The Sweetest Revenge (5 page)

“Yes, yes. Just untie me, would you?” Leo turned, giving the man access to his hands. His skin prickled in anticipation of regaining the abilities to move his arms and see his surroundings. Small things, really, for he’d still be shackled, but even small steps were steps toward escape.

Leo’s previous attempts to free himself had tightened the knots, making it difficult for the Frenchman to work them. Finally, Leo felt a subtle release of tension, but gigantic restraining hands closed around his forearms. “Do not try to escape,
s’il vous plait
. It will be worse for you if you do.”

“Just release me,” Leo growled.

As if it pained him to exercise this level of patience, the Frenchman blew out a long-suffering sigh as he unwound the rope. As soon they were free, Leo’s hands flew to his face, yanking off the blindfold.

The room was not bright, but he blinked and struggled to focus as his eyes adjusted. An enormous figure stood near the door. The Frenchman was the villain who had punched him last night. It must be, unless Lady M kept two Herculean giants in her employ.

Rubbing the deep indentations the ropes had made in his wrists, he stepped away from the chaise until the chain drew taut. He was in a small, windowless room. A single lantern swayed from a hook in the far corner of the ceiling beyond the reach of his chains, providing the meager light.

“Where am I?”

“You are in Lady M’s cellar,” the giant offered. “In London.”

Leo hadn’t been sure whether he was still in London. Being so close to home cheered him a little. “Why am I here?”

Hercules gave a one-shouldered shrug. “That is for the ladies to answer, monsieur.”

Leo studied the man carefully. He hunched beneath the low, rounded ceiling, but Leo could see that his dark features were impeccably groomed. His clothes, though immaculate and richly tailored, were at least two years out of fashion. He did not have the demeanor of a servant. He regarded Leo with a calm expression, but something flickered deep in his eyes.

From those small clues and from the grim set of the man’s mouth, Leo gathered he was more than a paid servant in this enterprise. He had a personal stake in it as well. Leo couldn’t try to bribe the man until he knew the nature of his involvement.

“You are the man who assaulted me last night.”

“
Oui
, monsieur. My apologies. Though ‘assaulted’ is quite a strong word, no?”

“Nevertheless, that is what you did.”

“Ah, well. There was unfortunately no choice. The drug was not taking effect as quickly as we planned.”

“I see.” So they had found a way to drug him. No doubt they’d slipped something into his brandy. No wonder it had tasted so awful.

Leo studied his feet. A heavy chain, about half the length of his arm, connected the iron bands encircling his ankles. A second chain connected his left ankle to a ring bolted to the wall.

Hercules used his massive booted toe to push a porcelain basin within Leo’s reach. Water made small, sparkling waves in the bowl. Suddenly parched, Leo licked his lips. His mouth felt as if it had been stuffed with fur. “May I have something to drink?”

“This water is to drink, monsieur.”

“No,” Leo said patiently. “That water is to wash. Which I will do, once I have something to drink. In a glass.”

“
Non
, this is all you may have. No food or drink until the ladies return.”

Biting his tongue to ward off the profanity on the verge of erupting from his mouth, Leo bent down, brought the basin to his lips, and drank, much more greedily than he intended. He imagined himself clad only in shirt and trousers standing in the center of a grand ballroom, slurping water from a washbasin. All of the
ton
watched, the gentlemen scorning him and the ladies laughing behind their fans.

If degradation was his captors’ goal, they were succeeding.

Nevertheless, the water tasted wonderful. It cleansed his mouth, cleared his throat, and loosened the devil’s grip on his skull.

Like a heathen, he swiped droplets from his chin with the back of his hand, glancing up at Hercules, who watched him impassively.

“When will they return?”

“I do not know, monsieur, but I will be back in to tie your hands and cover your eyes before they do.” At the door, the Frenchman turned to face him. The rope that had bound Leo’s wrists dangled from one of his beefy hands, and the razor Miss Juliette had used on him glinted in the other. “I leave you with the water, monsieur. Do not try to escape,
s’il vous plait
, or you will be kept tied and blindfolded. If you do not cooperate, they will have you drugged. They do not want to hurt you, but the level of your suffering will be directly linked to your conduct.”

