But he could not do it. He had an obligation to stay and find out what plot she planned and to protect his cousin from her if necessary.
Yes, that was the only reason he would stay. Stay and pay very close attention to her.
It had nothing to do with the sight of her lying over his lap, her wrists bound with leather and her creamy backside exposed for his view and chastisement. And it most assuredly had no effect on him when he had stroked her inner thighs and felt the evidence of her desire trickling toward his fingers.
And above all else, he had been completely impervious to the way her mouth opened to his and her body melted against his chest when he had kissed her.
Determined to be finished with one Miss Cassandra Sheridan, he wrapped the letter and shoe in a piece of paper with the intention of leaving them in her room while she sat with Lady Jane in the drawing room.
He had been trained to infiltrate enemy lines under heavy fire and in life threatening circumstances. A quick in and out of a lady’s bedchamber ought to be accomplished in seconds.
Unless that lady was indulging in a leisurely bath during the middle of the day rather than assisting her hostess with an intricate embroidery pattern.
He opened the door to Cassandra’s bedchamber silently and stepped inside before he realized he was not alone.
Blissfully unaware of his presence, eyes closed, she leaned back against the copper tub, her hair falling in loose golden curls that nearly reached the floor.
Her delicate feet dangled over the bottom rim of the bath and the rosy peaks of her breasts poked through the surface of the water.
He knew he should leave. Turn and go as silently as he had entered.
But he could not. He stared, mesmerized by her youth and innocence. The relaxed delight on her face as she luxuriated in the warm cocoon of the bath kept him frozen in place.
She moaned, arched her back and pressed her feet to the bottom rim of the tub giving him an unobstructed view of her femininity, ripe and pink. The blonde ringlets above dripped water over the crevice of her womanhood.
Captivated by thoughts of touching and tasting her. So engrossed in his imaginings and the sight of her, he dropped the bundle in his hands.
It hit the floor with a resounding thud, startling both of them out of their respective reveries.
Cassandra’s eyes flew open and she stood. Her mouth gaped as if to scream. Before she could utter a sound, he moved behind her, his strong arms held her wet naked body against his while his hand covered her mouth.
She struggled against him. Watching her in the bath had nearly been his undoing and now her silky wet body writhed against him until his cock ached against his pants.
He bent his head, taking in the scent of her soap and innocence, and whispered in her ear, “I am not going to hurt you. Do not make a sound. You do not want the whole household to find us like this or it will ruin your plan to marry my cousin.”
When he said ‘marry my cousin’, a wave of melancholy assailed Blaise. Owen could never appreciate her passion. No, she was meant to be his and he intended to have her, regardless of the truth of her background.
He looked into her eyes and she nodded her agreement so he removed his hand from her mouth, though the touch of her soft lips against his palm had been enchanting.
“What are you doing here?” she hissed, attempting to cover herself with her hands.
“I have come,” he lifted her from the tub and set her on the floor, then reached for a towel to dry her body, “to return your shoes and letter.” He worked the towel over her soft skin and reveled in the sight of her creamy flesh pinkening under the friction from the towel.
“Stop that!” She grabbed the towel from his hands and wrapped it around herself, then found her dressing gown and put it on as well.
Once she had covered herself minimally she turned back to him. “Well, you have accomplished your mission, so please leave.”
Chapter Five
Cassandra left the barn earlier that day utterly confused. She knew she ought to loathe Colonel Blaise Sinclair, particularly for the liberties he had taken. Yet she could not. Not only could she not bring herself to despise him, she had been completely unable to think of anything but the sensations which had coursed through her body at his touch.
And now he stood in her bed chamber, his wet shirt clinging to the muscles of his chest, her own nudity barely covered and all she could think about was pressing her naked body against his.
Why would he not leave?
“We still have not completed our discussion from the stable.” He folded his arms over his chest and looked at her as though he could see through her dressing gown. She glanced down and saw the beaded peaks of her nipples poking against the thin fabric of her cover and crossed her arms in an attempt to hide them.
“There is nothing left for us to discuss. Now please leave.”
To her horror, Blaise strode purposefully toward the bed and sat down. On her bed!
She stomped her bare foot and pointed to the door. “Are you deaf? I said get out.”
“When you thought I was a footman, I might have followed your instructions, but I am a Colonel in the army. I give orders. I do not take them.”
She wanted to scream and throw things but of course, she could not do anything to draw attention to the activities in her room. Not only would her reputation be ruined at being found with a man in her room, but her plan to marry Owen would be completely shattered.
“I said there is nothing for us to discuss.”
“Perhaps you are correct. The time for discussion is over. Now it is time for action. Come over here and get across my knee.”
“Have you gone mad?”
“I am simply attempting to find out the truth.”
“Fine,” she huffed. “I would like to marry your cousin, Lord Tyndall. Is that so awful? He is a man of status and good breeding who can provide well for me. Would not a woman be foolish to not seek his attention?”
Blaise stood, wrapped one arm around her waist, and carried her to the bed, with the warning, “Remember poppet, if anyone finds us this way, your plan will be ruined so either take your spanking quietly or tell me now what you are up to.”
