Читать книгу Lust - Charlotte Featherstone - Страница 11

QUICKLY, CHASTITY SLIPPED THROUGH THE PARTED doors and stepped out onto the balcony, which was shrouded in darkness. To the left of the balustrade was a boxwood maze, shadowed by the height of looming oaks and willow trees. Inside the maze there was a bench where she could sit and rest feet that ached from her delicate dance slippers. She knew she should not be out here, alone, in the dark, but her head still remained cloudy, and the lure of a rest in solitude was too great. The exotic scent still lingered, but her head would begin to clear when the fresh night air swept over her while she rested in peace and quiet.

What a queer sensation that had been. She had never experienced anything like it. It had warmed her body as nothing ever had, not even champagne. The lingering heat and the languorous feeling still seemed wrapped around her, giving her the fanciful taste of what the enduring effects of sensuality must feel like. Despite the fact she had never experienced any sensual feeling before, Chastity knew that what she had experienced was some unexplained erotic charge in the air. Unsullied or not, she was not a simpleton.

Taking a few calming breaths, she stared up at the sky, watching as the sliver of silver moonlight appeared behind a black cloud. It was the Eve of Beltane, she reminded herself. The night of the Great Hunt, the union between the god and the goddess. Of course there was a carnal element to the evening. Everyone was anticipating the hour of midnight when it would be Beltane, and the frivolities and promiscuous activities of the spring and May Day would be welcomed with eager arms.

Back home in Glastonbury, the Great Hunt would just be beginning, and the bonfire on the village green would be blazing high into the sky. In the woods, men would chase maidens, and beneath the very same sliver of moonlight they would celebrate the rites of spring.

The Great Hunt and all Beltane’s festivities were steeped in pagan belief and the old way of the Celts. With the mystery of the tor and its prominent setting in the village it was not hard to feel rather pagan most of the year, but on evenings such as this, everyone threw aside propriety and Christianity to participate in the ideals of growth, sexuality and fecundity, for those three things had long represented the spring.

For centuries, Glastonbury, which had always been known as the Land of the Summer People, had been at the center of Beltane. As a child, her father, who had been raised in the little village, celebrated this very night every year. Every year except this one.

For some reason, her father, who had never been averse to accompanying them to the village on the Eve of Beltane, had acted as though the villagers and the festival were anathema. This year, after promising her and her sisters that they were old enough to witness the Great Hunt, after they had allowed themselves to grow excited about the prospect, he’d denied them.

“You’re not going to such a hedonistic display. It’s archaic,” he had grumbled as he waited for them to cram themselves into the town coach. After the carriage had lurched down the drive, he had refused to speak anymore of it, telling them only what they already knew, that they were off to London, to her brother’s ball, and then back to the Lennox town house in Grosvenor Square to spend at least a fortnight.

It all seemed so very strange, especially since her father had always striven to keep them very far removed from the capital. “Nothing but rakes and dowry thieves in London,” he had always claimed. So why now had he had a change of heart?

It seemed that their whole life their father had prevented them from being tainted by the sights and sounds—and smells—of London, only to turn around that very morning and all but force them to embrace the city.

Something wasn’t right. She sensed it. And that something had to do with her father and his perplexing behavior. Thinking it through, Chastity found herself at a loss to explain it. Perhaps, she thought, taking a deep breath, she couldn’t make heads or tails of his behavior because her mind was still clouded by the lingering scent of… of whatever that had been back in the ballroom.

Glancing back at the beckoning maze, Chastity glided to the stairs, the hooped silk skirts of her gown making a soft brushing whisper against the stone. She would find privacy and quiet there in the maze to reflect upon the puzzling events of the day.

Descending the stairs, she trailed her gloved hand along the stone banister, noticing the sparkling moonbeam that widened over the quartz cut stone. The moonbeam became less filtered light, and more like a fine swath of iridescent wetness. Like mist, but it radiated such a dazzling brilliance that Chastity watched it, hypnotized by its beauty, as it seemed to dance in and around the banister as though it were alive.

