A Measured Risk (32 page)

“Apparently.” Ruel’s tone lightened considerably.

But Anne could feel the displeasure beneath it. Why? In her inexperience, had she done this wrong? She glanced at him and his expression looked so fierce that it set her heart pounding.

He stood, started walking towards the bed
,
and Anne’s heart pounded with dizzying speed.

Oh fuck me, please fuck me.

She swallowed tightly several times. Her throat was dry like parchment. She could drink a whole pitcher of water, but the hot desire boiling in her veins froze her in place. He stood by the bed, before her, wrenching at the fastenings of his trousers.

“Well, I know when I am no longer wanted.” Beneath Lady Waterbury’s too-light tone, a serrated edge cut the air.

Dimly, Anne could sense the other woman moving about, gathering her clothes. But she couldn’t tear her eyes from Ruel’s.

He thrust into her savagely.

Impaled her. Speared her. Stretching her, filling her. God, it was the most delicious, exquisite sensation—she clutched his shoulders, digging her nails in and raking down his back. Her cunt rippled over the thickness of his cock repeatedly, as pleasure exploded with her. She screamed with its force.

She lay panting. Her throat burned like fire, her cries echoing in her ears as he withdrew.

“Vixen,” he growled.

Tears were flowing from her eyes, blurring her vision as she sat and tried to get close to Ruel’s body. Her hands made contact with his hard-as-boards stomach and she feverishly caressed him, searching for his cock. She wanted to feel him in her mouth, to swallow him whole. Taste his semen. A litany flowed from her lips. What, she had no idea.

He took her by the shoulders and pushed her back to the bed. She rolled, now on her stomach. The bed rocked and she heard him moving about.

The bed rocked again. He pulled her head up by the hair. “Who owns you, Nan?”

She tried to speak, but her dry throat closed up.

A sharp sting hit her buttocks. Then another. Another. Burning, fiery pain bloomed.

“Who
,
Nan?”

She swallowed hard, finding almost no saliva available to her. “Y-you.”

Several steady blows came down on her, never hitting the same place twice. Fire raged in her cunt.

Fuck me! Please fuck me!
Her mind screamed the words.

“Who was that, Nan?”

“Jonathon Lloyd.”

“Yes, good girl.”

Something hit the bed beside her. She glanced at it. His riding crop. God. Horror washed over her. Surely he wouldn’t—Oh sweet holy mother, he already had. And
,
mad to have him inside her, she flooded with wetness.

“Maybe with my marks on your arse, you’ll remember who owns you.”

“Yes, yes, yes, oh God
,
yes
.
” She moaned the words into the pillow.

“I didn’t hear you, Nan.”

She turned her head. “Yes.”

“I can make you do anything, Nan. Make you attend a party full of whores, make you kiss another woman. Anything. And you’ll be glad to do it for me. That’s how it is between us.”

“Yes, yes, yes…anything.” She turned, wanting to touch him, to plead for him, to please him.

“I can make you spend the winter with me in Scotland and I can make you love me.”

She heard his words but they were too much for her overheated senses to deal with. She whimpered, reaching for him. He clamped his hand down on her head and pressed her back down. “Stay flat on your stomach.”

He spread her buttocks and coldness gushed over her arse hole. The now familiar scent of coconut oil filled the air. She gasped and came halfway up. He pressed his hand on her back. “Down.”

She lay back down and clutched the pillow. His finger traced along her puckered entrance. Anything for him. Anything. Yes, but… “Jon?”

He made a sibilant sound.

She bit her lip.

He entered her with a slippery fingertip there, where she’d never dreamed it would. She trembled. He gripped her neck. “Easy, wench. Breathe normally.”

She released her breath.

“After tonight
,
there shall be no more doubts that I own you, body and soul. For always.” He slipped his finger inside again. Unexpected pleasure washed back over her. He slipped another finger in. Then he moved them back and forth. “I am going to fuck you here.”

“Yes,” she moaned.

“No part of you can remain unclaimed by me.”

“Yes. Anything you want. Anything.”

Her hips arched backwards, then she pressed forward onto the bed, trying to rub her aching nub on the crisp linen sheets. Her cunt spasmed and spasmed, pleasure claiming her, brief and intense.

“Christ,” he groaned the word.

The head of his cock throbbed against her arsehole, pressing. Instinctively, she arched her back. He entered a little way. Stretching her, hurting her. She cried out. He paused for a moment
,
then pushed further in. Bittersweet bursts of painful pleasure sparked within her.

“Jon.”

“Good girl, that’s it.” He entered her a little more and she whimpered, pressing her forehead into the pillow, tears flowing out of her eyes. He was tearing her in two and she didn’t care. He thrust with more force and she wailed. The sound echoed in her ears as her bottom pressed up against his pelvic bone.

“That’s it, take it all, wench. My pleasure is your pleasure.”

Her internal muscles contracted, hard. He groaned. She spasmed again.

“Fuck.” He gasped the words, sounding pained. “Like this, do you, you little trollop?”

