Devil's Bargain (15 page)

But it never landed.

He caught her as easily as if he had been prepared. Perhaps he had been, because he laughed at her reaction. Then, keeping hold of her wrist, he drew her hand up to kiss her palm through its glove.

“Trust Adrian to find a woman of spirit,” he said happily.

She tried to draw her hand back, but he would not release her. And throughout it all, she watched his eyes, glittering with amusement while he restrained her.

Abruptly his expression sobered, and his eyes focused with clear intent. “What did Adrian instruct—” he asked softly.

She stiffened, again trying to pull away. “Release me!”

“—about me?” he continued as if she hadn’t spoken. “What were his instructions regarding me?”

Lynette ceased fighting. Indeed, it was useless anyway. He was too strong. And at that moment, another couple rounded the bend.

Again, Rendlen moved more quickly than she expected, drawing her hand down to his arm, slipping into the most demure pose imaginable as they once again began to walk. The maneuver was accomplished before Lynette had time to even register the changed circumstances.

But lest she think he had forgotten, he leaned close to her ear, his hot breath stirring the tendrils of hair about her face. “Tell me, Lynette. What did he instruct regarding me?”

“I did not give you leave to use my given name,” she said stiffly.

He chuckled, the sound low and almost guttural. “But I have used it nonetheless.” Then he drew her closer, using his size and strength to intimidate her. “You must tell me, Lynette. I shall have it one way or another.”

She looked up, seeing his height, feeling his power, and, God forgive her, his ploy worked. She was intimidated. She found herself answering his question without volition, her words pulled out of her by his will alone. “He said you should not touch more than my hand.”

She was shocked that she had said the words aloud. Never had she meant to give such information away. And yet there was a strange thrill to his domination. A dark power to his looks and his strength. Part of her enjoyed being dominated thusly.

He must have seen the realization on her face. He must have read it in her eyes, because suddenly he was grinning. He released her, letting her gain a bare inch more distance as reward for her disclosure. “Very well, then,” he said softly. “I shall touch only your hand.”

Then it began. To anyone watching, they would have seemed the most innocent of couples. A man and a woman simply strolling along the paths of Hyde Park. But no one else could have seen what he was doing to her.

He was touching her hand. Not simply. Not politely. Wickedly. He began by stroking her gloved fingers, pinching occasionally, scratching sometimes, and pressing intimately.

“My lord,” she said, but he silenced her.

“All I am doing is touching your hand, Lynette,” he returned. “Quite proper, I am sure.”

Then he unbuttoned her glove. The motion was accomplished with the tiniest flick of his thumb, but she felt shock reverberate through her entire body. Pulling open the tiny indentation around her wrist, he began to touch the sensitive underside. He stroked it. He massaged it. And, once, he wet his finger in his own mouth, then moved it down to her wrist, drawing a long streak of wetness that chilled her skin.

She was reminded of her night with the viscount. Of the way the air had felt across her naked breasts. And she felt her body tighten in answer to that memory.

But Lord Rendlen was not finished. His moistened finger began slipping beneath her glove, pushing forward, deeper into her covered palm. It was the oddest thing. Completely innocent—a man touching her
hand—and yet her entire attention was focused on that finger.

All the while, his other hand was busy as well. While one hand probed deeper into the recessed cavern of her palm, the other stroked and pulled at her fingers. Little by little, the two working together managed to tug her glove halfway down. And by doing that, she suddenly found her fingers restricted, held together even as he continued to wet and touch the cupped recess of her hand.

Her face felt on fire and her breathing hitched, unsteady and uncontrolled. In her mind she kept confusing sensations. She felt Rendlen’s touch on her hand, and she remembered the viscount’s exploration of her breasts. She felt the cool kiss of air on her moistened palm, and she felt moisture gathering between her legs. The viscount had never mentioned the sensation, but Lynette had felt it nonetheless. Her lower regions seemed to be thickening, liquefying, pulsing.

“This is most unusual,” she whispered. Then she bit her lip, startled that she had spoken her thoughts aloud.

“Unusual or delightful?” came his whispered response.

She looked up at him, seeing his glittering eyes, his hungry expression. And, as she watched, he at last divested her of her glove.

Suddenly free, her fingers did not clench. They did not even flex. They extended, opening up, offering her palm to him to do as he willed.

“You are most unusual,” Rendlen continued. “Responsive. Intelligent. And still so innocent.” He grinned. “I like that.”

She did not know how to respond. Her thoughts were still on his hand, on his actions as he toyed with the flesh between her fingers, and his thumb stroked an enticing circle on her wrist.