What folly, she chastened herself. It was a reflection of the rock quartz in the moonlight, nothing else. And the scent? her mind whispered to her. What of that?

It was back, that lush, exotic blend that reminded her of a faraway place, a spice island, or India perhaps. It was heavy, evocative, almost drugging, yet it made her feel as light as a feather. As if she were the one floating, and not the mist particles that glimmered in the moonlight.

Ceo Side, something whispered to her. Faery Mist.

She had heard of it before, the ability of the faeries to come as rain, mist, fog and shadow.

Now she heard it murmured on the wind as her slippers sank into the damp grass. Were the Daoine Side—the fairy people—here in the back gardens of her brother’s London estate? But why here? Why now? For her whole life, her father had talked to her and her sisters about the fey, yet she had never seen them, never perceived that they were somehow truly a part of her life. So why now was she obsessed with the idea of them? Perhaps it really was the champagne making her head fuzzy, and nothing more.

Head heavy, limbs warm, Chastity moved deeper into the darkness of the ten-foot-tall maze. She was breathing heavy, she realized. The lace that held her cameo secure around her throat felt suffocating. Her stays were tight, pushing her breasts higher, making it difficult to get air into her constricted lungs. Her fan dropped to the deep, damp grass as the air grew thicker, began to wrap around her, where it worked its way under her skirt to caress her calves, then thighs. She felt strange, as though she was disembodied. Her mind, always sharp and clear, would not work, and her lungs did not seem able to provide her body with adequate air.

With a gasp, she felt heat slide over her waist, then up to her breasts and, unable to bear it, she tore the lace choker off, flinging it to the ground, gasping to breathe. She was being smothered, but by what or whom, she could not fathom. She was utterly alone—and yet she wasn’t.

“A beautiful woman such as you should not be out in the dark, unaccompanied by a gentleman.”

Whirling around, Chastity startled when she heard the deep voice behind her. The man’s identity was cleverly concealed by an intricate mask made of gold and wire, designed to look like foliage. With his height, and the breadth of his shoulders outlined by the moon, and his long black hair whispering in the slight breeze, he looked like the fabled Oak King come to ravish her.

Unsteadily, she took a step back, coming up against a large birch tree that marked the entrance to the maze. She did not know this man, yet there was something about him that called to her—his voice, perhaps, or maybe the way he stood, so proud, so masculine, so … certain of himself.

“I have frightened you.” His accent was thick and alluring as he spoke to her, his voice musical, yet deep and intensely male. “I would not have it so.”

“I didn’t hear you approach, sir,” she said, noticing how the mist had not evaporated, but seemed to draw to him, like a moth to a flame. It was almost as if he was shrouded in it, shimmering in the glow. Chastity stared, frozen, fascinated by the magic of it, lured by the beauty of him.

“Forgive me.” He stepped closer to her, the vapor glinting and shifting around him. The scent that made her feel so strange earlier became stronger, heavier. It was a delicious smell, one that made her body tingle with a warmth she could not define.

“Have we met, sir?” she inquired, taking a step back as he approached her. He was now bathed in a shaft of moonlight, the effect quite breathtaking. She saw, even despite the mask he wore, that he studied her from beneath a thick veil of black lashes. His hair was as dark as a raven’s feathers, heavy and glistening like spilled ink in the moonlight as it grazed the shoulders of his velvet jacket. A frock coat that Chastity was quite certain required no extra padding.

He let her study him and she half wondered as their gazes met if the man was not fully aware of what his face and his figure must do to the opposite sex. Any sane woman would find this man unavoidably compelling and sensual. Any woman would wish to find herself in his arms, being kissed by his lips and ravished by his elegant, yet extremely masculine, hands.

She was not just any woman. Yet this outsider seemed to have a most disturbing effect on her. He possessed a beauty, a mysterious strangeness that seduced her even as her brain warned her to run, to leave the maze as quickly as she could. But she could not move. Her dance slippers were fixed firmly upon the ground as if they had been glued there.

