Bella and the Beast (15 page)

He subjected her to the Ducal Stare. “You were indeed an eyewitness to his betrayal. Though a rather useless one, it would seem.”

Stung, Bella stepped back, letting her hand drop to her side. “Then why don't you prod my memory?”

“How so?”

“When Hasani told me about you saving me from the burning tent, it caused me to remember the incident. So tell me about that night and the following day. Give me all the details. Where was I? Who was I with? What was I doing?”

He made a dismissing gesture. “How the devil should I know? In case you've forgotten, my father had just been murdered. I was a bit too busy to pay heed to a pesky little girl.”

His nettlesome temper exasperated her. “Then there is no way that I can help you, Your Grace. I'll bid you good night.”

She brushed past him, intending to march out the door of the study. But his fingers clamped around her upper arm, dragging her around to face him. His eyes were intent on her, burning with anger and something else. Something that made her heart skip a beat.

“You aren't going anywhere,” he growled. “Not until you give me my due.”

“Your due?”

“I warned you not to enter my private quarters. Or there would be the devil to pay.”

He hauled her close, molding her to the hard length of his body. With one strong arm locked around her waist, he used his other hand to tilt her face up to his. She caught her breath, inhaling a light, unfamiliar scent along with his masculine spice. Before she could identify it, his mouth came down on hers with raw, unbridled passion.

The speed of his assault momentarily disoriented Bella. Never in her life had she been kissed, let alone with such fervor. The jolt of pleasure she experienced when his tongue pressed between her lips was so startling, so unfamiliar, that she struggled in his arms and tried to turn her head away. His hand glided over her throat, cupping her jaw and holding her firmly in place.

As his mouth grew more coaxing, an irresistible desire swept away her resistance. His body felt like a bonfire that heated every inch of her. He tasted of brandy, and she felt giddy from the drink of his kiss. The pressure of his lips, the sweep of his tongue, ignited strings of pleasure that unraveled down into her core.

On the rare occasions when she'd wondered how it felt to be held by a man, she had imagined a chaste peck, a brief embrace, not this wild seduction of her senses. The rough pads of his fingers traveled over her neck and upward to trace the curve of her ear, then slid into her hair to loosen her bun. A delicious shiver made her gasp, and she leaned closer, lifting her arms around him and returning the kiss with instinctive ardor.

Miles. This was Miles, whom she had known long ago, Miles who had saved her from certain death as a child. Now, it felt as if he were breathing new life into her once again, opening the door to forbidden pleasures, stirring an awareness of just how drab and colorless her existence had been without him.

When he kissed a path down to the hollow of her throat, she tilted her head back to accommodate him. The brush of his lips on her bare skin was pure heaven. Her eyes were closed, the better to savor the sensations he aroused. Her legs felt so shaky that if not for the support of his muscled arm, she would have melted into a puddle at his feet.

His fingers moved to her bosom, tracing the fullness of one breast and rubbing the peak. A moan rose from deep within her. Despite the gown and corset, she felt a flush of heat that radiated throughout her body and weakened her limbs. The vibrations stirred by his touch scorched her very center and throbbed in her veins.

“Bella,” he rasped, nuzzling her throat. “I knew you had fire under all that ice. We belong together.”

Her heart leaped at his stunning avowal. Did Miles truly think they were meant for each other? He was usually so aloof, so cold, so beastly. But perhaps that was merely the wall he'd erected around his emotions. Perhaps this kiss had made him, too, feel the deep connection between them, for their lives had intersected twice now.

Never before had she felt such an intense attraction to any man. The feelings he inflamed in her were new and exciting, and she ached to learn more about him, to become closer in mind and soul.

He nibbled on the lobe of her ear, feeding the fire within her. She felt his hands slide down her back to cup her bottom and press their hips together. The silken whisper of his voice tickled her ear. “I want you in my bed, Bella. Right now. Give yourself to me, and I'll make you the happiest of women.”

In my bed.

