Sin (23 page)

Marcus poured a cup of chocolate and handed it to her. “How are you feeling, sweeting?”

Before she could drink, he cradled her cheek.

“I’m fine.” How inadequate that sounded. She struggled to understand. “I feel in a muddle. I was shot at. I made love. All in one day.”

His lips sparked fire on her cheek. Even his simplest touch gave her strength. “Have you been awake long?” she asked.

“A few hours.” He filled a plate with food and placed it on the bed at her side, then straightened, scrubbing his hand over his jaw. “I admit I left you alone for a while. I did lock you in. Found Swansborough downstairs. Tackled Chartrand. No one knows where anyone was yesterday during that madness.” Anger flashed in his eyes, as he paced along the end of the bed, and spoke tersely in time to his strides. “No one knows who fired the shot. No one has an alibi for the time. It has stopped raining now, and I expect repair on the bridges will start. It won’t be long before the magistrate arrives. A day. Two at the most.”

She watched his long strides. She’d read of caged animals, exotic tigers that prowled along the bars, intent on becoming wild again. Venetia shivered. It was as though he’d said bluntly ‘we only have to survive another day’. She gulped down the entire cup of chocolate. It scalded on the way down.

“None of the gypsies were seriously hurt, just badly frightened. They pulled up camp—but they can’t have traveled far. They must be hiding on the estate.”

She remembered children hiding in their mother’s skirts. “Would Lord Chartrand attack again?”

“He drank himself into a stupor last night and is too bedeviled to cause trouble this morning.” Marcus reached out for the empty cup, placed it on the tray.

“A sign of guilt?” She nibbled at her toast. “But why shoot me? No one could know that I had the book in my pelisse pocket.”

“Whoever wants that book knows that both you and I have read it.”

She swallowed slowly. “I learned more about Lord Brude’s secrets. He has a stronger motive than plagiarism. He admitted he had an affair with his sister-in-law and fathered her child.” So many secrets. Secrets worth killing for. “You think someone wants us…dead…to keep his secrets safe?”

Marcus was seated at her side, giving her more chocolate. His hands soothingly rubbed her shoulders. “Thank you, sweeting, for respecting my secrets. And I vow I will keep you safe. Someone tried to kill you.” He spoke calmly but she felt the resolute power behind the words. “I intend to catch him and I intend to see him pay.”

“But would any of these powerful men be made to pay?”

“I will ensure it.” His voice was low, deadly. “I’ll kill the blackguard who shot at you.”

She knew in a heartbeat what he meant. He would see justice at pistol point.

He rose from the bed. “I am going to have to leave you again, Vee. Promise me you will stay here with the door locked.”

She pushed down the blankets. Her plate slid off her lap. “Where are you going?”

He held up the lock pick. “I plan to search our suspects’ rooms. You are staying here.”

“I’m not! I am coming with you.”

Venetia’s hands trembled as she untied the ribbon that bound a stack of Lady Yardley’s letters. She opened the first, straining to listen for sound outside in the hallway. Marcus moved in complete silence. How he could slide out a drawer without a squeak or open a door without a groan, she couldn’t imagine.

Her gaze slid down to the signature. A first name only. Lancelot. It couldn’t be the man’s true name. Then she saw the crest on the page. Swansborough. She read the letter.

…I have learned that L. Harcourt is attending Chartrand’s. I will deal with her for you…

She felt the soft whisper of warm breath on her neck and almost leapt out of her skin. She turned and glared at Marcus. “You mustn’t startle me. I almost screamed.” She waved the letter. “Lord Swansborough came her to assist Lady Yardley.”

He inclined his head. “I am not surprised. Lady Yardley cared for his younger sister when his parents were killed—carriage accident. He has always been close to her.”

“So he, too, has a motive.” She slumped.

Marcus groaned. “We’ve searched the rooms and learned nothing except we have one more suspect.”

“He has an alibi for Lydia’s death but he might have tried to injure me to get the book.” And, in their search, she’d discovered many of the fetishes of the guests. Wembly’s collection of spanking paddles. Lady Yardley’s painful-looking nipple clamps. Montberry’s collection of lady’s drawers. Lord Brude’s habit of snipping pubic hairs from his lovers—a practice detailed in his journal. Night had fallen and she felt dejected. Confused.

“We’d best return to our rooms, love,” Marcus said. The guests were at dinner—they’d used the time to search, but she knew they would return at any time.

She retied the letters, fussed with the bow, and slid the letters back in the secretary’s drawer. She reached Marcus as he opened the door a crack. “Ssh,” he whispered, “Chartrand and his wife are in the hallway.”

Venetia slipped around in front of Marcus and tucked in between his chest and the door.

