2Rakehell (7 page)

“I…I hoped you’d return.” Why couldn’t she prevent herself
from revealing too much?

His eyes searched hers. “Nothing has been touched?”

“Nothing.”

His eyes sparkled with mischievous memory. A muscle in his
jaw twitched. “Whatever your duties at Scarborough Hall entail, see to it they
are immediately passed to someone else.”

“I don’t…”

“Precisely. You don’t get to do anything. From now on you
are mine, body, mind and spirit.”

Her heart ran wild. She couldn’t breathe. “I…I’m afraid.”

A diabolical, rakish smile played at one corner of his
mouth. “As well you should be.” Grasping her hand, he thrust it down to where
his cock had hardened again.

Dragging her by the thigh, he pulled her on top of him. She
gasped as he filled her yet again. Desire fluttered in her loins at being so
exposed. With her astride him he could see her breasts and the intimate place
where her body parted to accept him.

“Ride me, pet,” he told her sweetly. “For you won’t be on
top again unless I permit it.”

* * * * *

He should have been exhausted. Instead Adam felt energized.
Alive for the first time in many years. Primrose lay on her stomach, her face
turned to the side, partially obscured by a wealth of honey-colored hair.

He sucked in a breath at the realization of how truly beautiful
she was. He’d known she was comely of course. But seeing her thoroughly sated,
her irises still dark from the deep hours she’d spent in submission, moved him.

Her gaze lifted to his as he brushed the lock of hair
veiling one eye back from her face. A sense of pride and possession consumed
him with a ferocity that stunned him. He hadn’t expected to find her so
amenable to his needs, so responsive. He might even pay a visit to the club
with her. His cock stirred at the thought of her masked, collared and in full
view of the club’s other patrons.

A darker image roiled. As an initiate slave she’d be
obligated to submit to the evening’s dungeon Master. Handing her over to
another for just those few moments was unthinkable.

How would she react? Would she embrace a new Master?

Often in the club slaves and Masters traded and swapped. How
would he feel if Primrose chose another to Master her?

He simply needed to make certain she was his before he took
her to the club.

He eased from the bed and stopped at the table where the
tray lay of fruit and cheese they’d all but devoured earlier. He selected one
of the few remaining cubes of cheddar, popped it in his mouth and padded to his
wardrobe where he pulled open the doors and then slid the top drawer out.

If none of his things had been touched then…

Reaching underneath the drawer, he triggered the hidden
latch then raked back his neatly folded clothes and opened the secret
compartment.

Gold chains glimmered in the low light. His fingers brushed
highly polished carved wood.
Yes.
He smiled. All his little toys were
still there. He couldn’t wait until tomorrow.

“Adam?”

He whirled to find Primrose standing in the open doorway
between their rooms. Clutching her yellow dressing gown to hide her nudity, her
hair billowing unfettered over her shoulders, she was stunning. His breath
caught, but he quickly remembered their agreement. “Why are you covering
yourself?”

Her eyes widened.

“Naked,” he said simply. “Whenever we are alone together you
will remain naked. Was I unclear before?”

The muscles in her throat worked as she swallowed. Hard.
“No, my lord. You were not unclear.”

“Drop it.”

The lemon silk slithered down her body as she released it.
She lowered her gaze, making her even more endearingly coy. His cock stirred.
Dear God, had he turned into a complete and utter mooncalf? Over his wife?

“Do you wish to take me again?” Her velvety voice caressed
him but he also detected a certain trepidation.

He turned, pushed in the drawer and retrieved a silk banyan
from the wardrobe before he closed the doors. Shrugging it on he strode toward
her. “Yes. Very much,” he admitted. “But you are doubtless…tender, are you
not?”

She nodded.

“Ring for someone to draw you a bath.”

Her gaze flicked to her robe on the floor and then back to
his eyes. A shard of pride pierced him. She was learning the dynamic between
them very well. Very well indeed.

He stooped and picked the garment up. “You may cover
yourself when the servants are about,” he said, stepping behind her to slip the
fabric over her arms.

“Thank you,” she murmured before she crossed her room to tug
the bellpull.