“I have particular tastes, Lynette. Adrian has begun your instruction, and I suddenly find I wish to continue it.”

She gasped then, as much from his words as from the sudden brush of his arm across her nipple. She had been so focused upon his hand that she had not expected another assault. But it had been accomplished easily. After all, he had simply adjusted his hold on her arm. Feeling shot through her like wildfire.

“I want to teach you my particular desires. My tastes.”

Again he reached out. But this time, instead of a slight brush, he grasped her nipple and twisted it. She cried out in pain and shock. The move had been bold and aggressive—but a single glance around told her they were hidden from all view.

“That was painful, was it not?” he asked.

She nodded, blinking away tears she hadn’t known she’d shed.

“But part of you liked it. Part of you is even now throbbing with the beat of that pain. Part of you wants me to do it again.”

She looked away, but he stopped her, lifting her chin until she looked directly into his dark blue eyes.

“Part of you wants me to do it again, yes?”

She didn’t know if he moved her head for her or if she nodded of her own accord. The truth did not matter. She did want him to touch her again. She did feel the beat of her own heart, pulsing and throbbing in places and in ways she had not expected.

He did it again. She gasped in pleasure as well as pain.

“You could be trained, Lynette. I could teach you.”

She continued to gaze at him, the words coming out without stopping. “Yes,” she whispered. “I will marry you.” Then she blinked. What had she just said? Not more than a few hours ago, she’d had plans for bringing Adrian to his knees. Now she was accepting Rendlen? What was wrong with her?

She had no answer except to realize that revenge against Adrian was one thing, marrying a wealthy lord another entirely. And in point of fact, it had been the entire purpose of her coming to London. She hastened to recover lost ground.

“There are particulars to be worked out, of course,” she said.

This time his grin was slow in coming, lascivious in intent, and almost sly as he drew his hand long and slow across her nipple. It was distended and eager for his touch. And she felt every hill and valley of his palm as an erotic torrent of sensation.

“Yes, Lynette. It is the particulars in which I am most interested.” He paused as she waited breathlessly, her breasts aching, her body throbbing. She watched his eyes, waiting for him, for the moment he would touch her again. Finally, it happened.

She gasped in reaction even as he leaned closer, whispering into her ear, “I will marry you if you meet my requirements.”

He twisted then, moving her once again to his side. Another couple had rounded the bend, and they were no longer alone.

Lynette’s body continued to throb, her knees continued to feel weak and insubstantial, and her breasts
felt heavy, hungry, and aching for more. But Rendlen did not touch her again. Indeed, he did not even stroke her hand.

She literally deflated at his lack of attention. It was a crushing feeling, akin to the moment she realized Adrian had left her bedchamber. But as her emotions reeled, her reason began to gradually reassert itself. She mulled over their conversation, remembered his words, and felt amazed that she had completed her task so quickly. So easily.

She had agreed to marry Lord Rendlen!

But then, as they neared his equipage, a thought slipped into her mind. She wanted to push it away, but it was a concern that niggled at her, bothering her enough that she could not rest. She knew it would be impolitic to ask. In fact, she knew that he would likely not appreciate the question. But in the end, she decided on boldness. She had to know. Still, she waited until he was about to lift her up into his phaeton to voice her query.

When his hands were on her waist, she looked directly into his eyes and asked, “What requirements will I have to satisfy, my lord?”

He lifted her up, and she scrambled into the seat, but not before she saw an evasive expression settle onto his features. She had seen it on her father’s face enough to recognize the look.

“They are a simple matter, Lynette,” he said as she settled. He stroked her leg. “But I assure you, you will enjoy the process.”

A chill seeped into her blood. He could not mean to enjoy the marriage bed
before
they were wed, could he? She looked down, wanting to see his face, but he had slipped around the phaeton, going to the other
side. And when he settled into his seat, his mind was clearly occupied with his horses.

She did not venture to speak again until they were well out of the park.

“What process, my lord? What would you have me do?”

“Never fear, Lynette. I will teach you.”

Who would instruct her was not Lynette’s fear. She had other more basic terrors to address, foremost among them the worry that he was lying to her. That he meant to enjoy her without ever giving her his name.

“My lord, I trust Viscount Marlock in all these matters,” she lied. “Will you explain this process to him?”

At that, Rendlen pulled back on his reins. They were in an alleyway, one of the hundreds throughout London. But glancing around, Lynette could see it was fairly secluded for all that they were in an open carriage.