Those words penetrated her sensual reverie, and she opened her eyes to the dim-lit study. She was gazing down at his dark head as he kissed her neck. At the chocolate-brown hair that was still mussed from his earlier tryst with a concubine.

He intended to use her as he had that other woman. Lust ruled him, nothing more. That thought flitted through her mind, yet she didn't want to believe it.

“Come with me,” he murmured. “You're curious, aren't you? Allow me to educate you in the art of lovemaking. We'll have all night together, just you and I.”

As he spoke, Miles drew her toward the door, his lips warm against her temple, his hands feathering over her throat and bosom. Her traitorous body responded to his touch, and Bella found herself tempted to succumb. To let him introduce her to the mysteries of fleshly desires.

The shock of her own weakness broke the spell. He wanted her to give to him what rightfully belonged only to a husband. This nobleman would take what he wanted and then walk away.

She writhed against his hold. “No,” she said, her voice sounding far too unsteady. “No, let me go, Miles.”

Instead of relenting, he brought his lips down on hers again, not in the wild manner of before, but sipping at her mouth in soft, persuasive kisses that sapped her of the ability to think. His fingers tenderly stroked her face. “Bella, darling. Please don't deny me. I want you so very much. You're a fever in my blood.”

A gravelly sincerity vibrated in his voice. Miles meant every word. He desired her with all his being. The knowledge, rich and sweet, lured her beyond reason. It was flattering, enticing, enthralling, and nourishment to her starving heart.

Taking advantage of her vacillation, his nimble fingers shifted to the back of her gown, undoing the top few buttons, caressing bare skin while he murmured sweet nothings in her ear. As he touched a sensitive spot along her spine, she sucked in a quick breath. In so doing, she caught another whiff of the lighter fragrance intermingled with his masculine scent, and this time she realized what it was.

Flowery perfume.

The smell of his concubine.

A cold wave of revulsion doused her desire. In its wake, anger rose so quickly that it sickened her.
We belong together.
What a fool she had been to believe that—even for a moment! The Duke of Aylwin thought nothing of going from one woman to another, all in the same night.

He considered it his right. His due.

She must not be his next conquest. He would take her virtue, ruin her without a qualm. He was worse than a thief plotting to steal her last coin.

In desperation, Bella groped in her pocket and whipped out the dagger. Pressing the sharp tip beneath his jaw, she hissed, “Filthy dog! Release me at once. Or die.”

 

Chapter 12

Miles froze as the blade pricked the underside of his jaw. His passion-hazed mind struggled to comprehend her threat. A moment ago, Bella had been kissing him. Responding to his caresses with passionate abandon. Granted, she had resisted him once or twice, but surely that was only to be expected from a virginal spinster.

What the hell had just happened?

He stared down into her ferocious blue eyes. Her breasts rose and fell with quick, angry breaths. The tip of the knife pressed into his skin. One hard upward thrust and she would slice open his jugular. He would bleed out in seconds.

The prospect chilled his ardor.

She wouldn't kill him, he told himself. She wouldn't dare.

Yet doubt held him motionless. Bella Jones lacked the prissy refinement of other ladies. She had been raised in a wild, uncivilized region of the world. The workings of her mind eluded and intrigued him.

Perhaps it was that very unpredictability that made him mad for her. Even now. While she held a knife to his throat.

“I'll let go of you,” he said. “Have a care with that blade.”

It wasn't in his nature to retreat. Nevertheless, Miles stepped back, his hands raised, his palms open to show that he meant her no harm. His kiss had overwhelmed her, that was all. Bella was inexperienced, and for that reason, he should not have been so insistent in pressing his attentions on her.

But all logic and wisdom had fled him the moment he'd taken her into his arms. He didn't understand his own intense reaction. He usually kept a cool head even in the heat of the moment.

Bella's hostile gaze tracked his every move as he went to his desk and sat down on the edge of it. A few strands of glossy brown hair had tumbled down around her shoulders. Her mouth had the soft redness of a thoroughly kissed woman. There was nothing spinsterish about her now. She looked as fierce and untamed as the lion goddess Sekhmet.

