Then she remembered that to them she was just some doxy hired by the Mallorens to seduce the earl.
“Do you think anyone is guarding that door?” she asked.
“It depends on so many factors. If it’s important to hold us for a purpose, then yes, they’d post a guard and he’d already know we were up and active. If they just wanted to get rid of us for a while, then they might not. Clearly this place can hold us for many hours.”
“Why would they want to do that?” Again she was begging him to be honest with her and tell her something of the plot.
“There could be reasons, but it wouldn’t be safe for you to know.”
At his tone, she remembered that Lisette had claimed not to have heard anything of importance at Vauxhall. The gallant man was trying to protect her. It made her smile in a way that would look very silly if anyone had been able to see.
“If there’s no one guarding us,” she suggested, “we could make a noise. Call for help.”
“By my estimation, it’s about three in the morning and this building, whatever it is, is deserted. Who’d hear?”
“Let’s try anyway.” Elf leaped down off the box. “I’ll use the stick to bang on the door. You rattle the trapdoor.”
“Impetuous Lisette.” She heard him move. “Do you regret seducing me?”
“Seducing you?” Elf froze. “I most certainly did not!”
“Did you not? When a gentleman has no intention of dalliance, yet finds himself implored into pleasuring a lady, what else would you call it?”
Implored! “You seduced me on that boat, my lord.” Elf groped to the door, found the stick, then banged out her anger on the oak.
“Alas. I’m ‘my lord’ again.” He rattled the door at the top of the ramp. “Help! Ho! If I seduced you, Lisette, I was singularly inept.”
“Were you?” She belabored the wood. “You caused me to rethink my decision.”
“Ah. You restore my faith in myself. Ho, there! Help! In the cellar! One hundred guineas reward to anyone who releases us!”
“A hundred? How niggardly. Help!” Elf screamed. “One thousand guineas to my rescuer! Help!”
“Picayune. Ten thousand guineas to free me from this rash, extravagant wench!”
“I fear you are a man of limited resources. Help! To me! A hundred thousand guineas to save me from this dastardly rapscallion!”
“Why do I think you expect me to pay your debts? A rescue! A rescue! My earldom for a rescue!”
Silence fell, then Elf recalled the laughter in his last cries, and realized that the sounds of it continued. He was whooping. Oh, but she wished she could see him helpless with laughter.
It still shook his voice as he said, “A hundred thousand, indeed. You wicked, intemperate creature. Ah well, if no one’s heard us by now, there is no one to hear.”
Elf dropped the stick and leaned against the door. “But then . . . Will they just leave us here? Surely we can’t starve to death within London.”
“I’m sure it’s possible, but I won’t let it come to that.”
“Will you not? You admit to being a poor sort of hero.”
“And you are showing signs of being a sharp-tongued shrew! Desist. There are faint chinks in this door, and surely in daylight someone will have to be around. We’ll think of something.”
“I’m sorry.” Elf fumbled back toward the box. “I’m not used to being so helpless.”
“And you think I am? You clearly have no notion what it means to be an earl.”
More than ever, Elf wanted to tell the truth, but the risk of weakening this camaraderie was just too great. “Daylight will be better, even if it’s just the smallest chink. It’s the dark that frets at me.”
He sat beside her and gathered her into his arms, then pulled her down to lie half over him, on top of the box, the robe over them both. “Close your eyes and think of going to sleep.”
“You think I can sleep here?”
“No. But with your eyes closed, the dark won’t be so disturbing.”
It was better, and she even felt warm and comfortable in his arms. She feared he couldn’t be too comfortable on top of the rough wood, though.
“You’re very kind, Fort.”
“Am I? That would surprise many.”
“Why do you say that?”
His hand soothed her back, but she thought he wouldn’t reply. “I haven’t been kind recently.”
Cocooned together, they’d created a time for confidences. Elf wondered if she should permit it, for he would never talk this way to Elf Malloren. But she wanted to know him, to understand him, and she suspected that he needed to talk.
“Why haven’t you been kind?” she asked. “It seems in your nature.”
“Does it? I’m not sure I remember what my nature is. Yes, perhaps I used to be kind, if it didn’t cause me too much trouble.”
“I think you’re too harsh on yourself. You’ve been good to me.”
“Men are often good to women they want to have sex with.”
“Aha!” Elf sat up straddling him, even though she couldn’t see a thing. “You admit you wanted it!”
He chuckled. “Yes. I wanted it. To be precise, I wanted you. God knows why.”
“You can be very rude.”
“I thought you said I was so good to you.”
“You have the remarkable ability to be both good and rude at the same time.”
“Are you talking about my nature or my sexual prowess?” But then he reached out, found her, and pulled her down on top of him, twitching the robe back over them. “I’m cold.”
“You’re . . . you’re wanting again.” She could hardly mistake the evidence.
“Rampant with lust would be a good term, yes. Don’t worry, though, I’m not desperate.”
Elf adjusted her position so as not to press on him. “Why do you want me, then?” she asked, letting her hand wander over his chest.
“Ah, the universal question. Perhaps, Lisette, I just hadn’t had a woman in a while.”
