Darkness In The Flames (38 page)

The Dowager was at her most unpleasant, reinforcing Verity’s resolve. There was no task too demeaning, no insult too vicious that it could not be flung at Verity. She got the sharp edge of her mistress’s tongue for simply being in the room, perhaps for simply being alive.

By the time she querulously demanded silence for a nap, her exhausted and irate companion was quite ready to use a pillow over her employer’s face and assist her to take one for eternity. Creeping from the sleeping woman’s presence, Verity overheard voices and found herself shamelessly passing the bounds of polite behavior by eavesdropping.

The housekeeper was distributing fresh linens and instructions to several maids.

“Madam has informed me the guests will be arriving late this evening. They will expect their rooms to be ready for them. Change the beds, clean out the hearths and lay fires—but don’t light them until I tell you.”

Nods were exchanged as Verity kept to the shadows of the small stairwell just beyond the little group.

“Will there be anybody sharing rooms, ma’am?” One maid ventured the question.

“The gentlemen, I believe, but they will not be your concern. Once the rooms are made up, you will not approach them. Do you understand?”

There were murmurs of assent.

“Lord and Lady Debenham will be in the Lily suite and Sir Charles Chiswick will have the Daffodil rooms.”

“Yes, Mrs. Burdock.”

“Lady Hawthorne will be on the other side of him in the Paris suite.”

There were other instructions, but Verity didn’t listen to them. An idea was brewing in her mind based on the information she now had in her possession. She was familiar with the names of the expected guests from the Dowager’s conversation, although she’d not met them personally.

Lord and Lady Debenham were from London—the lady having been a close friend of Isolde’s. There were whispers about exactly
how
close friends they’d been.

Sir Charles Chiswick and the newly widowed Lady Ann Hawthorne were disgustingly blatant lovers—again according to the vicious tongue of the Dowager.

Vicious or not, she was probably accurate in her assessment. These guests, realized Verity, were coming to enjoy the privacy of the Towers, not to mention Isolde’s company.

Her heart thudded at the mere idea of a room full of people intent on pursuing pleasure in ways unacceptable to the commonly held standard of behavior.

And her brain started to whirl at the possibilities of a carriage bearing four wealthy and dissolute arrivals having to negotiate the rough woodland road as it left the main turnpike and turned on to the deserted track to the Towers.

There was at least three miles of poorly kept lane between the London road and the FitzAdams’ front gate. Many dark and shadowed twists and turns. At least a dozen places where the way ahead was obscured and—

Verity straightened. This was her chance for freedom. A final outing to secure her future and add whatever she could to the cache for her fellow riders. She would not be needed this night, since guests were arriving. The household would be busy, the family together awaiting their visitors.

Although nearer home than she preferred, in all other ways it was
perfect
. And by this time tomorrow, she might well be many miles away from this cursed place.

And her memories of one magic night with Nick Blaine.

Swiftly, Verity withdrew from the main part of the house and crept outside to the stables. She carried with her a small black ribbon, similar to one a man would use to secure his hair for riding.

Not too far was a tree with a trunk twisted in a peculiar way and within that trunk a small hole. When the black ribbon appeared in the hole, a small band of villagers would recognize the call to action.

Tonight the Masked Shadows would ride once more.

But
this
time—although they would not know it—they would not be alone.

*~*~*~*

A distance away in the darkness of his lair, Nick lay still, his body a barely moving corpse-like shadow muffled within a nest of pine bedding.

His mind? His mind was in Rogaška.

“Hello lover.”

The too-well remembered voice aroused him from the mists.
Thérèse
.

“It’s been too long, my sweet.”

She sat gracefully on a rock surrounded by the swirls and eddies of a steaming pool, one of the mineral springs, perhaps—Nick wasn’t sure.

He stared at her, unwilling to give life to this vision by responding.

“Oh come along, darling. We both know you’ve missed me.” Her hands lifted to her dress and she unfastened the bodice, revealing her perfect breasts. “Missed this.”

Nick shivered. “Where am I?”

“With me. Does anything else matter?” Red hair shook as she laughed at him. “Poor darling. You must forgive me. I have many friends to visit. You must all take your turn.”