Then he did the boldest thing of all. He threw up her skirts. Not completely, but high enough that his hand could slip underneath. Lynette cried out, but suddenly his tiger, the small boy who stood behind them, grabbed her arms, holding her still while Rendlen put his hand on her mouth and stopped her scream. Meanwhile, below her skirts, his other hand assaulted her. There was no other word for it. He pressed and moved and stroked her harshly between the legs.

“Adrian will ruin you, Lynette,” he hissed into her ear. “You must agree now. This instant. Then we will begin.”

Her legs were pushing her backward, her feet pressing against the floorboards as she strove to
move away from his hand. It was horrible. It was vicious. It was too much.

But, clearly, he thought this was pleasure.

“Stop!” she cried, pulling free and shoving at him with her hands. But the boy’s arms locked around her, tightened painfully across her breasts, restricted her movements.

Rendlen paused, pulling back slightly so that he could look her in the eye. “I will marry you,” he promised.

She knew he was lying. She knew it through every fiber of her being. But she did not tell him that. She allowed herself to relax slightly. Ease down her shoulders. And, as much as she hated it, she let her legs drop slightly open.

Then, as the grin began to spread over Rendlen’s handsome face, she abruptly pitched forward, simultaneously breaking the boy’s grasp on her and using her skull to connect painfully with the man’s forehead.

Rendlen reared back, roaring out in pain. Lynette leaped over the side of the carriage and ran. She dashed away, moving as fast and far as she could. She ran mindlessly at first, not caring where she went so long as it was away.

Behind her, she heard Rendlen’s curses, but eventually they faded into the background, covered by the noises of London.

It was some time before she came to her senses. Even then, it was to look around in confusion. She was not sure where she was. But she had always had an excellent sense of direction, for all that she had grown up in the country. She found her bearings quickly, rushing as she hurried along the streets until
she finally ran straight up the walkway to the Marlock house.

Never before would she have thought to look on Adrian’s home as a place of safety, of purity. But she did now. And when Dunwort opened the door, she flew past him, dashing up the stairs to hide in her room, burying her face in her pillows as she sobbed out her pain, her fear, and her confusion.

Adrian knew something was wrong the moment he stepped into the house. He had spent a long day answering queries, setting up appointments, piquing interest in Lynette. And with each new question, each casual meeting established, his body seemed to grow weaker, more tired, more depressed.

Now it was well past midnight, and he ached from top to bottom. But the moment he stepped inside the house and saw Dunwort’s face, his exhaustion fled.

“What happened?”

The large man shrugged. “Don’t know.”

He quickly scanned the stairs. “My aunt?”

“Drinking. Since morning. She warn’t available when Rendlen came by.”

Adrian’s heart froze inside his chest.
Rendlen…?

Suddenly he was running through his house. Taking the stairway two steps at a time, he dashed for her room. His aunt he would deal with later. Right now,
he had to find Lynette. If that bastard Rendlen had so much as touched her…

He slowed just outside Lynette’s door, pausing to listen. There were no sounds of crying. No wrenching sobs as from that other night, after Dr. Smythe. But with Lynette that meant little. She was one who would hold in her pain, releasing it only later, in her nightmares, in a torrent of screaming anguish. He did not want to live through another such night.

Silently he turned the latch, letting the door slide open on its well-oiled hinges. She was there, curled on her side in her bed. Her back was toward him, but he could tell from her irregular breathing that she was aware of his presence.

He wasted no time on preliminaries. He walked into the room, coming around the bed so that he could see her face. “What happened?” he asked.

Her eyes were huge. Impossibly so. And though she was not crying now, he saw the telltale splotches upon her pale skin, and the red rimming her eyes. She had been extremely upset. And alone.

Again he silently cursed his drunken aunt. She should have been aware. She should have sent him a message immediately. Lynette should not have been alone during this time.

Slowly, he sat down on the bed. He wanted to gather her to him, to hold her in his arms. If she came to him, he knew things would sort themselves out. But if she held herself still, frozen away from him, then that whoreson Rendlen had ruined her.

And for that, the bastard would die.

But Adrian did not have time for revenge. He only had thoughts for Lynette. Easing closer to her, he rested his back against the headboard, stretching his
legs out in front of him, letting his booted feet rest just off the bed. It was a purposely casual pose, close enough to touch her if necessary, but far enough away to let her feel some measure of control.

“Lynette,” he said gently, “you must tell me what happened.”

“Where have you been?” She did not say it as an accusation. In fact, her voice was very casual, as if they were merely discussing their day over tea. But he did not feel it as such. He felt a blow, as if she had struck him flat across the face.

“I was establishing your position. Interesting potential bachelors. Your schedule is very full for the next few weeks.”

She did not seem to react to his words, and he watched her very carefully. When she was silent for too long, he felt compelled to continue.

