by Nina Mason
“On the contrary. I like it very much.”
She touched her lips to the tip of his perfect nose. “How will I die if I kiss you?”
“It isn’t the kiss,” he said softly, but with an edge to his burr. “It’s what it might lead to.”
Puzzled, she scowled down at him. “I don’t understand. What could it lead to that isn’t good?”
“Love, Miss Moreland. Kissing is intimate, and intimacy engenders affection. That is why prostitutes never kiss on the mouth.”
Blinking a few times, she endeavored to wrap her mind around the full meaning of what he’d just disclosed. It sounded as if kissing on the mouth would make him fall in love with her. That seemed like a good thing. A very good thing, in fact.
Parting her lips, she lowered her mouth onto his.
She was prepared for any number of reactions. Topping the list were tight-lipped resistance and a swift turn of the head. She even half expected him to turn into a slimy, wart-covered toad. What she didn’t expect was to find herself lip locked with a black-and-white cat the size of a Collie.
Chapter 9
Leith hissed and took a swipe at her. When she moved away, he jumped down from the chaise and took refuge in the shadows. Damn her. She’d broken her promise.
She’d also slipped out of her role, which he’d daftly allowed. Worse yet, she’d lit the long-banked fire in his heart. Though only a tiny flame at present, even a spark could escalate if steps weren’t taken to contain them. He must, therefore, douse his feelings at once.
The question was, how?
The conniving wee rodent was still on the chaise, looking contrite and a bit shell-shocked. Good. At least she had the sense to keep her distance. His tiny feline brain wasn’t the best for problem solving, but shifting back would require dealing with her, and he wasn’t quite ready for that.
He would drive her to Inverness tomorrow, get her a room, and leave her there to shift for herself. He certainly owed her no more than that and probably much less. If not for him, after all, she’d be dead and gone.
Oh, bloody hell.
He’d forgotten all about the film rights. If he turned her out now, he’d never get his money. Then, he’d lose Glenarvon, the last vestige of his human life. Under no circumstances could he let that happen.
Let’s see now. It was Friday night. The soonest she could request the contracts would be Monday. That gave him two days to nip his feelings in the bud. Two days to avoid her and two nights to ache for her. And he would. Because he ached for her already. Damn her and her feminine wiles. She’d drawn him in like a siren draws a sailor and now both of them would drown.
“Do you hate me now?” Her voice was meek and frail.
“If only I did.”
“Are you angry?”
“No, lass. I’m disappointed. How can I trust you if you openly defy me?”
“I didn’t mean to defy you, it’s just that, well, I really wanted to kiss you.”
“I set rules and boundaries for a reason.” He did his best to sound stern. “I expect them to be respected. Now you’ve endangered us both.”
She swallowed hard enough for him to hear. “Are you going to punish me?”
There was his answer. She had done the one thing he’d asked her not to and now it seemed only fair that he should reciprocate. If he beat her, she would hate him and stay the hell away from him for the next few days. After the contracts were signed, she would go and that would be the end of it. His feelings wouldn’t grow if she didn’t encourage them.
“You’ve made it necessary,” he said. “You did the one thing I asked you not to, and now I must do the same.”
He shifted back into his human form and raked his fingers through his hair. He’d punished plenty of subs before without the slightest qualms. He wasn’t naturally cruel. Being forced to harden his heart had made him that way.
“You’re g-going to s-strike me?” Her lower lip quivered and her eyes filled with tears.
Steeling himself against her heart-wrenching expression, he said, “Among other things.”
He went to the wardrobe, took out his breeches and pulled them on. He then went to the wall of toys and selected a buggy whip. As he stepped toward her out of the shadows, he cracked the whip.
Her eyes widened, her back stiffened, and her face went as white as milk. Good, she was scared. Fear would soon drive away any fondness she might harbor for him.
As he stepped toward her, he cracked the whip again. She scrambled off the chaise and around to the opposite side. Excellent. She looked positively petrified.
Staring her down, he slapped the whip against his leg. “You’ve been a very naughty wee mouse.”
