My Lady Captive (7 page)

“Last hand,” he uttered, as he forcefully
willed his hand not to reach downward to rub his cramping leg. It
was time to pay for the continued ill use of his injured limb
today. He would not be walking gracefully away from the table this
evening. Alexei would finally realize his weakness, and one could
only guess as to how Alexei would exploit it. He silently cursed
his damnable masculine pride for not bringing his cane along this
evening, because he realized suddenly, that the only way he could
manage to leave the ballroom at all now, was with Orèlan’s
help.

As the last cards were dealt, Wyndham watched
disgustedly as Alexei moved his hand from fondling Angelo’s tanned
buttocks to lewdly grabbing the young man’s flaccid cock. The
entire time, Alexei’s icy blue irises never left Wyndham's. Even as
Alexei began to stroke Angelo’s limp member, while Angelo,
appearing shamefully humiliated, dropped his head. Wyndham wanted
to shout at Angelo not to play the submissive enslaved captive.
Alexei could only use and abuse him that way, whereas Alexei was
stymied and receiving no satisfaction from Orèlan, masquerading so
boldly and unconcerned.

Yet, what grated on him the most, and sent an
irritating tremor through his tall frame, was the unspeakable
message Alexei was really sending to him. Alexei stroked Angelo’s
cock for his eyes and his eyes alone.
What price would he
pay,
Wyndham wondered? What price would he eventually be forced
to pay for Orèlan’s release? He had baited the serpent in his den
once before, and he had not won his freedom completely
unscathed.

“My hand!” Alexei quipped snidely and
suddenly . . . and directly to Wyndham beneath the loudness of the
crowd. Wyndham’s tall body jerked. He was shocked! Somehow he had
lost his concentration and . . . “My hand!” Alexei shouted to the
crowd around them.

At the same instant Orèlan cried, “No!” With
an agileness belaying his astonishment, Wyndham grabbed the end of
her gilded leash, halting her attempt to flee. It left her
straining against the collar as she clutched the front of her loose
bodice barely over her breasts. Her lovely delicate features
completely belayed the wildness in her golden irises.

“Cunt’s and asses!” Alexei shouted.

Orèlan cried out, still straining against the
collar and leash as Wyndham tried to catch her wild gaze. “I cannot
do this! I will not,” she careened rapidly and frantically in
Spanish, and then her tumultuous gaze collided with his.

God, help him, she was everything in a woman
he could ever desire, Wyndham thought, as he uttered. “I
cannot
stand from this chair alone, Orèlan. My injured leg
will not hold my weight upright.”

Her entire body trembled visibly with her
gaze locked onto his. Fear, embarrassment, and then anger flashed
across her gold irises. And then finally, the golden starlit chips
of determination lighted her gaze. He was humbled, and more in love
than he could ever have imagined in that moment. Then, Orèlan
lifted her stubborn diminutive chin, letting her gown tumble
downward in a pool about her feet. The crowd shouted lewd rabid
voices of approval as she kicked her gown to the side defiantly.
She was completely nude, except for her small green velvet
slippers.

“Bravo!” Alexei laughed snidely, then he
lowered his voice for Wyndham and Orèlan’s ears. “The rest of the
markers if she fucks Angelo right there on the table!”

“No!” Wyndham exclaimed harshly. He was
expended beyond his limit as he began to rise out of his chair
without thinking in his anger. He barely caught his gasp of pain as
he tottered, and then Orèlan moved to save his foolish hide.

“My lover will not share his beautiful,
Orèlan!” she exclaimed with an outrageous feminine squeal of
delight. Then, she was beside him, grasping him with her arms,
steadying him as though they were embracing. It was enough to keep
him from falling flat on his face as he grappled with the pain
lancing through his leg.

I will kill my golden puma,
Orèlan
thought furiously. She would scratch his tough muscular hide into
little ribbons. She would . . . she would . . .
Oh dios,
she
loved him so much! She stood shaking with anger and love combined.
And her fear and embarrassment, as she tried to steady Wyndham with
her shivering naked body. She was, oh so foolish at times like
this, she thought, trying to catch her scattering emotions. Yet, it
was too late for her treacherous mouth. “My Wyndham will
never
want you, Alexei! You are a pig!” she cried at Alexei,
who had come toward them halfway around the table.