Moments later, Primrose’s maid appeared. Not meeting the
servant’s eyes, Primrose instructed her to draw a hot bath. Obviously
struggling not to appear surprised at both of them in dishabille, the maid
muttered her acquiescence, bobbed a curtsy and then hurried out of the room.

As soon as the door closed behind the maid, Adam stepped
behind Primrose and drew her back to his chest. Sliding his hands into the
opening of her dressing gown, he caressed the satiny skin of her belly and the
fullness of her breasts. She sighed as she rested against him.

“You should not be ashamed,” he whispered into her hair.
“Look them in the eye. Make it known you are their superior in every way.”

“But—”

One hand closed over a breast. His other caught her chin and
lifted it so that her head fell back on his shoulder. He pressed his mouth to
her ear. “You serve only me, Primrose. As far as everyone else in this house is
concerned you are their queen. Do you understand?”

When she didn’t respond immediately, he kneaded her nipple
between his thumb and forefinger, eliciting a little moan. She writhed when he
gave the taut bud a firm pinch. “Do you?”

“I do,” she squeaked.

He turned her to face him and his own sense of unworthiness
threatened to choke him. Admiration shone in her eyes. Fueling it were equal
measures of lust and adoration he knew in his stone-cold heart he didn’t—nor
would he ever—deserve.

He was a liar. A fraud. He should confess his questionable
birth to her before she conceived his child. “Primrose…” he began.

Her earnest gaze found his.

His lips parted and his eyes flicked to her lips. Why did
she look so damn kissable when he needed so urgently to unburden himself of the
deception that defined his miserable existence?

“Primrose,” he muttered again as he gave in and bent to
claim her lips.

A gasp from the other side of the room halted him just as
his mouth brushed his wife’s. Straightening, he growled and shot the maid an
icy stare.

“Forgive me, my lord,” she said, curtsying low, gaze cast to
the floor. “My lady’s bath is ready. Shall I—”

“Leave us,” Adam said tersely.

Once she’d disappeared Adam brushed the silk dressing gown
away from Primrose’s shoulders, exposing her delectable flesh once more.
“That’s much better,” he said, admiring her soft curves.

She shrugged free of the garment and inhaled deeply, causing
her distended nipples to rise, her breasts to swell with her breath.

“Come,” he told her, lacing his fingers with hers and
leading her toward the bath.

* * * * *

Primrose’s pulse rampaged as Adam gathered her hair and
wound it into a loose bun. No man had ever so much as touched her hair save him
and she found it strangely—erotically—exciting. That he even knew how to pin it
so it wouldn’t fall made her wonder how many times he’d done this before.

A lone candle softly illuminated the small room. Outside the
windows the last vestiges of daylight clung in a tenuous purple haze to the
horizon.

The scent of lavender rose with the steam from the gleaming
copper tub that stood on a low pedestal in the middle of the black-and-white-tiled
floor. In spite of the discomfiture of being bathed by her husband she looked
forward to sinking into the deep tub and soothing her sore muscles—as well as
all those other places that ached.

He took her hand and held it as she stepped into the water.
He kneeled as she sat. This tender side of him surprised her and she couldn’t
sort out the riot of emotions roiling inside her. She hardly knew him but she
suddenly wanted to know everything. His likes, his dislikes. His fears. His
hopes.

“Lie back,” he said, taking up a cake of soap.

“I can manage,” she began but he interrupted.

His eyes darkened but the slight upturn of one corner of his
mouth eased her trepidation. “Lie back, pet.”

She reclined against the sloped back of the tub and closed
her eyes as he gently trailed the soap over every inch of her skin. It felt so
good it must surely be sinful. Opening her eyes, she watched the flickering
light from the single candle soften the hard lines of his aquiline nose, his
firm jaw and those gemstone-hard eyes. “I admit I’ve never experienced this
sort of day before,” she said.

“I daresay the distraction of your body compels me to spend
many more days like this.”

Her stomach tightened at the idea of it.

“Tomorrow, however, will be different, my dear. As will each
day following.” His gaze played with hers as he slid the soap between her legs.

She parted her thighs, giving him greater access.
“Different?”

“I will push you, take you higher until you can tolerate no
more.”

She stared. What did he mean? She couldn’t bring herself to
ask.