Chartrand’s voice floated to them, cold and hard. “No matter what Aspers asks, tell him nothing about the past. What I did, I did for you.”

“You didn’t.” Tears streaked Lady Chartrand’s cheeks. “You said you wanted me, you didn’t really. You have always loved her. Catherine was your first love. You never forgot her.”

“I strangled her. I watched her die. I promise you that I never loved her—” The rest came softly and Venetia strained hard but couldn’t hear.

Lady Chartrand struggled to control sobs. “What of Lydia?”

The low thrum of Chartrand’s voice. “I arranged a near miss with a carriage in Hyde Park. A footpad armed with a knife…intended to scare…but she didn’t scare…”

“You wrapped your hands around her throat in front of Polk—in front of a servant—would you have killed her in the gallery?”

“Hold your tongue, woman. I will not let you destroy me.” Chartrand snatched hold of her sleeve.

Lady Chartrand wrenched from his grasp and ran down the hallway. Venetia recoiled at the look of raw fury in Chartrand’s gray eyes, but he stormed off in the opposite direction.

Chartrand had arranged the accidents that Juliette had hinted at. He had admitted to attempting to strangle Lydia. “He must be the one,” Venetia whispered.

“We can’t be certain,” Marcus countered, grasping her hand. “But it is safe for us to go.”

“But I’ve just realized the way to catch the murderer,” she whispered as they stole out into the hallway. “A brilliant, simple plan.”

“N
o,” Marcus growled. “Absolutely not.”

“But luring out the murderer is the best plan,” Venetia protested. “He wants the book, we can use it to trap him. I would announce that I would be on the terrace alone, and then, when he strikes, you would catch him.” Nude but for her stockings, she was perched on the edge of his bed. She crossed her arms beneath her breasts.

“No. I’m not using you as bait, Vee. Absolutely not.” He slid her stocking down.

“It is the only way—” Why could he not see that?

“I am not risking your life, love.” He drew off her last stocking and let it flutter to the floor. “Nor am I letting you out of this bedroom tonight.”

He strolled to the bedside drawer, opened it. She knew what was there. A riding crop, ropes, and shackles. “Marcus—”

He dangled several lengths of black velvet rope before her eyes. She caught her breath. “Tonight,” he said, “I plan to sweep you into an odyssey of erotic pleasures.”

She giggled at that, as nerves and excitement tumbled in her belly.

Holding the ropes, he slipped his arm around her waist, and drew her into a bone-melting kiss. She broke away and tentatively touched the velvet restraints. “What do you plan to do?”

Eyes teasing, he wound one rope around her arm, the velvet a soft caress against her skin.

“Tonight you will be my slave.”

She wished to be independent, how could the thought of being bound excite her so? “What if I say no?”

“I know you want to explore this, love. Trust me.” He brushed a soft kiss on her mouth. “For this to be a delight, you must trust me.”

Venetia understood.
Which Belizique picture fascinates you most?
She remembered Marcus’ question. How excited he had been. She’d been so uncertain. She fantasized about ropes and submission yet had never truly thought she would let a man do such things. But slipping her hand into Marcus’, she whispered, “I can trust.”

“Close your eyes.”

She did, but let her lashes drift up just a bit, just to peek.

“Trust,” he murmured, and so she closed her eyes tight. She tensed as the velvet ropes touched her wrists. But he didn’t bind her, he trailed the ends along her arm, up to her shoulder.

Velvet brushed her back. Even with eyes closed, she knew he was standing in front of her, mere inches away. The ropes skimmed high, brushing the curve of her spine. Then pressed lightly against the back of her neck.

She felt as though all the air had squeezed from her chest.

“Follow me,” he urged, his voice as dark and sensual as the velvet. He tugged, the velvet pushed against her nape, and she moved as he bid. Trusting him.

“Stop here.” Hands encircled her waist, lifting. As her bottom brushed smooth silk, she knew she was on the bed. She let him ease her back.

“Delightful,” he murmured. “Open your eyes.”

“Must I do everything you command?” But she did open her eyes, wanting to see him.

“Silence.” He grinned, wickedly. “You may only speak when I allow it. You may, however, cry out your pleasure.”

Every inch the arrogant peer.

“Stretch your arms above your head.”

She complied, brushing them against the silk counterpane. Watching him, watching the fire that blazed within his eyes. A flame that was more than just a reflection of candlelight.

“Put your wrists together.”

The bed dipped and creaked as he sat at her side. At the first loop of velvet around her wrists, she stiffened. Embarrassed, a little afraid, ashamed at her excitement. Surely decent women did not like such games.

But she did.

The velvet wound tighter.

“Try to free yourself,” he instructed.

