A Terrible Beauty (Season of the Furies Book 1) (14 page)

She stepped towards him, her hands clasped in front of her generous breasts as if in supplication. It would do her no good. He would not be moved by her lies again. “Michael I must speak to you about Drew. I never meant to tell him about, well, us.” Her cheeks flushed prettily. She really was quite good in her role of budding seductress. “He came to see me, you see, and he told me that you'd....”

Time grew short. Besides, if she continued to talk about Drew he'd start screaming at her, or worse. He only had so much self-control, so he cut her off. “We can talk about my brother another time,” he murmured, catching her by the shoulders and sweeping he into his arms. “Right now I want to speak of the future, not the past. The young fool did us a favor by getting out of our way.”

“Drew isn't a fool,” she began, frowning in confusion, but Michael silenced her with a kiss. Within seconds she melted against him, her defense of Drew forgotten.

“Ever since the night we first danced I haven't been able to stop thinking about you. It's not simply your face, Araby, though God knows you’re a beautiful woman. It's your spirit, your wit – the way you seize life with so much joy.” He realized he spoke the truth to her in that moment and it made him angrier than ever. He grabbed her by the upper arms and pulled more firmly against him. “Damn it, I don't want you to marry that prig Iredale. You belong to me.” He brought his mouth down on hers, pouring all the passion he could into her – feigned or not. She opened her mouth to him and made that soft, small sound of hers that told him she took pleasure in his kiss. His cock stiffened at the sound. He eased his tongue into her mouth, releasing a groan of his own as she sucked lightly on it and then darted her own tongue to meet his. Michael pressed harder against her, momentarily lost in the sensation of her eagerness and her very real passion.

He cupped her breasts, teasing her nipples between his thumb and forefinger. She groaned his name and Michael wedged his knee between her legs. He wanted to take her down on the floor and toss up her skirts. He wanted to make her to beg for him before he rammed himself into her. His hands reached around her back and deftly unhooked the top two hooks of her gown. He slid his hands into the bodice and worked the neckline down until he exposed her corset cover. With an expertise born from years of experience he popped her breasts free of their silken prison. He moaned as he took one perfect, ruby tip into his mouth. She was exquisite, divine.

Araby whimpered as she twisted her fingers in his hair, compelling him to continue laving her breasts – first one then the other. He needed no inducement. He wanted her in spite of everything, damn her. He wanted her legs wrapped around his waist bucking against him as he plunged in and out of her. Oh, yes, he wanted her and he hated her for that most of all. She gave a sweet sob of frustration as she tried to straddle his leg. He drew her skirts upwards.

“You're so lovely, so perfect, my sweet little belle,” Michael kissed her neck.

“Please, Michael, I don't know what's happening to me. I don't...I can't...I.”

This mouth swept back to claim hers. “Hush, sweeting. Trust me. I know what you need. Give yourself over to me.”

She pulled back from him abruptly, an age old question in her eyes. “Do you love me, Michael?” her eyes shimmered with emotion and damn her, damn her, it looked like hope. “I would give you anything, everything if I knew you loved me.”

He felt as if he'd been tossed into an icy river. He wanted to mount her, claim her as his own, and that had never been his plan. He couldn't risk the consequences of completely deflowering her though he wanted to so very badly. God forbid he get her with child. Michael leaned his forehead against hers, gasping for breath and searching for some of his notorious control. “Yes,” he rasped, “yes, I love you.” Then he spoke the most damning lie of all, telling himself she deserved it. “I want to marry you Araby. I won't let Iredale have you.”

She cried out and launched herself against him clinging to him as she sobbed his name. “I love you too Michael. I love you so much. You don't know what you mean to me. I'd never dared hope you could feel the same.” She pulled back from him and the tears flowing down her face almost made him stop – almost made him believe her. Almost.

“We'll find Drew, darling. We'll find him and bring him home, together.” The sound of his brother's name on her lying lips strengthened his resolve. She deserved this, he told himself. She deserved far worse.

“Let me pleasure you, darling,” he crooned. “Let me show you a woman's glory.” He worked her skirts upwards and stroked his hand along her inner thigh. She pushed at his hand.

“Michael, I...I don't think... What if we're discovered?”

