Sans Regret
Page 14
A spiral staircase of wrought iron made little more of a shadow just below. It would lead him to his quarry. He rushed to it and took the stairs two at a time.
Chapter Eleven
He found her standing in a room with nothing but a bed and a small fire in the hearth. She stood near the fire, a candlestick in her hand. Rather than a provocative costume like her friend had used to tempt him, she wore a chaste nightshirt buttoned up to her chin. She stared at him, her wide eyes giving him a childlike look. To hell with that. She’d deliberately driven him wild, as she’d intended. Now she’d pay.
Her gaze roamed over him from his face to his feet and then settling on his erect cock. Her eyebrow rose and she set the candlestick onto the mantle. “What are you going to do?”
“No more than you deserve.” He walked to her and took her into his arms. Not as a gentle lover but as a soul pushed beyond endurance. She stiffened but didn’t try to push him away. Thank God for that because he couldn’t have stopped.
He dug his fingers into her hair and pulled it back to tip her head up to his. Her lips trembled and parted and he took them in a kiss full of all the passion she’d set afire in him since the very first. Crushing her body against his own, he assaulted her mouth with his own. Hot, urgent, like a fire out of control, the kiss made his senses reel. He’d lost any power to resist this woman. Now he’d lost his sanity.
Their bodies fused into one. The fabric of her gown seemed to dissolve in the heat of the kiss as he grasped her buttocks and pulled her hard against his throbbing member. Her breasts pressed against his chest, the nipples hardening into peaks.
He’d never touched a woman so roughly but God help him he couldn’t stop. Every inch of him burned for her. Every beat of his heart brought him closer to madness. He kept kissing her, his lips punishing hers for denying him.
She could have fought him but she didn’t. She clung to him, molding her body to his from shoulder to knee. The fabric of her gown slid along his cock as she rubbed her belly against him.
Thank God she was giving him permission. He wouldn’t have to force himself on her. Since he’d undressed himself in the hall below, there’d been no question of whether he’d frig her. He would own her body. He would put her beneath him and plunge into her. With her permission, he’d make her come too. Rough tonight, gentle tomorrow. After this they’d never be separated in body or in spirit again.
He released her mouth, bent and scooped her into his arms. Running her arms around his neck, she gazed up at him through enormous brown eyes. Those eyes might have held fear or submission, welcome or a warning. Who knew? It didn’t matter. Nothing mattered but joining with her.
He crossed to the bed, set her on it and moved down on top of her. Then he set about devouring her.
He took her lips again, ravishing every curve and corner. Desire rushed through him like a jolt of whiskey—hot and intoxicating. She stole his breath, accepting his tongue into her mouth, driving the fire in his blood even higher.
More. He needed more. Growling, he moved from her lips to her jaw and below. He found soft heat everywhere and the woman scent that made him mad with lust. With no patience of undressing her, he bunched her gown in his fists and pulled it upward. Finally his fingers met the soft skin of her thigh and hip.
Moving lower, he took her breast into his mouth, cloth and all, and sucked. Gasping, she arched her back, offering herself to him. He took her deeper into his mouth for a moment and then moved to the other breast. She slid her fingers into his hair and held his mouth against her.
Damn he couldn’t wait any longer. His heart pounded and his blood rushed in his ears. His cock throbbed and ached, ready to shoot his semen in climax. He needed to be inside her when that happened. He needed to be inside her now. He’d take her savagely though. He had to prepare her.
After parting her thighs, he found her pussy and slid a finger into her heat. She shuddered, please God, let it be with pleasure. She’d grown wet and slick, her body readying itself for his bulk. She’d accept him soon.
He slipped another finger into her and pumped.
“Oh,” she cried. “That is so—”
“Damn woman. You’re killing me.”
He moved his fingers faster and deeper, stretching her. She grew wetter and slick, moistening his hand. Enough.
“Prepare yourself,” he said. “I can’t wait.”