Do I not tempt you? Are you not thinking, at this very moment, what my body would feel like upon yours?

The words came from nowhere—no, from him—despite the fact he had not moved his lips. Did not even smile. Just stood before her, silently allowing her perusal.

Your gaze lingers on my fingers as though you hunger to have them caress you, to slowly pull the tapes of your stays and reveal what has been so meticulously hidden beneath that gown. Despite the mask, I see in your eyes that desire, the burning deep inside to have my hands upon your flesh.

His voice again, beautiful, lyrical. His words luring. Enticing. But still his masculine lips did not move. Her own thoughts, then? she wondered. Was she even capable of conjuring up such base imaginings?

It frightened her to think so. It was impossible to believe that she, an innocent who had never been touched, could consider such things, yet Chastity could not dispel the fact that the stranger had not spoken aloud. Regardless, she heard his deep voice as though the words had been whispered intimately in her ear.

Reaching for her hand, he wrapped his ungloved fingers around her delicate ones, the warmth sending a delightful frisson along her spine.

“You are far too bold, sir,” she gasped, flustered when he looked up at her with piercing blue eyes that only seemed to glow as the gold of his mask glinted in the moonlight.

“Is it?” The deepness of his voice caused flutterings in her stomach. “Then let us begin again,” he suggested silkily. “An introduction in a private garden while bathed in moonlight is an auspicious event. One must ensure that it is perfect and unforgettable.”

Somehow Chastity knew that she would never forget one moment of this meeting.

The mist glittered in the moonlight, outlining his broad shoulders, moving with him as he stepped closer to her. He was otherworldly, breathtaking in his beauty. She would be recalling this moment, the feel of her body tingling and awakening, when she was an old woman sitting by the fire.

“The moonlight becomes you,” he said in a voice that was rich and smooth, that seemed to wrap around her. He reached out and Chastity saw how the glistening mist crystals glittered on his fingers, then wafted over her to her shoulder, where he caught a loose tendril of hair. “You were made to be seen in the dark. You are a perfect angel by sunlight, a tempting goddess by moonlight.”

She could hardly think. Was it the scent that surrounded her? The strangeness of the glittering mist and the masked stranger? Or was it that she was breathing too fast? Whatever it was, it was playing havoc with her mind. Had she heard him correctly, that he had seen her in the sunlight? Impossible.

“I don’t believe,” she said, then licked her lips to moisten them, “that you know who I am. Perhaps you have mistaken me for someone else?”

“No, there is no mistake.” The tendril of hair wrapped around his finger and he used it to pull her closer to him. “You call to me. I could find you anywhere, even in the largest crush of people or in the shadows of the Dark Walk in Covent Garden. There isn’t a place where you could hide from me.”

She should have been terrified by such a statement, yet she was horrified for another reason altogether—her body’s quivering response to such knowledge.

“You don’t realize it, but your body cries out, and my own answers it. We are destined to be together. Each to complete the other.”

His voice dropped to a seductive whisper as his eyes held her transfixed. This conversation was much too intimate for any innocent, let alone a virtue. He had obviously mistaken her for someone of experience and worldliness.

“I must beg you, sir, to release me. You are not known to me, and I am certain that you have mistaken me for your midnight rendezvous.”

“Lady Chastity,” he purred, drawing out the end of her name. The sound gave her goose bumps and she shivered, her fingers trembling in his.

“Sir?” she murmured, trying unsuccessfully to look away from his mesmerizing beauty. “How …” She licked her lips. “How do you know who I am? We’ve never met.”

“Haven’t we?” Turning her palm up, he bared her wrist and traced the delicate blue veins with the tips of his fingers. Together, they watched his graceful fingertips skate across her smooth skin, and Chastity, unable to control the sensations his touch evoked, whimpered with the need to feel his caress all over her. His lashes lowered and he closed his eyes as if he knew that her whimper was one of desire, not fear.

