Jo Beverley - [Malloren] (39 page)

He glanced out of the window. “Not long now. Then I’ll untie you, my pretty, never fear.”

At the look in his eyes, she went cold. “You’re not to do anything until we’re married!”

“Am I not?” All humor left him, and he seized her chin. “Let us start as we mean to go on, Diana. I tell you what to do. You do not tell me.”

Striving to hide pure rage, Diana forced a weak smile. “I’m sorry, my lord. But please. It wouldn’t be right. Why can’t we be married properly with a big wedding? I’ve always wanted a big wedding.”

“Too late, my dear. But when we return from Scotland, you can have a grand wedding if you wish. I will allow you
anything within reason as long as you’re a good, dutiful wife.”

He sat back again, confident lord of his world.

Diana had never before been aware of swelling with rage. It made the bindings constrict around her, and her head pound. She closed her eyes, hoping to hide it. Oh, she’d kill him. He couldn’t keep her tied up forever, and as soon as she was free, she’d kill him.

Even though he was a stupid, arrogant dupe, and the Chevalier D’Eon was the true villain.

The coach slowed and turned and her eyes flew open.

They’d arrived somewhere and Lord Randolph intended to
rape
her. If there was any hope of rescue, it would come from Bey, and he’d be riding to his death. She fought down panic. She’d have her chance as soon as he untied her, and then he’d see about dutiful wives!

The moon showed a country lane between hedges. Someone must have the job of telling Bey where to come, for this spot would not be easily found. Would he be wary?

What about Clara? Would she have raised the alarm? Though it would all be horribly embarrassing, she’d welcome the king rousing the army to find her.

No, plague take it. She’d trained the maid too well not to kick up a fuss over her occasional adventures, and now she reaped the bitter harvest. It might be morning before anyone at the Queen’s House knew she was missing.

The coach stopped in front of a simple cottage where faint candlelight gleamed behind two windows. There were no other buildings nearby.

An ideal spot for murder.

An ideal spot for rape.

Panic started to dance inside. She tested her bonds again. No slack at all. She tried to tell herself that she wasn’t helpless. She couldn’t be! But she felt it.

Lord Randolph opened the door, stepped out and spoke briefly to the man on the box, then he reached in to gather her into his arms. She stiffened, trying to keep from touching him, but then made herself relax. The more compliant she seemed, the more likely she was to have a chance.

In fact, she relaxed inside. He couldn’t rape her tied up like this, so her chance would come.

Soon.

The carriage rolled off, carrying on down the lane, and he carried her through the door into an unused kitchen. This was clearly a two-room cottage, with perhaps a loft overhead. Was she alone with him here?

She shivered, but really, one against one was better odds.

He kicked the front door shut, then carried her into the second room. A bedroom with one large, simple bed.

She couldn’t help noticing that he showed no strain. She forced back fear. So, he was strong. She had a pistol.

Untie me
, she willed at him.

Instead, he laid her on the bed, and stood back to look her over with smug, greedy satisfaction.

“You’re a cozy armful, Lady Arradale, and I’m a lucky man.” He sat and put a hand on her left breast. She couldn’t help but try to fight, and achieved nothing more than a twitch.

“No stays?” he asked, and grinned. “Didn’t want any inconveniences in our way, eh?” But then his fingers tightened. “I do hope you’re not in the habit of playing these games—”

“No! You’re hurting me! I was already out of my stays when I found your note.”

He slowly gentled his fingers, then stroked her, but his eyes stayed cool. “I’m going to be angry, my dear wife, if I find you already broached. I like deflowering virgins. So, why did you come to such a scandalous assignation?”

She tried to look coy. “I was bored. And your message promised entertainment, my lord.”

He chuckled. “I suppose you were bored. Dull as plain water, the court of King George III. Well,” he said, standing to strip off his coat, “I don’t suppose you’re bored any longer, and I will be delighted to entertain you.”

She was still tied, but if he touched her again she was going to throw up. “Please don’t do this now! Not here!”

He shook his head, taking off his waistcoat. “Gads, you
virgins. Always kick up a fuss. What the devil difference does it make when or where?”

“I want to be married!” she wailed, writhing desperately against her bonds. “I want to be in a better bed than this. I want rose petals!”

