Without warning, he pulled her flush against him. “And this will serve to heighten your anticipation for the second part of our agreement.”
He smashed his mouth over hers. She struggled to keep bile from rising in her throat as his moist tongue prodded against her lips, seeking entry. She had to do this, for Ram’s sake. Gathering her control with a deep breath, she opened to him, accepting his tongue inside her mouth.
His hands grasped her backside, cupping her, pressing her against the erection evident through his breeches. The fingers of his right hand inched down to the full skirt of her gown and began lifting, until his hand could caress the sensitive skin of her inner thigh. Instead of the shivery, pleasurable sensation that enthralled her when Ram touched her, nausea assailed her.
His left hand gripped her wrist, which she’d kept firmly planted to her side, and dragged her hand to the bulge in his breeches, pressing her palm against him. She took the cue and stroked him through the fabric.
Beneath her skirt, his fingers moved swiftly. Summoning every ounce of willpower she possessed, she suppressed a shudder of revulsion as he stroked the dry flesh between her legs. Moaning against her mouth, his fingers prodded her most sensitive skin, then thrust inside her, rudely. Her lack of desire left her unready, and his invasion was uncomfortable and even painful.
She tried to keep her mind separated from what was happening to her body, but even still, shame overwhelmed her. She told Ram she’d be his whore, and she meant it. But when it came down to it, she wasn’t trading her favors for anything, not really, because she loved him, and sharing herself with him was right. She’d given herself to Ram with no strings attached, because he owned her, heart, body and soul.
But this- this was demeaning. Now she truly knew what it felt like to play the whore, to use her body for gain. If she did this thing, she’d forever be sullied by it. But she would do anything, anything, if it meant keeping Ram’s secret. She was desperate to protect him. The urge to weep with despair over what she’d lost inundated her.
Paul panted against her mouth, his fingers moving faster inside of her, his erection straining against her hand through his breeches. She had to stop him or in another moment he’d have her bent over the bed and would take his pleasure of her, and she wasn’t ready for that yet. She would share his bed as he demanded, but not before she spoke at length with Maura and learned what she must do to prevent quickening with his child.
Jerking her hand from his breeches, she pressed both palms against his chest, surprised at the heat radiating from him through his shirt. “Is that enough of a demonstration?” she bit out.
“I’ll decide what’s enough,” he gritted.
His hands went to her back and she recoiled with horror. He was trying to undo her gown! “Nay!” She struggled frantically to pull away but he held her in an iron grip as he unfastened her gown.
“I would see the goods I’m buying. Be still!”
She went icy cold. He didn’t only want her in his bed, he intended to demean her. Swallowing her fear, she renewed her effort to escape his grasp. She twisted and writhed against him, all to no avail. In desperation she raked her nails down his cheek, drawing blood.
He put a hand to the scratches, looked at the blood on his fingers, then stared at her incredulously. Surprise quickly faded and fury flared in his blue eyes. His right hand balled into a fist; before Izzy could duck away, he struck her. Light burst behind her eye and pain staggered her. He twisted his left hand in her hair and hit her again. When she would have fallen to her knees, his cruel grasp prevented it, and her scalp burned as he used her hair to hold her upright.
“You little bitch! Do you think behavior like that will earn your beloved husband a reprieve?”
Izzy whimpered, too overcome with pain to form a coherent answer. The entire right side of her face throbbed in agony, from temple to chin.
“I’m going to give you a small taste of what you’ll experience in my bed, and when you come to me next time it had damn well be willingly. If you fight me again, our agreement is off.”
Izzy didn’t struggle when he slid her gown to her feet, leaving her clad only in her chemise. His hand tangled in her hair again and he dragged her to the bed, throwing her face down upon it.
She rose on her elbows, trying to roll over to talk him out of doing this now. “Paul, nay!”