“What is your title, sir?” He was too richly garbed, and too well-spoken, to be anything other than an aristocrat. But his voice held a slight accent, an exotic-sounding one that was luring and seductive.

“Prince,” he murmured.

“A prince, no less,” she stammered, knowing she needed to go, but unable to make herself leave his side. “I … I have never met a … a prince.”

“How fortunate I am to be your first.”

It was a double entendre. She had heard them before and always recoiled from them. But this one, said in his deep voice, only tempted her further. Made her watch the slow brush of his fingers against the bounding pulse in her wrist and wonder what it would be like to watch his lips graze that very same spot, or other more intimate places on her body.

“I am your first prince, but am I the first to touch you like this?” he asked, glancing up from the lush fringe of his lashes, which his mask could not conceal.

“I am a lady, Your Highness,” she admonished him, but her voice was breathless, husky, and he smiled, the barest fleeting hint of a self-satisfied grin.

“An extraordinarily lovely lady.”

Drawing in a deep breath, he brought his mouth to her skin. She heard as well as felt him sniff delicately. His lips suddenly parted and she saw a glimmer of brilliant white teeth behind his sculpted lips. Slowly, the tip of his tongue crept out from between his lips and her breath caught, freezing in horrified wonder as she watched him.

With exquisite care and reverence he lightly grazed her wrist with the tip of his hot tongue. His lips soon replaced his tongue as he looked up at her. His eyes, Chastity noticed, were now black, as if his pupils had dilated and swallowed the blue iris.

“And what of that, Lady Chastity? Is that the first time a prince, or any man’s tongue, has tasted your flesh?”

Like a simpleton, she nodded, unable to do anything more. She should break this trance he held her in, but suddenly she lacked the incredible moral strength it would take. She was weakening, and Lord help her, she didn’t want to find her wavering resolve. She wanted more, to discover what he would do to her, how far he would go in this game of seduction.

Watching her, compelling her with those black, fathomless eyes, he drew his tongue across her wrist once more, their gazes locking upon one another, their faces still masked, heightening the charge between them.

“Do not fear me,” he whispered as her hand trembled in his. “I would never hurt you. ‘Tis only pleasure I seek to give you.”

“My God, your voice,” she gasped, tugging her fingers out of his hold and backing away. Suddenly she was thrust back to that afternoon, and the vision of a huge white dog and a dark-haired man came rushing back to her. “I … I know you.”

“You have mistaken me for another.”

“Today, by the woods, back home,” she began, stepping back, trying to put a safe distance between them. “You were on horseback and you stopped us on the path. But how could you …”

The sensual haze began to evaporate. How could this man—this stranger—possibly be the one who had found her and her sisters walking that very morning? How could it be that he had come to London? To her brother’s ball? But something inside her screamed that it was him, and that she needed to run from him. He was dangerous and not just because he was a threat to her innocence.

He followed her like a tiger stalking its prey. Farther and farther she backed up, until she was deep amongst the trees that stood tall around the garden bench. Surrounding her, the maze rose high, engulfing her and the stranger. Step for step, he followed her, his gaze never leaving her face. The intensity of his stare grew stronger, more bewitching, singeing her flesh until she was hot and struggling to breathe.

“Is that really what you want? What you were feeling just a few seconds ago—the very great desire for me to leave you?”

“Stop it at once, sir,” she demanded, although her voice lacked conviction. Behind her brocade stomacher and the tightly laced stays, her breasts inched up, caused by her ragged breathing. Breathing that should have been harsh and rasping owing to fear, not this strange, intoxicating sensation that only could be lust.

“Come to me, Chastity,” he coaxed, “I can feel how much you want to, just allow yourself one moment of unguarded pleasure.”

Her lips parted as she struggled for air. She heard herself gasping as she cried out, coming up short against the trunk of a tree. With lightning speed he was before her, his arms wrapped around her waist as he pulled her deeper into the maze.

