“Do I?” her father grumbled. “You’ve reneged on more than a few of the men who tried to marry your daughter.”
“That’s all water under the bridge, now that Malvis is married off to that buffoon, Ainsley.”
“That doesn’t change the situation for me,” her father said. He paused, rubbing the lower half of his face, and finally went on with, “No. I won’t let you sample the sweets before the vows have been made. I must protect my interests. You understand.”
Lord Cunningham’s face was red with anger, but he grudgingly refastened his breeches. “All right. But I want guarantees that she won’t slip out and run off with that whelp.”
“Oh, she won’t leave this room, I can assure you,” her father said.
“How?” Lord Cunningham demanded. “How can you assure me? If you’re determined to prevent me from having her in order to protect your own interests, then I want the same.”
Her father thought for a moment, studying Imogen as she cowered in the corner, shaking like a leaf. He glanced around the room, then his face lit with wicked inspiration.
“We’ll tie her to the bed,” he said, marching toward one of the windows and freeing the cord used to hold the curtains open. “You can inspect the knots yourself. I’ll give orders that she isn’t to be freed until the day of the wedding. Not for any reason.”
“Agreed,” Lord Cunningham said. “But won’t the gown I purchased become badly soiled if it isn’t removed?”
Imogen moaned in fear. She could see from the lust in Lord Cunningham’s eyes what he had in mind.
“Take it off her, then,” her father shrugged as he collected more curtain cords. “But don’t try anything as you do.”
Imogen tried to run. She tried to fight. But she was helpless against the strength of two grown men, no matter how old they were. Lord Cunningham snatched her from the corner and tore at her gown, laughing as he forcibly removed it. Her father may have warned him against molesting her, but that didn’t stop the beast from pawing at her, squeezing her breasts and backside, and doing everything short of invading her as he wrestled her out of her gown and onto the bed on her back.
She gave up fighting and could do nothing but lie there weeping as her father tied her wrists to the bedposts over her head. Whatever hope she had that he would spare her utter humiliation was dashed when Lord Cunningham jerked her ankles apart, tying each to the posts at the foot of the bed in a way that left her horrifically exposed. Her father carefully avoided looking at her like that, but Lord Cunningham drank in the sight.
“I think I’ll run off to Mrs. Pettiford’s house now,” he growled, rubbing the tented front of his breeches. “Since you won’t let me have that.”
“Do whatever you need to do,” her father said, heading for the door. “She’ll be yours as of Friday, as soon as I receive my payment.”
They left, but Imogen hardly felt a shred of relief. She knew her father was cut from the same horrible cloth as Lord Cunningham, but it hurt far more than she could bear to have him treat her so shamefully. She wanted to believe that Thaddeus would swoop in and rescue her, but hope was hard to cling to.
“Imogen, are you—dear God!” Alice gasped as she poked her head into the room. She flew to the bed as soon as she was in the room, grabbing a quilt from the chest at the foot of the bed and throwing it over Imogen. “Let me untie you,” she said, starting on one of the cords that held her ankle.
“No.” Imogen tugged her ankle away from her sister’s hands as best she could. “Father would only give me worse if he discovered I’d done something to counter his wishes. And he’d probably do the same to you.”
“But I can’t let you just lie here, tied to the bed like this,” Alice insisted.
“Just cover me with the blanket. I’m cold.” It wasn’t a lie, but Imogen couldn’t bring herself to say, even to her sister, that she felt so humiliated and defeated. “Thaddeus has promised to rescue me,” she said, though her tone conveyed very little hope.
“And I’m sure he will rescue you,” Alice said, spreading the quilt over Imogen and tucking it in. The warmth and modesty that the quilt brought made Imogen feel a tiny bit better, but not much. “I’ll stay with you as well, as long as Father lets me. I’ll stay with you until…until the end.”
“Thank you,” Imogen sniffed, blinking away her tears. It meant the world to her. She just dreaded what the end might be.
