The Love Affair of an English Lord (13 page)

“I've been thinking about you, Chloe. About how much I liked kissing you.”

“I don't know how anyone could think at all in here,” she whispered. “It's so dark.”

“It's good to see you again.” She felt his heartbeat quicken. “It would be good to kiss you, too.”

The promise in his voice stole her breath. He slanted his mouth over hers before she could respond. His tongue slid inside her mouth as his other hand drew her closer. His body tightened against hers, a deep moan escaped him, and all she could think was, He's alive. I didn't kill him with the horse medicine, and he's kissing me again.

In the dark, on his own turf, Dominic held all the cards and surely would not hesitate to play them. She was in his power, in
his
closet now, so to speak. He could do as he wished with her. He could keep her in this secret place for days, and no one would guess where she had gone. The possibilities tantalized her. What would he decide to do? His expert kiss had left her aching deep inside and disoriented. Her pulses throbbed through her entire body.

She was not anywhere near as frightened as a proper young lady should be in such an unspeakable situation. She braced herself against the wall, her belly muscles tightening in reaction to the feel of him. “Are we going to stand here mauling each other in the dark?” she whispered. “You could at least bring me a chair.” Before she slid to his feet.

“You're not criticizing my hospitality, are you?”

“This is a horrid place to hide. What if I am?”

He twirled one of her glossy back curls around his forefinger. “I should have to punish you if you were.”

“Hmm. Punish me?”

“Oh, yes.” He tugged lightly on a lock of her hair. “There are a few servicable manacles on the wall in the cellar. A little rusty, perhaps, and certainly not as attractive as the diamonds and gold filigree that usually adorn your delicate wrists.”

Manacles. In the cellar. The rogue was threatening to chain her to the wall of all things. That was the thanks she received for aiding him. And what, she wondered, would he do when he got her in chains? Chloe blushed at the erotic images that flitted through her mind, the thought of being restrained and helpless for his enjoyment, in bondage to him.

“Stuff it, Stratfield,” she said crossly. “I should hit you if I could see you properly.”

“I am right here, Chloe. I could hardly be any closer.”

And it was true. The heat of his body stole into hers. The hard pounding of his heart seemed to echo hers.

“Can't you feel me?” he asked, his fingertip tracing the angle of her jaw, the tender rim of her left ear.

“Every inch.” Her voice held a breathless quality that he could hardly miss. What had Shakespeare said about the prince of darkness being a gentleman? “The priests didn't put people in manacles, did they?”

“No,” he replied cheerfully. “But the smugglers who followed them two centuries after did. I shall not show you the skeleton I found in chains during my first days of hiding.”

“Thank you so awfully much.”

He laughed, his warm breath on her shoulder leaving shivers in its wake. “The poor devil wears a placard around its neck which reads ‘Release me at your peril.'”

“Meaning what?” Chloe asked, suddenly grateful that she was in the protective reach of Dominic's arms.

“I have no idea.”

“Perhaps it means his spirit will be unleashed to wreak revenge on his captors,” she said quietly. “Perhaps he's even one of your ancestors.”

“I doubt it. Baron Bones seems to have been more an enemy of whoever commanded the dungeon at the time.”

“Well, you and the baron might be kindred spirits, if not blood relations.”

He smiled at her. “Possibly. Should I release him?”

“Only at your peril, and please, not while I'm present.” She paused. “What happens to me now?” she whispered, the words plaintive in the entombing space.

His disembodied voice vibrated with a devilish amusement that made her wish to slap him. “What do you want to happen, Chloe? I'll be as obliging a host as you desire.”

Chapter 13

Hiding in the dark for a month played unpredictable tricks on a man's mind. Deprived of human contact, of a woman's touch, of light, who would not be driven a little insane?

Chloe was a man's private fantasy, beautiful and passionate, a prize worth pursuing. And either she was afraid to death of his threats, which he doubted, or she had been unable to stop herself from caring about him. Why else had she not turned him in when she'd had ample opportunity to reveal his secret and run to her family for advice? Was it possible that he had won her wild heart? The possibility of ownership aroused his masculine pride.

“I am happy to see you, Chloe Boscastle,” he said between kissing her ripe mouth and taking succulent bites of her neck. She was a banquet for his starved senses. He couldn't even pretend indifference to her presence. His reaction to her was primal and would not be denied.

“There's no air in here, Dominic,” she whispered, not exactly fighting him even if she had not granted him permission to ravish her either. “How can you bear this?”

In the dark his senses became too easily inflamed. By the vulnerable softness of her rounded breasts and belly crushed against his, by the subtle scent of her soap on her shoulders. She was all warm flesh and elusive female in his arms. He wanted to devour her from top to bottom, to undress her and worship her creamy body to his heart's content.

“Did you come here tonight to torment me?” he demanded gently.

