She closed her eyes, nearly smiling as she remembered the look on his face right before he’d released her from his embrace. He had wanted desperately to kiss her, and it had been difficult for him to let her go without doing so. Oh, yes. And shamefully, she had been just as eager. It had been so many, many years since she had been kissed by a man, touched by a man, and the memory of it, being so close to that same feeling this afternoon, the same sensations she’d discovered as a virgin of nineteen in his arms, made her shiver beneath the covers. Her husband had been a caring lover, had made certain she’d found her pleasure in his bed, but there had been nobody but Ian in her dreams, in her fantasies, and with her in memory all those lonely nights when she’d lain by herself and dared to touch those secret, sinful spots that he had found and kindled for her all those years ago. He’d made her cry, and then cry out, and only Ian had given her such inexplicable, intimate joy and the desire to share that joy through her art when she’d no longer been able to share it with him.
She sighed, feeling suddenly sensual, wanting more and wishing he hadn’t left her so quickly. It truly hadn’t taken much to convince her that being with him again wouldn’t be so awful, certainly wouldn’t be a distasteful ravishing, and would satisfy so many hidden longings! She always felt guilty when she touched herself, as ladies were never supposed to do such sinful things. But the scent of him inside the cabin still lingered, the feel of his hard body holding her still scorched her, and the pull of her own sexuality seemed too great to ignore this time.
Viola ran the fingers of both hands over her nipples, enjoying the tingling sensation, suddenly craving his lips on her breasts, his palms skimming every inch of her body. She felt the rush of heat between her legs, the growing need to be gently stroked by the fantasy, and finally, after lifting her nightgown to her waist, she pressed two delicate fingers between her intimate folds and began to caress the wet, warm softness as her desire for him began to intensify.
Ian . . .
The bolt on the door clicked.
Viola’s eyes shot open; her heart stopped. Then suddenly light filled the cabin as he entered, carrying a lamp, looking straight at her from the doorway.
“I hope you’re not asleep,” he drawled.
Her entire body flushed with fire, but she didn’t dare move, since he might see her lift her hands and know exactly what she’d been doing. For the first time in her life, she wanted to cower in pure mortification.
“Viola?”
“What?” she whispered, though it sounded like a croak.
He chuckled, closing and bolting the door behind him. “Sorry. Did I interrupt your prayers?”
Her mind clearing, she ordered, “Turn around.”
“Turn around?” he repeated, slowly walking toward her.
“A lady needs a moment, your grace,” she said through gritted teeth.
“Ah.” Instead of doing her bidding, he strode to the stove and placed the lamp on the shelf, at an angle and height that brightened most of the room.
Quicky, she lowered her bunched nightgown to her ankles and sat up a little, pulling the blankets decently to her neck. “What are you doing here, Ian?”
He turned to her once more and, smiling slyly, walked confidently to the cot. “I wanted to show you something, and I assumed since you’d napped most of the day you probably weren’t tired.”
Skeptically, she asked, “What on earth would you need to show me now?”
He lifted a small satchel he’d brought with him. “Something that might help with your memories.”
She didn’t trust that rather vague explanation at all. “You shouldn’t be here. It’s not appropriate. I’m in my nightdress. In . . . bed. If one could call this a bed.”
The smile slowly faded from his handsome face as he gazed down at her, studying every feature on her face. Then he lowered his body and sat beside her. “Let me see your hand.”
She could feel her heartbeat begin to quicken, both from his closeness and his scrutiny. “My hand? Why?”
“Just let me see it, Viola. Don’t argue.”
With slight hesitation, she did as he ordered, pulling her left hand from beneath the blankets and offering it to him, palm up. “Are you going to tell me what this is about?”
His eyes narrowed a fraction as he wrapped his fingers around her wrist. “You can’t guess?”
She swallowed, noting the firmness of his grasp, his confidence, and suddenly she felt a tinge of uneasiness course through her. “No. Am I supposed to?”
For several long seconds he continued to watch her, his thumb caressing her palm. Then he leaned over to the floor, reached into his satchel, and pulled out a thin, red satin ribbon about five feet long.
“What are you doing?” she asked, her growing discomfiture now spilling into her voice.
He didn’t reply. Instead, he quickly wrapped the middle of the ribbon around her wrist three times, then lifted it with her arm and quickly began tying it to the metal post at the top of the cot.
“What—” she gasped in stunned disbelief. “Ian, stop this! You can’t possibly think to tie me up like an animal!”
“As you did me?” he replied matter-of-factly, securing the ends in a tight knot.
“I did no such thing! And you’re a gentleman. This is—” She pulled at the ribbon to no avail; awkwardly, she attempted to raise herself to a full sitting position. “This is absurd.”
Complete in his effort, Ian sat back and studied his work. Viola just stared at it. Her arm was loose enough to move down to a right angle, and her wrist was snugly wrapped, though not enough to lose feeling in it. He’d tied the ends of the ribbon in a triple knot, attaching her to the post until he saw fit to release her. Or until she could manage to pick the entanglement apart with the fingers of her right hand.