“We're to be married, love,” he whispered against her ear. “Besides you saw me lock the door.” He found the slit in her pantalettes and eased his fingers inside them to touch her feminine core. She gasped at the sudden sensation. His thumb sought the shy nub at the top of her sex and began to circle it gently. Araby jerked in his arms and dug her fingers into his shoulders. He continued to tease her until she pressed herself more firmly against his hand. “This is what you want, what you need,” he said, biting her earlobe. Michael carefully slipped his forefinger inside her as she began to tremble. He worked the digit in and out of her as she clung to him, her breath coming in shallow pants. Araby arched her back bringing herself as close to his hand as she could. Michael increased the friction as her hips pumped it time with his finger. His other hand kneaded her breast. She was almost there.

“Araby,” he snarled. “Look at me. Now.” He snapped out the last as a command that couldn't be disobeyed. He dropped the romantic mask from his eyes and let the fury, the rage he felt fill his eyes. “I want you to watch me make you come. I want you to remember this night for the rest of your life. My fingers in your quim, you riding my hand as randy as any ha'penny slut. You want this, don't you? Say it,” he barked. “Say that you want me to fuck you.” She looked up at him, confusion filling her eyes while the needs of her body drove her relentlessly on. He had her now. He could demand anything he liked of her and she would give it to him. “Say it,” he growled, his eyes burning into hers while she whimpered her need. “Say, 'Finger fuck me, Michael’,” he commanded. He slowed his movements and began to withdraw his hand.

“No, Michael,” she pleaded. “Please, I need you to, I don't know what, but please, don't stop. Don't leave me.”

He grabbed the back of her neck and forced her to look at him as he continued his slow, agonizing ministrations, his own cock throbbing against the inside of his trousers. “Then say it, ma petite belle,” he crooned. “Say it and I'll make you fly.” She looked afraid of him. He didn't care at this point. Let her see his anger, his hatred. It was too late for her to escape anyway. “Say it,” he repeated, lacing his words with menace.

“Please...finger f..fuck me, Michael,” she said, her voice ending on a broken note.

He began working his hand in earnest again. Araby cried out as she clung to him, helpless to do anything else but feel. He wasn't done yet. He’d make certain tonight stayed burned in her memory. “Say, 'pretty please',” he demanded. She dropped her gaze and muttered the words he'd commanded. Her limbs began to shake. It wouldn't be long now. “Look at me,” he ground out. “You're going to come hard and for the rest of your life you'll know I was the first man to make you feel like this.” She began to shudder and he swallowed her cry with his mouth while he milked her orgasm from her body drawing it out long and slow as she rode his hand until the final tremors drained away. She tried to collapse against him but he held her back grabbing her by the back of the head so she was forced to look at him. He shook her slightly to gain her attention, not hard, because his words were a much more effective weapon. “Every time a man fucks you. You'll remember tonight. You'll remember how you begged me for it, how you stood here rocking and moaning with your pretty ballgown down to your waist while I fingered your cunny and twisted your pretty little tits.” He removed his hands and she stumbled with the suddenness of his withdrawal.

He made no move to aid her. “What are you saying, Michael? Another man? You said we would be married. You said you that you loved me.”

He laughed making it an unpleasant sound. “I lied, my sweet, but then, lies are something you know a great deal about, don't you.” He pulled out his handkerchief and made a show of wiping his hand. “You're not too bad for a little slap and tickle. Perhaps I should teach you how to pleasure me with that succulent little mouth of yours. A little practice and some more effort on your part and I dare say you'll become passable bed sport.” He tucked the linen back into his pocket. “Still think a little trollop like you is too good for my brother?” He heard the unmistakable sounds of men in the hallway outside of the parlor. Damn it, Rafe was early. He tossed the key to the door onto a nearby table. Araby watched his movements, her face still curiously blank. She still didn't grasp the significance of the noise in the hall. “It would appear I forgot to lock the door after all,” he drawled. The bodice of her gown was still pulled below her breasts, but she stood there, her eyes wide and staring as if in shock and against his will he felt the stirrings of regret. He steeled himself against any form of compassion. This girl had tried to play both him and his brother for idiots and now she paid the price.

“Cover yourself, you little fool,” he snapped, but she continued to stand there, her breathing shallow making no effort to save herself as the doorknob turned.

“You can't mean this, Michael. You can't,” she whispered brokenly as one lone tear trickled down her cheek. “I love you.”

