His Desirable Debutante. Lynne Silver
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gingerly locked her arms into position, careful to keep as much distance between them as possible.
It was difficult. His masculine scent of brandy mixed with some subtle cologne tantalized every breath. Beneath her gloved hand, she could feel warm, male muscle that rolled and flexed as he led her through the dance steps. Helene ignored every stare and whisper directed at them and kept her eyes straight ahead on the wide chest of her dance partner. If she didn’t engage him in conversation and showed no interest in him, surely he would leave her alone after this one dance. One dance never destroyed anyone, right?
“I hear we have matching dastardly reputations?” Pierce said just to shake off her ice queen demeanor. He stifled a grin as her head flew up and she met his gaze, shock and rage masking her face.
“How dare—”
“As you may have heard, I’m in the market for a bride. It would be nice to have one whose misdeeds match my own. Less need for apologies that way. Shall I speak to your father?” He couldn’t help but goad her. Lucky for him, daggers were not part of a woman’s costume these days, or he’d have one sticking into his black heart. But, she was too much fun to tease and he couldn’t resist. As if he’d propose marriage after a mere three minutes in a woman’s presence. Even if said woman was the most tantalizing creature he’d laid eyes on in years, whores and ladies alike.
“Sir, I beg you.” She bit off a silent curse and fired every bit of fury her green eyes could muster at him.
What had started as a jest, now suddenly became possible and even desirable, especially if she kept breathing hard causing her perky breasts to move enticingly within her altogether too modest bodice. Having her in his bed panting, not in anger, but with lust suddenly shot to the top of his list.
“Lord Brandford, please have a care. You may not give a whit about your reputation, but I do. I can’t afford not to.” She muttered the last bit under her breath.
She was truly a fascinating creature, and one he wished to explore further. All virginal and starchy appearance, contradicted by the sensual longing in her eyes as they danced, along with fire in her voice as she’d tried to deny the spark of connection between them. Oh, yes, he’d finally met someone intriguing enough to keep him in Ton ballrooms another day.
Two weeks later
Helene blinked as her eyes adjusted to the flickering candlelight in the unfamiliar room, groggy from her sleep. When she tried to sit up, something tugged at her arms pulling her back into pillowlike softness. Where was she? Quickly, she reviewed her last moments, trying desperately to remember where she was and how she’d arrived there.
“Oh good, you’re awake,” a voice said softly from the corner of the room.
Her head spun rapidly toward the sound of the voice. It was coming back in bits and chunks now. Pierce…the wedding…but why…how?
“The wine,” her new husband said, rising from his seat and approaching the bed. “You seemed near hysteria over our marriage, so I tried to calm you with a few drops of laudanum in the wine in the carriage. Apparently, I might have overdone it. You passed out at once.”
Relief flooded her at the logical answer, but then she remembered the ropes around her arms. “Then why am I tied up?” she asked, indignation rising like a sail on a ship. She gave a good tug at the ropes, but they held fast.
“You threatened to run away the whole carriage ride home from the church. I’ll loosen them so you can sit up?”
“Loosen them? Why not untie me entirely?” she demanded and rose off the bed as far as her restraints allowed. Oh Lord, every rumor about him was true. He was going to take her in the most degrading of ways then abandon her. The marriage was some sort of sick joke on his part. Anger and helplessness at her situation pounded into her. And to think she’d believed he was changing his ways.
“If you think to consummate this marriage, think again. I have no intention of letting you have your debauched way with me,” she said, fear adding a shrewish tone to her voice.
“Relax, darling” Pierce said. “Even in this light, I can see your imagination running wild. Despite the many titles and sins attributed to me, rapist is not one of them.”
She fell back against the bed relieved but confused.
“But have no doubt, before the week is out, you’ll beg me to consummate the marriage.”
A gasp rose is her chest. “Never, you swine. You forced me into this marriage, but I will never allow you in my bed.” She held back miserable tears as she wished in vain for a father who’d cared enough to protect her from villains and not one who’d jumped at the chance to marry her off to a lofty title, despite his reputation. If only her mother were alive, this never would have happened.
Pierce lowered himself till he sat next to her, his hip to her abdomen. His finger traced a line up and down her bare upper arm, and she shivered at his nearness. “Sweet Helene. First, you know you had other options. For all you professed your innocence and desire to marry one of those boring Ton fools, you wanted me. Don’t bother to deny it, your body betrays you.” With a flick, he swiped at her pebbled nipples eliciting a noise from her that fell somewhere between a gasp and a moan.
“Second, you are in my bed, which is where you will stay until I decide otherwise. And you have nothing to fear. Nothing will be done to you that you won’t be begging for, I promise you.”
With that, her arse of a husband placed a gentle kiss on her lips, rose and exited the room, but not before he had loosened her ropes and opened the curtains to allow the setting sun to pour in.
“Good riddance,” she muttered at his departing back, then took stock of her surroundings, ignoring her still-tingling lips from Brandford’s kiss. She shifted till her back was raised against the pillows. Masculine hues dotted both the bed, curtains and rug. Very few personal items lay on the two pieces of glossy, wooden furniture. Nothing to give her more clues into her husband’s mental state.
A glance down had her gasping from shock. This nightrail had most definitely not been included among her personal trunks. Her breasts spilled out from the wispy lace on top and the thin satin below was sheer enough to highlight the curls shielding her virginity. Yet every rustle and movement of her body caused the lace to abrade and tease her breasts. Tied up as she was, her body was completely on display for anyone who wandered into the room.
A rumble emanating from her belly reminded her that it had been hours if not days since she’d eaten a real meal. Knowledge of her upcoming marriage had diminished her appetite, but now she found herself ravenous. As if on cue, the door opened and Pierce strode back in, followed by a young, handsome footman, who balanced a tray heaped with food in his muscular arms.
“Set it down on the bed next to her,” Pierce directed. “I will feed my bride myself.”
The red-cheeked, flushing footman obeyed but did not take his gaze off Helene.
Helene stared at the young man wondering what Pierce’s game was, but her husband’s expression revealed none of his motives. What kind of monster would allow his near-naked wife to be seen by servants? Sadly, she wanted to feel humiliated, but in truth, she was flattered and titillated by the visual attentions paid her by her husband and the young footman. She shifted subtly and brushed her hardened nipples against the lace of her gown.
The footman’s cheeks flamed hotter and an obvious bulge began to distend from his trousers. Helene caught sight and forced herself to close her eyes, feeling every inch like a whore, because, instead of being ashamed, she was aroused and wanted to touch that footman. A litany of names ran through her mind and she called herself every one, beginning with Eve and ending with trollop.
“Go.” Pierce said to the footman, and then sat down on the bed beside her. “Don’t feign virginal modesty, my little beauty. I saw you looking at Roberts like you wanted to spread your legs for him and let him stick his cock into your tight creamy passage.”
She gasped at his crude language, but