Of course he knew the answer. Chloe was not capable of such a vindictive act. Any torturing on her part would be pure accident. No matter that she had bedeviled his plans, it was unfair to accuse her of deliberately thwarting him. She might be as undisciplined and impulsively trouble-prone as were her brothers, but he doubted there was a cruel bone in her beautiful body.

“As if I'm as devious as you are, Dominic.” She sounded so offended that he almost kissed her again to atone for insulting her, if not to keep her quiet. He couldn't hold her here much longer. Chloe's sparkling personality would definitely be missed at the dinner party. “I had no idea you were hiding in your own house,” she added softly.

“And no one else is going to know either,” he said. “But if anyone found me, I'm very glad it was you.”

“Why?” she asked, teasing him, he suspected.

“You know damn well why,” he said roughly.

“Tell me, Dominic.” She curled her hand around his neck and went limp against him. “I really want to know.”

Boiling heat surged through his blood. What she did to him without even trying. What she could do with a little experience. “Lord, Chloe, you're such a tease.”

“Am I?” He heard her breathing quicken, and the sound made him as hot and hungry as a predator about to claim his prize. She desired him, too. He wasn't alone in this maddening desire.

He kissed her again. He knew he was more than a little out of control. He also knew from experience that in the dark she must feel disoriented, afraid to move until she got her bearings. It had taken him days to trust the shadows, to memorize the unfamiliar and become a true ghost. Who could blame him if he took advantage of her? He was so desperate for company, for physical sensation, for a warm, loving woman that he could barely think straight.

It was a tribute to the Boscastle name that he wasn't seducing her senseless where she stood, leading them both down a path of mindless lust. God help him, but how he wanted to bury himself inside her. The accidental brush of her plump breasts against his chest was the most delicious agony he had ever known. The soft weight of her belly against his groin made him ache with desire. She had twisted him into a painful knot of frustration without the least effort. The spell she cast was potent, the ancient alchemy of female magic.

He wanted her naked, at his feet, her blue eyes gazing up at him with adoration and sexual invitation. He guessed he could probably push his advantage. He could keep her here for only a minute more, a spark of light in his dark, ugly world. If he did not stop, he would be groveling and begging for her affection. He pulled her closer, crushing her curves against his hard body.

It was tempting fate for him to bring her to his hiding place. He could endanger her in more ways than one. And Dominic at his most depraved and maddened worst would destroy himself before dragging Chloe deeper into his private hell. This was not her battle. She was the reward at its end.

“Damnation, Chloe,” he said in utter desperation. “Why
did
you have to come here?”

She drew a breath. She seemed more sure of herself again, her instincts for survival reassuringly strong. She was certainly no hothouse flower to wither at the first frost. “How can you possibly hope to remain in this house undetected?” she asked him matter-of-factly.

“Have you
any
idea of the danger you have placed both of us in by coming here?”

“Are you insane, Dominic? Am I being seduced by a lunatic?”

“It is quite possible.”

“Hiding in your own home—”

“Don't question me.”

“Don't kiss me then.”

“Do as I tell you, Chloe.”

“Not until I understand.”

“You understand far too much. And I shall kiss you if I please.”

“You will ask me first—”

As if to prove his point, he cupped her chin in his hands and helped himself to another slow, entrancing kiss. Chloe did a wriggling dance with her hips and shoulders, not certain if she meant to get closer or to escape. Oh, the way this man kissed—an illicit thrill shivered down her spine. Her lips tingled as his tongue slowly traced their outline, licked a path to her earlobe. Dominic was holding her face as if she were made of the most fragile crystal, his thumbs gently stroking her cheekbones.

But the feelings he stirred up inside her weren't fragile or gentle at all. The flurry of sensation erupted as fierce and unpredictable as a windstorm, raging through her. He seemed to know intuitively how to reduce her to trembling submission. He lowered his left hand and began rubbing his palm with teasing pleasure over her breasts. What a wicked sensation. She felt her knees buckle as sexual anticipation weakened her. Her nipples hardened achingly against her muslin bodice, and her head swam with drugged pleasure. The imprint of his body branded her like a hot iron. She was shivery again, with heat, with cold, with raw desire. Her fingers tightened around his strong neck.

“Don't you dare touch me like that again,” she whispered faintly.

He stopped, his gaze narrowing, reminding her of a wolf who was reassessing its prey.

She paused to draw another breath. “At least not until after you tell me more about what you're doing.”

In the dark his voice sounded even deeper, hinting at secrets she might not wish to know. “And if I satisfy your curiosity, may I touch you, Chloe?”

“Possibly.” She hesitated. Dear God, listen to what she had just said, bargaining her virtue to satisfy her curiosity. “But only a little.”

He took her hand, not making any promises on that point, she noticed in alarm. “Be careful going down the steps. You do not mind if I put my arm around your waist to guide you, do you? The timber in this place is rotted in parts. Heaven forbid that you should take a fall and bruise your tender skin.”

