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Authors: Anna Campbell

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BOOK: Claiming the Courtesan
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K
ylemore lay awake in the barren little room he’d claimed for himself in this hated house. It wasn’t the room he’d used as a boy. Neither pride nor will could make him sleep in that particular chamber: It remained empty and abandoned at the end of the corridor.

Empty, that is, of everything except the screaming ghosts that returned to rupture his slumber.

He’d dream again tonight. He knew it. And in his extremity, he’d find no soft comfort, no warm arms to embrace him, no whispered words of reassurance.

Verity wouldn’t come to him. Why would she?

He hadn’t seen her since he’d left her to sleep on her own last night. Perhaps it was best if he never saw her again.

Hamish could take her by boat along the loch and down to Oban, where she could arrange passage to Whitby. Hamish would undertake the task with alacrity. His old mentor had always disapproved of Kylemore’s treatment of his mistress.

With good reason.

He shifted restlessly. Physically, he was exhausted. He’d set off on Tannasg just after dawn and stayed out until nightfall with precisely that aim. But his mind refused to settle. It felt so wrong to be in here alone when the woman he wanted slept just down the hallway.

The woman who had nearly died because of his transgressions.

No matter how hard or how far he rode, he couldn’t outrun his guilt-plagued memories. His black despair when Verity had fallen. The unalloyed terror in her eyes as she’d clung to the mountainside. Her collapse into unconsciousness after he’d rescued her.

He’d told Hamish he wanted to break her. Damn it, that had been the point of this entire misguided exercise.

But contrary to every expectation, he’d found no satisfaction in seeing her humbled last night.

When she’d made it clear she would endure his presence in her bed because she had no alternative.

Once, a willing and cooperative mistress was all he’d sought. Once, he wouldn’t have hesitated to take what she’d offered. But that was when he’d only known Soraya.

Soraya would tolerate his attentions.

Verity, the Verity he’d come to know in the last days, would suffer as she lay beneath him. As she’d suffered since he’d brought her to the glen.

He was tired of self-deception. He could no longer pretend she masked her desire for him with false reluctance.

No, she’d told him repeatedly she despised him. It was time he had the courage to accept that as the truth.

Oh, yes, he gave her pleasure, but that pleasure wounded her like a knife. She hated him for seducing her. Worse, she hated herself for being weak enough to respond.

He’d always feared his passion would lead to devastation.

It was too late for him. It had been too late the moment
he’d seen her six years ago. He should never have pursued her when she’d left Kensington. But if he let her go now, surely she’d be able to escape his catastrophic obsession.

He must let her go.

Releasing her would be the most difficult thing he’d ever do. But if keeping her meant risk to her life and sanity, he had to set her free.

Her scream as she’d fallen down the cliff still echoed in his mind and made his gut clench with horror. He’d come so close to losing her. And now it seemed he was to lose her indeed.

Yesterday, he’d learned a number of salutary lessons. None welcome. All well overdue. Among them, that he’d leap over that cliff himself before he caused her one iota more of pain.

Unseeingly, he stared out into the darkness and swore he’d do the right thing. For once.

He had no choice, damn it all to hell.

The harrowing decision made, he tried for the thousandth time that night to sleep. But wisdom in hindsight proved an unsettling companion. Especially when the woman he wanted was forever out of reach.

Forever.

What a bleak word.

Christ, if only he could sleep. Even bad dreams would be an improvement on lying here contemplating life without her.

He stifled a groan. The pain was too sharp.

He couldn’t bear it.

I can bear it. For her sake.

He rolled over with another groan. The sheets chafed his naked skin. His muscles were sore from yesterday’s exertions and today’s long ride. He needed rest, but the endless night extended ahead of him as a desolate watch.

The first of many. His only consolation was that finally,
too late and after the damage was done, he’d found the will to act like a man.

If only dawn would come.

But when dawn came, he must say good-bye to Verity.

God, let the night never end.

 

It was well past midnight when Kylemore heard the latch rattle. He rolled over and watched as slowly the door swung open.