Without another word, he positioned himself between her thighs and drove his cock deep inside her. Her pussy sheathed him, gripping him like a fist. He pulled out and thrust forward again even deeper this time. He pounded into her, unable to stop.
“This is what you make me,” he gritted as he thrust over and over. “A rutting beast. This is what you’ve done to me.”
She didn’t answer but her hips rose to meet his, matching the rhythm of his movements. He couldn’t last. She’d pushed him too far. He’d come soon, spilling his lust deep inside her. His balls clenched, pulling tight in their sac.
Her breathing grew ragged and then turned into little cries. Sounds of female passion. Could it be? Would she come with him? He’d never felt so connected with a woman before. No other woman’s sex had pulled at his like hers, milking him, urging him on. If she felt the same…sweet Lord what had he found?
His heart thundering in his chest, he surrendered to the power of their coupling. More than two people, they’d merged into one being as they rushed together toward the edge of reason.
Another thrust and the madness crested over him. Starting at his spine, the climax spiraled inward and then burst free, sending shocks to his balls and then along his cock. Howling he came in one massive wave after another.
The sound of her scream tore him apart as he shot his semen deep inside her. Now. And again and again.
Finally he finished and fell against her, gasping for air. He’d never come like that before. Hadn’t believed it possible. And he’d taken her with him.
“I’m sorry,” he muttered against her shoulder. “I wanted to be gentle our first time.”
“No matter.”
No matter? In all the years he’d bedded women, none of them had ever said, “no matter” afterward. With barely enough strength to move, he lifted himself to his elbows and looked down into her face. She smiled back at him but not with the glow of a satisfied lover. More like a lady pleased with a dinner invitation. Or worse yet victory.
“You didn’t…” he said.
She cocked her head and studied him, a cool and calculating look in her eyes. “Didn’t what?”
Didn’t climax. Didn’t come. Didn’t bloody surrender anything to him. “You didn’t enjoy any of that did you?”
“This was for you, Lord Wortham, not for me.”
“Damn it all to hell.” He rolled off her and sat up, swinging his legs over the side of the bed.
“Didn’t you enjoy yourself?”
He turned and glared at her. “You gave me no choice.”
“How flattering.” She sat up too and adjusted her nightgown.
“I didn’t mean it as a compliment. You’ve tormented me since I got here. I finally snapped. That’s all.”
“You give me credit for too much power,” she said.
Power. She did have the power to turn him into an animal, to go against his better instincts to treat women with respect and tenderness. He might be a ne’er-do-well, a scoundrel and a rake but he had his own code of honor. Or he had. He didn’t now.
“Tell me truly,” he said. “That meant nothing to you at all?”
He stared at her face, watching her decide on her answer. The smile returned but only for a moment. Then she grew more thoughtful, nibbling on her lip as she stared into the small fire. After a moment she sighed.
“I won’t pretend I don’t enjoy your touch,” she said finally.
“I think you did more than enjoy the other night at the banquet you gave me.”
Hard to tell in the dim light but she might have blushed. “That was…remar
kable.”
He took her chin in his hand and turned her to face him. “Don’t make it dirty between us. That’ll give you power over me, yes. But it lessens your humanity.”
She laughed. “My humanity. What an improbable concept.”
Useless. Every time he thought he’d pressed past some barrier between them, she threw up another one. Like the bloody mirrors in the hall below. He rose from the bed. “I’m very sorry not to have satisfied you this evening, Lady Oakhurst. I’ll do better at our next meeting.”
He turned and headed toward the spiral staircase. Somehow he’d have to find his way through the labyrinth of hallways to his rooms. Finding his way through the labyrinth of his heart would be even harder.
