Читать книгу Blood Secret - Sharon Page - Страница 7

3

Dragon

At first Sinjin thought Lady Lucy would keep her secrets to herself. As he cradled her to his chest and brushed soft kisses to her head, inhaling the rosy scent that clung to her silken hair, she whispered, “I should not have said anything. I—I’ve ruined everything.”

“You haven’t. Come, you can trust me. We’re lying here naked together. What did your fiancé do to you? Should I find the gentleman, and duel him at Chalk Farm for you?”

“N-no. He died.”

“At the hands of a member of your family?” Since he was her intended husband, this man must have been a dragon. Why would he attack? Strangely, for all he hated dragons, Sinjin felt his fists clench at the thought of one hurting Lady Lucy. There was something vulnerable about her—something he had never sensed in a dragon before.

“I caught him, you see.” She burrowed closer to him. In answer, he cuddled her tighter. Her full breasts were a soft cushion against him, her generous hips pressed to his. What a magnificently lush and beautiful woman she was.

“Caught him? What do—” Then he could guess. What would break a woman’s heart? “You caught him with another woman?”

“Y-yes,” she admitted shakily. “But it wasn’t ... he was forcing himself on her. She was a maid and she wasn’t willing. She was so terrified. And I—I was so angry. He was a brute, and I’d thought ... I was so stupid. I had thought he was wonderful, charming, a true gentleman.”

“What did you do? Try to stop him from raping this maid?”

Against his chest, she nodded her head.

Hell. “And he lashed out at you in return?”

“Yes. He threw me across the room. He slash—he hit me. I thought he was going to kill me. It didn’t seem to matter that I was engaged to marry him. He was enraged. He was wild. Like a madman. If my brother hadn’t come ... I couldn’t fight him, you see. I wasn’t strong enough.”

“You are a very brave woman. No wonder you are so afraid to come to my bed.” Sinjin tipped up her chin, and met her gaze. Hades, just touching her delicate chin made his cold blood heat and sizzle. “You have nothing to fear. I would never hurt you. And I see why you would come to your brother’s defense so admirably.” Though the woman was a silly little fool for offering something she was too afraid to give.

Large, fetching indigo eyes gazed up at him. “I suppose it would not convince you to forgive his vowels without ... without payment?”

“Now that I have you naked in my bed, pressing so delightfully against my naked body? My dear Lady Lucy, I hardly think so.”

With those words, Greystone rolled over her. Lucy struggled, but the duke had parted her legs with his, and he had her wrists pinned to the bed. She was his captive. And she didn’t like it.

“Trust me,” he murmured. “Your fiancé was a monster, my dear. You cannot judge all men by his vicious behavior. Even the scoundrels.”

With soft, relaxed lips, he kissed her. An openmouthed, hungry, shocking kiss. His tongue slid into her mouth, forcing her lips to part. Twining with her tongue. Exploring her mouth. She’d never had a kiss like this. It was so wet. So ... undeniably hot. Steam seemed to rise from her body, perspiration dampened the valley between her breasts. He lowered his body against hers. She felt him, the rock-hard length of him, the lean muscles, and the length of his erection pushing against her belly. Lucy panicked.

No ...

The duke bent to her nipple, his long golden hair spilling over her bare chest. She gouged her fingers into his arms, determined to push him away, even though she had promised him this. Even though she knew she had no choice. But he suckled her hard, dark nipple so tenderly. Heavens, it did feel good. It stole her strength. Her fingers softened against his hard muscles. His sucking made her body feel floating, lazy ... good. It made her feel as though melted chocolate ran through her veins.

She was so mixed up. Greystone was a rogue. He had ruined her brother. He was a villain. But he was kind to his maid, unlike Mr. Ferrars who had thought a servant was there for his taking, willing or not.

She had been so wrong about Mr. Ferrars. She had thought he was wonderful and perfect.

The duke’s large, long-fingered hand skimmed over her stomach. Then he stroked between her thighs again, touching her most private place, and she moaned, “Yes.” She had no idea she would feel the roughness of his fingers—that her skin would be so sensitive. She loved the scratch of them over her delicate flesh. Her skin there was so soft and his hands were so sensually rough.

Dimly, she wondered how his hands could be so rough when he was a duke.

