Restraint (10 page)

Suddenly, her world no longer seemed so dark.

 
Chapter Eight

Thomas stared into the darkness. The candle had long since burned out. Catherine had been quiet since he had finished slathering her body with almond and cherry scented lotion. Now, she lay with her head on his shoulder, her legs entwined with his. She was so still he would have thought she was sleeping if she had not been tracing circles on his chest with her index finger.

He brushed a kiss against her fragrant hair.

He’d been inside her. His stomach tightened again when he recalled how she’d felt. Hot. Tight. Slick. He’d fucked her that way twice—and he was considering rolling her over and plowing into her again.

Grimly, he knew he’d never be satisfied until he’d been inside her the way a man was supposed to be inside a woman.

When had he wanted a woman this much?

Was he obsessed with her? His conscience told him he was past obsession. This was something else. This was something he had only known once in his life. And damn him, he’d been determined never to know it again.

He winced as the realization crept over him. He was in love with Catherine.

How could he send her to Wallingford now?

Marry me, Catherine.
The words were on his lips but he could not bring himself to voice them. What would she think if he removed the blindfold and she saw his graying hair and deeply lined face? He was old enough to be her father, for Christ’s sake. And he was no duke. Catherine had made it clear that night by the lake that she wanted to marry a duke.

Still, he recalled her tears. She did not want to marry Wallingford and was only doing so because he was going to pay off her father’s debts.

Thomas blew out a sigh. Wallingford certainly had a small fortune to throw away. Thomas did not. He had a townhouse in London and this estate and his title but his monies had been spent trying to keep Estelle alive. He’d taken her all over the world, to the best doctors. He’d provided the best care possible for her and now both she and his money were gone.

He had enough to live comfortably for the rest of his life but paying off another man’s debts was an entirely different story.

Catherine deserved better. She was nobly going into a marriage she did not want only to protect her father’s reputation.

Thomas loved her even more than before—so, how could he let her go? His heart ached, reminding him sorely of losing Estelle. Damn. He’d vowed he would never go through that pain again and here he was, lovesick and forlorn over a girl he had only known a little over a week.

“Will you kiss me?” Her quiet request brought him out of his reverie. Without words, he turned to face her, cupped her chin in his hand and brought her mouth to his. He barely brushed her lips, thinking he should go, thinking this was dangerous. And then he drew away.

A little whimper escaped Catherine’s lips. “No,” she said, shaking her head as if she sensed his reticence.

He smiled. “That’s not enough for you is it, Catherine?”

“I could never get enough of you.”

Once more, he slanted his head and touched his lips to hers. It was the gentlest of kisses. His tongue swept her open mouth and then delved inside, tasting her, mating with her. His pressure increased and then he was kissing her hungrily, threading his fingers through her hair, anchoring her head so that he could take his fill. She moaned into his mouth and kissed him back wildly. Her nails dug into his shoulder.

He kissed her cheeks, the tip of her nose, her forehead and then he turned her head so he could run his tongue along the shell of her ear. She trembled in his embrace. He kissed her neck, sucking and biting, leaving distinct purplish bruises where he’d been.

Catherine’s breath came out in rapture-filled gasps and she writhed, slipping her own hand between her thighs so that she could massage her sex.

Thomas pushed her to her back and his mouth moved to her breasts. He laved each one, taking her nipples into his mouth, grazing them with his teeth, squeezing them together so that he could kiss them both at once.

Catherine rocked her hips against her own furious caresses. He watched for a moment before he pushed her thighs wide apart and gazed at the velvety folds barely visible in her wealth of black curls.

So feminine.

So beautiful.

He pressed a kiss to the hard little hillock she’d been rubbing and she cried out. She tasted sweet and warm and he nuzzled his face there, breathing in her essence, her come.

God, he could never get enough of her—his virgin lover. He bestowed a kiss on the opening where no man had ever been and slipped his tongue inside as far as it would go.

Catherine lifted her hips off the bed and pressed herself against Thomas’ face. Her hands gripped the bedclothes and she arched and rocked, thrashing her head from side to side.