Chapter 4
Rescuing the woman he loved, a woman desperate to be rescued, from a house where the servants were more than willing to help him in every way proved far more difficult than Thaddeus would have imagined. He was able to learn of Imogen’s fate from Lord Marlowe’s kitchen maid, whom he intercepted on an errand to the market. He was further able to discover when Lord Marlowe would be out of the house from one of the footmen, who found the bastard’s treatment of his daughter as infuriating as Thaddeus did. And he was given a full description of the house’s layout and the location of Imogen’s bedroom by the butler, Mr. Monk.
“I cannot allow you to come through the house to rescue Lady Imogen, my lord,” Mr. Monk told Thaddeus as they stood near each other in the park across the street from Marlowe House, pretending to be deeply occupied in their own pursuits. “I must protect the staff from Lord Marlowe’s wrath when he discovers his daughter has flown the coop.”
“He will be vicious,” Thaddeus admitted with a sigh, studying the imposing, Georgian home. “I have no wish to bring any sort of harm to you or any of the men and women who have risked so much to help with this endeavor.”
“We will continue to assist you in any way we can, my lord,” Mr. Monk continued. “But for the younger staff especially, to be let go without a reference would be—”
“Devastating,” Thaddeus finished.
He was desperate to free Imogen at all cost, but if that cost destroyed the lives of others, it would weigh on his conscience for the rest of his life.
It was that worry that led him to the brainstorm that struck him, giving him the idea for the perfect way to whisk Imogen off right under her father’s nose. The plan was so ingenious that he laughed to himself all through Thursday, as he set the wheels in motion, enlisting the help of every other participant he would need to pull off the coup. Everyone he approached with his idea knew the sad fate Lady Imogen had been consigned to, and every one of them was eager to come to Thaddeus’s aid.
The last person he needed to inform of the plan was Imogen herself, which was how he found himself climbing a rope ladder of the sort that was found on a ship that had been hung from Imogen’s bedroom window by one of Marlowe’s footmen. Night had fallen just under an hour ago, and according to Mr. Monk, Lord Marlowe had gone out with Lord Cunningham to visit various pubs and brothels in celebration of the horrific event that would take place on the morrow. Marlowe wasn’t expected back until dawn, which gave Thaddeus all the time he needed.
Imogen’s window was cracked slightly, and between the sturdiness of the rope ladder and the help Mr. Monk had provided by oiling the window casing, Thaddeus was able to climb up and open the window almost silently. He could make out Imogen’s prone form under a quilt on the bed, but just barely. She didn’t stir as he hopped to the floor and closed the window behind him.
It was when he started across the room toward her and the floorboards creaked under his feet that she twisted her head toward him and gasped, “Who’s there? Are you a thief? What do you want?”
A relieved smile spread across Thaddeus’s face in spite of her fear. “It is a fearsome highwayman, come to kidnap you and steal you away in the dead of night.”
Imogen made a sound of shock and relief that dissolved into a tearful, “Thaddeus! You’ve come for me at last.”
“I have, my love,” he said, rushing to the bed.
He sought for her head in the dark, and when he found it, he kissed her with all the triumph that had been growing within him since he began setting his plan in motion. She kissed him back, but did
n’t embrace him. In fact, she barely moved at all. He leaned back, feeling for her shoulders and arms in the nearly black room. With a twist of horror, he discovered that her arms were outstretched, her legs as well.
“Father tied to the bed,” Imogen explained, shame in her voice. “He wanted to be certain I wouldn’t escape.”
“And you’ve been here like this since the ball?” Thaddeus growled, furious, as he stood and searched for a lamp to light.
“Alice has snuck in to untie me so that I could use the chamber pot and eat,” she explained as he found a match and lit it.
“Why did you not remain untied?” he asked, lighting the lamp.
“Father has suspected Alice is interfering with his disciplinary measures, as he calls it, and has been checking on me frequently.” Her voice held a sickened note that infuriated Thaddeus and made him wonder how much Marlowe enjoyed the sight of his daughter tied to her bed. “So Alice and I agreed that I should remain tied as much as possible.”