Slowly, she stood and stepped forward, the waters moving around her ankles and dragging at her skirts as the gown fell unheeded into the pool. Her nakedness was brilliant, a blinding glow of white skin and red curls, a lure and a temptation that would have appealed to even the most jaded soul.

Nick was, as always, helpless against her wiles. His cock stirred in spite of his apprehension.

“I need fucking, Nick. And you do it so well. Even here in this…this…vision of ours.”

“Ours? It’s not ours.” Nick fought against the urge to go to her. “It’s yours, Thérèse, not mine. I would not come to you willingly and you know it.”

Her steps faltered for a tiny moment but Nick saw it. He’d touched a sore spot perhaps, forced her to face a knowledge she disliked. “I would not be here had you not invaded my rest. I would never touch you, never look upon your body. You are nothing to me but the source of a curse.”

She smiled. “Rant on, my darling. I like it when you get angry with me. You fuck me harder. Make me come harder. Yes…” She ran her hands sensually up her stomach to her breasts and pinched her nipples. “Yes, I like it hard. I like the pain.”

She was in front of him now, her hands still cupping full breasts, pussy scenting the air with that unique fragrance of her arousal. “Come. Let me see that fine cock of yours. Touch yourself while I watch. A hard man and a good fuck. It’s life to me, Nicholas. Give me
life
.”

Her dark eyes flashed and his clothing vanished, leaving him as naked as she. His cock was hard since he could not deny the arousal she always brought forth from his guts with her incredibly sensual beauty and uninhibited sexuality. He was, beneath the trappings of his nightmare existence, still a man.

And he could not disobey this demon. He could not refuse her command.

His hand dropped and he found his cock, cold and slick as he began to stroke himself.

“Oh yes, that’s right. Like that, Nick. Just like that.” With hunger in her eyes she watched him, watched the movements of his fist as he found the rhythm that would bring him to his peak.

She licked her lips. “So long. So thick. You’re a good fuck, Nick my sweet.” She stepped even closer, forcing him backward, laughing a little as he nearly stumbled on a grassy bank. “Perhaps you should lie down.”

He tumbled, cock in hand, to his back as she loomed above him, all red hair and black eyes. As he stroked his body responded, leaping to a sexual plateau that ached for release.

“Let me help.” Thérèse dropped to her knees and forced her way between his thighs. “God, you are such a man, aren’t you?” Licking her lips she dropped her head and sucked him, pushing his hand away with a quick move of an arm so slender and white it always surprised Nick when he rediscovered the strength it concealed.

Her mouth was cool but talented, an undeniable fact that sent the fire of lust rushing to his balls. He groaned as she found the right places to graze with her tongue and pulled hard, slipping and sliding over her own saliva as she worked him.

Hands crept over his body, pinching, scratching, always stimulating to the point of pain, adding their own melody to the symphony of oral pleasure she was composing. She found his balls and fondled them delicately then more roughly, sending a chill of fear curdling through Nick that blended with his excitement and took him out of mortal experiences into the bizarre and terrifying realm of sex with Thérèse.

She squeezed him and he cried out, then sobbed as her hand found his arse and probing fingers slipped inside to move and tease and arouse. She knew all the ways to touch him and more. She found places that even he did not know about, fondling him with skill and demand, insisting that he respond.

The knowledge that he had no control over this situation was frightening, but that fear, coupled with her actions, sent his body into spasms of sensation. It was a ride he hated yet was helpless to avoid.

They would fuck, a mind-fuck of cataclysmic dimensions. It was a foregone conclusion. He would not enjoy it, but would be sated by it. A contradiction that shook his soul and distressed him on a fundamental level.

There was no doubt in his mind that Thérèse knew all these things and adored the power she wielded with her lips, her tongue, her fingers and her breasts which she was presently grinding against his thighs.

“Mmm.” She slid her mouth off the tip of his cock and licked the little slit clean of moisture. “Tasty as always, Nick. And yet I believe this big lad has been playing in other cats.”

Nick stilled. “What do you mean?”

