by welis
“Oh my God,” she whispered, covering her mouth with one hand. “I’ve been such a fool.”
Robert chuckled. “Perhaps not a fool. Just … confused. We men are not always adept at spelling out our feelings.”
She swiped at her tears and laughed, shaking her head. “You’ve never had any trouble with it.”
His expression shifted, his smile becoming sad as he reached out to touch her, his hand cupping her cheek. “It has only ever been easy when it comes to you … even now, when I can feel you slipping through my fingers yet again.”
She took his hand and squeezed it. “Oh, Robert … surely, you must know I care so deeply for you. But I cannot marry you.”
He nodded. “I know. It is all right.”
She tried to smile, but found it difficult when guilt assailed her over having to break his heart yet again. “I wish I could be different. I wish I could be … the sort of woman who could love a man like you instead of a man like him.”
With a sarcastic snort, he shook his head. “No, you don’t … and do not lie to yourself or trick yourself into thinking you are. A woman like you was never made for a man like me, and I always knew that. You were made for fire and passion and … well, whatever it is that makes up a man like Hartmoor.”
Of course she was … she’d known that all along. Knowing that someone else could see it made her feel a little less mad for her feelings, her love for a man who had done nothing to deserve it. Except love her back.
“Well?” he prodded when she did not reply. “Shall we go after him? My carriage is just outside, and I do believe he is still at his hotel in Mayfair. We could be there in a quarter of an hour.”
A wide smile split her face, and she laughed, taking up her skirts in her hands and dashing for the door. Robert followed, lingering in the opening.
“Where are you going?” he bellowed as she rushed to the stairs.
“To change clothes,” she declared, pausing to glance him over her shoulder. “I’ll only be a moment, and then I would be so grateful if you’d take me to him.”
Robert gave her a puzzled look, but nodded, disappearing back into the drawing room. It seemed silly, wanting to change clothes at a time like this. But she refused to go to Adam in mourning attire … not when she had nothing to mourn, and everything to celebrate. Love. New beginnings. Hope.
Black bombazine did not go with such aspirations.
Adam slouched in the seat of his coach and closed his eyes, hoping the gentle bounce and sway of the vehicle would put him to sleep. As it was, it took everything he had not to pound the roof of the vehicle and command the driver to take him back to London.
Gripping the edge of the seat, he shook his head, reminding himself that he could not give in to that urge. He’d done an admirable job these past six weeks, staying away from Daphne even while occupying the same city as her. He’d left Fairchild House as soon as he’d known she would be all right, sending Niall back to Dunnottar ahead of him with Olivia and Serena. Then, he’d closeted himself away in a hotel suite, emerging only to read the papers for pieces of news concerning Bertram’s trial and set a few of his affairs in order.
He’d attended the execution that morning, the final thing he’d needed before he could quit London. He’d sat in his coach and watched through the curtains as Bertram had been brought to the gallows, unable to take his gaze away from the sight of his sister’s rapist jerking and choking at the end of a noose. At least, until it had ended, and he’d spotted Daphne in the crowd. His resolve had almost crumbled, and he’d nearly leapt down from the coach and pursued her, throwing her over his shoulder and carrying her away. She’d never get away from him again; she would be his once more.
Except, he had let her go for a reason. Because it had been the right thing to do after she’d so selflessly placed herself between him and a loaded gun … after she’d proved with both words and deeds that she loved him.
The foolish girl. She had no notion of what loving a man like him meant, as even he had no notion. So, he’d forced himself to do what needed to be done, even when it enraged him to think of her with that weakling Robert. It would be good for her, and someday, she would forget about him.
And he … well, he would live in the same place of torment he’d wallowed in for most of his life. He had grown used to it by now, had learned to revel in the darkness, to endure the pain. What was one more loss when he’d never been able to cling to the people he loved?
Releasing an annoyed growl, he pounded the seat. He needed to stop thinking about her, or he might do something foolish like—
“Adam!”
He drew his eyebrows together at the muffled sound of his name being called, the voice just barely reaching him over the pounding of horses’ hooves and clatter of carriage wheels. Sitting up straight, he inclined his head and listened, certain he must be hearing things.
“Adam!”
It came again, unmistakable this time. A woman’s voice calling his name from outside.
He snatched open the curtains, squinting against the bright light of the afternoon. When his vision adjusted, he spotted an open-air barouche speeding alongside his coach, two people seated on the perch as a duo of matched black bays pulled it along. His eyes widened at the sight of Daphne, her redingote hanging open over her carriage dress, her loose hair billowing in the wind. His fingers twisted in the curtains, his gut churning as she grinned at him and waved.
His scowl deepened, his anger boiling to the surface as he raised his fist to pound on the carriage roof. What the devil was wrong with this woman? Had she not understood that he’d been determined to leave her … that he’d done it all for her own good? The idiot didn’t know what was good for her, and by God, he was going to make her pay for this … for forcing him to confront her when all he’d wanted to do was retreat to Dunnottar to lick his wounds in peace.
“Goddamn stubborn woman,” he grumbled as the carriage rumbled to a stop, the sound of the barouche slowing coming at him as he threw open the carriage door.