“Hadn’t?” she teased. “That can’t explain the last time.”
He slapped her bottom. “Minx. That was a mad expression of relief at being alive.”
“Very well. Why do you want me now?”
“Danger makes some men great.”
“Great?” she said with a chuckle. “What interesting words you use. Why hadn’t you made love in a while? I’m sure you don’t lack opportunity.”
“Perhaps I grew tired of the incessant chatter of women.”
He was doing his best to push her away with words, but Elf burned with the need to understand this man. “I’m sure you can pay a whore to be silent.”
He pulled her close, hands hard on her buttocks. “I’m sure you’re too clever for the silly innocent you play. And yet you were an innocent. Care to elucidate the conundrum, Lisette?”
Pressed tight to him, she could feel him growing bigger and harder between her thighs. He’d brought new weapons to bear in the attempt to shut her up.
A Malloren is not so easily silenced.
“My family is not mealymouthed,” she said. “Why hadn’t you had a woman?”
He shifted and pulled her head down for a silencing kiss. Elf kissed him back, turning it from weapon into pleasure until his hand gentled and she felt the tension drain out of him. When their lips parted, however, she whispered, “Why hadn’t you had a woman?”
She had to choke back a scream at the way his hands tightened on her shoulders, but then they eased. “Because,” he said softly, “I was hurting them.”
“Hurting?” She wished she could see his expression.
“As I just hurt you.” He rubbed at the places he’d bruised.
“You hadn’t hurt me, until now.”
“With you, it seems to be different. That’s why. Why I agreed to make love to you.”
Elf settled down, head snuggled between his neck and shoulder. “I’m glad.”
“What?”
“That I’m different.”
“At least you’re not the type who likes bites and bruises.”
“Do any women?”
“Ah! At last a touch of innocence. Yes, some women like pain with sex. Some men like it, too.”
She shifted to kiss his jaw. “But not you.”
He moved so he could kiss her lips. “No, not me. So if you have a taste for the rougher kinds of love, you’d better find another provider.”
She turned her head away. “You may not like to bruise, but you don’t hesitate to lash out with words!”
He lay still for a moment, then his hand touched her hair. “I’m sorry, but I told you I was not kind.”
“I don’t think it’s your nature. Why are you so . . . so bitter?”
She’d asked the basic question, and as silence ran, she thought he wouldn’t answer.
“I had a shock,” he said at last. “It made me angry.”
It told her little, but was a tremendous admission on his part. She caressed his chest. “I’m sorry for your pain.”
“Pain? Yes, I suppose that describes it.”
“A death?” she asked, risking a probing question.
She wanted him to tell her the root of his bitterness. Perhaps he had never spoken of it to anyone. She knew her brothers, particularly Bryght and Rothgar, found it hard to talk of their strongest emotions.
“Clever Lisette. Yes, a death.”
He fell silent again and she waited, not sure how far she could push him.
“My father.”
Elf tried not to react. It had taken so long for those two words to come out that she knew it had been hard for him.
“It can be very painful to lose a parent,” she said. “My father died when I was young.”
“How young?”
How much did he know of the Mallorens? Just in case, she added a couple of years. “I was nine.”
“Almost too young to remember.”
“Yes. I wish we had more of him. More pictures. More letters. He dictated letters to us all as he lay dying, but they’re rather severe. Advice. Admonitions. I’m told he was a fun-loving man.”
“I suppose death is a sobering experience. So, you have brothers and sisters?”
“Yes. And you, my lord?”
“You must call me Fort, you know, or I’ll never tell you my secrets.”
The teasing note made her smile. It also told her that she’d broken through, that he would talk to her. Her qualms returned, but she pushed them away. It would do him good to talk. “Fort, then.”
“I have two sisters and one brother.”
“And your mother? Is she still alive?”
“She died when I was quite young.”
“But at least you have your brother and sisters.”
“We are not very close.”
Elf wanted to protest. Chastity loved Fort, as did the other sister, Verity. They would support him and assist him in anything, but he hardly seemed to realize it. Just because he thought he had failed them, he thought they could not love him.
“That’s sad,” she said.
“So, you are close to your family?”
“Yes, very close.”
“You’re fortunate.”
“I think so, though it means they all feel entitled to interfere in my life.”
“Really? I had the impression that you were inadequately supervised.”
Elf knew she was drifting too close to the whirlpool of truth, but she couldn’t resist being as honest as she could. “It’s just that I am away from them at the moment.”
“Ah, yes. And staying with your agreeable friend.”
“You’re not to sneer at her. She is not in favor of my actions.”
“Then she should stop them.”
“Perhaps I am unstoppable.”
“Certainly I have found you so. To my delight.” He held her a little closer. “It would please me immensely, Lisette, if you would become my mistress. I like you, and I certainly seem to have no complications about my honest lust for your body.”
“I wish I could,” Elf said. “But once my family found out they would object.”
“You misled me then.” He sounded a little annoyed, as well he might. “Have you thought what they will do if you’re with child? It’s not inevitable, but it’s possible.”
Elf had thought. Indeed she had. “They would be upset, but they’d help me. I’d bear the child discreetly, and it would be raised by suitable foster parents. It is not an unusual situation.”