With that ominous warning, Hercules ducked through the door and closed it behind him. Leo heard the grating noise of a heavy bolt sliding into place, sealing him in his prison.

Rubbing his sore wrists, he scanned the room more carefully. It was small and barren of furniture or decor save the lantern, unreachable in the opposite corner, the basin of water, a chamber pot near the wall, and the dreadful blue chaise longue, with bows and silver buttons and other frippery embellishing its seams. To fetter him with such an effeminate monstrosity must be the women’s idea of a cruel joke.

He stood and pressed his palms flat against the low ceiling to stretch his stiff muscles. His chains allowed him a small freedom of movement, about a five-foot radius. The metal scraped over the flagstone floor as he hobbled to the wall and knelt to study whether the bolt showed any signs of weakness. It did not. This didn’t surprise him, given what little he knew of Lady M. Nevertheless, careful examination never hurt. He checked his ankles, too. The shackles’ design appeared to be a relic of the Middle Ages, but the iron was new enough, with no hint of rust or other corrosion.

Even if he broke the porcelain basin or the chamber pot and overcame Hercules, Leo couldn’t free himself from the shackles unless the giant carried the key somewhere on his person. That wasn’t likely.

Gritting his teeth against his frustration, he lowered himself on the blue abomination and bent to splash his face with water, giving in to the question that overwhelmed all others in his mind:
Why
?

When had he ever upset a lady, or caused her to hate him so much that she felt compelled to risk her neck to imprison him in her cellar? It was preposterous. There was simply no explanation.

These three women must be utterly insane.

***

Leo woke with a jolt. Someone was in the room with him. The soft, even breaths told him it was one of the ladies.

Earlier, Hercules had tied the restraints around his wrists and the strap over his eyes before extinguishing the lantern and leaving him for the night. Leo asked the giant why he must be bound and blindfolded just to sleep, but Hercules had remained tight-lipped.

Now he knew.

Which one of them would come to him at night? No sooner had the question run through his mind than he knew its answer. The woman with the voice, with the wandering hands that had aroused him shamefully.

“Mistress Jane,” he murmured, remembering her blatant caresses earlier in the day. “Come to finish what you started?”

She did not speak, but he heard the rustle of fabric falling to the floor. A cloak, or perhaps her gown?

She moved closer until her heat washed over his cold body.

Leo stilled, all at once unsure of himself. It was nighttime, she had just stripped herself, and she was alone. Her intentions were crystal clear.

“I will not hurt you, Leo,” she whispered. “I am here for a different reason.” The tips of her fingers skittered over his cheek. “You must be cold, poor dear. It is cold in here.”

“Yes.” He was unbearably cold. But her hands, breath, and body were warm.

“I will see that you are given a blanket.” Her soft touch ventured down his jaw, then his neck. Deft fingers untied the strings of his shirt. “But for now, I will warm you.”

His mind rioted. He could try to stop her. He
should
try to stop her. He did not trust her in the same way he trusted Miss Juliette. Mistress Jane was a different breed altogether—an evil woman with evil plans. Her promise not to hurt him could be a lie or a trick.

But he wanted her to stay. If he allowed her to get carried away with whatever wicked seduction she seemed to be planning, he might learn more. He might discover her identity. He might be able to free himself. Tonight.

“Who are you, Mistress Jane?” he murmured. “How do I know you?”

She ignored him. Instead of answering, she lifted his shirt, skimming his torso with her fingertips. Her tongue stroked over one of his nipples, shooting a familiar heat down to his groin. He shifted uncomfortably as his cock pressed against the falls of his trousers.

That mouth had touched him before, those fingers had caressed him before, he was sure of it. But where? When?

“Where do you come from?”

“It is unfortunate you have known so many women, Leo.” Her lips nuzzled against his chest as she spoke. “If you did not make such efforts to bring new flesh into your bed every night, it would be so much easier to solve the mystery of Mistress Jane, don’t you think?”

So she admitted to a previous encounter with him. Leo smiled. Good.