“Stop this,” she cried, struggling in his arms—not because she was afraid of him, but because she was afraid of herself and the need that was suddenly ruling her.

“I have spent so long just waiting—watching. You call to me, to the deep-seated hunger inside me. A hunger I would never allow to hurt you, but only wish to share with you.”

His words shocked her. The intimacy of them, the honesty made her still in his arms. Pressing her backward over his arm, she felt his solid, flexed muscles beneath her shoulders. His mouth was mere inches away from hers, and his eyes, those intense, mysterious eyes which were still black, held her steady.

He held her thus, bent over his arm, her breasts straining against her formfitting bodice, the mounds of which were in increasing danger of spilling out of her demure square neckline.

Chastity was aware of her body, of how it heated and yearned, her flesh swelling against her stays, the liquefying between her thighs, and all the while he continued to stare down into her upturned face, scrutinizing every inch of her. She wanted to say something, to act as though she were not a naive innocent, but she could not catch her breath or think clearly when she looked into his eyes.

His free hand came up to roam over the contours of her face before trailing down to her jaw. “Never fear me,” he whispered at last while tenderly stroking his finger along the pounding pulse at the base of her throat. She didn’t cry out as his fingertip glided down toward her décolletage, but swallowed hard.

His eyes seemed to glow even brighter as his gaze dropped to the wild fluttering in her throat, then lower to her breasts, which were now generously spilling out from her stays.

“The way in which the moon plays over your skin beckons me to explore. To touch. To taste.”

His fingertips lingered lightly over her pulse and she heard him growl, the sound of a jungle cat purring in satisfaction. His mouth lowered then stilled, and a cry, not of the jungle cat but that of savage beast, emanated from deep in his throat.

“There can be very great pleasure to be found in darkness. You needn’t fear it. But only embrace it.”

Closing her eyes, Chastity tilted her head back, savoring the heat coming from his mouth as it washed over her décolletage. She burned, breathless, waiting for something she could not name.

She didn’t understand, only knew that this feeling must not leave. She wanted it to consume her. Wanted to fall victim to him. She was not this person, this wanton. She was a virtue, but it seemed her virtue had abandoned her, leaving her as she truly was, a woman yearning to be seduced.

“Yes, yield to me. Let me come to you as I am. Embrace the darkness, the darkness in me, and let me take you … corrupt you …”

Breathing hard against Chastity’s milk-white throat, Thane endured the pain that pierced him. He was forcing her. It was forbidden. It would only deepen the curse, but by the goddess, he wanted her, wanted to take her without any thought or control and sink himself into her luscious body.

She whimpered, not out of fear, but of feminine arousal, and he decided that perhaps he could still make her want him. He couldn’t hide his little growl of victory as he brushed his lips along the full, throbbing vein that ran from her neck to the apex of her breast. Parting his lips, he breathed hotly against her. The mist that was part of him began to float over her, whispering softly, covering her until the little beads of moisture turned to a glistening rivulet of water that trickled between the valley of her generous breasts.

She squirmed in his arms, but it was not an attempt to be free of him. No, she wanted him, like a woman wanted a man. He could smell her arousal, the scent of passion wafting up from beneath her gown. He could smell the rich, heady nectar of her blood through her skin, which was sweetly anointed with the perfume of orange blossoms. Perfume as an aphrodisiac was a poor second, and no match for the power of a woman’s blood, heated by lust. But Chastity’s innocence mixed with her heavy perfume was as intoxicating as a pint of faery mead.

Staring down at the woman he held in his arms, Thane watched the rise and fall of her breasts. A perverse sense of need, inspired by his sin, made him desire to see his seed trickling between her luscious breasts. He wanted her marked, covered in his scent. Thane wanted her for his.

Wanting to taste her. Needing to rip away the contraption that caged her body from him, he lowered his head, inhaling her musky scent. Thane listened to the erotic cadence of her heart that beat urgently beneath her breast. He wanted to feel that rhythmic pulsing around his cock while he was buried deeply inside her, her virginal quim clamping and throbbing, surrounding his shaft, milking him dry.