“And when you have reached your limit you will have a coming
out very unlike your debutante debut.”

“C-coming out?”

“At my club.”

Her breath slammed to a halt. “Club?”

He put the soap back in its dish before he stood and held his
hand open for her. She rose, still holding his gaze, still waiting on him to
clarify, as he wrapped her in a towel.

“Club?” she asked again.

“You will learn more about the club later, darling. But now
you must dress and tend to your affairs as we discussed.” He leaned in and
kissed her on the forehead. “Sleep well, pet. After breakfast, come to my
room.”

* * * * *

Primrose’s clothes felt irritatingly tight and confining as
she hurried down the corridor to check on Thorley.

Even after Adam had bathed her and helped her dress she’d
been reluctant to leave his side. Images of the things they’d done together
played and replayed through her head, stoking her desire.

This all-consuming need confused her, left her reeling in
its wake. He confused her.

At times forceful and then in stark contrast,
heartbreakingly tender. She couldn’t sort it out.

Lost in thought, she turned the corner and ran into the hard
wall of a chest. Two big hands clamped down on her arms.

“Well, cousin,” Viscount Lashwood greeted. His wide-set,
pale-gray eyes glistened with knowing. The haughty purse of his lips drew into
a sneer. A shock of his wavy, straw-colored hair threatened to steal across his
high forehead as he looked down at her.

He was too close. Too threatening. She’d felt a certain
amount of trepidation in her husband’s arms but Benedict’s overbearing
proximity made her want to shrink.

Heat flooded Primrose’s cheeks. Doubtless gossip that she’d
spent the entire day in bed with her husband had circulated through the house.

“My, don’t you look fetching.” His leering grin widened.
Neither his hands nor his eyes relinquished their uncompromising grasp.

She shrugged but his fingers tightened menacingly,
conflicting with his easy smile. “W-what brings you to Scarborough Hall?”

One eyebrow lifted. “To visit my dear uncle of course,” he
said, his tone mocking.

Primrose cleared her throat and made a second attempt to
free herself, but suddenly her back was against the wall and Benedict’s body
countered hers in all the wrong places.

A rough breath left her lungs. “Release me,” she said, her
words but a hiss.

He leaned close and breathed in the scent of her.
“Lavender.” He drew in another breath, his eyes closing briefly as he did.
“You’ve very recently bathed. A bath in the middle of the afternoon? Primrose,
you surprise me.” His words slithered over her like a silky snake’s belly, an
omen of danger—of far darker things than Adam even seemed capable.

Heat flared in her neck and she feared she might faint.
“Release me,” she said through clenched teeth, trying in earnest to escape the
prison of his arms.

She was no match for his brute strength. Still, he pretended
to be in the dark. “Now why, I wonder, would you bathe in the late afternoon?
Could it be your wayward husband has returned?”

Her gaze clashed with his and she struggled not to shrivel
under its sharklike iciness.

One tawny eyebrow arched with diabolical amusement. “Ah but
you should have married me, sweet Primrose. We would have shared many such
tawdry days abed, you and I.”

She blew out a sigh. “You are far too familiar, Benedict.
Release me this instant or I shall—”

“You’ll what?” He chuckled. “Tell my prodigal cous—”

“Tell me what, Benedict?” Adam’s terse voice caused
Benedict’s hands to fall away.

He straightened and swept the errant lock of hair back into
place.

With her back still pressed against the wall Primrose hugged
her arms, where his fingers had undoubtedly bruised her.

Benedict’s disconcertion was only momentary. He turned his
predatory reception on his cousin. “If I hadn’t seen it with my own eyes I
wouldn’t have believed it. Lord Black in the flesh.”

Confused, Primrose watched the uncomfortable exchange. Why
would Benedict emphasize Adam’s title in such a scornful way?

“How are they all over in Whitechapel, cousin?” Benedict
continued to prod.

“Is your business here quite finished?” To his credit Adam
ignored the barb.

“Hardly. Hamish invited me for supper.” Primrose sucked in a
breath as Benedict turned his frosty gaze on her once more. “A pity you made an
appearance when you did, Adam. I was so looking forward to your wife’s company.
I’ve been beside myself with regret ever since you stole her right out from
under me.”