He jumped down and stomped toward the barouche, which had halted several yards ahead of him. His chest heaved when she came down out of the small conveyance and began running toward him, her coat fluttering behind her, her gown fisted and held up to reveal her stockinged legs and slippers. He couldn’t breathe through his rage, his hands clenching into fists as he imagined wrapping one around her neck and throwing her to the ground.
One more time, he told himself.
He’d throw her skirts up and fuck her in front of the person who’d driven her here, in front of his coachman and footman … he did not give a bloody damn. He’d fuck her and be done with her once and for all … he would show her. He would show her that he would not be swayed.
But then, she came closer, and he saw it … the purple bit of ribbon tied around her slender throat, the saucy bow resting just over her collarbone. His gut clenched, and air filled his lungs, and he could do nothing more than stand there and open his arms when she hurled herself at him with a laugh.
She was kissing him all over his face—his forehead, his cheeks, his chin, his jaw, his lips. And he was destroyed, torn apart and vulnerable, unable to resist clinging to her and dragging her tighter against him, her feet dangling off the ground. Then, she was leaning back to look at him, smiling and laughing and acting as if her brother had not just been hanged that morning.
“Dear God,” he said drily. “It has finally happened, hasn’t it? You’ve gone mad.”
She giggled and kissed the tip of his nose, using both hands to cup his face. “Tell me you love me.”
He flinched as if she’d struck him, his entire body tensing in reaction to her words. His voice came out gruff when he finally found the words to answer her.
“What?”
Sighing, she stroked his face, her fingers tickling the stubble that seemed to have grown on his jaw since just after he’d shaved this morning.
“Tell me you love me,” she whispered, her eyes wide and sincere,
and bluer than he’d ever seen them against the backdrop of the cloudy sky. “Please. I know you do, but I … I need to hear you say it. I need to hear what we both know to be true.”
He shook his head, the words lodging in his throat and remaining there. He could not give her that … it was one line he hadn’t been willing to cross, even when setting her free. Because he’d known that once he declared it, it would be real … and once it had become real, he would never have been able to let her go.
“Damn you, little dove,” he rasped, warring with the part of him that needed to let her go and the parts of him that refused now that she was back in his arms. “You stupid little thing. You do not want this … my love isn’t the kind that nurtures or soothes. It’s the kind that hurts. The kind that destroys things. It’s the kind that consumes you until there’s nothing left.”
She sank into him, pressing her lips to his with a sigh, sending a shudder through his entire being.
“Then consume me,” she whispered against his mouth. “Take all of me, Adam. I give it freely … because if you tell me you love me, then that makes you mine. It will be an even exchange.”
They were kissing again, and he couldn’t stop drowning in her, tasting her, staking his claim with his lips and tongue and teeth.
“Goddamn you,” he growled into her mouth. “I was trying to do the honorable thing for once … I let you go … I walked away.”
“And I’ve come after you,” she insisted. “Now put us both out of our misery, Adam, and just say it. Say it, and I am yours always. Tell me you love me.”
The last bit of his resistance melted away, and before he could think better of it, he’d turned and begun walking toward his coach with her still in his arms. He tightened his hold when she moved, not willing to give her a chance to escape now that she’d put herself back in his clutches. Yet, she merely adjusted her grasp and clung to him, seeming disinclined to put up any fight.
“I love you, damn it,” he grumbled. “I fucking love you! Are you happy, little dove? Now you’ll never be rid of me.”
She laughed, kissing his neck, which only made his cock swell. The organ had taken on a life of its own, trying to push its way through the layers of their clothes to get to her. It wouldn’t wait much longer to have its satisfaction, and after six long weeks, he did not intend to force it to. He had tried walking in Covent Garden, perusing the offerings of the various whores, hoping one of them would prove enough to tempt him, to help him exorcise this madness in his blood. He’d returned to his inn disappointed, unable to follow through when no woman could give him what he needed like his little dove.
“I most certainly hope not,” she said, biting his ear.
“Control yourself,” he snapped, needing to keep himself in control until they were ensconced in the privacy of the carriage. “There will be time enough for me to punish you for doing this to me.”
“I hope you do not intend to hold back,” she teased.
Damn her, he was going to use that saucy little mouth. He’d missed it, missed her.
They reached the carriage, and he set her on her feet, gesturing through the door he’d left hanging open. “Get in. We are going home, and God help you once I get you there. You are never setting foot outside Dunnottar again.”
Bracing one foot on the carriage steps, she grinned at him. “Promise?”
He bared his teeth at her and growled, and she leapt up into the carriage with another laugh at his expense. She’d forgotten what it meant to fear him, but that was a problem easily mended.
Just before he stepped up into the carriage behind her, the figure of a man appeared at his side, having come from the waiting barouche. It was Robert Stanley, Daphne’s would-be fiancé, and the person he blamed for all of this.
“You,” he grumbled with a snort. “I entrusted you with taking care of her. You were supposed to marry her.”
The ever-amiable Robert simply laughed, shrugging one shoulder. “I did try, Hartmoor, but you know Daphne. She understands her own mind and cannot be convinced otherwise once she’s decided on something. Guess you will have to see to the business of marriage yourself.”