He would stay there, just like that, savoring the feel of her body accepting him. He would raise himself above her, blotting out everything but him. She would see only him, above her. Feel only him, deep inside her. And then, when she was focused solely on him, their gazes locked, he would take her. Body and soul. Virtue to his sin.

Their nights would be spent in pleasure. In slow, languorous lovemaking, and frenzied fucking, in which he would feel her sweating against him. She would beg him to stop—only to plead with him to take her once more.

She was still as death in his arms, and he looked up from her overflowing bodice and into her eyes. Was she afraid? Terrified? Did she know what he wanted to do to her? Could she see into his mind, and watch his fantasy of her beneath him, her bottom in his hands, her hips arching to meet his thrust? Did she know how badly he wanted to watch her body open to him? How he wanted to take her to his court and mate with her as a Dark Fey should?

By the goddess, did she know what sort of monster he was? He was Lust. He fucked like an animal. He was insatiable. She could never, in her innocence, understand what he wanted to do to her, or have her do to him.

He should leave her, this innocent little lamb, yet she represented what he so desperately wanted. Something of his own. Not a possession or a thing. But his. His opposing virtue. The woman who was opposite to him in every way. The woman who could help free his court of its curse. The woman who might very well free him.

But the sin inside him was raging beneath his skin. His sin wanted to defile her. To take her now, while her large eyes were wide with wonder, and with her body smelling of desire. Lust wanted to fuck her. Thane wanted to … He didn’t know. Yes, he wanted to taste her, to feel her hot body surrounding his cock, but he wanted something else. Her to desire him. Him, the prince. The Dark Fey. He did not want her under Lust’s hypnotic guise.

“Chastity,” he whispered before brushing his mouth along the swell of her breast, tasting mist and the scent of woman on her flesh as he moved his mouth along her. “Let me taste you.”

She blinked up at him with her wide eyes and he saw the desire to be desired shining in them. Lowering his mouth to hers, he felt a jolt of excitement rush through his veins. Her lips were soft, pliant beneath his. He pressed another soft kiss to them, and this time he opened his mouth, allowing his heat to envelope her.

Hungrily he pressed up against her, encouraging her to part her lips for him, but she wouldn’t, or did not know how to allow him the intimacy. In growing frustration, he cupped her chin with both hands, slipping his tongue effortlessly between her lips. Boldly their tongues touched, stroking each other with increasing fierceness.

She was clutching him to her breasts and he could hear as well as feel her heart steadily beat faster and faster with each stroke of his tongue.

He was suddenly consumed with the need to see her and opened his eyes. Hers were closed, long lashes fluttering against pale, porcelain cheeks. Her fingers were in his hair, tangling and gripping as she purred and moaned and brushed her curved body against the length of his.

Lips parting, he fastened onto the supple flesh of her throat, began to suck, and she crumpled deeper into his arms, unable to stand. He sucked and laved, kissed, then blew hot, moist air over her wet flesh. His tongue and lips explored her throat until he was met with the lace barrier of her bodice, and then, he tore at the buttons, thrusting the bodice wide open until her décolletage was once more bared and he was scraping the tips of his teeth along her skin that was now warm and flushed pink.

The scent of her passion-infused blood was so strong it overtook all his senses. He could no longer hear, could no longer see because of the lust that was blinding him. He could only smell, and the scent only grew stronger until his own body was shrouded with her arousal.

Pushing her breasts up against his mouth, he alternated between kisses and licks, searching for the elusive nipple he knew he would find budded and erect beneath her stays. As he pulled her breasts free of the corset, she fell to her knees before him. When she looked up at him, he saw the ecstasy in her lovely eyes.

Lust like he had never known assailed him and he felt the animal within begin to stir again. He was no longer able to hide his glamour, and Chastity was now fully ensnared by the beauty of the fey. He didn’t want to entrance her or trap her. He wanted her to want him of her own free will. But her lush body and innocent mouth made him powerless against his sin. The fey with honor, with good intentions, was unable to sway Lust to give up his hold on Chastity Lennox.

