by Shirl Anders
]Chapter Three
Gabriella realized immediately that she must have truly lost consciousness in the last explosive throes of raw passion that Drummond commanded from her body, because she came awake reclining on a settee. Drummond was standing over her, languidly smoking a spicy smelling cigar. His slate gray eyes revealed nothing. There was not a modicum of tenderness in their reserved depths.
Gabriella quickly crossed her arm over the transparent material that was covering her breasts, placing one hand modestly between her legs as heat flooded her cheeks to burning. She was so confused, feeling indignant, shameful, and yet completely sated somehow. She never imagined in her wildest dreams that a man could bring a woman to such passion!
"Maidenly modesty does not become you at this moment, madame." Drummond raised a perfectly sculpted silver-gray eyebrow in reprove. "Nor shall I allow it to become a part of our newest relationship." He puffed lazily on his cigar with his gaze demanding that she move her arms.
Gabriella huffed, flustered with her familiar and graceful composure, thoroughly in shreds as she floundered, not knowing where or how to act. In one short afternoon her life had completely changed. Nothing seemed of herself anymore and she did not know where to begin to regain the pieces that had become lost or irrevocably changed.
"They prohibited slavery years ago, Lord Kittridge," she exclaimed, principally to halt the words that she would have spoken, begging Drummond to comfort her. Still, she lowered her arms as he silently commanded and she realized in a moment of panic what possession he held over her now.
Drummond ignored her comment wholly, as appeared to be a trait of his, while his gaze boldly studied her barely concealed breasts. "It could have been worse, madame. It was only by chance circumstances that I learned your husband had intentions to sell you. Quite a barbarous ideal, selling one's wife, however, for my purposes, effective."
"Your purposes?" Gabriella questioned in a whisper, holding forth little hope that Drummond would answer her inquiry.
"And to a lower class patron no less." he paused, tilting his head upward for a slow stately puff on his cigar. "Imagine my surprise?"
Gabriella shuddered, but offered no verbal comment as her gaze irrevocably slid down over the length of Drummond's tall frame, while he was not looking at her. Even at his age, he was still the most attractive man that she had ever seen. He was muscular and trim with short cut, silver-gray hair, adding a dramatic and handsome maturity to his tanned and hawkish features.
"And for what?" Drummond mused. "This claim that you are barren?"
Gabriella's mind suddenly fired from its confusion as pain and deep humiliation flared in her breast. She came upright, off the settee, with jerky and angry motions. Remaining mute, she stood and quickly gathered her clothing, holding it before her like a shield. She would not even take the time to dress. What difference could it make after this horrible day? She would find her cloak quickly and that would be enough.
"I choose the streets," she muttered, gazing downward at the shambles of clothing in her arms. Just like her life. She did not hear Drummond's approach, until suddenly he clasped his warm strong hands around her bare upper arms as he turned her to face him.
"That is no longer an option for you, madame."
Her gaze shot to his face. Somehow, he had rid himself of his cigar and she thought she detected a fleeting second of sympathy in his charcoal-gray eyes, coming and going so quick that she was sure she had just imagined it.
"Your husband will no longer have you, madame. That paragon, whom I might mention was chosen over myself twenty-five years ago. You have no further family alive, no money, and the papers signed this day between your husband and myself, while not entirely legally binding, are enough so that if you breach the contract by leaving me without my consent, I could stretch the situation enough to have you arrested, until a lengthy courtroom battle could ascertain the ramifications."
"Jail," Gabriella whispered, horrified.
"The Gaol to be exact, Lady St. John." Drummond paused searching her gaze intently as if to ascertain her complete understanding, then he released her and strode toward his desk saying, "I shall expect you to join me for dinner at seven. Your clothes have been delivered to my chambers where you may go now and refresh yourself. Rest if you need to, madame."
Gabriella remained mute, watching in horrid fascination as Drummond sat in his high-backed desk chair, facing her nonchalantly from across his inlayed marble-topped desk. His gaze was inscrutable, his mouth outlined in perfect masculine firmness, as he casually lifted two of his fingers up to his regal nose, and he inhaled. Then, he licked the tip of his second finger ... slowly. That same finger that had touched her-her!
Gabriella gasped and fled the room before Drummond's warm, masculine chuckling.