She wailed again loudly in assent. He slid his hand underneath her pelvis and touched her nub, firing her desire to unbearable levels. Her tears flowed freely and she uttered stupid, senseless sounds. Begging him. Then he pulled up and thrust down. Hurting her. Pleasuring her. Several more thrusts and the pain eased, superseded by pleasure. She came, her whole body flailing
,
and she screamed as his hands tightened painfully on her sore buttocks, stilling her. He shouted harshly. His weight fell on her back, his panting breath sounded near her ear. He nipped her neck.

Several moments passed.

“You belong to me and you know it, Nan.” He bit her lobe, hard. Exhausted, she barely registered it. “In fact, you can’t live without me. You’ll come to Scotland and spend the winter with me. And you’ll stay with me as long as it pleases me, won’t you?”

Her heart raced so hard and her thoughts swirled so fast that she couldn’t latch on to any one of them to make coherent sense out of anything. She just needed to sleep, yet she felt so agitated she would never be able to
.

He pulled her head up by the hair. “Are you listening to me, Nan?”

She stared into his frowning face. Her heart pounded. The chamber spun. “M-my heart won’t slow down…I can’t think straight.” She swallowed. “It frightens me.”

He moved away from her, then candlelight shone in her face, blinding her. She closed her eyes, crying softly.

“What the devil?” he said, sounding suddenly angry.

Chapter Eighteen

Jon put the candle back, a dry metallic taste coating his throat. He knew he had not cropped her enough to elicit such a reaction. Her skin felt hot and dry.

“How punch did you drink, Nan?”

“Four cups.”

“Oh Christ, I told you two—” He slapped his hand to his mouth and ran it roughly down his chin. “Lie here and be very still, Nan.”

He leapt off the bed and found the discarded dressing gown. His hands were shaking as he drew it on. Damn him. Damn her. If she was harmed… Well
,
the first thing he was going to do what throttle Kean for making such a brew of God alone knew what aphrodisiac herbs.

He threw the door open and flew down the corridor to pound on Kean’s door. “God damn it, Kean, get out here.”

Shuffling and clattering sounded behind the door and it swung open. Kean appeared somewhat wild
-
eyed, his hair tousled. The odour of waterpipe hung heavy in the air. Feminine giggles echoed from within.

“Anne had some reaction.”

Kean’s eyes stared back dumbly. “Reaction?”

“To the punch. Her eyes are almost completely dilated and her heart is racing. Her skin feels too dry. Hot like she’s burning.”

“Oh,” Kean’s face sobered.

“If anything happens…I swear I’ll kill you.”

Kean held up a hand. “Don’t worry. The amounts of herbs in the punch are not dangerous. Some people are more sensitive than others. This is not the first time this has happened. Well, then
,
let’s have a look at her. Just a moment.” He disappeared back into the chamber and came back with a small dark bottle.

Jon scowled. “I think she’s had enough of your potions for one evening.”

“This will counteract any ill effects. But first let’s have a look at her.”

Jon’s mind flashed to how he’d left Anne. Naked and well fucked in his sheets. He jerked the bottle from Kean’s hand. “I don’t think so. Just tell me how much to give her.”

“Well, how much punch did she take?”

“She claims four cups.”

Kean told him the dose. “Put it in some wine. It should bring her down in about a half hour.”

“Half an hour!” Jon grasped his lapels. “Don’t tell me half an hour. Her heart is racing—it can’t be safe.”

Kean’s already dilated eyes enlarged even more. “Calm yourself. She’s going to be fine.”

Realising that Kean was flying as high as the clouds, Jon felt a frisson of fear race down his spine. He was depending on the medical skills of man under the influence. He caught a rare, sideways glance at the way he had been living. And he’d brought his precious Anne into this world and exposed her to its decadence. To its dangers.

He released his hold. “She had damn well better be fine.”

“In half an hour she’ll be asleep. Until then,” Kean grinned. “Just enjoy her.”

* * * *

The chamber door coming open sounded unnaturally loud in Anne’s ears. Too frightened to move, she lay on the bed, curled into a ball.

“Jon?”

“I am here, love.” Glass clanked and the bed moved. He touched her. “Sit up, you have to drink this.”

She looked up into his face. “My heart won’t stop racing.”

“This will help.” He helped her up and held a glass to her lips.

The wine flowed cool in her parched mouth but it burnt her raw throat like acid. She coughed.

“All of it, Nan,” he ordered.

With difficulty, she complied. Her stomach lurched warningly. “It’s going to come back up,” she said, panicked.

“It can’t. You have to keep it down. It must get into your blood.”

“I can’t help it.” She tried to crawl across the bed, heading for the chamber pot.

He took her in his arms and pulled her back to the bed with him and cradled her head to his chest. “Concentrate on keeping it down
.
Swallow.”

She lay against him as he stroked her hair. “Will I die?”

“No, the antidote will counteract the effects.”

“Good, I don’t want to die.” She swallowed hard against acid rising in her throat. “I want to go to Scotland. With you. All winter.”

“Nan—”

“But for only the winter. After that, I shall go to Ireland, as I planned.”

“Of course you will.” He didn’t sound like he believed her at all. She could hear the smile in his voice.