“You will be attending card parties, a few masquerades, a ball.”

He had hoped the last would spark some interest. What girl did not dream of balls and parties? But Lynette did not respond by even a flicker of her eyes. He had to distract her some way. Get her moving and out of her current mood if he ever expected to hear the truth. So, instead of pressing her, he glanced about the room.

He saw a tray beside her bed. It was filled with cheeses, some ham, even a little fruit. Dunwort had created a tempting display, no doubt hoping to lure her into eating.

Obviously the ploy had not worked, for the food appeared untouched. And even though he had eaten a full meal, at the expense of a potential bridegroom, no less, Adrian still feigned great hunger.

“Ah, I see you haven’t eaten dinner. Come, join me. I am famished.”

Then he leaned over to reach the tray, but her body obstructed him. He could not grab the food with her curled in her current position. He was careful not to touch her while he made his predicament clear.

“Lynette,” he said casually, “would you be so good as to sit up and hand me that tray? It has been a long, difficult day, and I would just as soon not go traipsing around your bed only to return back here to eat.”

If he said something so callous to Audra, she would likely dump the entire meal onto his head. But Lynette was reared differently. She had been trained to serve from the very beginning, and so she dutifully sat up and passed him the tray.

“My, my,” he wondered aloud, “where shall we set it?” He looked around. Before she could make a suggestion, he plopped it directly onto her lap. Then he settled back against the headboard, still careful not to touch her. “Much better. Now we can eat and converse at the same time.” He reached out and grabbed a thin slice of ham.

He waited a moment, hoping she would mimic his actions.

She did not.

“Go on, Lynette. Dunwort went to a lot of trouble, you know, bringing up this tray for you. Even when I was sick as a dog with a sore throat, he did not deign to do so much. He said that unless my legs were broken, I could bloody well come down to the kitchen myself.” He paused, turning to see if his comment provoked a smile.

It did not.

“You know, he will be quite hurt if he learns you have not eaten at all. Hurt and worried, I might add.”

He didn’t like using guilt. It was a poor tool at best, likely to backfire as much as assist. But in this case, it worked. Lynette reached out a slim hand and selected a piece of cheese. He had the satisfaction of seeing her delicately place the food in her mouth and chew.

With luck, he could keep her eating as they chatted, long enough for her to eat an entire meal. And as that happened, he very much hoped she would gain the strength to tell him exactly what went on today.

It worked.

He watched her eat, keeping up a constant prattle, describing one gentleman after another. He listed each man’s prospects, age, health, family connections, and more. He told her at which rout or party she would see each gentleman, and he acted as if every one of those pre-arranged meetings would absolutely occur.

Of course, in his thoughts he very much feared that his entire plan, and therefore his entire future, was in question. But outwardly he showed no signs of doubt. And as he spoke, he handed her one slice of ham after another. When she tired of the ham, he pushed the cheese on her. He called Dunwort and had the butler bring up some wine. All in all, he did everything he could to see to the health of Lynette’s body before turning to her mind.

In the end, she finally relaxed. And long before he thought to broach the topic, she surprised him.

“You need not keep this up,” she said. “I feel much better now.”

He stopped in mid-sentence, his thoughts scattering.
Slowly he lowered a slice of bread back onto the tray. “I see I must work on my subtlety.”

She shrugged. “I am a parson’s daughter. I recognize such ploys when I see them.”

He was silent, regarding her steadily for a moment. “I never cease to be impressed by you.” Then he sighed. “We need not discuss what happened if you don’t wish.”

The offer was out of his mouth before he could stop it. Then, when his mind returned to his words, he nearly choked in shock. Of course she had to tell him! With any of his other girls, he would have coaxed, ordered, perhaps even bullied until he received his answers. It was too important. If she had been raped—

His gut clenched at the thought. But if it had happened, he needed to know. He needed to help her. He needed to kill that bastard Rendlen with his bare hands.

But that had not happened, he asserted firmly. She had not been molested. She was fine, he told himself. And indeed, looking at her now, she remained pale but composed.

“You have to know, don’t you?” she asked. Her voice was soft, subdued. But her eyes were trained on him, watching for any lie.

He nodded. “I need to know what happened. But,” he added hastily, “I think you need to tell me as well. How else can we discuss it? How else can you put the matter in perspective? Make sure that it never happens again?”

She looked at him, obviously weighing his words, measuring his ability to counsel. And as always happened with her, he found himself holding his breath
while she made her judgment. When she finally nodded, it felt as if he had been handed a great prize. And as he was absorbing her gift, she set aside the tray, folded her hands in her lap, and began to speak.