“You’ve been doing some fucking without me, lover.” She sucked him pensively, all the way down to the root, teasing him as the back of her throat rubbed against his tip.

A brief swallow abraded the most sensitive place but then she pulled her head back once more. “Yes, definitely.” Her fingers thrust deep into his arse and spread apart, stretching him, sending a shimmer of painful pleasure into his groin. “Not that I mind, of course. If you wish for a human playmate, who am I to gainsay you?”

Nick tried not to think of Verity. The mere notion that Thérèse might instinctively react to the presence of another woman in his life, or what passed for his life, was untenable.

“I see I shall have to put thoughts of her out of your mind, my love.”

Effortlessly, Thérèse slid up over his body, scraping him with hard nipples and even harder fingernails. She stopped when her knees hit the ground beside his ears and straddled him. “Your mouth, Nick. I want your mouth. You know what to do with it.”

He had little choice. Her pussy was inches from his lips, slick and wet, redolent with the perfume only she could create. A scent that she’d implanted into his brain so long ago and that he could not resist.

“Do it, Nicholas.
Now
.”

How could he not? With a shudder that rattled his lungs, Nick surrendered to the evil that possessed his soul. He was her victim, her creation, her prisoner. He was under her control as much now as he had been the first time she’d laid eyes on him.

She’d seduced him, savaged him and turned him into a despicable creature that shunned mortal existence—yet he still could not deny her.

His last thought as he buried his mouth in her swollen folds was of Verity.

Thank God he’d left her at FitzAdams Towers. She’d never understand this…this
horror
—or this pleasure.

Chapter Eight

Verity was frantic.

The Dowager was resting, her customary after-lunch nap. Verity had seized the opportunity to ready her wardrobe for the forthcoming night’s work. Slipping out was simple since the household was busy preparing for guests and she was not needed for anything other than tending to her aged mistress. Once settled, the Dowager would not require her services and Verity could do what had to be done with relative impunity.

The tap on the door had been a surprise.

“Lady Isolde needs you.” Marjorie had stared at Verity. “Now.”

There was no mistaking the purpose of the summons. Marjorie only spoke to Verity when the circumstances were…unique.

“Now?” Verity nearly choked. “It’s the middle of the day.”

“You are questioning Lady Isolde’s orders?” The woman raised an imperious eyebrow. “I was told to fetch you. You do not need to—
dress
.” The emphasis was quite clear. “My Lady wishes you to attend her and his Lordship now. Since they will be occupied later, they have decided to pass the afternoon together. You are required to join them.”

Verity swallowed. She could not refuse, she knew. It was more than her position was worth. “Should I bring—anything?” She glanced at the chest across the room, wondering if she should at least find her whip.

“No. Just yourself.” Marjorie turned. “Now, please. Don’t keep them waiting.”

“Marjorie…I…”

The woman glanced back. “I know. I’m sorry.” She relented a little. “Lady Isolde is getting worse, I fear. Best be on the lookout, Miss Chandler. Play your cards right and your position will become more secure. Make a mistake…”

Verity slumped. Marjorie was right. Isolde’s addiction to the drugs and to the violent sexual escapades was definitely escalating.

“That new maid is with them.” She tipped her head and stared intensely at Verity. “Emily. I don’t trust her. Be careful, all right? At least with you there I know my mistress will come to no harm. I have no such certainty with that French bit of fluff.”

Verity nodded. “Thank you.” She straightened her gown. “Marjorie, why do you stay?” It was a valid question, but one Verity had never asked before now.

Marjorie’s eyes fell. “Duty. Duty to her mother. Lady Sylvia was a wonderful woman, not in the least like her daughter. I loved her and swore I’d take care of her daughter when she passed away.” The woman’s shoulders straightened. “I believe in standing by my word, no matter what the circumstances. But where this will all end…”

She shrugged and walked off down the small passageway, leaving Verity with no option but to follow.

Duty was a strange mistress. Duty and honor. Verity pondered the subject as she walked slowly through the Towers to Lady Isolde’s suite. Duty and honor—two supposed virtues that had pretty much ruined her life.