With the lamp finally lit, Thaddeus was able to see Imogen fully. She lay on her back with her arms and legs spread, a quilt covering her. Her wrists and ankles, tied with curtain cords, poked out from the corners of the quilt.
“This is unspeakable cruelty,” Thaddeus hissed, returning to the bed, heat burning through him. It wasn’t all the heat of anger, however. There was something undeniably arousing about seeing her bound in such a way. In fact, he wanted to peel back the quilt to see what the rest of her body looked like in that position.
“Oh, my,” she murmured, squirming slightly under the quilt.
Thaddeus blinked himself out of his lascivious thoughts. “Is something the matter, my heart?”
Now that the room was lit, he could see her cheeks turn a bright shade of pink. “It’s just that….” She paused, biting her lip. “It’s just that these bonds have seemed like such a miserable humiliation…until now.”
“Until now?” His blood began to stir in earnest, jolting straight to his cock. He leaned closer to her, mesmerized by the sudden look of excitement in her eyes. His heart skipped a beat just as it was speeding up, though. He touched a hand to a mean-looking welt just under her hairline. “What happened?”
“Lord Cunningham struck me after you escaped,” she admitted, eyes downcast.
“I’ll murder him,” Thaddeus growled, hatred bursting through him.
“But not now,” Imogen said quickly. “He’s not here and…and I don’t want to think about him. I only want to think about you.”
Thaddeus wouldn’t have let the matter drop under normal circumstances, but there was something he couldn’t resist about having Imogen bound and breathless under him. His mind might have raged for justice, but his body pulsed and ached with need. He couldn’t help but study the rest of her form, barely concealed under the thin quilt.
Imogen’s breath became shallower, which he could see by the rise and fall of the quilt. “I feel safe now that you are here,” she said in a voice as soft as glowing embers. “I didn’t understand what Mr. Monk meant when he came in earlier and said my father would be out all night. I didn’t realize what he held in his arms and tossed out the window when he was here either.”
“It was a rope ladder,” Thaddeus told her, reaching for the corner of the quilt near her right wrist. “The servants all helped me to come to you tonight.”
“I knew it,” she said, her breath quickening even more. “I knew they were keeping a secret. A good secret.”
“And now?” he asked, bending to kiss the inside of her wrist just beneath the curtain cord. Blessedly, the cords weren’t tied particularly tightly. Imogen could have slipped her hand through if she’d wanted to be free.
“Now,” she said, a shiver in her voice as he brushed his lips down her inner arm. “Being tied like this feels….” She didn’t seem to have a word for what it felt like, but her intake of breath as he reached the crook of her elbow spoke volumes.
“I am curious about this arrangement,” Thaddeus said, feeling more and more like a devil. He rocked back, taking hold of the bottom of the quilt and tugging it slowly. “What must it be like to be tied to a bed, utterly helpless, and at the mercy of whatever wicked-intentioned rogue that might choose to climb through your window.”
“Oh,” she breathed as the quilt receded from her shoulders and chest. Thaddeus slowed as the upper edge of the quilt slipped over her breasts, watching the way her chest heaved as she gulped for breath, twitching and arching slightly as he teasingly exposed her. She made a desperate mewling sound as the edge of the quilt paused just before revealing her nipples, then let out a moan as he tugged it down. Her nipples were already pert with pleasure, and his cock jumped at the sight of her full, round breasts as they were revealed.
He continued to tug at the quilt, revealing her slim, soft belly and waist, but paused once again when he reached the dark curls between her legs. Instead of revealing her sex, as he longed to do, he pushed off the bed and stood.
“Are you going to leave me like this?” she asked in a high, breathy voice.
“Absolutely not,” he answered with a growl, working at the buttons of his jacket.
She watched him undress, her eyes dancing with fire in the scant light of the lamp. He shed his layers quickly, carelessly tossing aside his boots. When he was down to just his breeches, he climbed back onto the bed between her widely-spread ankles and took hold of the quilt once more.
“Thaddeus,” she sighed, wriggling her hips as though trying to throw the quilt off.
