment, but her body yearned for his. At least that wasn’t all a lie. Moisture coated his finger heavier than before.
She was ready enough and he was done waiting. Frankly, it had ceased to be possible to wait any longer. It seemed like he’d wanted this woman for a lifetime and now she was in his bed, his bride, ripe for the taking. His.
He shifted between her legs, grasped his cock, and positioned himself at the entrance to her lush body. The motion revived her will to fight as she realized the moment was upon them. She pushed against his chest, but it was far too late. Nothing would stop him from his purpose now.
Virtue and Vice Page 14