He had never seen a more desirable woman. Or one more bossy and vexing. Rationality told him that Isabella Jones was the last female he should ever pursue. But his body spoke otherwise.

She lowered her arm, her fingers gripping the ivory hilt of a small knife. The blade glinted in the candlelight.

A nasty jolt of surprise struck Miles. That was
her
dagger, the one he had confiscated. Only a few days ago, he had stashed the weapon in the bottom drawer of his desk for safekeeping.

There was only one way she could have found it.

His temper flared, a vent for his physical frustration. “I see that you searched more than my storeroom. You've also been rummaging through my desk.”

She elevated her chin. “This dagger is my property, not yours. It was a special gift from my father.
He
trusted me with it.”

Her devotion to Sir Seymour irritated Miles to no end. He had resented the man for so many years that he found it difficult to fathom her defense of him. At one time, he too had venerated Sir Seymour. Until he had vanished into the night and left Miles to fend for himself.

Bella Jones was the only one who might know why—even if that reason was buried in the recesses of her mind. There had to be some hidden clue that he could coax out of her memory. Until then, she would have to be placated.

“Keep the damned thing if you wish,” he growled. “But if you ever draw that dagger on me again, it's mine for good. Is that understood?”

She gazed coolly at him. “I will use it as necessary for protection, Your Grace. That is why Papa gave it to me. To guard against villains.”

Miles was livid. She had the audacity to label him a villain? It wasn't as if he'd forced himself on her—at least not much. And she had enjoyed his kiss, dammit. Maybe he'd taken it a bit too far for a virgin, but that was all he'd concede.

“May I remind you,” he said icily, “you defied my explicit order to stay out of the west wing. I warned you there would be consequences.”

“That doesn't give you leave to press your … your
lust
on me. You may be a duke, but I am not a serf to be used at your will!”

“Yet I
am
your employer.” No one ever spoke to him in such an impudent manner. No one else dared. He stood up, elevating his voice almost to a shout. “
I
make the rules in this house. It is your duty to obey them. For that matter, you are never to enter this room again without my permission.”

“And
you
are never to touch
me
again without
my
permission.” She raked him with a glare of contempt. “Especially when you reek of your concubine's perfume.”

Bella spun around, her blue skirt flaring, allowing him a glimpse of the white stockings over her tattooed ankles and those fancy garnet slippers. Dagger in hand, she marched out the door of the study.

Miles stood riveted to the plush carpet. As he stared at the empty doorway, his anger receded and left him empty. He couldn't have moved if his life had depended upon it.

Bella knew where he'd gone tonight? That he'd been with a harlot? Had she merely guessed because of the perfume? Or had the servants been gossiping?

The answer didn't signify. All that mattered was that her words cast a whole new light on her rejection of him. Bella had been melting in his arms, ardent and eager, every bit as aroused as he had been. Then she had noticed the fragrance on his skin. And she had been justifiably furious. No lady wanted to be a man's second choice.

He ought to feel triumphant. She had rejected him out of jealousy, that was all.

Or was it something more?

An unfamiliar discomfort nagged at him, and it took a moment for Miles to identify it as shame. He was ashamed of his conduct tonight. He had been arrogant in assuming Bella would welcome the invitation to share his bed. Arrogant in thinking he had the right to seduce her. Arrogant in attributing her reaction to jealousy, too. Rather, she was disgusted to be regarded as another conquest in his string of women.

Miles stalked to the window to stare out at the night-darkened garden. Yes, he had behaved badly. He had the sexual experience that Bella lacked, and he had wielded that power like a sword to cut away her defenses. He had been driven by his own desires without a care for her innocence. He had ignored the fact that Bella was an educated woman and a lady despite her unconventional upbringing.

She deserved better than to be treated like a paid whore.

*   *   *

The following afternoon, Bella brashly invited herself to tea with Mrs. Witheridge and Mr. Pinkerton. She had several questions to ask them about Miles and his past. Questions that might require a bit of diplomacy since they were two of his most devoted servants.