* * * * *
A storm rode in around midnight. Thick clouds blotted out the moon and stars and then a wind whipped up, rustling leaves and sending a wail through the trees in Caroline’s favorite woods. She sat on her window seat watching the tempest grow as rain pelted the panes only inches from her face. So close to the glass, she shivered with the cold but she wouldn’t back away. The turmoil outside only reflected the violence inside her as beliefs and memories clashed with emotions. She’d won a victory over the man who’d ruined her life this evening. Or had she?
Everything had gone as she’d planned. Wortham had pursued Abby, thinking her to be Caroline. If he found the two of them interchangeable he’d have simply taken Abby. But he hadn’t. He’d come to her instead and what a fine state of male fury he’d been when he did. Any other man would have frightened her looking like that—huge and angry and aroused. She’d only found him fascinating. A great and beautiful beast.
Damn it all she couldn’t lie to herself not any longer. He’d excited her beyond belief, standing there with that wild light in his eyes, his hair falling around his face almost to his shoulders. His sex so large and erect, so livid even in the dim light. She’d wanted him. In truth if he hadn’t frigged her, she’d have found her way into his bed on her own.
She’s wanted him and he’d taken her with every bit of energy trapped inside him. Inside them both. He’d felt glorious, plunging that amazing tool inside her over and over. If he hadn’t spent when he did, she’d have followed him. Only the steely control she’d learned under Oakhurst’s mistreatment had held her back from the brink.
Dear God, she loved him. After all she’d been through she’d fallen in love with the Marquis of Wortham of all people. She shut her eyes and leaned her forehead against the glass as if the cold there could put out the fire inside her.
What to do now? Find Robert? Wake Abby and spill her secrets to her friend? Go in search of sherry or something stronger? Go back to bed and lie wide-eyed until dawn?
A flash of light played at the back of her eyelids. She opened them but saw nothing. A few seconds later, the sound of thunder rumbled toward her. She held her breath and looked outside. Another flash and another clap of sound, louder and sooner after the light. The storm was approaching, gathering strength. No humans under this roof understood how she felt tonight but the elements did. She’d take her questions to the natural world for answers. Smiling, she rose from the seat.
* * * * *
Well damn. Wortham had finally dropped off to sleep but thunder woke him up again. He lay staring at the canopy over the bed and watched as lightning brightened the room, flashing twice before winking out again. A large boom came right after. The storm was nearly overhead.
He’d loved thunderstorms as a child. He’d often run outside to watch their magic, only to have a servant grab him and drag him back inside. Although he’d known he risked lightning striking him, he didn’t care. The wonder of it all seemed more important—sharing the power of nature. He could use some of that power now.
He tossed back the covers and got out of bed. After slipping into his robe, he walked to the window and gazed outside. Another flash of lightning showed chaos in the world outside. Roses bent in the wind, straining against the stakes that held them. Leaves whipped across the lawn, swirling in place, and in the distance, branches of the trees in the little wood flailed about. A wild scene. Just the kind he would have loved as a boy.
Yet another flash revealed another figure. A human one, moving across the lawn. Weeks ago he’d looked out of Blakeley’s study window to watch that same figure running away from the house. Caroline was out there, only now instead of the druid costume, she wore a nightshirt that reflected the eerie light. Her feet appeared bare. What was she thinking?
“Idiotic woman,” he grumbled. If the lightning didn’t strike her down, she’d catch her death in the cold rain. Even as a child, he’d had enough sense to dress in warm clothes before going outside in a storm.
With any other woman, he’d find a cloak and go to her rescue. He ought to let this woman risk her health or even her life. She’d abused him in more ways than he could think of. Tonight she’d stripped him of his last scruple. He owed her nothing so why was he wondering if a servant might have left some boots and a warm cape in the rear entryway?
Hell. He could fight with himself all he wanted. In the end he’d go looking for her. He might as well do it now before she got far into the woods and he had to search high and low for her.
He left his rooms and found his way to the stairs and then down into the hallway that led to the back of the house. Sure enough, in a small vestibule, he found a row of capes on pegs along the wall. Under each stood a pair of work boots. One pair looked big enough for even his feet and the cape above it would cover him easily. He put both on, opened the door and stepped out into the storm.