He expected her words to be hesitant, filled with pain and humiliation, for that was what Rendlen most enjoyed. Instead she spoke calmly, deliberately, as if she was reciting her alphabet for a tutor. She told Adrian every detail, every moment of her ride with the bastard. No emotion colored her voice, and she only stammered once: when she tried to explain where Rendlen had put his hand. She waved awkwardly at her lower body, speaking of him lifting her skirt.

Adrian nodded. He was unable to speak past the fury in his mind, so he could not help her supply the words. Instead, he simply ground his teeth and silently swore vengeance. And eventually she finished her recitation, leaving him both furious and relieved: furious enough to choke the life out of the cur who dared lay a hand on Lynette, relieved enough to praise God that it hadn’t been worse.

“I will kill him.” He hadn’t expected to say that. In fact, the statement caught him as off guard as it did Lynette.

“You cannot mean that!” she exclaimed. She leaned forward, grasping his hands when he hadn’t dared touch her. “Think what would happen. You would have to flee the country. I would never marry. Your aunt would be destitute. Adrian, please! Say you will not do it!”

She was right, of course. He could no more afford to kill the swine than he could throw away the opportunity to get Lynette married to a wealthy man.
He could not abandon his aunt, drunken witch though she might be, nor could he, in truth, really spill blood. Even Rendlen’s blood. But still, the emotion pulsed hard and primal within him.

“Please, don’t be foolish,” Lynette begged, her brown eyes imploring. “I could not bear being the cause of such disaster.”

He looked down, ashamed to the core of his being. “I am the one who should be begging you, Lynette. Begging your forgiveness. I knew allowing you to drive with him was a risk. I knew it, but…” His voice trailed away. She was too bright not to force him to continue.

“But why? Why would you send me off with him?”

He sighed. “Because he draws other men. If he approves of you…” He hesitated, then pushed further. “If he wants you, then many other men will desire you, too.” He looked away, knowing he had to confess it all. “It drives your price higher, Lynette. So I allowed it.” Then he looked back, wondering if she would forgive him. If he could forgive himself.

She nodded, and he saw understanding in the slight droop of her shoulders. Truly, she did comprehend what he had done. Likely more than any of his other girls ever had.

She leaned forward, her words urgent. “It is done now, right? I have been seen with him. He has been seen…appreciating me.” She took a deep breath as she looked directly into his eyes. “I do not need to see him again?”

He nodded, even as he contradicted her. “You will likely see him. You frequent the same circles now.” Then, before the fear could rise in her eyes again, he quickly added, “But you need not speak to him nor
allow him to touch you again. You are free of him if you wish it.”

“I don’t ever want to see him again,” she said vehemently. Then she squared her shoulders and looked Adrian directly in the eye. “I do not want to, but if I must see him, then it shall be from across a room. I will never speak to him again.”

He smiled, pleased with her spirit. Then he shifted awkwardly, knowing that the hardest part would come next. He had to explain what happened, had to tell her that it wasn’t evil. That it was possible to enjoy, not such violence, but such intimacy.

“Lynette…” he began. He stopped, not sure how to proceed.

But true to form, she was there before him, her expression serious. “You are going to tell me now that I should expect such attacks. That my…position in Society leaves me vulnerable to such liberties.”

He hesitated. That was not exactly what he had intended to tell her, but she had nonetheless stepped to a logical conclusion. Everything she said was true.

“All women are vulnerable,” he finally said. “There are men who will take advantage of that because they can.”

“And I am not just any woman anymore. I am a Marlock girl.”

He nodded, hating his name and all it represented while part of him rejoiced that she was now inextricably linked to him. For the rest of her life she would be known as a Marlock bride.

“So, men know about…” She swallowed. “About my training. They know and will take liberties because of it. Even when those liberties are…” She stopped speaking, and he saw revulsion overtake her.

He leaned forward, quickly grasping her hands to hold them tightly between his own. “Lynette, listen to me. Look at me.” He waited a moment until she complied. He saw her focus lift off their joined hands to look openly at him. Trustingly. “Do you think you can view your experience with Rendlen dispassionately? Logically? I know it happened very recently, but could you try?”

She nodded. It wasn’t a slow movement or even a frightened one, but one filled with determination. She would try to see the event clearly, without the colorings of passion or fear.

“Do you recall why it was so terrible to you? What frightened you?”

She shook her head. “It was hideous,” she whispered.

It was too soon, he thought; the experience was too recent for her to analyze, and so he resolved to wait. They could discuss it again later. But she shook her head, continuing before he could stop her.

“He was cold. Rough.”

“Did he hurt you?”