Taming Maria (29 page)

Damien left
his horse inside Scratch Tump, found a candle and tinderbox always
kept to hand there, and then made his way down a long winding
tunnel that led to the grounds of Raven Towers. He blessed his
ancestors who, involved in religious strife and treachery towards
the crown, had constructed it, and also the secret passages that
riddled the old house.

He was
furiously angry with Charles. He had lost money on this enterprise,
having already laid out on expenses and been expecting a fat purse
to arrive with one of the spies. Not only Charles roused his ire,
but Maria too. He could have sworn he had succeeded in making her
his own, an enslaved creature who would obey his every wish. He had
several reasons for returning to the house; one was to collect
money for his journey; another to leave letters for Arabella and
his bank. These would be left in the care of his loyal manservant,
Johnson. But the other, most pressing reason, was to remind Maria
that she could never escape him.

He smiled
grimly as he heaved at the bramble-covered grill set over the
tunnel's entrance. It gave access to a disused folly at the far
side of the garden. From there it would be easy to enter one of the
hidden routes that would connect him to Maria's bedchamber.

Sarah had
subjected Maria to a thorough scolding when Emily brought her in
from the stable yard. 'Where have you been, my lady?' she ranted,
though her voice was shaking.

'Riding,'
Maria had answered shortly.

'At this hour?
And what happened to your clothes?'

'She took them
off to have a dip in the pool. Left them on the bank where an
animal ripped them before she could stop it,' Emily lied
convincingly, and Maria was glad of the quick-witted maid's
support.

Sarah threw
her hands in the air despairingly. 'I don't know what this world is
coming to! Lady Arabella didn't seem all that bothered when I
reported you missing. She said it was probably only a girlish
prank. Well, into bed with you, before you catch your death of
cold. I'll bring you some hot milk.'

Emily and
Maria exchanged a relieved glance and before long she was installed
in the four-poster, wearing a clean nightgown and tucked under the
covers. She drank the milk, then begged Sarah to leave a candle
burning on the side-table, the evening's events having frightened
her more than she imagined. Courageous while they were happening,
they now came back to haunt her in all their brutal vividness, and
she trembled.

Trying to fix
her thoughts on Charles and the rosy future she might share with
him, she eventually drifted into a troubled sleep to be awakened
abruptly by a hand clamping over her mouth. She struggled, unable
to move, pinned down by a solid body. The room was dark. The candle
had gone out.

'Be quiet,'
hissed an imperious voice in her ear. She obeyed, recognising the
tone. 'That's better,' said Damien. 'I'll take my hand away, if you
promise not to scream.'

She nodded and
the hand was removed, but not the body that was pinning her to the
mattress. It was Damien all right, smelling of the night and damp
air. His lips captured hers, stifling any protest and, despite
everything, her mouth parted and her tongue met his and desire
flared within her. But even so, he had some answers to give.

She twisted
away from him. 'Why did you let your brutes make free with me?' she
demanded, keeping her voice low. 'You objected to Charles touching
me, yet would have stood by and watched me being raped.'

'You ask too
many questions,' he said into the darkness. 'It was my choice to
have my men enjoy you. Bradbury was another matter entirely. You
were doing it of your own free will, forgetting that you belong to
me.'

'I belong to
no man!' Her indignation forced her to try to break free from him,
but his arms tightened.

'That is not
so. You may think you are free of me, and may have it in your mind
to even marry Bradbury, but in your heart and in your cunt you will
know that I am your master forever.'

'No! No!' she
insisted, but weakening under his onslaught. 'You would have run me
through with your sword, if Charles hadn't agreed to your
bargain.'

'Yes, I would.
You know I'm ruthless.'

He rose,
pulled her to the edge of the mattress, rolled her onto her face,
lifted her nightgown and brought the flat of his hand down on her
sore buttocks. 'Don't cry out,' he ordered.

Maria buried
her face in the sheet, muffling her sobs. He slapped her where she
had already felt the scourge, his whip marking her earlier. He
struck her again, and her flesh recognised her master's hand,
though her mind denied it. No one owned her! No man should have
domination over her! His blows flowed into one another, joining the
dark stream of sensuality that lay inside her. He was right. Deny
it though she might, he had tamed her, controlled her, and she
would never be satisfied by a tender lover. Damien had taught her
the mysteries of pain/pleasure and she would always hanker for it
now.

She hated him
for lifting the lid of this Pandora's Box, yet gloried in the
riches he had shown her within it. Even now the pain was receding
as his skilful fingers massaged her aching hinds. He pulled her
close to him, turning her so he could caress her nipples and then
replace his fingers with his lips, and cruise down her belly to her
shaven mound. He parted her crack and found she was already dewy,
spreading the fluid over her labia, folding back the lips and
stroking her clitoris. His engorged cock pressed into her side, one
thigh thrown over hers, holding her fast. She could not resist
folding her fingers around it, feeling its heat and size as if to
commit it to memory for all time.

He was an
enigma; selfish, disloyal, concerned only with his own welfare, yet
he intrigued her. Bad he undoubtedly was, but this in itself added
to his fascination. And as his skilful fingers caressed her nubbin,
circling it, rubbing it, holding off and tormenting it, then
returning, so she forgot all his evil traits. She spread herself
out in supplication, begging him to satisfy her, and he played her
like a lute, bringing forth the sweetest music. Maria rose higher
and higher, until her orgasm exploded in a firework display of
awesome release. She buried her face in his chest, stifling her
yelps of pleasure.

