His words were more of a command than a question.
“Aye! Pass her on!” The man at the top of the stairs licked his split upper lip.
“What would she want with ye, Tom?” Jack made a grotesque face. “You’d only scare the bloody life out of her. But Emmett here. He’s young and fresh. She might not mind having him ’tween her legs.”
Emmett shook his head. “I like ’em willing. I have to go anyway.”
“Then Tom it is. Me and Tom,” Jack said.
Max glanced between them as if considering their petition. “Why not?” he said at last. “I’m not a greedy man.”
Chapter 6
Abigail hugged the far wall as Maximillian Wilder locked the door of his bedroom and pocketed the key. He had just told the others he would use her first, then pass her around, but she would die before she let him do that.
“I should have locked you in before,” he said. “But I never realized you would actually be so foolhardy as to try to escape when your chances were so slim.” And he was used to being obeyed . . .
While searching for a possible weapon, her eyes landed on the water pitcher that sat atop a marble-topped washstand. She dumped what remained of its contents into the bowl and clasped it to her bosom. But Wilder didn’t advance on her as expected. He leaned against the door, closed his eyes and breathed a sigh that sounded very much like relief.
He stayed where he was until the house fell quiet. Then he seemed to remember she was in the room.
“Shall we get some sleep?” he asked, removing his shirt. “I don’t think this has been a particularly good night for either of us.”
Abigail didn’t move. If he was trying to take her off her guard, it wouldn’t work. She would defend herself, or she would die trying. “I won’t sleep with you. I won’t sleep anywhere near you.”
Large drops of water splashed onto the table as Wilder buried his head in the bowl and washed his hair and naked torso. Without a fire or a lamp, she could see him only in outline. But his straight back and wide shoulders were impressive all the same. Abigail doubted she had ever met a man so comfortable in his own skin, so well made.
Too bad his character wasn’t as flawless.
“I’m not going to hurt you, Miss Hale—Abigail,” he said, toweling off. “At least not seriously.”
Not seriously? He didn’t consider forcing a woman to be a serious offense?
“You won’t touch me,” she gritted out.
“Actually, I have to touch you, but I will be as gentle as possible. Come here.” He beckoned to her as though he expected her to place the pitcher meekly on the table and accept his hand.
“You are mad if you think I will do anything you say.”
He planted his fists on his hips. “Either you will cooperate, or you will spend a long, miserable night on the floor. It’s that simple.”
“And what of your promise to help me escape?”
“You lost that promise when you crept downstairs and got yourself caught. So don’t blame me for your predicament.”
“Don’t blame you? Maybe it was someone else who chased me down and hauled me back!”
“Emmett had you dead to rights. You wouldn’t have gotten far.”
She might have slipped past him.
Changing tactics, Abigail permitted a note of desperation to leak into her voice. It was an approach that often worked well with her father. “Let me go.”
As Wilder studied her, Abigail refused to let her gaze drift any lower than his chin. She found his bare chest rather . . . disconcerting.
“I’m afraid I can’t do that,” he said with a frown.
“Is there no speck of decency in your black heart?”
“If there is, you wouldn’t be the first person unable to find it.” He shrugged. “I can’t let you go. You wouldn’t be home a day before your conscience got the better of you and you ran straight to the authorities. It’s amazing how one’s perspective changes when one is safe.”
“If you won’t let me go, what do you plan to do with me . . . other than tonight, I mean?” After what he had said to Big Jack, she knew perfectly well what he had planned for tonight and certainly didn’t want to hear it reiterated.
“I plan on keeping you with me until it’s safe to let you go. That’s all.”
As simple as his answer was, it told her nothing. Safe? How could she believe that? He could have let her escape. That would have kept her safe. But he didn’t.
Abigail’s eyes flicked to the door. She longed to run again—she had come so close—but the key to the lock was buried in Wilder’s trousers, her hopes of success buried with it.
Unless the window afforded some small opportunity . . .
While she tried to ascertain her options, her captor cleaned his teeth, rinsed with the water from a cup on the same table as the bowl, ransacked a trunk full of clothes and came up with a shirt he tore into strips.
“What will it be?” he asked as he advanced on her.
Abigail couldn’t take her eyes away from his hands. “Ex-excuse me?”
“Do we do this the easy way or the hard way?”
There didn’t seem to be an easy way, at least for Abigail. She couldn’t imagine him forcing her skirts up under any circumstances, but being tied while he abused her was especially terrifying.
Her throat dry as parchment, she swallowed. She had to think, had to use her head. “Listen, m-maybe we could make a deal.”
Her words elicited an expression of surprise on his rakish face. “What kind of deal?” he asked, halting in front of her.
“My father would pay for my safety. He is not a rich man, but . . . but you could earn several pounds by returning me. We could leave now, make the college in an hour’s time and—”
“And get a hangman’s noose as my reward? If you think your father wouldn’t send a constable after me, you’re a lunatic. Besides, I don’t need your money.”
“You seemed to need it badly enough when you stole the college’s purse!”
“Such temper, Miss Hale.” He tut-tutted softly. “I did only what I had to.”