“What a cool head you have. I hope your family is as understanding as you say.”
So did Elf, and cool didn’t exactly describe her feelings. The thought of being pregnant alarmed her. The notion of giving a baby, Fort’s baby, up to strangers horrified her. Why hadn’t she realized before how impossible that would be?
His voice distracted her. “Promise me something.”
“What?”
“If you bear a child, let me know. I have two bastards that I know of, and I keep an eye on them. I don’t think such children benefit from knowing too soon that they are born of a noble family, but I will make sure they have a good start in life.”
She framed his face and found his lips with a kiss, able to feel in their relaxation his gentle mood, almost able to see his features softened by trust and good humor. “I told you you were a kind man.”
“Is it kindness? They might be of use to me one day.” But she felt his lips move in a smile.
“Why do you try so hard to appear heartless?”
“You are a romantic. I am merely trying to be honest.”
“You have a false mirror. Tell me, then, how you see the Earl of Walgrave.”
He shifted her suddenly, rubbing his erection along her cleft. “Rampant with lust.”
Desire stirred in Elf, too, but she asked, “Why do you keep trying to distract me?”
“Because you keep probing at my wounds.”
“What wounds?”
He groaned and silenced her with a kiss. She enjoyed it immensely, and never for a moment forgot the hot invader between her thighs, but when he stopped, she asked, “What wounds?”
“Shut up.” He rolled her under him, spread her thighs, and thrust into her. She stiffened with shock and pain.
He froze, then pulled out of her, shuddering. “You see what I’m like. Even with you.”
She gripped his hair before he could disappear into the dark. “You see what I’m like? Like a terrier, whether I’m after truth or a man.”
Ruthlessly, she pulled him down and straddled him. “I want you.” Fumbling in the dark, she found his erection, and despite a muttered protest that didn’t sound sincere, eased herself carefully around him, loving taking the rigid fullness deep inside, even where she was so sensitive. “Am I doing this right?” she whispered.
A wild laugh ran through him like a wave. “Perfectly. Are you comfortable?”
Elf shifted a bit more, full of him, hips stretched wide over him. “What an extraordinary question. I’m not in pain.”
She moved to try to improve her balance and felt the response in him, tense between her thighs. She remembered their lovemaking when he’d made her talk.
“What wounds?” she asked, gently rocking her hips.
“What?” She didn’t need vision to tell his mind was not on practicalities at all.
She bit her lip on a giggle. “What wounds? Tell me some wounds and I’ll move some more.”
“That’s whoring of the lowest kind.”
“You won’t deflect me that way. What wounds?”
“Don’t. Don’t . . .”
“Tell me. Wounds need to be opened to heal.” In time to her rocking motion, she chanted, “Tell me, tell me, tell me—”
He seized her, rolled her, pinned her brutally beneath him. “I killed my father,” he said, before using her body for oblivion.
Shaken by his words, ravaged by his wild rhythm, Elf could only move with him helplessly until he c
ollapsed over her, quivering still. She raised a trembling hand to stroke his back, which ran with chilling sweat.
What to say, what to say? He’d killed his father. He, not one of her brothers, had fired that shot.
Then she realized he was crying. Helplessly, wracked with it, he wept in her comforting arms, but all the while, she silently cried her own tears. Oh, don’t do this. How will you feel when you know who I am? How will you bear it? Don’t do this . . .
And yet she had caused it. She had broken down every barrier, never thinking how she would handle what lay caged within.
She thought back again to that terrible night at Rothgar Abbey. Her brothers had all been armed. She was sure one of them could have killed the old earl. Instead, they’d forced him—Rothgar had forced him—into that most heinous crime, patricide.
For the first time she was ashamed of something her family had done.
He lay silent now, surely at a loss. So was she. What could anyone say in this situation? What would Lisette say? Elf assumed a firm and saucy tone. “I’m sure your father deserved to die, then.”
He laughed, very shakily. “Oh, indeed. But so do many. It is not condoned.” He still sprawled between her thighs.
“Clearly no one knows of your crime or you would have been punished.”
“Some know. It will not come out. You are not shocked?”
“No.” She knew the dangers now, but she had to push a little more to try to fix what she had broken. “Why does it pain you so much?”
“Why?” He seemed limp from sex and grief and was half-smothering her with his big body, but she could bear it. “God knows. Perhaps because he’s the only man I’ve killed. That has to leave a mark.”
She let the silence run, hoping for more.
“Probably because I hated him.” He spoke so quietly she could hardly hear. “I hated, loathed, and feared him, and had all my life. I could tell myself I killed him because he was about to kill others. That’s what my sisters said. But I killed him because I hated him, because I’d wanted to kill him since I was a young child, and I finally had the chance.”
He raised up on his forearms and the words poured out of him. “As a child, I wanted to kill him out of powerless terror. It wasn’t just the beatings, it was his impossible standards. Nothing I did was good enough. Every fault was picked out and waved in front of me, and in front of servants. When he whipped me, he would summon the servants to watch. He said it would break my pride. He, the proudest man in creation.
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