He burst out laughing, and she could see that in other circumstances he’d be handsome, even seductive. The dense idiot couldn’t imagine that any woman might feel sick at the thought of him forcing sex on her.

He walked out of the room and she sagged, though her heart still thundered. Had she made him stop? Was he rethinking? She tested the bonds again, but they were lengths of cloth, well knotted, and nothing was going to break them.

He walked back in and tossed a handful of rose petals over her. “There, my dear. Don’t say I don’t humor your whims.” Then he pulled off his cravat, and took off his shirt to reveal a broad, furry chest.

The petals were not sweet pea, thank heavens, but even so, her mind flew back to the White Goose, to Bey stripping for her pleasure. This corrupt reenactment brought tears to her eyes, and desperation to her soul.

Dear God, let Bey find me
!

But then she remembered it could bring him to his death.

No! Keep him away. I can bear this, even rape, rather than his death.

Lord Randolph sat on the bed and pulled off riding boots and stockings. In moments he stood in just his bulging breeches, and shook his head at her as if she were a silly ninny. “Don’t be frightened, my rose. We’re to be married, so it’s no sin, and it’ll only hurt the once. I’m a clever lover. You’ll soon come to enjoy it.”

If he’d growled or said terrible things, Diana could bear it better. This confidence, this smug belief that this was normal, was going to drive her mad. As was the fact that she was still completely helpless. Until now, she hadn’t really believed that this could happen to her, that there’d be no way out, no magical rescue.

She began to shake, and hated the weakness of it.

He leaned down and smoothed a hand over her brow.
“Hush, now. Don’t get in a state. See, I’m going to untie you.”

Diana stilled. At last. At last. Just a moment with her pistol. Just one moment. She gazed up at him. “Oh, thank you, Lord Randolph.”

He produced a knife and placed it by the knot in the cloths around her legs. “Call me husband, my dear.”

Diana looked away as if bashful. “Husband.”

The knife snicked through the cloth, and she almost tried to kick free.
No. Patience,
she told herself.
Wait until he releases your arms.

But then he straddled one leg and knotted the cloth around her other ankle.

“Why are you doing that?” she cried, trying too late to kick him.

He wrapped the cloth a few times around the rough post at one corner of the bed end and knotted it firmly. “I’m sorry, my dear, but you might try to fight. You’d likely hurt yourself, and we can’t have that.”

Realizing her peril, she really tried to fight then, but there was nothing she could do to stop him tethering the other ankle to the other corner.

H
e stood to look at her. “You’re damned strong for a lady, my dear. But I’m stronger. Never forget that. I’m going to do your hands now. With your legs tied, you can’t get away, and you don’t want to make me angry, do you?”

Any chance of convincing him she was weak and willing had gone, so she said, “You can rape me ten times a day, Lord Randolph, and I won’t marry you. In fact, I’ll see you hang for it.”

He just laughed. “You’ll change your tune.”

When he cut the cloth around her arms, she was ready to go for her pistol, but he captured both wrists and tied them to the bar that ran across the top of the bed.

Stretched out, Diana knew total helplessness for the first time in her life. Blinding, numbing fear welled over her, but she fought it.

Ironhand
, she chanted silently.

She came from a line of northern warriors who had died in battle, and in dungeons, and under torture. She’d not disgrace them here. And she’d meant what she’d said. Nothing he could do could make her say her vows to him, and sooner or later she’d see him dead for it.

If he raped her, so be it. It would be nothing next to the rack, or being hanged, drawn, and quartered.

He eyed her, and she remembered thinking that he wasn’t as stupid as he seemed. “You’re quite a surprise, Lady Arradale, but don’t get overconfident. As you see, you can’t fight a determined man, and if you don’t behave, I’ll find ways to make you.”

“Whips, now. What a bully you are.”

Anger flickered, but he picked up a rose petal and stroked it up and down her neck. She’d rather he hit her. “If necessary. But there are other ways. Everyone cares for something, and what you care for, you’ll lose unless you are a completely dutiful wife. Words, however, are feeble women’s weapons. You can berate me if you insist.”

“Oh good. You’re a slimy turd from a very sick animal.”