Wyndham growled, an inarticulate exclamation
of warning to her, just as Alexei spat furiously. “You
dirty
little, puta!”

Orèlan clutched Wyndham, steadying him with
her shoulder beneath his arm as she cringed at the threat in
Alexei’s voice.
Madre dios
. She watched horrified as Alexei
raised his hand sharply and gestured to two of his Russian guards.
“When I am through with you, you little Spanish slut, no one will
want you!” he hissed.

Then suddenly, Wyndham shoved her away from
him, making her cry out in confusion as she stumbled backward.
Instinctively, her hands tried to cover her naked breasts and
between her thighs as her horrified gaze saw Wyndham collapse to
the floor with a sharp grunt of pain. Why had he done that? What
had he done? She did not understand, as she watched Alexei exclaim,
in obvious shock. Alexei nearly went down to his knees beside
Wyndham, but then he seemed to catch himself at the last moment, as
he uttered, “Khrisinan.”

The Russian guards stood uncertainly behind
Alexei. Angelo behind them, beside the table, was hurriedly
grabbing his clothes. Orèlan fought the intense urge to go to
Wyndham, but succumb to the desperate need to retrieve her gown,
which she hurriedly picked up and at least clutched it in front of
her.

She watched Wyndham raise his stark purple
irises to Alexei as his hands clutched his bad knee. “The woman is
mine!” Wyndham growled in a harsh rasp, glaring through pain-filled
eyes up at Alexei.

Alexei sucked in a hissing angry breath. “You
are
both
mine!” he snapped with a sharp cutting motion of
his hand, and then he turned his blond head to a guard behind him.
“Take my guests, Lord Hawkenge and his woman, to my suite now!” he
ordered sharply. Then he straightened his stance and clapped his
hands to the crowd as he shouted, “Music! Everyone! We will
dance!”

Chapter Eight

Wyndham lived every emasculating moment of
being carried from the ballroom to Alexei’s suite by the guards. He
was not the man he used to be, nor would he ever be again.
Was
he even man enough to help Orèlan to escape their desperate
fate,
he wondered, as the pain from his leg washed over him in
waves? Drummond or Harrison should have come. Not him. He should
not have been as arrogant and foolish when he refused the
Archangels help. His witless masculine pride had gotten in his way.
And now, because he could not accept his disability, he had gotten
Orèlan into more danger.

He could only be thankful that he had managed
to keep Alexei from taking Orèlan away from him. He'd known that if
he let Alexei see his disability, it would distract Alexei. Deep
inside himself, where he had no wish to admit it, he knew Alexei’s
feelings for him. Now, he'd used those feelings to his advantage
again. Did that make him any worse than Alexei?

He was nearly incoherent with the pain, but
he knew as Alexei’s guards carried him between them that another
guard was guiding Orèlan forward. Toward Alexei’s suite. The
portent of that did not escape him, he only wished that the pain
would let go long enough so that he could think clearly. When the
guards set him down on the opulently displayed bed in Alexei’s
master suite, he could do no more than let his head fall back. He
had wrenched his bad leg, twisting it when he had fallen making the
desperate play to distract Alexei and keep Orèlan by his side. That
coupled with the strain he'd already placed on the injured limb,
left it feeling as bad as when the injury had first felled him at
Waterloo. He'd not been this debilitated because of it since those
first few months of recuperation two years ago.

“Orèlan,” he rasped hoarsely.
Christ, he
had failed.

“Wyndham my love, I am here,” Orèlan
whispered.

He winced at Orèlan’s words of love, if he
could have, he would have shouted the denial of his worthiness. He
felt her grasping his hand, bringing it to her soft lips, as he
rasped. “Do
not
let him take you away from me.”

“Never!” she exclaimed as he felt her tears
on his knuckles. “Wyndham, you never told me you were this hurt,”
she whispered, as he felt her lips kissing his hand again. “You
make me very angry for not telling me this. I had plans to punish
you and now I cannot.” Christ, if he could have laughed, he would
have roared. “But I will never leave you, my golden puma.
Never-never.” Wyndham tightened his grip on Orèlan’s hand.
“Wyndham, please tell me what to do to help you with this terrible
pain,” she asked tearfully.

“Nothing,” he hissed as a particularly sharp
jolt of pain lanced through his leg, making his body arch with
tension. “
Whiskey,
” he groaned. “Christ! The bottle!”