Valiantly, she did, but couldn’t move her hands an inch. Then he tied another rope to the loops that imprisoned her and secured that one to the head of the bed. She fought, trying to move her arms, but all she could do was thrash them from side to side. And only a few inches.

But watching him watch her struggle…that set her quim blazing…his cock would bob upward each time she arched and tugged. His juices oozed out and dripped down his length.

“Now,” he mused, tapping his chin. The ropes danced as he did. “To tie your legs apart…or together?”

“Together?”

He flashed a smile. “Together it is, then.” He pressed his fingers to her lips. “Remember, slave, silence.”

She might be the slave but she saw he couldn’t draw his gaze away from her.

“First, ankles.” He slid her legs together. Before she could even try to pull them apart, he’d wound a rope there. Her ankles rubbed, she shifted her feet to find comfort. He paused, let her do so, then pulled the ropes tight. Knotted them.

His hair shadowed his face as he worked on her knees. Excitement rippled through her. She was soaked between her thighs, soaked and burning. Hotter than she’d ever been.

He trussed her thighs, binding them tight. Even the squeeze of them drove her mad. She was panting greedily. But he couldn’t enter her this way…what would he do?

With his large, strong hands, he arranged her and she stayed relaxed and obedient, following his direction. Ending up on her knees, with her head against the bed, her arms stretched in front of her and roped in place. Her bare bottom stuck out at him.

“A rope between your legs to saw against your clit…” he mused, and slid one in, drawing it back and forth, literally sawing the fabric against her. Each stroke sparked a jolt of desire.

But her satisfaction was not his goal, she soon realized. At first she sighed in relief as he teased her with his fingers from behind. As he opened her nether lips, then caressed her clit. She must look…submissive with her bum in the air, her breasts crushed against her knees. She tried to rock against his fingers, but as she neared climax, he withdrew them.

“Patience, my lovely slave.”

Something large and blunt pressed against her nether lips. He was going to take her in this position. Oh yes. Yes, she wanted it. She pushed back against him, trying to draw his rigid cock inside. But he had other ideas. First he rasped the length of his cock against her clit, thrusting between her tightly squeezed thighs. Oh so good! She savored it, then struggled to reposition, to ensure that he slid in.

He pulled away. “Not yet, my sweet.”

The mattress rose beneath her, and she turned her head to watch him leave. Panting. She was so close…she tried squeezing her thighs together, wriggling that way, desperate to come.

He returned with the gleaming brass box of toys. Let the lid drop back. But she couldn’t see what he took out. She strained to look—the embroidered silk rasped her cheek.

“Curious?” He dangled it before her by its chain. The two golden balls reflected the candlelight, spinning before her.

To her surprise, he popped one in his mouth, toyed with it on his tongue. She was melting with lust. To be led was exhilarating.

When he moved behind her, she could no longer see. Her sense of touch, her hearing, was all she could rely upon. Hands caressed her derriere. She heard his harsh breathing, hers, and the licking of flames in the fireplace.

Something warm pressed against her bottom. His finger, massaging oil into her. Arching back, she relaxed for him. Pop. In went the ball, and her muscles closed tight around it. The links of the chain teased her entrance. Moaning, she waited for the next. Felt a light tug that had her quim throbbing. But he pushed the next ball there, into her cunny. And flicked the chain. The links teased the bridge between quim and ass, his playful tugs had the balls moving inside her.

“Squeeze tight on them,” he commanded.

She fluttered her muscles around them, bringing herself to the brink—

He bent and laved the length of the chain with his tongue, stroking that most sensitive place. He ran his tongue around the rim of her anus, tangling with the chain, wetting her…reached around and touched her clit, just a touch—

Her orgasm slammed through her. Legs and arms bound she could only rock and buck with it. She wrenched her head to the side, to cry out, to gulp in breaths.

Heavens! She rode it forever, squeezing, pulsing, a slave to sin.

But the orgasm faded, sense flooded in. She suddenly felt exposed. Embarrassed. As though he knew, he instantly began to untie the knot that dug into the side of her thigh.

The bonds around her thighs went slack. He stroked her flesh, which stung and burned a bit, but the discomfort had been exciting itself. His touch was so tender. As he released each rope, he gently rubbed and kissed her skin.

Her gaze met his as he rubbed her wrist. Her fingers hurt as sensation replaced the tingling. Shame evaporated as Venetia saw his enormous cock. “Could I…could I try to tie you up?”

Marcus’s brows shot up. He hadn’t expected that question. But Venetia was crawling around on the bed, derriere wiggling, as she gathered up the ropes. He almost always played the dominant. Being bound, being completely under a woman’s power made him nervous.