He stared at her in shock, then slapped her. Not hard. A sting, no more, and she had to admire his restraint for he was clearly outraged.

“More language like that and you’ll be black and blue. You’re clearly not the lady you appear to be, but by God, as my wife you will be.”

He picked up his knife and cut open her bodice, calmly and carefully peeling it back until her breasts were completely exposed. She couldn’t help but try to twist her hands free, but she could do nothing, nothing!

“Very nice,” he murmured, tossing the knife aside and gathering both breasts in his hands. “Wealth, power, and a luscious body. I do appreciate my good fortune, wife. Never doubt that. Now, let me show you how nice this all can be.”

He began to roll one nipple between his fingers, quite gently, and with a part of her shocked and horrified mind Diana sensed her body’s automatic reaction.

She closed her eyes and tried to block out the feel of his intrusive hands and the irritating tendency of her body to respond like a mindless thing. Tried to concentrate instead on the searing satisfaction of killing him at the earliest opportunity.

Taking out her pistol and shooting him. She could imagine the shocked disbelief the moment before he died …

He was suckling her and her damnable rogue body twitched.

Shooting would be too quick. Too indirect.

Picking up his knife and plunging it deep, again, and again—

Sharp sting on her cheek again.

Her eyes flew open.

“No, you don’t,” he said, still smiling. “Keep your eyes open. It’s not wrong for me to touch you like this. Not as your husband.”

“You’re not my husband.”

“Yet. I’d kiss you, but I fear you’d try to bite. Think what you’re missing.”

Then he moved lower down the bed and used both hands to push up her skirts to her waist. She tensed, thinking he’d have to feel the pistol, but her pockets were stiff, and he was far more intent on her.

“Very nice,” he said, pushing her knees apart to expose her further. “Stay like that.” He moved back to unfasten his breeches.

No. Though she was powerless, she would not submit. She closed her legs as much as she could, took a deep breath and screamed. It felt so good, she screamed again, louder. Again, and again, and again!

“Damn you, shut up!” He clapped his hand over her mouth. Gleeful to finally be fighting, she tried to bite. He grabbed his shirt one-handed and shoved it into her mouth, more and more until she was choking.

“Now will you shut up?” he snarled, straightening, his hair wild, and his eyes more so. “By God, if you didn’t own a large part of the north I’d cut your throat and leave you to rot.”

Panicked by the cloth against her throat, Diana made herself calm and breathe through her nose.

He glared at her, then smiled again, extremely unpleasantly. “I think you need a lesson, wife. You can stay like that for a while.”

He took something out of his pocket—a flask—and went to sit on a settle beside the fireplace. As he tilted it and drank, he watched her with sickening satisfaction.

It might be wiser to close her eyes, but she felt she had to keep watching him, as if sight might help in some way. She struggled for every breath, struggled not to choke, struggled not to show fear.

“Remarkable,” he said after a while. “I’m going to have to break you, of course, like a rogue horse. Or I could just clap
you in a madhouse. Ah, a reaction. I gather the king’s holding that threat over your head. A husband is in a much better position, and I suspect I could goad you into public insanity quite easily. So sad. Your unnatural position is to blame, of course.”

He rose, came slowly over to the bed, and pulled the shirt out of her mouth a bit. “Going to behave now?”

Though she could hardly bear the thought of the cloth back deep in her mouth, she just looked at him. With a smile, he tied it in place, but not stuffed deep.

“See, you are completely at my mercy. I can do with you as I please. Even be kind.” He picked up a rose petal again, and stroked it around and around her breasts. “Doesn’t that feel sweet?” He put it close to her nose, where she couldn’t help but breathe in the perfume. “Doesn’t it smell sweet?”

Then he suddenly squeezed her nose shut, cutting off all air.

“Or I can be very unkind.”

Though a cry escaped, she fought not to breathe in through her mouth, not to suck the cloth back down.

He laughed and let her go, then ungagged her entirely. “Your choice, my arrogant lady. Kind, or unkind.” He unfastened his bulging breeches.

She sucked in deep breaths, but would not give him the satisfaction of a reply. She closed her eyes, and resolved to keep them closed. That was the only power she had left.