Withdrawing from his chest, she smoothed her hands over the cambric of his shirt.

“Is that what you have been doing all day?” she continued. “Sitting here, wondering who I am? Who Miss Juliette and Lady M are? Don’t waste your time. Do not think of us as individuals. Think of us as every woman you have ever known.”

Her hand skimmed the waistband of his trousers. He dragged in a breath.

“You ought to stop, you know,” he said with far less conviction than was proper. “You are a criminal. A whoring criminal. You cannot move me.”

It was an absurd thing to say, since his cock was already nearly bursting forth from his trousers, the deuced thing.

She laughed. “Do not tell me a whore cannot move you. Many have, after all.”

“That depends.” There was a difference between moving him to lust and truly moving him, heart and soul. Only one woman had been able to move him that way, and she was long gone. When she died, a devil had taken up residence in the darkest corner of his soul. He couldn’t fight this devil. Ultimately he didn’t want to fight it. When he gave in, it rewarded him with the only satisfaction to be found in his dissolute existence.

Mistress Jane’s mouth covered his chest with hot little kisses. With expert fingers, she flicked the buttons on the falls of his trousers. Leo clenched his teeth with every brush of her fingers against his cock.

Lack of vision resulted in heightened senses of touch and hearing. His skin felt charged, acutely aware of every change. The hard edge of her fingernail grazed a ridge on his stomach; the pads of her fingers played at the opening of his trousers; his erection swelled and pushed against the constraining fabric; his chest expanded as his heartbeat sped and each breath required a greater intake of oxygen.

Mistress Jane’s breath, however, remained shallow and even. Despite the intimacy of her touches, she performed them with a detached reserve, as a surgeon might operate on a senseless patient.

She was a woman of vast experience, but she spoke like a lady. She must be a courtesan. He struggled to remember the courtesans he had known, but his mind could not function properly. He was a man, and as such, he could think rationally or lie with a woman, but never both at once.

As if to punctuate that thought, her mouth covered his cock.

His body jerked, and he gave a short, guttural exclamation, shocked by the instant, overwhelming sensation.

She took him deep into her mouth, swiping her tongue over him, kneading him with her lips.

It felt so good. Yet his urge to escape from this wretched dungeon was still greater than his desire to sink into the chaise and allow her to suck him to completion.

He spoke through gritted teeth. “Do the others know you are here?”

“Mm.” Her hands began to work in concord with her mouth.

“Or do you come secretly? What”—her tongue swirled over the head of his cock, and he bit back a groan—“what if I were to tell them about this? What…would they say?”

She pressed openmouthed kisses down the length of him and murmured, “They would say, ‘How lovely.’”

He felt her silent laughter against his skin.

A spark, a tiny sprite, materialized in his consciousness. It screamed that this woman was dangerous, more than likely a little mad. But as quickly as the spark came to life, it died. Killed by her expert mouth, by her skilled hands, and he slumped against the back of the chaise longue, boneless, unwelcome pleasure flooding through him.

She knew what she was doing. She knew when to kiss, when to lick, when to nibble, when to take him deep into her throat, when to go slow and when to speed up, when to increase pressure, and when to use her hand to guide him into oblivion.

His devil offered him heaven. Heaven in a woman’s warm, moist mouth.

“Why…why are you doing this?” he managed, even as his body thrust into her welcoming mouth.

It was a valid question. The three women clearly despised him enough to risk their own necks to put him through hell. And yet here was one of them giving him pleasure.

She pressed her lips to the tip of his cock. “Because I have missed you, Leo. I never had a chance to taste you like this. I would have liked to, you know. But…” Her voice dwindled.

More information he could use to determine her identity.

Not now
. In a few minutes. After he’d come deep in her mouth.

She slid her lips over him, taking him deeper, deeper, deeper, until she had all of him inside. He groaned. He was completely at her mercy. Something about being bound, about not having the option to caress her, about being forced to relinquish control, made the sensations different, more intense, more focused.

She proceeded to suck all coherent thought from his mind, leaving only the sensation of her tongue and hands on him, the pressure, the tightness building and radiating from the base of his spine.