He cursed and grabbed her left wrist, holding it in a painful grip. Something brushed her hand and she looked up, appalled, as he bound her wrist with a leather cord that was tied at the other end to the bed. He repeated the action with her right hand.
That he already had makeshift restraints tied to his bed horrified her. That he’d tied other woman down in his bed the same way repulsed her.
She trembled in terror.
He laughed. “Fear not, Izzy. There will be no penetration today. I want you to go home to Cornwall and anticipate our next encounter every day, until we meet again.”
His words didn’t alleviate her fear. Relief wouldn’t come until she was untied, fully dressed, and gone from his rooms. Tied to his bed, she’d never felt so vulnerable in her life.
“I don’t suppose your husband has any fetishes does he? Anything he finds especially arousing?” Paul asked conversationally, as he went to a chest of drawers. “He strikes me as the utterly conventional type, who’d never explore all the varied deviant behaviors the world offers, to gratify himself.”
Izzy remained silent, confused by the strange questions and commentary.
“But then again, we do share Louisa between us, and her appetite for the deviant is nigh insatiable. Perhaps your husband isn’t as straight-laced as appearance leads one to believe.”
The sharp ache in her heart at the thought of Ram and Louisa together should no longer surprise her, but it did.
When Paul reappeared at her side, he held a switch in his hand and thoughts of Ram and Louisa fled. Fear returned full force, stronger than before.
Breathing deeply, she sought to reassure herself. She’d suffered the switch before and survived with her pride intact. She would get through this, too.
He ran his hand lightly down her back, then over her buttock and the back of one thigh. When he swept his hand back up he grasped her chemise, lifting it to her hips, exposing her to his gaze.
“Do you know what a fetish is, Izzy?”
With a whimper she shook her head.
He chuckled. “I didn’t expect so. You’ve been a bride for such a short time.” His fingers followed the cleft of her bare backside. “Some men find that unconventional activity in bed adds to their excitement and pleasure. For instance, some men find a woman’s feet the most arousing part of her body, and love to be stimulated by her toes. That would be a foot fetish.”
His fingers continued lower, stroking between her legs. “Spread yourself for me,” he ordered.
Instead, she tensed against the unwelcome touch and squeezed her legs together, but he grasped each thigh in a cruel grip and spread her, then returned to his fondling. Izzy choked on a cry of despair.
“Some men enjoy dressing as a woman in the privacy of their bedchamber.” His voice became husky. One finger encircled the opening of her body. “The more daring ones go out in public in female dress.” His finger slipped inside her, only the smallest way.
“And then there are men like me. Inflicting pain arouses me almost to the point of madness.”
Suddenly his fingers were gone and he brought the switch down hard across her backside and thighs. Izzy shrieked as fiery pain snaked through her, then gagged as agony snatched her breath.
“Scream all you like, ma petite. There’s none left to hear you. Even if there were, no one would dare interfere.”
The switch whistled through the air as he brought it down again. Izzy jerked against the restraints, biting her lip so hard she tasted blood.
This was nothing like the blows of the switch Mrs. Smith had dealt her so long ago, to force her acquiescence to marriage. Pa
ul put the full force of his strength into each brutal lash. Izzy choked on tears, panting harshly against the searing pain.
Something tickled the back of her legs. She went still. Paul was trailing the handle of the switch against her skin with a light touch. Higher and higher he went, until the tip of the handle slid against the flesh between her legs. Terror gripped her so tightly she could barely breathe. Her heart pounded in her chest at the thought that he might strike her there. She moaned.
“Ah, Izzy,” his voice was thick and guttural. “Your skin is so perfect, so smooth. I will find the greatest pleasure in marring it.”
The switch lashed her once more. Izzy cried out; the chamber spun before her eyes. She felt moisture on her lower back. He’d drawn blood.
A blunt object probed between her legs. For one numb instant she thought he’d removed his breeches and was about to mount her. A part of her was relieved, for if he spent himself, this torment would end.