His low, solicitous voice raised prickles on her nape. Heaven forbid that she should fall, indeed. And asking permission to hold her after what he'd just done. Down, deep, deeper, her dark lord led her into his underground lair, into the subterranean passages beneath the house. How much lower could a lady fall? She could practically feel the flames of Hades under her feet as her wicked prince gave her a tour of his stygian domain.

Would this be the end of her? Would she return unchanged to her dull life as a relatively decent young lady?

Dominic would not let anything hurt her. Chloe believed this or she would not have gone with him.

But would she return as the same unworldly young woman she had been before her descent into Dominic's headquarters?

She was not certain of that answer.

 

He guided her down into a dusty chalk tunnel where he had left a single candle burning. He saw her nose twitching in distaste at the piles of crumbling mortar and warped brandy kegs that littered the cramped passageway.

A furtive scratching from inside the wall stopped her in her tracks. “Gracious, what was that?”

His smile was apologetic. “Nothing to worry about. Only the rats.”

She ducked a rotted beam, murmuring, “Rats,” as if she'd just realized he was sharing his quarters with the various vermin a young lady would hope never to encounter in her life. But instead of the expected horror, her voice was filled with pity and a kind of stoic understanding that undid him. “Oh, Stratfield, you tortured devil. How do you manage?”

She was an unpredictable thing was Chloe Boscastle. Not easy to frighten off. The type who'd jump back on her horse after a bad spill. He supposed it had something to do with being reared in a clan of boisterous lordlings. “How do I manage?” he mused. “Well, my valet has a hard job shaving me in the dark, and sometimes I mismatch my cuff buttons, but other than that I am quite comfortable.”

“But how lonely for you. What do you think of in all those silent hours?”

He studied her face, noticing how the candlelight gilded her features so that she looked even softer, even more enticing, if possible. “At first there was nothing in my mind but murderous revenge. I dreamed of avenging myself by various means so barbaric I shall not speak them aloud.”

She met his scrutiny. “Considering what has been done to you, such thoughts are understandable.”

“Perhaps. Recently, however, I find myself struggling to remember that revenge is all I live for. I find my thoughts straying to other matters.”

“Oh. How . . . intriguing.”

“Is it?” He brought his face close to hers, inhaling her evocative fragrance. He was weak with desire, desperate for her. Surely she guessed that those “other matters” were his rather obsessive thoughts of bringing her down here, undressing her slowly by candlelight, and loving her in every sexual position under the sun.

“Aren't you going to tell me?” she whispered, her breath a caress on his cheek.

His jaw hardened. Her voice challenged him, ignited his smoldering senses. Slowly, his eyes burning, he pulled off his gloves, then curled his hand around her nape and drew her into him.

His mouth touched hers, his tongue slowly penetrated her lips. He shifted his body, brought his other hand around her waist. She moaned so softly he could have cried for wanting her.

“You,” he said, the confession wrung from his soul. “I think about you . . . about what I want to do to you. I think about touching you in a hundred different ways, and—”

She kissed him, seducing his mouth into silence. His world shifted. He brought his free hand slowly up her belly to her swelling breasts. Her body softened, yielded to him. Yet at the same time her kiss grew more demanding. Enthralled by her daring, he let her lead the way.

Submission. Seduction. He didn't care which as long as the end result was having her to himself. His breathing quickened as she pressed her breast into his palm. He pleased her. She scorched him to the bone. Her supple body beckoned him, summoned all his dangerous instincts.

He rubbed his thumb back and forth over her nipple, tasted the soft exhalation of breath that escaped her. He moved his hand to the other breast, tracing the weight of her warm flesh, the thin silk of her gown scant defense to what he demanded.

“This,” he said, his voice uneven, “is what I think about in the dark. You.”

“Not all the time?”

“Enough that I cannot stop myself—”

Before he knew it, he was touching her everywhere, his fingers skimming her stomach, sinking into the silk-clad delta above her thighs. She was warm there, too, making it all too easy to imagine how she would glove his shaft in pure heat.

Sweet torture. They fit so well together. His hard arousal found the soft haven between her legs. Her gown snagged on the rough mortar behind her. She tugged it free, meeting his gaze.

She went still, her lips damp and glistening in the dark. She must have seen the hot need in his eyes. He didn't try to hide it. The urgency of it burned through him, a fever in his blood. He felt the shiver that slipped over her. Was she offended? Afraid? Did she sense that he was close to ripping her gown into shreds?

Her smile broke the unbearable tension. He almost groaned aloud as she moistened her swollen mouth with her tongue. “You can't think about me all the time. What else do you do in here?”

“Sometimes I read,” he said. “Or I practice fencing. My uncle was once an instructor of Angelo's technique in Venice. He taught me everything I know about sword fighting.”

She rubbed her forearms, peering down the gloomy passageway. “Where does this lead?”