Rain pummeled his face as he looked around, searching for her. She was just disappearing into the trees, her gown plastered to her body by the storm. She looked like a ghost or other specter—a wood nymph—but she was a mortal and under those trees, she only increased the likelihood of a lightning strike. Holding the workman’s cape around him, he ran off after her.
She hadn’t gone far into the woods but stood under a towering fir tree with her face turned upward. Rain pelted her face, coursing over her cheeks like tears. Her expression wasn’t sour though. Instead she smiled, to all appearances at peace with the tempest around her. Unfortunately the blasted woman had chosen the very worst place to stand, as that tree reached higher toward the heavens—and the lightning—than any of the others nearby. As he watched, the sky flashed brightly again.
“Come away from there,” he shouted but a clap of thunder drowned out his words.
“Caroline, for the love of God,” he yelled. “Come out from under that tree.”
She finally noticed him, lowering her chin and turning to face him. “Well, Lord Wortham, do you like storms too?”
Impossible woman. He went to her, took her hand and pulled her back toward the path to the house. She let him drag her as far as the lawn before she dug in her heels and stopped him.
Only slightly more safe here, he pulled her into his arms and wrapped the cloak around them both. She was cold and wet and felt tiny against him but with that iron will of hers, persuasion would work better than force in getting her back inside.
They stood that way for a moment—the two of them sheltering together—while the storm continued pummeling them. Raindrops trickled inside his collar and soon the wool around them would soak through. How to make this woman see sense?
Finally she started to tremble and her teeth chattered. He bent and placed his mouth to her ear. “Let me take you inside.”
“But the storm—”
“You’ll make yourself sick,” he said. “If you don’t get us both killed.”
She hesitated for a moment and stiffened as if she’d try to pull away. Eventually she gave up and leaned against him. “All right.”
He took her hand again and turned to lead them both to the house.
* * * * *
What delicious irony that her rescuer—a peer of the realm of considerable social standing—looked like one of her garden hands in John’s huge cloak an
d muddy boots. Even more ironic that her knight in shining armor would light a candle and take her back to the very rooms where her husband had imprisoned her. It was the only bedroom he knew well in the house and so the logical choice but still, it felt odd to feel small and helpless again and find herself back here.
When he turned on the taps in the tub and water spouted out of the brass phallus, the absurdity of the situation became overwhelming and she couldn’t help but laugh like a madwoman.
“I’m glad you find this funny.” He unfastened the buttons of her nightgown and slipped it over her head. “I don’t see any humor in the situation.”
“But you must. It’s absurd, all of it.” She gestured toward the spray of water. “That fixture’s absurd.”
“I’m sure.” He bent and scooped off her slippers one at a time. “Now get in the tub.”
She obeyed, lowering herself slowly into the hot water. Steam rose around her as the heat burned off the chill from the rain. She sighed and relaxed as the currents swirled around her, reaching between her toes and at the secret spot between her legs.
When the tub had filled, Wortham turned the water off and picked up a cloth and soap. After making a thick lather, he scrubbed her back. Her skin tingled where he rubbed it and the scent of soap filled her nostrils.
“You do that well,” she said.
“I’ve had some practice.”
“Of course.”
“What on earth possessed you to go outside in this weather?” he demanded.
“It suited my mood,” she answered.
“I ought to take you over my knee and warm your bottom with the flat of my hand.”
She laughed again. The mere idea of London’s most famous rake playing the cross parent would make anyone giggle. He harrumphed his disapproval and she laughed even harder.
“Keep that up and I might do it,” he said.
“I dare you to try.”
“Impossible woman.”
He put more soap on the cloth and reached to her front. She crossed her arms over her chest but he pushed them away again. “It’s a little late for timidity between us, don’t you think?”