Oh goodness, he had flicked that most sensitive place—the little bump that lay between her nether lips, and she almost rolled her eyes back into her head at the pleasure. Her hips arched up. As if he could read her thoughts, he stroked her a little harder, as if he had known the rocking of her hips was a wordless signal that meant: I’m begging you for more.

How had the duke done this? How had he made her want, when she’d thought she would never feel desire ever again? How could she want him, when she knew nothing about him, other than he wanted to ruin her brother? But she sensed he had been serious of his offer to kill Allan Ferrars at Chalk Farm. She had believed him when he had gazed deeply into her eyes and called her brave.

It was only one word, yet it had made her heart quiver more than any of Mr. Ferrars’s many compliments.

Oh goodness, Greystone was kneading her breasts now, his touch firm. She felt as though she was in the middle of a fireworks display, with things exploding around her everywhere.

Then he slid his finger inside her. Between her nether lips, parting them gently. Goodness, he was inside her. She was doing the most intimate thing possible. With a man she did not like, did not know, and should not want.

“Open your eyes.”

As if he commanded her, she did it and the first things she saw were thick, velvet-soft black lashes and gorgeous green eyes. Eyes that glittered at her in the firelight. “Is it good?” he asked. Greystone looked truly concerned.

Then his finger slid deep inside her, and she gasped at the sudden sensations—an intense quiver that rushed through her. Lucy heard a shocking wet, sucking sound as his finger thrust in and out. It was the sound of her arousal.

“Good?” he coaxed.

Biting her lower lip, she nodded. She didn’t want to speak. This was wrong. Sinful. Naughty. But she wanted it, and the best way to deal with the war in her heart and her head was to do it quickly, not say a word, and never, ever think of it after it happened.

His hand moved and he stopped stroking the little nub that vibrated with such intense feeling. She gasped in frustration.

He wrapped his hand around the shaft of his erection—she could feel the brush of his fingers against her stomach as he took hold of himself. Then, with his hand tight around it, he stroked the head of his erection against her nether lips. They had stuck together, resisting him, but he gently eased them apart.

Her arms were splayed on the bed, pressing hard into the soft mattress. Her hands were clenched in tight fists. Her toes curled. But she bit her lip so she couldn’t possibly let a “no” slip out from between them.

His hips arched forward in slow, easy strokes as he pushed his penis inside her. For the first time, she knew what it was like to have a man’s thickness inside. He didn’t go in far. Just enough that shock turned to need, and tension melted like ice beneath a flame. Just like his mouth on her nipples, this was good.

“You are a brave woman,” Greystone said gently. “Very brave to face fears to save your brother.” He rocked his hips as he spoke and the movement was as soft and relaxed as his words. It pushed him further inside her. Astonishing sensations ... squishiness, warmth, wetness, pleasure ... her fingers tightened on his arms. Her hips lifted.

His face came to life in great detail. Blond hair fell across his brow, glinting with strands of pale gold. His eyes truly sparkled. They were large, beautiful eyes, green and flecked with silvery-gray—so much, they shone. Astonishing, unusual eyes. Lines framed his mouth, lines of strain, which seemed to come out when he showed desire.

He drew back, withdrawing until she felt just the tip of his erection touching her and she moaned. Now, she just wanted him deep in her. “Perhaps I am brave and foolhardy?” Her voice was husky, hoarse, as though she hadn’t spoken for years.

His lips curved. “Not foolhardy.” He tipped his hips, going deeper inside her. Instinctively her arms slipped around his neck, her leg around his. She shouldn’t behave so intimately—she didn’t know him. He was a stranger to her. This was not about love. Yet she wanted it to be intimate. She wanted to feel close to him. To hold him. His body was so warm and strong in her grasp. She loved the weight of him against her. Her fingers touched hard muscle, velvet skin. Her leg lay against legs with muscles that felt as hard and solid as iron.

Deeper he went, and his penis stroked a place inside her that made explosions of light in front of her eyes. Then a twinge of pain rushed through her and she gasped in shock.

His fingers traced the curve of her cheek. “Shh,” he whispered. “Easy. It will hurt, I’m afraid, when I go past your maidenhead. I wish it didn’t, love. But after that it will be very, very good.”

“No—”

He thrust. She squealed. She clenched. She tightened. She wanted to back away. But she couldn’t vanish into the mattress. Nor could she push him off.

Greystone pressed against her, seating himself all the way inside, and he didn’t move. He stayed motionless, and he rained kisses on her forehead, her cheeks, her lips. It was hard to feel pain with such glorious kisses stealing her breath. And little by little, the stinging sensation ebbed.