He grunted, but offered the man a hand, grateful that if Daphne were going to come after him like some fool that she’d at least had protection instead of coming alone. Robert might be a weakling, but he was honorable, and Adam supposed he could admire that.
“I suppose,” he relented as the other man shook his head.
Releasing his hand, Robert began backing away toward his own vehicle. “Don’t you have to pass through Gretna Green on your way to Kincardineshire? Just something to consider, Hartmoor.”
And with that, he was gone, disappearing down the dirt lane with his greatcoat flapping in the wind like some novel hero. A hero who had just delivered the fair maiden into the hands of the villain.
His tongue traced over his teeth, the thrill of claiming what was his blotting out all else. Only there was no longer any need to chase her. She’d come to him, thrown herself at his feet and surrendered. He would sink his teeth in and never let up … not even if the day came when she regretted her choice.
He leapt up into the carriage, and the moment he pounded the ceiling, they were underway again.
The parted curtains illuminated the coach’s large interior, revealing Daphne on the seat across from him. That damned ribbon taunted him, a mark of ownership he had not realized he’d missed until he saw her this way again. She should wear lilac every day, the color enlivening her complexion and making her eyes appear almost violet.
Clenching a fist, he contemplated tearing the gown to shreds, even knowing she had come with nothing but the clothes on her back.
“I hope you do not mind,” she said, breaking the silence. “Robert came to me … he told me what you did and then offered me marriage again. But I couldn’t … not when I knew you’d only done it because you loved me. He offered to bring me to your hotel, only we arrived after you’d already departed. It was his idea to follow you … he found it all very romantic.”
“It isn’t,” he groused, annoyed that Robert would get any sort of satisfaction out of this.
She smirked at him, the amusement in her gaze continuing to rustle the flames of his agitation. He needed her to understand that this was no laughing matter. She’d just put herself back in his clutches, and this time, he did not intend to do the honorable thing.
“Get on your knees,” he barked. “With your back to me … bend over the seat.”
Her eyes widened, and her breath hitched, the hammering of her pulse visible at the juncture of her neck and collarbone. Licking her lips, she nodded, peeling off her redingote and tossing it aside before coming off the seat and sinking to the floor.
“Yes, Master,” she replied.
He scowled at her, despite enjoying the way that honorific sounded coming from her. He quite liked it.
“Do not try to placate me,” he snapped, pressing a hand against his throbbing erection as she presented her backside to him, bending over the seat and arching her back, her hips and arse an enticing outline against the fabric of her gown. “Not if you think it will get you out of this predicament. I will not be merciful.”
“Don’t,” she panted, her breath already quickening when he fisted her gown and began lifting it, baring her legs, skimming her silk stockings, giving one of her garters a tug. “I have never wanted you to be merciful.”
His own breathing grew harsh when her hips filled his hands, the firm cheeks of her arse appearing as he pushed the gown up and left it resting at her lower back. He trailed a finger over the swell of one hip, down the back of her leg, then up the inside of her thigh. She shuddered, whimpering and trying to angle herself so he touched where she wanted. He slapped the back of her thigh in warning, and she went still with a gasp and a groan.
Then, he delved his fingers between her legs, tickling her entrance, stroking the wet silken folds and teasing the little nub of her clit. She gasped, her wetness d
renching his fingers, her body responding to him as if they’d never parted. He couldn’t resist taking a taste, lapping her juices off his fingers and flooding his senses with her heady scent and flavor.
“Adam,” she begged, the desperation in her voice only adding fuel to his desire.
“Not until I’ve had my due,” he murmured, grasping her buttocks and kneading them, warming her skin, opening her up to lay his eyes on what was his.
His gut clenched, his chest tightening and his fingers digging into her flesh in a hold he knew would leave his fingerprints, the mark of his possession. All of it was his, the slick entrance to her cunt, the tight little pucker of her rear passage, all of it and more. She was his in a way she’d never been before.
He raised one hand and let it fall, the impact of his blow resounding through his arm, making his palm sting. She gasped, but held still, accepting her punishment for pushing him, forcing his hand, making him toss aside his honor and take what should never have been his.
He hit her again, harder this time, finding the exact same spot and making her pink skin flush crimson. She cried out, her fingernails clawing at the upholstery as he went on spanking her, using both hands, punishing both cheeks, working her into a frenzy. By the time he’d finished with her, the evidence of her desire had begun trickling down one thigh, and her screams filled the carriage.
“Please, Adam,” she pleaded when he finally ceased and went back to touching her, sinking a finger inside her and withdrawing, teasing her to the brink. “I cannot wait any longer … I need …”
He knew what she needed, even if she could not say it aloud. Because he needed it, too.
He had his breeches snatched open in a matter of seconds, his cock falling heavy and hot into his hand. He stroked himself, once, hissing at the pleasure of it, of his naked cock free and inches away from taking its place inside her body. After time apart, he should go slow with her, perhaps take her gently and whisper words of love in her ear. But he didn’t have it in him … not now, perhaps not ever. He’d said it, and he’d meant it, but now came the time for possession … now, he would remind her who he was and what he’d demand of her, every single day until the day he died.