“You w-wouldn’t d-dare.”
“Wouldn’t I?” He gave her his wickedest grin. “Look around you. Did you think your insolence wouldn’t cost you?”
Tears streamed down her cheeks, nearly undoing him. Hardening his heart, he stepped around the chaise. When he tried to grab her, she bolted. He stayed put, watching to see where she’d go. She scurried into the shadows he’d just stepped out of. The wardrobe creaked open and, a few moments later, thumped shut. Tightening his grip on the whip handle, he stalked her to her hiding place.
* * * *
Gwyn, heart pounding, pressed her eye to the keyhole. He was right outside and still had that fucking whip in his hand. The determined look in his eye told her he wasn’t bluffing.
Her mind jumped back to that awful night her stepmother dragged her out of bed and wailed on her with her father’s belt. The beating seemed to go on forever, and she could do nothing to stop it. All she could do was cover her face and sob. She didn’t remember the pain, only the harrowing feeling of helplessness.
She’d vowed never to let anybody belittle her like that again. And now, here she was, hiding in a wardrobe from a man with a whip. He was standing just outside, tapping the damn thing against his hand. She couldn’t believe he could be so cruel. Yes, she’d kissed him after he’d told her not to, but lashing her for it seemed a bit extreme.
“Come out, Miss Morland,” he said, “so we can get on with it.”
She couldn’t get past him and, even if she could, she’d never find her way through the dark to the stairs. What had she been thinking coming down her with him? She should have been more cautious, should have listened to that tiny, fearful voice inside.
“Can’t I just apologize?”
She bit her lip to stop the trembling. He wasn’t answering. Was he considering her offer? Please, let that be the case. She’d apologize, he’d put the whip away, and that would be that.
“Come out, Miss Morland. Or I shall open the door myself and drag you out by the hair.”
Her insides frosted over. She had no doubt he would back up his threat. At the same time, she couldn’t bring herself to open the door.
The man had a whip, after all, and clearly intended to use the damn thing on her.
“I’m not coming out until you promise not to whip me. ”
He dragged a hand down his face and licked his lips. His mouth looked ugly to her now. She couldn’t believe she’d ever wanted to kiss him.
“I’ll tell you what.” He tapped the whip against his open palm. “If you come out of your own volition, I’ll only put you over my knee.”
“You won’t whip me?”
“No, I’ll only spank you.”
“With what?”
“Just my bare hand.”
She took a breath and swiped at her tears. As much as she loathed the idea of a spanking, it was preferable to a whipping. “Fine. But not too hard.”
“I’ll decide the severity, Miss Morland, not you. Now come out of there before I change my mind.”
Eye to the keyhole, she said, “I’m not budging until you put down that fucking whip.”
With a smirk she’d love to slap off his face, he tossed the whip away. Damn him. Now she had no choice but to keep her
end of the bargain.
With a racing pulse and no air in her lungs, she pushed open the door, which seemed to swing in slow motion. The squeal of the hinges set her teeth on edge. Clamping her jaw, she climbed out amidst a tangle of skirts.
He held out the hand in which he’d held the whip. “Come, my wee mouse, and take your licks.”
Insides curdling, she slapped the hand away with an indignant huff. He looked hurt by the gesture. Good. Let him know how it felt to be treated like dirt. Sucking in a bracing breath, she held her head high, and followed him out of the shadows. When they were almost to the chaise, he spun around and held up his hand.
“Wait here.”
As much as she burned to ask why, she couldn’t seem to find her words. Scenes from the Sleeping Beauty books raced through her mind. She shuddered at the thought of being trussed up like a turkey and forced to eat from a trough. He wouldn’t dare, would he? A fine sweat broke out across her skin.
Of course he would, fear whispered. Look around you. The man is capable of anything.
As she stood there, strangled by dread, he took a seat on the chaise. His eyes roamed over her in a lascivious way that made her feel naked and dirty.
A smile twitched on his mouth. “Take off your clothes.”