She whispered, “It’s better... .” Then she saw his expression. He looked like a man in great pain. He looked raw, ravaged, tormented. His eyes were wild. His mouth was a slash, bracketed by harsh lines. He looked as though his control could snap in a heartbeat. “Are you ... all right?” she asked.

“You are tight, sweet, and perfect, my dear. So no, I am no longer all right.”

Lucy let her arms slip from his neck, but her legs were still wrapped around him, and his groin, hot and hard, was pressed tight against her. “What should I do?” she whispered.

“Have a screaming orgasm, Lady Lucy.”

He circled his hips as he said it, stroking his long shaft within her. Her private place throbbed with need, her body ached with yearning. Amazing she could feel so much. She could feel the stroke of the head, the slide of his rod against incredible, sensitive places. He planted one sweet, sensual kiss after another on her lips, which kept her gaze locked with his.

Lucy watched a smile touch Greystone’s full, handsome mouth. Then groans deepened the lines framing his lips. His eyes glowed as if they were on fire, and his deep, throaty moans ... she adored them.

Heavens, she was moving with him. Rising to meet his thrusts. Lifting to bang her pubis to his and take him deep inside. Each slick stroke rubbed the taut head along the sensitive places inside her. And he angled his hips, so each collision of their hips left her little nub tingling.

She was weak with pleasure, yet driven to rock with him. She clung to him, arching her hips, panting. Her nipples had hardened, and each thrust brushed them against his chest. Her lips tingled from kisses, her nipples throbbed from swift brushes, her quim pulsed ... and fire raged in her, hotter than any she’d ever breathed as a dragon.

Oh God. The flames burst in her, and she heard wild moaning, and she shouted, “Oh Your Grace! Your Grace!”

Her cries blended with a harsh masculine groan. She opened her eyes to see his wide with astonishment. His hips banged hard against hers and he shuddered against her.

Oh. Oh, why hadn’t she thought of this? This was what happened when men found release. She felt hot and wet inside, very wet, but too weak to move. Too weak from pleasure to say anything. She was clinging to him, and her body still rippled and throbbed around him.

His seed had gone inside her. She might ... she might become pregnant. Why had she not thought of this? The ramifications of what she had done might haunt her forever—

“My dear Lady Lucy, I’ve never lost control so quickly before.” He kissed her forehead. “I’d intended a much longer bout.”

She was shaky, now, and her fingers gripped his strong biceps. She stared down, letting his chest fill her vision, for she couldn’t face his eyes right now. Sweat glistened on his straight, wide shoulders and on his smooth chest. His skin was pale, and with his powerful, well-defined muscles, he looked as though he had been carved from marble.

Still staring below his face, she managed to ask, “Does that mean ... are you pleased?” Pleased enough to rip up vowels? For what she had given up, what she had risked, surely she would achieve her goal.

“It is an auspicious beginning.” He took a deep breath. “Our fortnight may exhaust me.”

The duke was still speaking about her staying for fourteen days. Frustration and a sense of failure choked her.

“But first ...” he murmured huskily.

He suddenly moved down her body, kissing a trail down her stomach. His lips brushed across her dark nether curls. Then his tongue delved in between her curls to touch her nether lips, to touch her most private place, wet and sticky with her juices and his.

She squirmed on the bed. He was a rake and he knew the most scandalous things. But his tongue ... the plunges of his hot tongue were different from the thrusts of his shaft and teased her in a different way. She moaned helplessly. The tension built again, swirling inside her... .

She came again, her fingers stretching wide on the sheets, her legs weak. She sobbed with it. Then a fire seemed to explode inside her and wrap around her heart. Her skin tingled and felt as though it was moving. Changing.

Goodness, Lucy knew what was happening. She felt this way when she was going to shift into dragon form. When her bones moved and her muscles changed and her skin transformed to iridescent scales.

It couldn’t happen now. The duke had no idea what she really was. No one in London did. Her family had kept their secret for generations.

But how did she stop the shift? When that kiss, that one she’d been given years ago, had made her shift, she had run away. She hadn’t been able to stop the change. At least she had found refuge deep in the massive gardens of their hosts’ estate. Her change had happened in a wooded area, where no one could see.

Heavens, what was she going to do here and now?