He wasn’t making any sense. Abigail had no idea how to reach him, how to bend him to her appeal. But there had to be a way. Every man had his weakness . . . “What then?” she asked. “You must have a price. Maybe I have s-something else you want.”
Even in the dark, Abigail could see his eyes slide appraisingly over her body. “That sounds like you would be willing to grant me certain liberties.”
He was going to take them anyway. If she allowed him free access to her body, perhaps he would help her, or at least keep her from Jack and the others. The thought of Jack’s sweaty body poised above her own was enough to make Abigail ill. In the face of certain compromise, wasn’t it smarter to give herself to one man to avoid the degradation and humiliation of being used by many? “Indeed. So . . . so long as you won’t tie me up.”
“What has you so convinced I would be willing to make this trade? Are you not the same woman who recently called me a lout? A deceitful pig? A louse? And, if I am all the things you say, why would I bargain for something I can simply take? Are you claiming to have such vast experience in these matters that it would be worth my while to enlist your cooperation?”
Abigail took quick stock of what she might use to sweeten her offer. “I haven’t had firsthand experience, no,” she admitted, “but I have read about human intercourse many times, in . . . in my father’s medical journals.”
Her father had kept such books on the top shelf of his bookcase. He assumed putting them out of reach would be enough to keep his daughter from spoiling her mind. But his reluctance to share the volumes, and his claims that they were not for a lady’s delicate sensibilities, only piqued Abigail’s interest. She had poured through them all by the time she was seventeen, many a second time in the four
years since. “I may be a virgin, but I am not an uneducated one.”
Max paused at this announcement, the makeshift bonds he planned to use dangling from his hands. “A virgin, Miss Hale? How old are you?”
“One and twenty.”
“Isn’t that a bit old to be so innocent?”
Abigail felt her face grow warm. It wasn’t as if she had never had a man show interest. Sometimes the students at the college made overtures, but she was so immersed in her duties . . . “I have been busy.”
“Doing what?”
“Working, of course. And . . . and studying. I plan to become an anatomist like my father.”
She waited for the snort of derision this announcement normally produced, but Maximillian Wilder merely looked interested. “You have been admitted to the college, then?”
“Well, no. Not yet. But . . . I do work at the college. I am in charge of the household accounts. I see that everything runs smoothly, orchestrate events hosted by the school and help our housekeeper hire and manage the cooking and cleaning staff.”
“Evidently you have lived a very secluded life. Your precious college sounds more like a nunnery.”
“Perhaps, but the mechanics of mating are very clear to me.”
“You have done comprehensive research on the subject, have you?”
“I wouldn’t say comprehensive . . . but I am not completely unaware of what goes on between a man and a woman.”
Due to the darkness, Abigail was having difficulty reading the expressions on Wilder’s face. If she wasn’t mistaken, he seemed to be struggling against a smile. “And what did your textbooks teach you? Do you think a woman such as yourself would enjoy the experience?”
“Enjoy it? How preposterous, Mr. Wilder. Of course not. Sexual congress isn’t to be enjoyed, at least by the female. It is supposed to satisfy the male primate’s drive to mate, to ensure the longevity of the race. But I would hold still and let you have a go, should you agree to help me escape from Jack and the others when you are . . . er . . . finished. You look healthy enough to me. You wouldn’t take long, am I right?”
This time Wilder laughed out loud, a deep, boisterous sound that revealed sincere amusement. “God forbid I ever establish a reputation along those lines. But, feeling as you do, I can understand why you are not married.”
“I have no intention of marrying. I told you what I will make of my life. I will be a surgeon.”
“But they haven’t even admitted you. What makes you think they will?”
“They have to . . . someday.” The pitcher was growing heavy in her hands. “What do you say?”
“About your hopes of following in your father’s footsteps?”
“About our little . . . deal. I allow you to . . . you know . . . and then, after you are . . . satisfied . . . you let me go.”
He gave her a kind smile—something Abigail never dreamed she would see on his face. “As appealing as you make . . . er . . . copulation sound, especially with someone as well versed in matters of the flesh as you are, I will not be requiring such sacrifice at your hands. I cannot let you leave here regardless of what you have to trade, so you are better off letting me relieve my . . . um . . . primal urgings elsewhere.”
“Elsewhere?” she echoed. “So you are not going to—”
“No. Although I do believe you deserved the scare. Now, hold out your hands like a good girl.”
For once, Abigail found herself at a loss for words. She had never expected him to refuse her. She had thought he might take advantage of her by accepting her offer and passing her off to Jack despite any promise to the contrary. But such an unqualified rejection took her by surprise. Was there something wrong with her?
“Miss Hale?” he prompted when she didn’t respond.
“I’m thinking.” Without Wilder’s help, Abigail had no choice but to escape on her own. She had seen it that way earlier, when she had made her first attempt, and she saw it that way now. She couldn’t remain a docile captive. She had to fight for her freedom.
But how? She could never get the window open with him in the room. Even if she did, she had no idea whether or not she would be able to survive the two-story drop, not without breaking her legs, or maybe even her back.