“I just told you, you buffoon.”
“Oh dear. Name calling will only make matters worse.” He laid her across the foot of the bed, with her bottom perched at the edge of the mattress. He tossed the slim fabric of her dressing gown up over her back. “You have the most delightful backside,” he said stroking his hands over the freshly scrubbed flesh of her bottom. “I hope Cousin Owen will appreciate all your charms the same way I do.”
“You have no right,” she said from between clenched teeth as the first swat landed. His mention of Lord Tyndall renewed her anger toward him but also saddened her. Would Lord Tyndall's touch enflame her in the same way?
No matter. She needed the security of the Tyndall fortune and status, not wanton displays of animalistic need.
No, not at all like the need building inside her with each impact of Blaise's hand upon her bottom. She had no need for such things and to prove it she pressed her hands to the mattress and attempted to rise up.
Blaise quickly clasped both her wrists in one of his strong hands and held them behind her back. He yanked a cord from the drapes at the corner of the bed and bound her hands together. "When will you learn to take your punishment without forcing me to restrain you, poppet?" He swatted the apple of her left cheek and quickly added a swat on the right.
Undeterred, she kicked her feet up at him.
"Oh dear. Now what shall we do about your obvious disobedience?" Blaise trickled a finger down the cleft of her bottom and lingered over her bottom hole, reminding them both of their activities in the stable.
He gently lifted her to a standing position, arranged two pillows on the center of the bed, then laid her across them with her knees below her and her torso over the pillows, making it impossible for her to kick her feet.
&n
bsp; "Yes, that is much better." His fingers stroked up her thighs and over her cheeks.
Cassandra inhaled a shuddering breath and cursed her libido for its betrayal. When Blaise laid both palms against her bottom and squeezed her heated globes together, Cassandra buried her face in the pillow and moaned.
"Tell me the truth about your family." Blaise smacked the curve on the underside of her arse.
"I've told you all you need to know about my family. I have a father and two younger sisters. Now leave me alone." A firm palm on the center of her backside sent her forward over the pillows. A tug to her ankle returned her to proper position.
"Why do you not have a lady's maid? And why do your shoes look like they belong to a pauper?" He punctuated his cross-examination with a swat to her upper thigh.
"Maybe I am not a simpering fool who worries about such things as having the latest in shoes and clothing." She spoke through gritted teeth.
"I suppose that is one explanation. Or perhaps you are really a poor country mouse trying to persuade a gullible lord to marry you."
"I've already told you that I wish to marry Lord Tyndall. That is hardly new information. Why do you persist in believing I have bad motivations?"
Cassandra was tempted to simply tell him the truth about her family—that they were on the verge of loss and homelessness and her sisters, and herself, would be forced to become governesses or paid companions for widows if Cassandra did not become Lady Tyndall soon. Very soon.
It would be a relief to share the burden with someone though she had no idea why she felt she could confide in Blaise Sinclair, the one man who could annihilate her plan to begin with. If she told him the truth, he'd surely tell his cousin. In fact, honor required it and she knew Blaise was an inherently honorable man. She'd always had a knack for sizing up people quickly and the truth was, a future with Owen Tyndall would be safe, but unbearably tedious.
Still, it would be selfish of her not to go through with the plan. Her sisters were at home caring for their ailing father. Passion could not override good sense.
She had not even realized the spanking had stopped, she'd been so caught up in her own thoughts, until Blaise's fingertip skimmed the entrance to her sex.
Oh mercy! She braced herself not to react. Her brain shouted for her to remain calm and think of anything but the thrumming heat wafting outward from his touch to all areas of her body. Pulsing waves fluttered across her flesh and the breath hitched in her chest.
She had to get away before all her plans, and her maidenhood, disappeared.
But, before she could get away, Blaise pressed his finger deep into her core. "Marriage is an honorable institution. And the choice of a spouse is an important one." He added another finger to the clenching heat of her vagina. Cassandra moaned and buried her face against the bed "Ah, Miss Sheridan. You are clearly a woman of great, yet uncultivated, passion. Do you honestly believe my cousin, kind soul though he may be, will be able to keep up with the wanton desires of a woman like you?"
Cassandra turned to stare up at him. "Woman like me? What is that supposed to mean?"
From over her shoulder she could see the passion in Blaise's eyes as he watched his fingers plunder her womanhood. With each thrust inward her control slipped further away, and though she was unexperienced in such things, based on the way Blaise's gaze darkened, she assumed his control had weakened as well.
His fingers stretched her and filled her and when he removed them she groaned her disappointment.
"What my comment is supposed to mean," he brushed his passion dampened fingers along her inner thighs, "is that you are a unique and passionate woman. It would be a shame for you to live a life of perfunctory sexual congress simply for procreation. You are meant to be loved." He slid his finger back into her sex. "And made love to."
She dropped her head and whimpered into the linens. "P-please," she finally said on an unsteady breath. "You must stop before this goes too far."