Yet what would Venetia do? She had no ulterior motive. All she wanted was pleasure and play.

“Yes,” he groaned. “You may.” And he stretched out on the bed, arms and legs splayed.

He expected her to attack from the floor—to tie him up from the side of the bed. His heart thudded as she straddled his waist, the ropes held tight in her hand. Damn, he loved this position—her cunny stretched wide, its heat and wetness pressed against his skin, her full, bounteous breasts hovering over him.

She bent, stretched to reach his right wrist and her breasts dangled over his face. Lifting, he kissed the nipple. She squirmed on him, and he mercilessly suckled her as she tried to wrap the rope around his wrist.

“There.” He felt pressure, she fashioned a knot, but it was loose. Still, he wanted to indulge in the game, pretend he was her captive.

“You have the most…seductive wrists,” she confided as she tied his other arm. “I am incorrigible—even the sight of your bare wrists arouses me.”

Her confession aroused him. His cock was as rigid as the bedposts and standing nigh as tall.

The wench crawled over him to bind the end of her rope to the headboard. He cocked his head to watch. Then she turned on his waist, waggled her bum in his face, attended to his ankles.

“Apart for you,” she murmured as she secured the first rope.

“Now that I am your prisoner what do you plan to do?”

“You must not speak. Now you are the slave.”

He chuckled, but the truth of her words struck him. No woman had ever tempted him so.

The wicked wench left the bed. He almost begged her to return but held his tongue. On his back, he had a perfect view.

Her red hair shimmered down her back as she fetched the vial from the table. Charmingly intent on her work, she drizzled oil into her palm, then withdrew the two gold balls from the dish of washing water and dropped them into her hand. She rubbed them within, then unfurled her fingers to show how they glistened.

He swallowed. Hard. The rope bit into his ankles and wrists in the most erotic way, but what truly enticed was her expression of power, excitement, wanton desire.

Gold glinted as she circled her nipples with the balls—the chain reached the span between them. She trailed the balls down the curve of her belly, dipping them in her shadowed navel. Dangling them by the chain, she swung them in front of her cunny. His throat was tight. His cock lifted off his belly.

“I want to do something forbidden.”

Intrigued, he watched as she knelt onto the bed between his spread legs.

Then he knew. His ass clenched, his cock jolted. A squirt of fluid hit his belly—his cock’s abundant lubrication. Her delicate hand held the balls against his bottom, eased them between his tight cheeks. All the while she watched his face. Licked her lips.

“May I?”

“God, yes.” He fought to relax as she pushed the ball. Sweat beaded on his forehead. Pleasure uncoiled through him as she pressed the smooth ball against his anus, as his entrance parted. Groaning, he felt the first one pop inside. Then the second. Lord, the feeling of it…the pleasure…

“Climb on top of me,” he begged hoarsely.

She looked tempted. Shook her head.

“Tempt me, Vixen. Drive me wild. Pose for me.” Adopting graces was a skill taught to young ladies. To watch a nude woman adopt lovely, angelic poses had him leaking on his belly.

He’d planned to drive her wild with seduction—she’d turned the tables on him. She used two ivory wands in her poses. She playfully spanked her quim with one, then bent and presented her derriere, stroking a wand between her cheeks. She teased her bottom with one wand, her quim with the other.

He was panting. Sweating. His anus pulsed around the balls, heightening his need.

Wearing a saucy smile, she climbed onto the bed. Touched the wand that was wet with her cunny juices to his nipples. He moaned and arched against the ropes.

Her hazel eyes glowed like glass lanterns. She stroked the wand along his cock and the sight of the white length parrying with his cock made him both hot and uncertain. The combination set his heart pumping harder. Her finger twined around the chain, teasing the bridge between his balls and his ass. She pulled. One ball popped out. His anus clenched and pleasure shot through his brain. The second popped out. He gritted his teeth to keep from exploding. She stroked a wand between his arse cheeks, and he groaned in sheer sexual agony.

“I
know
what I wish to do!” she cried.

Leaving him in sexual torment, she disappeared through the connecting door to her room. Lying spread-eagled on the bed, unable to see, Marcus wrenched against the ropes. He gained slack, but try as he might, he couldn’t lever up enough. Something scraped along the floor. Her trunk.

She returned with a paintbrush in her hand.

“What are—?”

“Silence,” she commanded. Then she giggled. Ah, a true dominatrix she would never be, but she was a delight at playing games. She sashayed to his side, climbed onto the bed.

She touched the brush to his hard nipples. “Tell me, which of my pictures is your favorite?”

“There are many.” He moaned as she stroked the brush across his chest to draw rings around his other nipple. Straining, he saw she had no paint on the brush.