Except the bluntness wasn’t smooth and she stiffened with horrified realization. He was probing her with the leather-covered handle of the switch. She moaned, clamping her legs together. If he thrust that inside her, the roughness of the leather would likely damage her skin. The pressure on the handle increased, but though it abraded her inner thighs and sensitive outer flesh, she kept her legs together so tightly it went no further.
When he tried to spread her legs, she fought him with a burst of desperate energy. He deliberately pressed his fingers into an open welt on her lower back. Sharp, blinding pain radiated from the spot; she writhed in agony, barely clinging to consciousness. While she was diverted, he jammed his knee between her legs and forced them wide apart. The handle returned. He pressed it between her folds, but went no further. She changed her mind, praying she’d lose consciousness, praying for oblivion before he thrust that hard object inside her. The room darkened and she grew dizzy.
Izzy was jerked out of her fog, back into the moment, when the switch fell once more. The coverlet muffled her weak cry.
She choked on sobs, even as tears tracked down her cheek. An eerie silence fell in the chamber and when Paul next spoke she jumped with terror. His mouth was near her ear.
“I believe that’s enough for now. I’d entertain you further, but it’s time to leave this stinking hell-hole. You’ve had a demonstration and now you know what you have to look forward to.” He tangled his hand in her hair, jerking her head up. His face was taut with frustrated desire. “And you’ll come to me willingly, won’t you.”
Izzy managed to nod, unwilling to believe this ordeal was finished until he untied her wrists.
He did.
It was truly over. For now.
She lay still, consumed by pain, trying to gather the strength to rise.
Paul tossed her gown at her. “Get dressed and get out.”
She sat slowly, stiffly, swallowing a whimper as her raw flesh came into contact with the mattress. She forced herself to her feet and smoothed her chemise into place, despite the wild spinning of the chamber. Getting into her gown took several tries, but Paul didn’t offer his aid. Fighting waves of excruciating pain and gut-clenching nausea, she managed to loosely fasten her gown so it wouldn’t slip off her shoulders.
Paul motioned negligently to the door. “Farewell, Izzy. I’ll call on you, soon.” He turned his back, dismissing her. Izzy opened the door and crossed the threshold, then, when she pulled the door closed, leaned against it. Her entire body began to tremble; in pain, in shock, in fear. She sucked in a breath for fortification and made her way slowly to the exit, clinging to the wall. It was a painstaking ordeal. Thank God no one was about to see her this way.
When the carriage came into sight she froze, slumping with relief at the sight of the servant who’d served her family for so long, knowing she’d be safe with him, but unable to move from the wall. Laurence spotted her and jumped down from the driver’s seat and sprinted toward her. As he approached his face twisted with horror. “My lady! What happened to ye?”
She blinked away hot tears. “I-I can’t speak of it,” she whispered. She took a step toward him, then swayed.
He lifted her into his arms. “Easy, My lady.” He carried her swiftly to the carriage and placed her gently inside. She slumped heavily upon the squabs.
“I’ll have ye home before ye know it.”
“Nay!” she struggled upright. “Portsmouth. You must take me to Portsmouth!”
“But, my lady! You need to be tended.”
“I’ll be fine, Laurence. I’ll rest on the journey. Don’t worry for me.” When he continued to stand at the door looking uncertain, she forced more authority into her voice. “Portsmouth, Laurence, and quickly! You must return for Belinda later, so we cannot delay now.”
His mouth tightened with displeasure, but he was too well trained to gainsay her order, With a resigned shake of his head and a mutinous glare of disapproval, he closed the carriage door. The vehicle rocked as he climbed into the box, and within moments the horses trotted off.
Izzy wept.
Chapter 29
Belinda tried to contain her panic. For once in her life, she was uncertain as to what she should do. When she woke more than two hours before, her senses warned her Izzy had flown. The sheets beside her in the bed were long cold, and her cousin’s valise was nowhere in sight.