As though in compliance with her request, he stopped his attentions to her femininity and lifted her to stand in front of him.
She ought to have been relieved.
She wasn't.
***
Blaise took a moment to calm his breathing. Heaven help him. She was the most intoxicating creature he had ever encountered, made even more so by the fact that she had no idea of her own sensuality and inherent wantonness. The thought of his cousin, or any man, touching her made his blood boil.
He wanted her, and only her, for the rest of his life.
He glanced up. The tiny buds of her nipples beckoned through the thin fabric of her dressing gown. He touched one with his thumb and it hardened in response. He squeezed it and Cassandra gasped.
"There is still the matter of your background. I vowed I would not leave until I found out the truth." He rolled the nub between his thumb and forefinger. Cassandra swayed into his touch.
"If I tell you," her breath came in labored gasps, "will you leave me alone?"
Blaise tugged at the belt of her dressing gown until her nubile body was exposed to him. He ran his gaze from the soft curls of her sex to the flattened circle of her navel, then to the swollen peaks of her breasts before meeting her eyes. "I do not believe that I will ever be able to leave you alone. No matter how long I live."
The words startled him as much as they did her.
For the first time in as long as he could remember, he had spoken exactly the words that were on his heart.
He didn't care if her family were a group of circus performers, he had to have her. Today and always.
He stood and slipped the gown from her shoulders. She did not resist as he revealed first the gentle slope of her shoulders and then the fullness of her breast. When he cupped both breasts in his hands then lowered his head and kissed her lips, she sighed. His hands molded the sweet mounds of flesh until she cried out. He wrapped his arms around her silky body pressing her as close as possible and even that was not close enough for him. He had to have her. Be inside her. Love her.
She pulled away, turned and walked to the corner of the room, her naked backside bearing the marks of his discipline. "You must know," she spoke so softly he had to strain to hear her, "my mother was a Bennington. She fell in love with my father and was disowned when she married beneath her station." Blaise's heart panged and he wanted nothing more than to sweep her into his arms and kiss all her anguish away. But he knew it was important for her to share her story with him. He mustered his resolve and stood his ground, silently.
"My mother died several years ago. My father's estate is entailed upon the male line. I have no brother and my father is gravely ill. It is my duty to marry well to provide for myself and my two younger sisters."
She turned and faced him. "You saw the state of my shoes. That is the best pair any of us have. All my family's meager resources, which haven't gone to my father's care, have been bestowed upon me." She looked so forlorn, he wanted to rush to her and assure her that all would be well, but he held his peace.
"I am sure a man from a fine family such as you has no idea of the hardships I have faced, nor do I want your pity. But, I would thank you to leave my room and stay out of my life." She retrieved her dressing gown and put it on, knotted the belt with a firm tug, then met his gaze. "Please," she said on a quivering voice, "before I change my mind."
Blaise stared at her, her chin tilted up with her last shred of dignity. He knew enough of human nature to see she was beyond reasoning or even pleading. He would bide his time and win her over the old fashioned way.
He kept his eyes trained on her while he walked backward toward the door. Before he left he said, "I mean to have your for my own, Cassandra. So get used to the idea."
He took one more backward step from the room and ran directly into his aunt, Lady Tyndall.
Chapter Six
Ruined. Her reputation. Her plan to save her family. Her future. All of it ruined. She might as well pack her things and head directly to the poor house
since she, and her sisters, would be there soon enough.
She was surprised Lady Tyndall had not already ordered the servants to toss her, and her paltry belongings, out of Hadley Hall.
Cassandra sat in her room, now fully dressed, and wallowed in the misery of her situation. How could she face her sisters after they had sent her off with such high hopes?
It was all his fault. It was not as though she had invited him into her bedchamber, yet now she would bear the shame of it. Arrogant, bossy, selfish Colonel Blaise Sinclair.
She loathed him and wished she could be alone with him one more time in order to, in the least ladylike terms she knew, tell him how completely and utterly she despised him.
There was a soft tap on her door and before she could respond, the door opened and for the second time that day, Lady Tyndall stood in Cassandra’s bed chamber.
Cassandra braced herself for an onslaught of ridicule and condemnation. Did she dare defend herself? What defense could she give? Even to her ears the truth of the matter—that she was unaware of his presence and then slipped into his embrace— sounded ridiculous. Besides, there had been much more to their encounter than an innocent slip into Colonel Sinclair's arms. Maybe she ought to have given in to her desire to know him fully. At least she would have one pleasurable memory to take with her into destitution.
Lady Tyndall entered the room and sat in a high backed chair opposite Cassandra.
Her stony gaze raked Cassandra from the tips of her well-worn shoes to the top of her poverty stricken blonde head.
Cassandra gripped her hands in her lap. She ought to have been mortified by Lady Tyndall's obvious disdain for her, but something in the woman's hauteur angered, rather than shamed, her. She drew in a steadying breath and squared her shoulders. She would meet whatever this woman, whom she had hoped would be her mother-in-law, said to her with as much dignity as possible.
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