He’d apparently thought of that, however, as he reached into his bag one more time and produced another ribbon, exactly the same length as the first.
“Now the other one.”
Her eyes widened in startled fury. “Absolutely not,” she seethed. “Ian, this is ridiculous. Your point is taken. You were badly treated. I have fully admitted that. But I refuse to give in to you and simply allow—”
He cut her off by standing suddenly, whipping the blankets off her body, and grabbing her right hand so quickly that she wasn’t even aware of all that was happening until he’d wrapped the satin rope around her wrist and begun tying the end to the opposite iron post at the right of her head.
“I should think you’d be happy these aren’t chains,” he maintained with a casual air as he checked the knot and reinforced the tightness in both of them before standing back to observe her.
Viola cringed inside. Never had she felt so humiliated and exposed, so utterly helpless as she did now. Aside from the thin summer nightgown that she’d thankfully been able to lower to her ankles, she lay on the mattress completely at his mercy, tied up by both wrists as he gazed down to her with dark, daring eyes that seemed to linger on every curve as his gaze raked her form from her toes to her mussed hair that spilled across the pillow.
“Now we’re going to talk, Viola,” he murmured, his tone almost velvety as he reveled in his power. “And I think your being the captive this time will help both of our memories.”
She shivered, mouth dry, unable to think clearly. “You’re insane.”
He chuckled. “Now that’s funny.”
“Funny? Are you going to keep me tied up for weeks? Feed me bread and broth? Leave me here to die?”
All humor left his face as he once again sat beside her, arms crossed over his chest. “While I think it’s true that only an insane person could kidnap a nobleman and keep him chained to a wall for weeks, feed him nothing but tainted broth and bread crumbs, I would never hurt you like that, Viola. And believe it or not, it pains
me to hear you suggest that I might do such a thing to you after all we’ve shared, good and bad.” He paused, then leaned forward to whisper, “Especially knowing you’re the mother of my son.”
A strange feeling of warmth enveloped her, coupled with a good dose of guilt, which he no doubt intended to shove down her throat. But truthfully, she didn’t feel threatened bodily by him at this point, only apprehensive of his immediate intent.
“Now,” he began, “I am going to ask questions, and you are going to answer them, truthfully and completely.”
Hoping he wouldn’t notice, she lightly pulled at one of the ribbons to check its strength. It didn’t budge.
“I want to know,” he continued, staring directly into her eyes, “if you took advantage of me intimately, in a . . . sexual manner, while I was unconscious in the dungeon.”
Her pulse began to race. “Of course not. I told you this before. I—I cleaned you when I could, nursed you. That’s all.”
His dark gaze narrowed shrewdly as he drew in a long breath, but he never looked away. “What about while I was semiconscious or aware of you?”
She swallowed. “No.”
The side of his mouth ticked up a fraction. “And yet, as we discussed earlier today, I remember being stroked by a woman’s hand until I climaxed, Viola. Why would you lie to me now rather than just admit it?”
Thoroughly embarrassed by his explicit language, she felt her face flush with color and she closed her eyes, shook her head in denial. “Aside from the fact that your memory is foggy, Ian, I refuse to discuss something so utterly private and inappropriate.”
For seconds nothing happened. And then she felt the slightest touch of his fingertips as they slowly skimmed her linen-covered left breast.
She gasped in complete shock; her eyes flew open. He stared at her, his gaze no longer just focused but remarkably intense.
“My memory may be foggy,” he replied huskily, “but I definitely recall a woman’s hand on my body. I’d very much like to think it was yours. Now, tell me again what you remember.”
She squirmed a little, unable to move her body even minutely from his touch. “Ian, please, let’s not—”
He cut her off by turning his hand over and brushing his knuckles across the same breast with slightly more pressure, making her nipple harden beneath the fabric and her breath catch in her chest.
“Viola?”
She understood his intention now, knew he would continue to deliciously assault her until she gave him every piece of information he wanted. She could lie, of course, or tell him what he longed to hear, or she could let him make love to her like this, surrendering herself to him as she lay tied helplessly to a bedpost in a cabin with nobody around for miles. Five years ago she’d possessed in her hands the power to love him or release him, and now he carried it in his. And he knew it. This total control over her, to use her and ruin her should he so desire, had been his plan from the beginning.
Giving in at last, watching him closely, she murmured, “You begged me to touch you, Ian.”
For a moment or two he seemed unable to grasp the meaning in her words. Then he sat up a little, pulled his hand from her breast as his brows creased in a frown.
“Begged.”
He said it as a statement, not a question, and she could tell by the look on his face and the tone of his voice that her unexpected answer had not just utterly surprised him; it had also perplexed him.
She sighed. “Perhaps it’s more accurate to say you pleaded with me to stay with you, to . . . comfort you.”
“I see.” He ran his fingers through his hair, noticeably uncomfortable. “And you just accommodated my physical needs at my request?”
Why did he make it sound so base and disgusting? Irritated, she returned, “It wasn’t like that. It wasn’t vulgar, or . . . immoral to care for you, and there was nothing carnal about it at first. You were alone, and afraid. You . . . you were . . .” She paused, bit her bottom lip. “You really can’t remember any of this?”