Flickering, golden light illuminated the darkness. Dazzled, disbelieving, he looked up to see Verity on the threshold. Her candle made her eyes glow dark and mysterious in her pale face. A silk robe was loosely belted at her slender waist, and her glorious hair tumbled loose around her.

Being strong was difficult enough when he had only his regrets for company. With the focus of his every desire hovering so close, resolution was well nigh impossible.

Then he realized only an emergency would force her to seek him out. In an instant, concern had him shoving himself up against the headboard.

“Verity, are you all right?” he asked, his voice edged with urgency. Had she taken a fever?

“Perfectly, thank you.”

He couldn’t doubt she meant it. Her voice was calm, even carried a hint of amusement, and her face was grave but strangely untroubled. She held the candle so steadily that the flame hardly wavered in the still air.

His astonishment mounted. If she wasn’t ill, what in the Devil’s name was she up to?

Surprise and confusion pinned him to the bed as the door clicked shut behind her. She set the candle on the plain deal dresser. When she moved, he caught the shadowy outline of breast and thigh through her thin robe. His ferocious need ratcheted higher.

His conscience insisted he had no right to touch her. His body most emphatically disagreed. To confirm this, his cock rose, eager, ready, unruly. Thank God the bedclothes hid his arousal. He was more than a brute animal, he told himself without conviction.

She drifted toward him in a rustle of silk. The uncertain light revealed a smile that was pure Soraya. Seductive. Knowing. Confident. In another woman, he’d have interpreted the gleam in her eyes as desire.

But this was Verity, and he knew better.

“What the hell do you want?” he asked sharply, summoning anger as his only defense.

Had she come here to make him suffer? If so, she succeeded, damn her.

“I want you,” she said huskily.

He closed his eyes in anguish. How he’d longed to hear her say those words. But circumstances had changed—
he had changed
—in the last few days.

“I don’t believe you,” he snapped, resentful because he wished so desperately that what she said was true.

“You will.”

Her voice rang with sincerity as she padded nearer. Her slim, elegant feet brushed across the floorboards. The night wasn’t cold, but still he fought the impulse to pick her up and carry her back to her bed. His control was so frail that if he touched her, he was lost.

“You don’t have to do this,” he bit out while his wanton blood beat out the command to take her, take her, take her.

“Yes, I do,” she said without a hint of faltering.

God, why did she stand so close? Her damned evocative scent wrapped around him and lured him to sin.

God, why didn’t she stand closer still so he could tear off that concealing robe and tug her under him?

“You owe me nothing. You were right to call me a thief.”
His tone grated as he made the difficult confession. He looked away into the shadowy corner and spoke in a voice that was dull with hard-held self-restraint. “I’ve given up revenge. I’ve given up forcing you. I’ve given up asking anything of you at all.”

She leaned over him, releasing another tantalizing eddy of scent, subtle rose soap and woman. “You talk too much,” she whispered. “Where’s my ferocious lover gone? Where’s the demon Duke of Kylemore?”

What?

He whipped his head around. Unbelievably, she still smiled. His hands fisted in the sheets as he battled the urge to grab her.

She was so close that he felt her warmth. But his sins against her exiled him forever to an icy hell.

“Stop it,” he snarled. “Listen to me! I’ve set you free.”

Her presence was sheerest torment.

He thought he’d die if she left him alone.

He spoke on a surge of self-hatred. “I should never have started this cruel nonsense in the first place.”

“It’s too late for regrets,” she said softly.

“Yes.”

Too late to redeem himself and become worthy of her, certainly. There was a universe of sorrow in the thought.

His mind rehearsed the endless litany. He should never have hunted her down at Whitby. He should never have forced her into his carriage—at gunpoint, he recalled with corrosive shame. He should never have bullied her into his bed.

Although without the abduction, he’d never have really known her. He’d go through hellfire itself before he forsook that privilege.

But she, not you, went through hellfire. She almost lost her life yesterday.

“I’m letting you go.” His voice shook with desperation.

“Are you?” she asked idly.

After her long struggle to escape him, he’d have expected her to sound more than merely interested when he granted her freedom. Baffled, he stared into the exquisite face that had haunted him for so many years.