Although mortified, she stuck out her chin in defiance. “And if I refuse?”
“I will do it for you.”
Her gaze met his before dropping to his lap. He wasn’t hard. How odd. She was sure he was getting off on this.
“Tell me something if you would,” she bit out. “How did the noble man you were become the monster you are?”
Pain flashed behind his eyes. He rubbed them, pushed back his hair, and scratched his chin, looking pensive. Clearly, he was giving his answer serious consideration. Finally, he heaved a sigh and spoke.
“Tenderness is what tames the beast within, Miss Morland. Without it, the savage takes over.”
“I don’t understand,” she said. “Who is denying you tenderness but yourself? When I tried to give you some, you threatened to horsewhip me.”
“Tenderness is forbidden to me.”
Brow furrowing, she blinked at him in confusion. “Forbidden? How, exactly?”
“By my curse.” Though he looked pained, she couldn’t bring herself to gloat about it. “If I accepted your tenderness and came to care for you, you would die.”
Her mouth fell open. Holy crap. That was the curse Queen Morgan put on him? That anyone he cared about would die?
“Is there no way to break the curse?”
He scrubbed his face with his hand and heaved a woeful sigh. “None that I’m aware of.”
“Are you sure it’s real? Maybe it’s one of those power-of-suggestion things and she was just messing with you.”
She was grasping at straws, but she didn’t care.
“Trust me. It’s real.”
Her heart leaped into her throat. “Oh, my God. Has someone died?”
He took a step back and rubbed his chest as if experiencing sudden pain. “Aye, Miss Morland. Two someones.” His eyes grew dark and turbulent. “And I’d prefer not to add you to the list of casualties.”
Chilly fingers walked up her spine. “Is there some danger of that?”
“There’s always a danger,” he said. “Now take off your things, and let’s get on with it.”
A small quiver went through her, half fear, half excitement. In his own convoluted way, he’d just admitted he had feelings for her. She had feelings for him, too. Despite the impending spanking. Beneath the rust and tarnish of his armor beat the heart of her faery tale knight. There had to be a way to rescue him.
Regarding him hopefully, she licked her lips. “Are you sure there’s no way to break the curse?”
He heaved a sigh and combed his fingers though his hair. “If there is, the antidote would be in the Thitherworld, where I am forbidden to go.”
Pulse accelerating, she set her hand on her chest as she stepped toward him. “What if somebody else went for you?”
He scoffed and looked down his nose at her. “Why would anybody be fool enough to do that?”
She blinked up at him, mouth suddenly dry. “So you could be a good knight again.”
A loud knock at the door almost made her jump out of her skin.
“My lord? Are you in there?”
It was the butler’s voice.
“Aye, Gavin.” Leith’s gaze moved from her to the door. “What is it?”
“I’m sorry to disturb, my lord, but Mr. Earlston and Lord Lyon have just arrived and are waiting upon you in the library.”
Chapter 10
“Still living in the past, eh, Sir Leith?”
Lord Lyon’s snide remark raised Leith’s shields at once. He’d entered the library with Gwyneth on his arm to find the two gentlemen with their heads together at the window, each gripping maddeningly generous pours of his best single-malt.
The remark no doubt had to do with their costumes. He’d put his riding togs back on while Gwyneth still wore the fetching maid’s uniform he’d tried so hard to get her out of in the dungeon.
“Still the same cheeky bugger, I see, Lord Lyon,” Leith coolly returned.
Closer scrutiny revealed that Lord Lyon was not, in fact, the same. For one, he’d cut his hair—conservatively short. For another, he looked even happier than usual, which galled Leith to the marrow.
Tom looked much as he had the last time he’d visited Glenarvon, which was—what?—a dozen or so years back? Still the same impish good looks, intense blue eyes, and disheveled sandy hair.
Setting his hand atop Gwyneth’s in the crook of his arm, Leith stepped deeper into the room. “Gentlemen, allow me to present Miss Morland, who is adapting my book for the screen.” Addressing the lady, he added, “These ne’er-do-wells are Callum Lyon, the baron of Barrogill, and Tom Earlston, also known as Thomas the Rhymer.”