She felt his
prick enter and fill her, battering and thrusting and the force of
it was just what she needed, giving her something for her muscles
to contract around. Damien was on his knees between her thighs,
silhouetted against the window, a black, unearthly shape that could
have been a demon, not a man. He hurt her, his fingers like claws,
and his penis hammered into her repeatedly, gaining momentum until
he discharged, filling her with his spunk.

He had barely
finished when he withdrew completely. She grabbed at him, wanting
tenderness and reassurance. He gave neither. 'I'm leaving now. You
may never see me again. On the other hand, I shall probably
survive. As they say, "the devil looks after his own".'

'Where are you
going?' She sat up, staunching their combined fluids with the edge
of her nightgown. Time stretched bleakly ahead with no Damien to
tease, torment, and hurt her.

'Abroad.' He
was gathering up his cloak, preparing to leave. 'I shall send for
Johnson. No gentleman worth his salt can manage without his trusted
valet.'

'You'll never
return?' She wanted to light the candle and see his face.

'Not until
this war is over. Don't worry, I've left your affairs in order. You
can take over Burrington Manor now, if you wish. Your aunt and the
bank will advise you. Marry whoever you wish, even that coxcomb
Bradley, but one day you'll get a message and you'll drop
everything and come to me.'

'Ha! You're
very sure of yourself, my lord!' He still had the power to
infuriate her.

He leaned over
her and she felt his lips on her brow. 'Of course. You're my
slave-slut and always will be.'

With that he
vanished and she heard the gentle click of a secret door shutting,
a door she did not know existed. Tears filled her eyes and her heat
bled within her. Even though she knew Damien was rotten through and
through, she would never tell anyone, especially Charles, that he
had visited her in the dead of night.

Maria took
over Burrington Manor and settled down there. With her help, Robin
and Jane were forgiven by her parents for their flight to Gretna
Green and he became the new vicar of Burrington. There was no word
from Damien.

On the morning
after the coastguards had arrested the French spies and those who
were helping them, no one associated the disappearance of the
viscount with these exciting events. It was his habit to come and
go at short notice, and his agent had been primed to look after
Raven Towers. Coutts Bank, in London, had instructions to manage
his business affairs and Arabella already knew what to do about
Maria's manor and property if he vanished for a long spell.

'Hey-ho, my
dear. Don't worry your pretty head about anything,' Arabella had
said, getting ready to return to the capital and all the delights
of the Winter Season. 'I shall consult with the lawyers and the
bank and they will follow his instructions.'

They did, and
Maria returned to her home that had been cared for by a housekeeper
and steward, opened it up and had a splendid Christmas gathering
where everyone was invited. Charles enthused about the estate.

'It's an
artist's paradise. Think of the landscapes I can paint, to say
nothing of a formal portrait of yourself; mistress of all you
survey. You can hang it in the Long Gallery, among those of your
forebears.' She refused to give him the answer he craved, relishing
her newfound freedom, but he was persistent.

'Will you
marry me?' he asked again, as they lay in her bed in the master
chamber. It was Boxing Day and she was to spend it taking presents
and food round to all the villagers, as was the custom.

She had been
expecting this and now pondered on it once again. For weeks she had
heard nothing from Damien, who seemed to have disappeared from the
face of the earth. Testing Charles, she had shown him that she
liked him to be masterful in the bedroom. Nothing averse, he had
become adept at putting her over his knee and spanking her or even
taking a whip to her. She had soon discovered that this gave him a
substantial erection.

'Do you want
to beat an acceptance out of me?' she invited, pushing aside the
coverlet and stretching voluptuously.

'You
tantalising little witch,' he snarled, half amused, half irritated
and, snatching her up, he spread her across his lap and slapped her
bottom, not as hard as Damien would have done, but enough to
satisfy her need to be aroused in such a manner.

After this he
treated her roughly, pushing her down on the mattress and taking
his pleasure of her. Responding fervently, her bottom stinging, she
reached an almighty climax.

She rested in his arms, stroking his hair and purring like a
contented cat, but all the time remembering the letter Damien had
left for her in Johnson's care, and which he had delivered the
morning after his master had fled. It had read,
Come to me in the Indies. You know you want to. No other can
give you the pleasure that I can. You need controlling, and I'm the
man to do it. Travel with Johnson, who will be leaving
soon
.

There had been
more in this vein, and she thought about it a great deal, but had
now made up her mind. She would accept Charles's proposal and, if
in the future Damien returned, she might permit him to be her
lover. Whatever happened, he had taught her well and far from being
his slave, she had grown into an independent woman who knew what
she wanted. She was grateful for this, and could be his submissive
or control him. Had he tamed her? Partly, she supposed, though it
was impossible to entirely subdue someone as self-willed as
herself.

The
Darkest Master
,
available to download now...

The blindfold was uncomfortable, the knot tangling with her
hair, but the worst part was not being able to see him and judge
what he had in mind. If the eyes are windows of the soul, then she
had no way of telling if his was beautiful or ugly and
twisted
...

Fleeing a
failed relationship, Kirsty buys a business and a cottage in
Cornwall. But set up in the hills behind the cottage is a strange
house and in it lives the reclusive Dirk Stratten; rich and remote,
but devastatingly attractive.