Hades, she was shifting. Sinjin knew it—he had seen people shift from their human shape to dragon form before. Her body was rippling beneath him and her skin felt hot enough to burst into flame.

“You must let me go,” Lady Lucy cried softly. “I—I don’t feel well. I need to—to use the necessary.” She tried to push out from under him.

She was trying to hide what she was. She thought he didn’t know she was a dragon.

It suited him to let her think she had succeeded. He swiftly moved off the bed, then whisked her to her feet. “Behind the screen,” he said.

“Oh.” Perspiration beaded on her forehead. She had gone white. “I need privacy, Your Grace.”

“Of course.” He bowed, despite being naked. “Summon the maid when you are ready to dress. This will be enough for tonight. After you are ready, you will return home in an unmarked carriage, then gather your things to return for two weeks.”

“I—” Her muscles jerked. Sitting up, she hugged her bare chest tightly, as though she was trying to keep her body from flying apart. He read the strain in the face, in the way her muscles shuddered and jerked beneath her hands. Valiantly, she was trying to fight the shift, but it was obvious she couldn’t.

Sinjin’s nostrils flared as he scented the change in her smell. His entire body tensed, and his brain was hammering one message at him: Do your duty and destroy her when she becomes a dragon. You cannot suffer a dragon to live.

His hands clenched against his will, yearning to be wrapped around the hilt of a sword. He had vowed to slay dragons—it was not a vow he could walk away from... .

But he couldn’t hurt Lady Lucy Drake tonight. He had to let her go and wait for her to come back. Once she returned, and had agreed to spend a fortnight under his control, then he would start questioning her about his nephew.

“I will give you some privacy,” he said casually. He turned his back on her deliberately, for he saw how she was perspiring, and how her jaw was twitching and her muscles were popping under her smooth, satiny skin. He put his back to her as much for himself as for her.

He left and closed the secret door in the wall paneling. Using his preternatural hearing, he detected a smothered scream. It signaled that her body had changed—when the body transformed from mortal shape into the larger form of a dragon, it caused a great deal of physical pain.

Right now, he had a dragon in his house. By the code of his clan, he was obligated to slay her. But that would condemn his nephew to death.

Sinjin walked away feeling the crushing sensation at his throat. It felt as though his windpipe could collapse. It was the punishment for not doing his duty—but only a warning. It would ease.

What if Lady Lucy did not return to his house?

Sinjin stalked over to the dressing table in his bedchamber. A decanter stood on it, beside a large tumbler. Other men drank brandy—he had his servants bring him blood. He poured a glass and the aroma sent his fangs launching forward. He drained all the blood from the glass in an instant while he wondered what Lady Lucy would do.

She had made love with him when she was frightened of men and intimacy. She was a remarkably strong woman, and determined to protect her family. He knew what lengths a person would go to when their family was at risk.

Sinjin licked his lips, gathering up the last, tangy droplets of blood with his tongue. It was entertaining to think of the carnal games he would play with her. For he was certain Lady Lucy would come back.

Changing her shape was agonizing.

Lucy had sunk to the floor beside the bed and she clutched the bedpost as spasms of pain rocked her body. Why couldn’t she stop it from happening?

Others could. Her father had been able to, and he had tried to teach her how to do it. Most of the time, she was able to keep her body from transforming, but there had been times, like this instant, where she lost control of her body.

She closed her eyes, bit her lips to contain any screams or sobs. And just tried to endure the hateful process.

She didn’t want to be a dragon. She yearned to be normal. To be just a mortal. To have worries like the other human, ordinary young ladies she knew: such as snaring a husband, becoming mistress of a house, and being a grand hostess within the ton.

She had just given up her virginity and she could even end up pregnant.

All in all, her life was a disastrous mess.

Her arms and legs twitched and grew. Her skin rippled, changing by some mystical, awful process into scales. Heat swamped her, and Lucy fell dizzily back against the bed.

She couldn’t stop it. She couldn’t help but scream with the pain as her muscles popped, tore, heated, and re-formed.

Within minutes, she was no longer human, she was a dragon, and she was curled up on the floor beside the bed, with her tail tucked in around her. Firelight glinted off her scales. She took up the entire room.

If the duke were to come back, how would she explain this?

Lucy turned her sleek, dragon’s head toward the secret panel in the wall and gazed at it with her large eyes. A small lick of flame came from her mouth.

She prayed the panel did not open.