“So be it,” he said roughly, as he pulled her back into his arms for the final scene. He brought his mouth angrily down upon hers. She didn't even try to fight him. Rafe Kingsford strolled into the room. Michael tore his mouth from Araby's and watched the other man's eyes gleam with satisfaction he viewed the tableau in front of him. He turned to regard the man trailing behind him, Viscount Iredale.

“Sorry, old man, it appears we've stumbled into the wrong room,” he said jovially. “I say, Iredale, isn't that your fiancee´ with her gown half off?”

His words did what Michael's couldn't. With a cry Araby tore herself from his arms and turned her back to the men while she struggled to tuck herself inside her corset and pull up the bodice of her gown. Michael stepped in front of her, shielding her from their view. He faced Iredale who stood silent, his gaze traveling between Michael and Araby. He'd turned the color of parchment, his jaw clenching as he struggled to contain his anger. Michael watched him closely. He was willing to take a blow or two for the sake of the man's pride. He certainly deserved them for compromising another man's fiancee´, but regardless of his feelings about Araby, Michael could not simply walk away and leave her to deal with a violent man. He would never allow Iredale to strike her. She'd been punished enough. Her engagement had come to an abrupt and very ugly end.

Tonight's events left him feeling tired and jaded. Drew was bent on heading into the maelstrom brewing in eastern Europe because of this half-dressed, trembling chit behind him. She'd destroyed what little connection Michael had left with his family and he'd taken his revenge against her, raw and vicious as it was. Now, he simply wanted to be done. Still, part of him longed to order both Rafe and Iredale from the room. No matter that the Incomparable Araby had earned her fate, he didn't like Kingsford leering at her. He fought the urge to wrap his coat around her shoulders. He glared at Rafe, silently cursing the other man's unabashed enjoyment of her humiliation. Revenge had lost all sweetness and now burned like acid in Michael's gut.

“Come along, Lassiter,” Rafe Kingsford said heartily. “Let's leave the love birds alone to sort out their differences, shall we?” Michael hesitated and for the life of him he didn't know why he should. It was over. As her fiance´, soon to be former fiance´, Iredale had more rights here than any of them and it was his place to resolve the rest of the matter. Michael headed for the door. He paused as he reached Iredale, offering the man a chance at redress. Iredale remained silent and unmoving. Michael leaned closer to him and delivered a whispered warning. “Lay one finger on her in anger and I will kill you.” He continued on his way to the door.

Behind him he heard Rafe offer a parting shot as he followed Michael. “Oh, and Iredale?” Kingsford said. “Let me know when you're done with her. I might want to be next.” Michael heard Araby give a broken sob and he forced himself not to turn around and go back. He'd done this to her and he told himself it served her right. She'd suffered horrible humiliation tonight, but the incident would remain private. Iredale wouldn't talk for fear of worse scandal than a broken engagement attaching itself to his family and neither Kingsford and Ambrose had any wish to see the man publicly embarrassed. Their revenge against Araby ended by her losing the title she'd so desperately wanted and by her loss of standing because of a broken engagement to a peer of the realm. Next season would see her married to some squire, or knight, but there would be no further consequences other than her embarrassment whenever she faced any of these men in the years to come.

Michael heard his own voice echoing in his head,
‘
you'll know I was the first man to make you feel like this
.
’ And so will I, he thought. As the door to the parlor shut behind them Michael told himself it didn't matter.

***

Araby worked to tug her bodice into place. She'd destroyed everything. Like a fool she'd trusted that Michael loved her enough to forget her hasty words to Drew. Enough? He didn't love her at all. He never had and she'd allowed herself to betray an honorable man, destroying everything, even herself. She felt nothing but a great, cold emptiness inside her. There was no place to feel anything in that void yet, not even fear. Fear would come later. Her hands shook and she realized with despair that the two hooks at the back of her gown were still undone and that she had no hope of fastening them herself. What was the proper etiquette for a situation like this? Should she ask for Iredale's assistance? She gave a choked sob as she gave up and turned to face the man, who in her foolishness she'd so gravely wronged. He held himself still, his expression drawn and she instinctively stayed quiet waiting for the explosion of temper that was bound to come. Minutes later she still waited. Iredale quietly reached to take her arm and turned her back to him. He fastened the hooks and then turned her back towards him. If Araby lived to be 1000 she would never forget the pain and sadness in his eyes. She began to cry.