“Yes,” she moaned, telling him explicitly how good it felt.

Thomas’ hot mouth moved over her, into her and suckled, nibbled, and all the while his hands pushed her thighs impossibly wide apart. His fingers dug into her flesh, hurting her but she didn’t want him to stop. She didn’t ever want him to stop.

Then from somewhere deep inside she could feel it building and building and she was suddenly coming, holding his head there, arching off the bed and pressing herself to his face. It was like no orgasm she had ever experienced. It shattered her. It left her boneless.

She fell back on the sheets and tears streamed out of her eyes and out from under the blindfold. A sob rattled in her chest and suddenly, Thomas had her in his arms and she felt the covers being drawn over their naked bodies. She clung to him and cried and cried tears of exultation, of fear and love, desire and heartbreak.

She cried until she had cried herself to sleep.

* * * * *

Thomas lay awake until the first rays of dawn filtered through the window. Catherine had not moved from his embrace. He had held her all night.

And now, he knew he had to do the hardest thing he had ever done in his life.

His insides churned. His heart ached. He loved her. Damn it to hell, he loved her.

And for that very reason, he would have to send her back to Wallingford. If he awakened her and begged her to marry him now, she would do it just to escape Wallingford’s cruelty. Thomas could not bear that.

He knew if he stole her from Wallingford, they would spend a few weeks, maybe a few months happily wed but then she would certainly grow to resent him because he was old and because he could not pay off her father’s debts—because she did not love him.

No. It was better to let her leave now than to risk losing himself all over again.

He swallowed hard and shifted from beneath her embrace. She stirred and moaned but nuzzled her face into the pillow and was, once again, fast asleep. Thomas watched her. She was beautiful—more than beautiful—bathed in the coral light of dawn with her fist curled against the sheets.

He leaned over her and lightly kissed her cheek. “I love you, Catherine,” he whispered so softly not even he had heard the words.

And then he gathered his clothes and left the room.

* * * * *

Today was the day.

Catherine lay awake with a smile on her face. She had been disappointed when she’d discovered that Thomas had already gone but wistfully she recalled the sex they’d shared the night before. It had been wonderful. And today she knew without a doubt that Thomas was the man she loved. He was the man she wanted to marry.

She wanted him so much that she would forsake her obligation to Robert and to her parents. She would give up the lofty title and fortune.

And in its place she would have true love.

She intended to tell him so as soon as he arrived and hoped he would want her as much as she wanted him.

All thoughts of marrying Robert for his money and then leaving him had vanished after last night.

Last night had been the turning point for her. Last night, she had attained joy, pleasure through pain and submission and she knew in her heart that only Thomas could give that to her.

She smiled and recalled the dream she’d had. It had been hazy and faraway but it had seemed so real. She’d dreamed Thomas told her he loved her.

Her heart flooded with emotion at the possibility. Could he love her? Was there room in his heart after the painful loss of his wife?

The doorknob rattled and turned and Catherine bolted upright in the bed, fervently hoping it was Thomas.

“Good morning, Lady Catherine.” It was Lydia. Her heart sank.

But not even that could dampen Catherine’s spirits.

Lydia’s footsteps padded across the carpeting and Catherine felt brusque fingers loosening the blindfold. She blinked as brilliant, harsh daylight blinded her. And when she was able to focus, she saw something
awful
in Lydia’s arms.

Her clothes.

No!

She hadn’t been here two weeks. It wasn’t time to leave.

Her heart pounded.

“The master wants you to dress for breakfast.”

She relaxed, but only somewhat. He’d never wanted her in clothes before and the idea of wearing anything almost seemed repulsive to her. She’d gotten used to the feel of air on her skin, the freedom. She never wanted to wear clothes again.

“Why?” she asked impertinently.

Lydia shrugged. “I don’t question the master’s orders.”