Reaching for her hair, Thane pulled the pins free and shook out the long silky tresses that cascaded down to her waist. He studied her, thinking of her as an ancient pagan goddess with her heavy breasts bared and her head tossed back in an enchanting sexual display of femininity. This, he thought, as he palmed her breasts, was what he desired from his mate. This liberation to feel passion, to indulge in the needs of man and woman. One day, she would agree to come to him, to join him in his court, and there, they would be together, his intended mate. He would spend the night with her, awakening her in the dark with his kisses and the slow languid rhythm of his cock sliding inside her.

Chastity Lennox. His future mate. His virtue. His fantasy. He wanted her, regardless of the consequences.

Her eyelids fluttered closed as his fingers traced the rounded contour of her cheek. Her lips parted on a sigh, and he imagined what it would be like to have her on her knees, waiting for him to slip his cock between her lips.

Yes. Both the fey and Lust in him wanted her just like this, bare breasted with tousled hair and kiss-swollen lips parting, waiting to pleasure him with her lush, innocent mouth.

“Beautiful Chastity,” he whispered reverently, allowing himself the forbidden image of her taking his length in her mouth. Her mouth would be hot. Wet. Infinitely exciting.

“Please.” The word was whispered so quietly, almost pleadingly. No, he wanted to reply, no, he couldn’t stop. But he tilted her chin up and saw the shame in her eyes. Any glimmer of passion and desire was now gone, leaving her staring up at him with such fear, like a lamb going to slaughter.

“Do not look upon me with such horror,” he whispered.

“Then leave me be.”

Stepping back, he released her. Abandoning her was the most difficult thing he had ever done. Being denied was so shocking, so foreign to him. He found himself off center. His fey glamour had not been subdued. His beauty, he knew, was undeniable, utterly compelling to humans, yet here was this young woman, in the first flush of arousal, denying him and her own sexual needs.

She blinked, the glaze in her eyes clearing as she looked around her surroundings with confusion, then horror. She cried out and covered her breasts with her hands. He didn’t want to see shame make her face pale. He didn’t want her to hide anything from him, least of all her body. A body that could make the most celebrated courtesan murderous with envy.

He could only imagine the thoughts running through her mind, the indignity her virtue would force her to feel.

“I …” She jumped up, tears trickling down her cheeks. “You have humiliated me, sir.”

“No,” he said, his voice harsh as he reached for her. “There is no shame in desire.”

“There is a very great indignity in animal lusts, my lord. And you, sir, are the worst sort of defiler.”

“Does my passion disgust you?” he asked as he captured an errant curl and ran his finger through it, “or is it your response to my lust that mortifies you?”

Her eyes widened, and her mouth parted on a silent word. The ugly creature inside him rose, gnashing its teeth, wanting retribution for her slight. His sin wanted to take her, to ravish her and show her shame, humiliation. And the Dark Fey … He wanted to lash out as well, his pride stinging at her hurtful, if not accurate, assessment of him.

He captured her, brought her up hard against him so that her bare breasts were pressed against his silk waistcoat. She gasped as a button rubbed against her nipple, pebbling it. “You feign innocence so well,” he whispered hotly in her ear. “You act as though you’re offended, disgraced, ruined, but still your body heats for a touch. Your scent perfumes the air, and I would wager that if I were to search beneath the layers of lace, and innocent white linen of your petticoats, I would find your tight little cunt wet for me.”

She slapped him hard across his cheek. “Never.”

He smiled and allowed her to walk away, if only for a moment so he could collect what was left of his honorable intentions. “Have you thrown the gauntlet down, Lady Chastity?” he called after her.

“I will never submit to you,” she sneered as she righted her dress. Reaching for her, he brought her up against him, whispering hotly in her ear.

“You will do more than submit, I assure you. When I next have you, you’ll beg.”