Tom smiled and uttered some appropriate pleasantry while Callum gave an astonished-looking Gwyneth the once over with a lecherous gleam in his eye.
Same old Lyon.
“I’m sorry I missed your wedding, Lord Lyon.” Leith said it deliberately, hoping to discourage the lady’s interest in the cad. “Allow me to offer my belated congratulations.”
“Thank you.”
Though Lyon spoke to Leith, he kept his eyes on his prey.
Leith regarded his unwelcome guest warily. “And where is your lovely bride this evening?”
“In Greenland,” Lyon replied, “saving the world from Big Oil, which I applaud.”
Leith smiled politely and ushered Miss Morland to the drink cart. Were he Lyon’s bride, he wouldn’t let his mate out of his sight. Or perhaps Lady Vanessa wasn’t aware of her husband’s reputation.
Reluctantly, he let go of Gwyneth’s precious hand and picked up the pillaged whisky decanter. Not to appear cheap, he filled both tumblers fuller than usual, after which, he handed one of the drinks to her. While he might have no claim on her, he’d be damned if he’d throw her to the Rampant Lyon of Caithness.
“And to what do I owe the honor of your condescension, my lord?” Leith took a sniff of his glass, savoring the heady blend of oak, vanilla, marmalade, and florals. When this was gone, there would be no more of the good stuff until the film money came through.
“Nothing in particular.” Lyon shrugged. “I’m on my way to London and thought I’d pop in to see how you’re getting on. And offer my sympathies. Tom here tells me you’re in a bit of a slump and, as a fellow author, I know how defeating that can be.”
“I hope you don’t mind my telling him,” Tom put in with a look of unease.
Leith did, actually. A great deal. The less Lyon knew about him and his concerns, the better. He took a sip from his glass and licked his lips. “Of course not. My life is an open book.”
Beside him, Gwyneth coughed into her hand before moving to the oxblood leather chesterfield. She
sat, arranged her skirts, and sipped her whisky. God, she was lovely. With her wide-set green eyes, cherubic mouth, and button nose, she looked every bit the woodland nymph ripe for the ravishing.
“Will you be staying the night, Lord Lyon?”
“No, but I thank you kindly for the invitation.”
Relief washed through Leith until Lyon’s gaze slid back to the lady and lingered. Simmering with fury, Leith stepped into his sightline like a dog protecting a bone. A tug on the seat of his breeches made him turn.
“What are you doing?” Her expression was pinched, and her voice was little more than a hiss.
With a tight smile, he claimed the seat beside her. He kept his voice low as he said, “Lord Lyon is eyeing you like you’re his next meal.”
“I can see that,” she whispered back. Then, with a winsome smile he didn’t like in the least, she added, “Too bad he’s married, huh?”
The remark stung like a hornet. He swallowed, struggling to keep his expression from betraying his inner turmoil. “He’d do well to remember it.”
“If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were jealous.”
He laughed off her keen observation. “Don’t be ridiculous.”
Bloody hell. He was jealous. As jealous as a lovesick schoolboy. Eyes narrowing, he sipped his whisky. All the more reason to get rid of her. Once the contracts were signed, he’d wash his hands of her. In the meantime, he still owed her a spanking.
She rose in a swirl of skirts, crossed to the drink cart, and emptied the decanter into her tumbler. To Leith’s consternation, she then approached the two gentlemen and practically threw herself at Lord Lyon. It was an obvious—and maddeningly effective—ploy to get his goat.
When she asked Lyon about Barrogill, his castle up near Duncansby, Leith sprang to his feet, ready to point out Glenarvon’s superiority. Prudence made him change his mind. He might as well whip out his cock and challenge Lyon to do the same. And with his luck, Lyon’s would be bigger!
Biting his lip against the urge to make an untoward remark, he crossed to the servant’s bell and pulled. Though the hour was late, he knew Gavin wouldn’t retire until Tom was settled in one of the guest rooms.