Catherine was bathed and had her long hair washed. After that, Lydia powdered her and helped her back into her confining clothes. Corset, drawers, camisole, petticoats, stockings, garters, shoes and then the heavy lavender muslin dress were donned—all of which felt miserably awful. Catherine could hardly breathe and she wanted nothing more than to rip off the damnable dress and be free once more.

She sat sullenly staring at her own reflection in the mirror as Lydia coifed her hair.

Why did Thomas want her trussed up like this? It didn’t make sense and Catherine felt a foreboding sense of doom.

After Lydia had finished, she stood back, admired her handiwork and smiled. “You look downright lovely, Lady Catherine. Would you like a glass of juice while you await the master?”

“Yes, please.” Catherine was grim.

Lydia sat a glass of freshly squeezed orange juice on the table, curtsied and left the room.

Catherine continued to stare at her reflection as she drank down the contents of the glass. She did look nice. She hoped Thomas thought so too. But she had so wanted to be unhindered by clothing when she told him of her decision not to marry Robert.

Her eyelids felt heavy and she suppressed a yawn. How could she be sleepy after the restful night she’d spent in Thomas’ arms?

But she was sleepy. Terribly sleepy.

Suddenly, she gripped the sides of the dressing table and stared at the empty crystal juice glass. She’d been drugged! That was why he’d wanted her dressed. He’d drugged her and he was sending her back to Robert!

No!

Panic surged through her limbs and she staggered toward the door but the hypnotic effects of the drug wore on her and she crumpled to the floor. Tears flooded her eyes and she let them fall, sobbing as she felt her consciousness slipping away. She could not move, could not cry out. She would never see Thomas again.
Never…

Chapter Nine

Catherine felt ill. Her head swam and her stomach roiled. Where was she?

And then it all came flooding back over her in a sickening wave. She opened her eyes and sat. The sickening nausea intensified when she realized she was in her own room with her own lady’s maid staring down at her.

“Lie back, Lady Catherine,” Marsha said sweetly.

“No.”

Oh God, this can’t be happening.
The two weeks weren’t up. Why had Thomas sent her back? She shook her head trying to remember, trying to clear her muddled thoughts.

Tears stung her eyes and she let them fall freely. She seized Marsha’s arm. “Who brought me here? Who? You have to tell me.”

Marsha’s brown eyes widened. “I don’t know, mum.”

Catherine pushed herself up despite Marsha’s vehement protests and staggered toward the door.

“Please, mum. You need to rest.”

Catherine pushed her aside and flung open the door. She cleaved to the banister as she faltered down the stairs and into the parlor where her shocked parents gaped up at her.

Catherine was not glad to see them. Not at all.

“Who brought me here?” she demanded, her speech slurred. She clung to the doorjamb to keep from wilting to the floor.

Clearing his throat, her father stood. George Spencer could not even look her in the eye. Realization washed over Catherine. He knew where Robert had taken her. He knew how she’d spent the last ten days.

A heated blush rose to her cheeks but she was not ashamed of what she had done with Thomas—only dismayed that her father had some inkling of her wanton participation in
boudoir
games. Still, he didn’t seem concerned. He hadn’t asked if she had been hurt. Obviously, he didn’t care.

She tried to swallow against the constriction in her throat but she could not. So, her father had been in on Robert’s dastardly plan. It all made sickening sense. “Who brought me here?” she asked again. This time, her voice was meek.

He turned to Catherine’s mother. “Leave the room, Clarissa.”

Immediately obeying, her mother stood and brushed past her, never making eye contact. Catherine suddenly felt alone. Utterly alone. And somewhere inside lurked the realization that she’d always felt that way—until she’d met Thomas.

“It was Robert’s idea.”

Catherine blushed. Her father
did
know how she’d spent the last ten days! And apparently, he had agreed to it. Anger roiled within her.

She glared. “I won’t marry him.”

George was across the room in an instant, backing Catherine to the wall. His hand tightened around her throat. She stared up at him wide eyed, not believing, aching inside for Thomas. “You
will
marry him. Do you hear me? You will!”

She could see the desperation in his watery blue eyes. He didn’t care about her. He only cared about having his debts relieved.