He shook his head minutely. “Not all the details. Probably only enough to know if you’re lying.”
Although she had no choice but to believe him, her nose itched, and suddenly she cursed him within for being an overbearing ass and putting her in such an unladylike predicament.
“There really are no more details to tell, Ian,” she continued, exasperated. “You were in a desperate way. You’d been there for a few days’ time, sometimes conscious, sometimes not. I had bathed you, lain beside you, warmed you on occasion when you were especially cold, hugged you when you needed someone close and asked me to. Eventually one thing led to another, and at some point, while I was next to you, you—you became . . .”
“Aroused?”
Heat suffused her, but she resisted the urge to tear her gaze from the starkness of his. “You asked me to help relieve your . . . discomfort, then when I hesitated, you took my hand and . . . it—it just happened . . .”
His brows rose and he almost smiled. Almost. “That’s very sweet, Viola.”
She squirmed again. “Yes, well, now you know the details, so let me go. Please. Keeping me tied up like this is absolutely ridiculous. Truly appalling behavior for a gentleman.”
He ignored her demand. “Did you enjoy the intimacy as well?”
She’d feared he’d ask something like that. With a brave lift of her chin, she replied matter-of-factly, “I was nursing you, your grace. I didn’t want you to be miserable, and I didn’t want you to die. I considered it more of a duty.”
He burst out laughing.
She wanted to cower beneath the blankets. “Would you please untie me and leave. Better yet, just take me home.”
“Oh, not on your life, sweetheart,” he said through a chuckle. “We’re just getting started.”
“God, there isn’t anything more to say,” she insisted through clenched teeth.
His laughter faded as he continued to study her. Finally, he said somberly, “You are a gem, aren’t you?”
She shoved her head back onto the pillow, a wave of melancholy washing over her. “A gem unpolished is just another rock.”
For several long seconds he said nothing, then, “Where did you hear that?”
“From my mother,” she replied without pause. “Reminding us always that my sisters and I were not born ladies and so instead had to infiltrate society by learning their secrets and pretending to be one.” She smirked, glancing to one of the ribbons, then the cabin wall. Voice overflowing with frustration, she added sarcastically, “And for all my effort to please her, just look where I am now. She would truly be appalled.”
Exhaling a fast breath, he leaned forward to capture her gaze with his. “Actually, if there’s one thing I very much admire about you, Viola, it’s that you are quite polished. Beautifully so. Every time I lay eyes on you I don’t see a rock but a ruby, or a diamond or emerald. Shining, lovely, sophisticated. You’ve managed to make yourself into a lady from a country miss, a feat not easily accomplished.” Carefully, he placed a palm on her stomach, caressed her ribs with his thumb. “You are one of the most breathtaking women I’ve ever known, and I daresay it wasn’t something you learned and are pretending to be. It’s who you are.”
The tenor of his voice enraptured her, melting her inside, making her feel, at least for the moment, like a beautiful, desirable woman. And no matter how much he might despise her as a person, regarding this, he meant every word. She knew that instinctively.
“Now,” he fairly whispered, “I want you to tell me if you enjoyed the intimate caressing as I did.”
She hesitated. “Ian, I don’t want to talk about—”
He cut her off by raising his hand from her stomach to her breast, closing his palm over it gently, unmoving.
Her breath caught; her eyes widened.
; “You were saying?”
“I—didn’t know.”
“Didn’t know?”
“At the time.” She licked her lips. “I didn’t know what was happening or what to do.”
“Because you were a virgin.”
She nodded minutely.
He paused, then very gently drew his thumb over her nipple, back and forth, and a sudden heavy heat converged between her legs. Embarrassment flooded her, but she couldn’t bring herself to look away.
“Did I teach you anything?” he asked huskily, seconds later.
“You . . . showed me,” she replied. “I—I just held you and you did most of the . . . moving.”
“I see.”
His eyes had darkened and his breathing had quickened as he’d listened to her, as he’d continued to lightly caress her. He was slowly becoming as aroused as she, and although it felt delicious, it scared her as well.
“How many times did this happen?” he continued.
“I don’t—”
He lowered the top of her nightgown, exposed her full breast, and covered it with his warm hand.
Eyes wide with growing alarm, she mumbled, “I think three times. Ian, please.”
“Please, what?”
She swallowed. “Please don’t hurt me. . . .”
His expression turning grave, he asked in a husky timbre, “Does this hurt?”
She blinked, confused. “No . . .”
He smiled vaguely. “Then you can be sure I’m not going to hurt you, Viola.”
She said nothing to that, just tried in vain to squirm away from him. He continued to watch her intently as his fingers began a slow caress of her breast, skimming the nipple in faint, small circles. In a matter of seconds she could hardly breathe.
“Did I beg you all three times?”
She was beginning to find it very difficult to understand him. “Wh-what?”
“Did I beg you to stroke me all three times, or did you take the initiative on occasion?”
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