Stomach churning with anxiety, she decided she had better do as he bid her, before he grew angry, and he set about tying her hands in front of her. When he was finished, he connected her to the iron bedstead with a short span of knotted fabric.
“That should keep you for a while.” He stood back to survey his handiwork. “You can reach the bed, should you decide to join me in it. Otherwise, feel free to sit on the floor and plot your escape.”
“I will be gone by morning,” she told him.
He unloaded her gun, threw the ball out the window and tossed the pistol onto the bureau. “That brings up a good point,” he said. “Should you get loose, the key to the door is in the pocket of my trousers. But now that you can’t shoot me, you might have some difficulty getting it. And if you were to try such a thing when I am not fully awake and capable of governing my faculties, you just might learn how far from your expectations sexual congress can be.”
Abigail narrowed her eyes. “I thought you weren’t tempted.”
He stretched out on the bed, yawned and closed his eyes. “I never said that.”
Was he teasing her? “Why else would a man of no moral fiber refuse the offer I have made?”
“I will let you figure that one out for yourself.”
She inched closer to him. “So that’s it? You’re going to sleep?”
He cracked one eye open. “Doesn’t it look that way to you?”
“Yes.”
“Good. Because that’s exactly what I’m doing.”
“What about . . .” She was afraid to say Jack’s name, but she had to. Abigail didn’t like surprises. She preferred to know what was coming so she could organize it or prepare for it or, at the very least, count on it. “. . . Big Jack?”
“He is not as big as he would like you to believe.”
“What?”
He chuckled. “Never mind. Emmett went home, and Tom and Jack have both had so much to drink I think we’re safe for tonight.”
Did he mean it? “But . . . but what will happen in the morning?”
“I don’t know,” he said. “Which is why I need my rest.” Punching his pillow, he rolled over.
She pulled at the bonds on her wrists, hoping to get them to loosen, but succeeded only in making them tighter. “You’re just going to . . . to leave me here like this?”
“I am considering a gag. Would that satisfy you?”
She drew herself up straight. “Not at all, sir. But I would like a word or two of assurance.”
“Oh, right. I forgot.” When he got up and came toward her, Abigail feared she had said something to trigger a backlash. She pressed herself into the corner, then stood, helpless and uncertain, as he cupped her chin and tilted up her face. “This might hurt a bit,” he warned, “but you will thank me in the morning.”
“Ouch! That does hurt! What are you doing?” she asked, trying to wiggle away from the roughness of his chin as he chafed it against her face and neck.
Max could feel the ridge of Miss Hale’s collarbone beneath his cheek, then more smooth skin as he slid his chin up the column of her throat. “I am leaving a few marks on you, for Jack’s edification,” he said. “He will never believe you were ravished without something to show for it.” Pausing just below her left earlobe, he began to suck on her neck.
She squirmed some more, resisting, but that soon subsided and she started to giggle. He guessed from her bossiness that she didn’t laugh often but, strangely enough considering all the trouble she had caused him, he liked the sound of it.
“Nothing in my father’s books said anything about this,” she said
. “What on earth are you doing? Stop! It tickles. What could possibly be the point?”
He lifted his head only when he was satisfied that he had left a deep purple mark. “What your father’s books didn’t tell you, Miss Hale, is that much of what goes on between a man and a woman, at least in the bedroom, has no point. It is simply for the sake of pleasure, for the pure, heady passion of reveling in the opposite sex, of letting go of all inhibition long enough to enjoy giving everything and receiving everything all at the same time.”
He knew his voice sounded slightly hoarse, but she smelled so damn clean and fresh. And her skin—it had to be the softest he had ever touched.
Moonlight lit her face as she cocked a finely arched eyebrow at him. “You seem quite well versed on the subject.”
“I have never read any bloody medical journals, that’s for damn sure. After hearing what they have to say, I think I’m glad.”
“What’s wrong with what they say?”
Max ignored her in favor of nipping at her neck again. Why did she have to feel so good? Not five minutes earlier, he had told himself he wouldn’t have any difficulty sharing a room, even a bed, with Miss Hale. He could control his “drive to mate,” as she put it.
But that was before, when Miss Hale—Abigail—was at an arm’s distance. Now that she was so close and not nearly as stiff as he had expected, he found his perspective changing. And he was only rubbing his chin on her cheeks and neck. What would it feel like to part her lips and slip his tongue inside her mouth for that first sweet taste?
Under the guise of more chafing, he let their lips brush once, felt their breath mingle and measured Miss Hale’s response. The tension in her shoulders, where he had anchored his hands, relaxed ever so slightly. Her eyelids lowered as her gaze fell to his mouth, and she kept her head tilted at just the right angle for their lips to brush again.
She’s curious, he realized. She has never been kissed.
Proceeding to rub her cheek with his, only lighter because he hated to hurt her, he let his lips pass over hers a second time. It was all he could do not to linger there, not to pull her against him and answer her curiosity with the demands of his aroused body. But his conscience wouldn’t allow it. She might be partly to blame for her predicament, but he owned as much of the responsibility as she did. He had unwittingly pushed her too far at the college. He wouldn’t take advantage of her on top of everything else.
A Matter of Grave Concern Page 6