“My, my,” he chuckled. “Someone is surprisingly eager for being tied up.” His prick was beyond eager as well and strained against his breeches, begging to be freed.
“I’m yours,” she said, her breasts rising as she arched slightly. “I want you so desperately.”
“Do you?”
He pulled the quilt down faster than he’d intended to, revealing the tantalizing sight of her sex. With her legs forced wide open, she was on full display. As soon as he’d tugged the quilt down to her thighs, he balled it up and tossed it aside entirely. She moaned and writhed against her bonds, which only highlighted the gaping sweetness of her sex. She was wet and glistening. The pinkness of her folds beckoned to him.
“Such beauty,” he growled, reaching for her knees and stroking them with light circles.
She let out an impatient sound, panting as he brushed his fingertips up the inside of her thighs. He took his time, teasing her until she mewled and trembled. All the while, his gaze remained focused on her weeping sex and the carnal need that hardened his cock to the point of madness. She whimpered and writhed with unfulfilled pleasure, letting out sharp, pleading cries as his fingers reached the heart of her sex but only brushed and caressed instead of plunging and satisfying, but the torture he was inflicting on himself was just as acute.
“I want to fuck you so badly,” he growled, tracing a finger over the soaking line of her entrance. “I want to thrust my cock hard into this sweet cunny, over and over until you cry out my name as you come.”
“Yes,” she gasped, arching into his touch.
He kept his touch light, arousing without fulfilling. She twitched against her bonds, seeming even more helpless and at his mercy than she’d been moments before.
He planted his hands on either side of her, leaning over her to bring his mouth to one of her breasts without letting any other part of him touch her. She let out a tight breath as he closed his mouth around her nipple and brushed it with his teeth.
“Oh, God, yes, Thaddeus,” she sighed, arching.
He continued to keep his body away from hers, knowing full well how it frustrated her. She sighed and even sobbed as he switched to treat her other nipple to the same teasing as the first, sucking gently and using his teeth and tongue to pleasure that hardened point only.
“Please, Thaddeus,” she gasped. “Please.”
He leaned back, kneeling between her legs. The sight of her in such a powerful state of arousal, spread, we
t, and panting with need, made him feel like a god of pleasure. Something deep and primal within him liked her that way, liked the heady lust of her arousal. It was all for him.
He fumbled with the fastenings of his breeches, pushing them down his thighs and freeing his cock at last. It felt so good to spring upright, hard and alive with pleasure, that he groaned at the sensation. It was even better to see her eyes widen and darken and her mouth fall open, as if she remembered the taste of him deep in her throat. He took himself in hand, stroking carefully from his tip to his balls, caressing his balls as she watched him restlessly.
“I want you,” she whimpered, flexing her hips. “Please.”
Touching himself brought him dangerously close to climax, especially with the sight of her in such a state. He would remember her this way long into the future. Since her eagerness seemed to increase at the sight of him pleasuring himself, he continued with it, employing every ounce of will power he had not to come. He could feel the need building at the base of his spine already.
“What would you do if I spent like this?” he asked, his voice rough. “What would you do if I left you aching for release without giving it to you?”
“Then I would ache for you until we were able to be together again,” she panted. “I would lie here through the night, on the edge of bursting, unsatisfied.”
He could imagine it with perfect clarity, could see her writhing in her bed all night, perhaps trying to bring herself relief but being unable to. She would sigh and squirm with arousal, poised at the brink, nipples hard and sex hot and glistening, waiting for him to make her come. The deeply male part of him wanted that, wanted her to ache for him and to know that he was her master.
An entirely different part of him wanted nothing more than to join with her forever. He wanted to be one with her, to feel her body come apart while lodged deep within her. He wanted to spill his seed in her and stay wrapped in her, two bodies, two hearts, forever one.
That was the part that won out as he surged forward. He couldn’t wait another moment. He covered her body with his, guiding himself to the slick opening of her sex and pushing inside of her with last-minute slowness. He wanted her to feel every inch of him stretching and filling her, inch by inch.
The Faithful Siren Page 4