“Don’t torment me.”

“You deserve it,” she said without heat.

And without moving away, damn her.

“Yes, I do. But the Devil if I’ll lie here and let you sink your damned claws into me, little cat.”

Her luscious mouth curled upward. “I think you might.”

His screaming tension tightened to breaking point as he strove to banish the sensual images her words sent rocketing through his mind. She played a dangerous game to tease him like this. He shifted higher up against the pillows until his eyes were level with hers.

“Go away, Verity,” he said with difficulty.

Stay, Verity,
his heart pleaded.

“That’s not what you want,” she whispered.

He couldn’t take much more of this. “It’s what you want that matters.”

She bent closer, and he heard her shaky inhalation before she spoke. “I think…” She hesitated, then continued in a rush. “I think that’s why I can be here with you now.”

Then impossibly, she kissed him.

It was a kiss unlike anything he’d ever known. Her mouth was soft, coaxing, inviting. She summoned the arts Soraya had so carefully cultivated, yet beneath hovered the poignant innocence he’d always recognize as Verity’s.

He was helpless to stop himself from kissing her back with all the fiery yearning in his heart. He plunged his hand into her silky mass of hair. It slid cool and fragrant against his
fingers as her mouth branded his with heat. She slid down so she lay across his bare chest, and she twined her arms around his neck, bringing him closer.

Before he drowned in dark ravishment, he tore his mouth from hers.

“For God’s sake, I’m trying to do what’s right,” he panted, staring down into her flushed face. He clung to his scruples by only the thinnest thread.

“Oh, Kylemore.” Her smoky laugh brushed like exquisite torture across every nerve.

Despairingly, he thought he’d give her everything he owned if she’d only once call him Justin.

“Why are you doing this?” he grated out even while his arms tensed to keep her in his embrace. “Why, Verity?”

Her fingers tangled in the hair at his nape. “Don’t you know? Can’t you see?” Her eyes were clear as they met his. “The war is over. I’ve laid down my weapons. The victory is yours.”

“So easily?” He didn’t trust her capitulation. In spite of the kiss. In spite of the fact that she offered this sinner a paradise he thought he’d never attain. “You told me you hated me. You
should
hate me for what I’ve done to you.”

Her expression darkened at the reminder. “Yes, I did hate you. But I can’t hate you any more. I nearly died yesterday. And I don’t want to die before I give myself unreservedly to the man I want. You’re the man I want, Kylemore.”

He was speechless with wonder. She was brave, braver by far than he. She was beautiful. And despite his crimes against her, she committed herself to his keeping.

His heart contracted within him. After all the misery and violence and pain and anger, he could hardly believe safe harbor beckoned. Safe harbor where the woman he yearned for wanted him in return.

The concession seemed so simple. The concession changed
his life.

She gazed into his face. Tears glittered in her eyes, and her expression was stark with need. “Do you want me to beg, Kylemore? I will if that’s what it takes.” Her voice cracked.

“For pity’s sake, no!”

How could she doubt him after his years of ceaseless hunger? He clutched her to him, so close her tears flowed damp against his shoulder.

His voice shook with turbulent emotion. “Don’t cry,
mo leannan
. I’m yours for the asking. I’ve always been yours. You could give me no more precious gift than yourself.”

She drew away and wiped a shaking hand across her face before, surprisingly, she gave a broken laugh. “What are you waiting for, then?”

She’d told him she wanted him, and he most definitely wanted her. What, indeed, was he waiting for? He reached out to untie her robe and slide it from her shoulders.

“My God,” he breathed. “What have you got on?”

She glanced down at her sheer ice-blue silk negligee. The intensity seeped from her expression, and she smiled with sudden humor.

“Don’t you recognize it? I suspect it cost you a fortune at Madame Yvette’s.”

“It was worth every penny,” he said hoarsely.

In the candlelight, the slippery material hid, then revealed, the curve of a hip, the jut of a breast, the shadowy apex of her thighs. She moved, and silk jagged on one puckered nipple. His breath caught in his throat at the sight.

BOOK: Claiming the Courtesan
12.03Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

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