“Si, si, Wyndham!” Orèlan exclaimed as she
pried Wyndham’s fingers from around her hand. Once loose, he
clenched his fingers into a fist by his side as she hurriedly
turned to find some whiskey. She had put her gown back on beneath
all three of the guards stares, before she'd come to Wyndham’s
side. Now she was glad for the small comfort as her gaze landed on
Alexei standing by a side bar with his hand on a bottle of dark
liquor.

She knew that it was the whiskey as she
lifted her chin and walked toward Alexei. No one could have missed
Wyndham’s anguished pleas for whiskey. She also understood there
was now no one standing between Alexei and Wyndham but herself. Her
strong golden puma needed her strength now as never before. She
needed it also to stand against Alexei for her own sake. This time
she could not be foolish because of her fears. She must never be
that foolish again. It was because of her that Wyndham lay helpless
in Alexei’s bedchamber. Now, she must defend them both in anyway
that she could.

The shade of concern that she could see in
Alexei’s eyes, and then his first words to her, showed her a
possible way to begin her defense. “What is wrong with him?” Alexei
asked tersely, as she stopped beside him to watch him pour some of
the whiskey into a crystal glass.

“It is his leg. It is injured,” she answered
as she reached for the glass of whiskey.

“How?” Alexei demanded sharply, as he grabbed
her wrist halting her movements as she held the glass.

“I do not know. He has never told me. But it
must be the war,” she answered, tense and glaring at him.

Alexei held her wrist immobile as his light
blue eyes sharpened. Then, he slowly reached into his jacket pocket
and lifted out a small vial of clear liquid. He dared her to move
with the pressure on her wrist and his gaze, as he lifted the lid
on the vial with his thumb and poured a small amount into the
whiskey.

“I will not give him this!” she exclaimed,
and then she yelped at the crushing pressure Alexei placed on her
wrist.

“You have
no
choice, puta! But it is
only laudanum for his pain.”

She did not have a choice really, but
suddenly she knew that she would trust Alexei in this. Alexei loved
Wyndham, she realized, as much as he hated her, and Alexei would
not harm Wyndham because of it. “Let go of me!” she snapped
anxiously. “I would do anything to take away his terrible
pain.”

Alexei’s caustic gaze held her prisoner for a
long moment, and then he eased his grip, lifting his hand away. “By
all means, puta, nurse your English master,” he responded with a
barbed tone.

Orèlan waited no longer for more of their
charged interplay. She turned and went quickly to Wyndham’s side.
She saw immediately that his body was rigid with pain, perhaps
worse than a few minutes before. Not wasting any time, she lifted
his head and brought the glass to his lips. “Wyndham, here is the
whiskey. Drink some, Wyndham, drink,” she murmured, encouraging
him.

Wyndham never opened his eyes and it seemed
difficult for him to unclench his jaw long enough to take a drink.
Yet, she managed, slowly to encourage him to drink the entire glass
of whiskey. His normally tanned features were pale and there where
white lines bracketing his firm mouth. She smoothed his blond hair
back with gentle strokes. She spoke to him with small soft words in
Spanish, “hush,” “love,” “relax,” and finally he sighed and she saw
some of the tensions leave his rigid features. More moments passed
and slowly, so slowly, he relaxed more, until his fists uncurled at
his side.

It was not until that moment, when the
anxious tension relaxed somewhat inside her that she realized
Alexei was there, standing beside her, looking down at Wyndham. She
felt the intense urge to leap in front of Wyndham and shield him
from Alexei’s penetrating gaze. But that was foolish.

“Khrisinan,” Alexei whispered, and he reached
a pale slender hand to Wyndham’s shoulder. Orèlan winced with the
effort she used not to brush Alexei’s hand away. “Wyndham, how were
you injured?” Alexei coaxed.

Wyndham’s eyelids opened slowly to reveal his
dark purple unfocused irises. “W-Waterloo. Cann-non,” he slurred.
When Wyndham spoke, he was looking at her, and Orèlan realized that
he must have thought she asked the question.

“Does it still hurt, Khrisinan?”

Wyndham’s irises sharpened for a mere moment,
then dulled. “Are y-you worried, Alexei? About me?” he asked
sluggishly.