Speaking with Thomas had confirmed her worst fears. Izzy had left at the break of dawn, her destination unknown.
Surely Izzy wouldn’t still consider going to court? Not after the promise she’d made the night before?
Belinda didn’t know what to think. Izzy was grieving, and she may very well have changed her mind. And as Izzy had taken the carriage that had returned in the night, Belinda lacked transportation to go looking for her errant cousin. Likely that was by design. But Belinda was too worried to be angry with Izzy.
How long should she wait for Izzy to return?
Izzy had left a terse note. She would send the coach back within a matter of hours so Belinda could leave for Eric’s home in the afternoon. Did that mean Izzy wasn’t going to join her parents in the north? If she had no plans to do so, where then would she go? Or did she mean to go to Eric’s after all?
Another quarter of an hour ticked by and Belinda’s nerves were strung taut. She had to act, and she couldn’t wait for Izzy to send the carriage back. It was imperative she find Ram, if he were still in town. Waiting was no longer an option. Jumping to her feet, she rang for a servant and ordered the footman to hire a hack. He looked at her askance, but did her bidding without question.
Belinda rushed upstairs to her chamber to dress. Meg bustled in on Belinda’s heels, wringing her hands, obviously also worried on behalf of her mistress.
“Are ye going to find her?”
“I’m certainly going to try, Meg.”
Meg gave a hacking cough and Belinda looked at her askance. “Are you ill?”
The maid shrugged off the concern. “Just a bit of a cold, I’m fine. I come from hearty stock,” she grinned and Belinda forced herself to relax; a cough did not mean smallpox now run amok in their home. Meg hadn’t been anywhere near White Hall.
Fifteen minutes later Belinda was as coiffed as if she were spending the evening at a play. Satisfied with the results, she thanked Meg profusely, then ordered the girl to bed to rest.
She sprinted downstairs to meet the hack. It was time to beard the lion in his den.
***
The hackney pulled up in front of Ram’s town home, and with a jolt of both surprise and undeniable pleasure she recognized the de Vere Coach waiting on the street. Breathing a sigh of relief she paid her driver and dismissed him, knowing if she needed to travel anywhere else that day, she could rely on Lucien.
When had he ceased to be Lord Lucien?
Better to consider that question at another time.
She knocked upon the front door and counted to ten, surprised when the butler didn’t immediately appear to bid her entry. She chewed her l
ip in indecision, then knocked again, harder.
Why was there none to answer the door? Where was the staff?
It was beyond the pale to let oneself into someone else’s house, but that’s exactly what she decided to do. She reached for the door handle, relieved to find it unlocked. She nudged the door open a crack. “Lord Royston?” Her voice echoed back, but there was no answering reply.
The sound of male voices, raised in anger, reached her, coming from the study. A shiver went through her when she heard the deep baritone of Lucien’s voice. He and Ramsay were in the throes of a very heated discussion.
As she crept toward the door, the words floating out of the study began to make sense.
“Would you leave be with this, Lucien? I told you, I’m done with Isabelle Beaumont. She is welcome to her precious Paul. I hope they’ll be ecstatic with one another.”
Lucien snorted. “You wish no such thing.” There was a pause, perhaps as Lucien took a drink.
“You’re right, Lucien. I’m not that selfless of a man. I want her to be ecstatic, at first, because she’s finally gotten everything she’s ever wanted. And then it will bring me the greatest of pleasure as that happiness is stripped away slowly, hour by hour, day by day, week by week, until Huntley is revealed to her for the bastard he truly is and she realizes she’s thrown away every chance at true happiness she had and that she’s gotten exactly what she deserves.”
Belinda flinched and her heart sank. Could he really mean that? Ram was her best and only chance of finding Izzy before a disaster befell her. But it sounded as if her journey had been for naught, for he wasn’t feeling charitable towards Izzy at the moment.
“You don’t wish that on her either, Ramsay. That’s your anger and the drink talking.”
Virtue and Vice Page 32