Devil's Desire (19 page)

"My name is Alex. A-L-E-X, and by God you shall use it. Say it. Say my name now." He gave her another threatening shake.

"A-Alex," Elysia mumbled softly, staring into the fire.

"Yes, Alex. That was not so difficult, now was it?" He dropped his hands from Elysia's shoulders and turned away.

"I am truly sorry, but I have always ridden alone, and I am not used to having a groom trail me," she tried to explain.

"Not here you shan't ride alone. You shall do as I say, and not question my wishes."

“If y
ou had told me the reason why I should not ride alone, then I would have followed your advice," Elysia told him in exasperation, forgetting her previous submissiveness.

"I do not need to explain myself to you, my dear. You will do my bidding, regardless," the Marquis said arrogantly, flicking her a look of challenge.

"In other. words, I'm your slave–your chattel. Well, I shall not be! I've a mind and feelings, which come before your bidding!” Elysia declared heatedly.
              
 

Lord Trevegne looked at her with narrowed eyes, his hands clenched. "Were I not a gentleman I would strike you, my dear, but I should not like to mark your pretty face,"

"Oh, no, go ahead and beat me. That is all you ever do–threaten me with abuse. You have longed to do some physical violence to my person since first we met," she challenged him.

"My dear, if you only knew what I really have longed to do since first we met, then you would not stand there so provocatively daring me to prove my masculinity by physical force. You would not care for the methods I would use to subdue you," he told her scornfully, his golden eyes running over her tense figure, the fire a reflection in his eyes.

Elysia backed up a step in retreat, suddenly afraid of what he was implying. "I am not challenging you, but you will find that I am not a spineless wife who will mindlessly do her husband's bidding without consider-ation for my own desires. And, I shall continue to feel this way regardless of how you may try to order me about."

"Will you really, my dear? My, my, I had no idea I had become married to a libertarian. This is a most revealing conversation. I am quite shattered, and what will my friends think?" he continued mockingly, sitting down in one of the red, leather, wing-back chairs. "Here I was under the misconception that you were a docile and thoroughly tractable female, who welcomed me as her husband and master–with open arms."

"You mock everything," Elysia said furiously. Striding to the door she turned and glared at him with brilliant green eyes, "so let this be the mock marriage that it is, with neither of us demanding–or expecting–anything from the other."

Elysia stormed out of the room heedless of his angry and imperious calling of her name.

Elysia rolled onto her back and stared up into the blackness of the canopy over her bed. She had been tossing and turning for hours. It was no use, she could not get to sleep. She sat up hugging her knees, resting her chin on her crossed forearms, and thought about another endless dinner she had suffered through, unaware of what she had been eating as dish after dish, course after course, had been removed and replaced by another. She was glad of the long length of the great dining table between her and the Marquis, who sat glaring at her from his end of the table. She doubted whether they had ever enjoyed a meal together. Poor Antoine, His Lordship's temperamental French chef, must be near to tears at the thought of his unappreciated culinary triumphs being served to the footmen and maids.

How long could either of them hold out in this continuous atmosphere of warfare? It seemed to Elysia's tired eyes that Lord Trevegne thrived upon it. She on the other hand, felt tense and nervous, wondering when the next remark would come and how she would parry it, her mental faculties put to their utmost in defense.

She felt uneasy–as if on the edge of a precipice, and one false step would send her plunging into depths from which she would not be able to escape. Although she was not too well-versed in His Lordship's character, Elysia knew instinctively that he was seething, and seemed to turn more demoniacal with each passing hour. She apparently had the power to try his patience beyond what he was accustomed to. Well, the arrogant Marquis had indeed met his match in her, Elysia smiled to herself in satisfaction, thoroughly enjoying being the thorn in his side. She would play her cards carefully–and the Marquis would see who held the winning hand in this game of wits. But she certainly had no intention of endangering her own and rather precarious position, by taunting him too far, once too often. She had certainly caused his blood to boil today–and she had received a glimpse of those tightly leashed passions which lie usually held in rein. Yes, she had cause to fear. So now she would tread lightly. She valued her skin too much to play recklessly with the Marquis. . .

Elysia threw back the covers and slipped from the bed, her feet searching for the dainty, little, turquoise-blue slippers that matched her velvet robe. She welcomed its warmth as she slipped it over the thin lawn nightdress with its high gathered waist held up by two thin velvet ribbons.

She tied the sash at her waist snugly, and lit a candle from the fire that was burning low in the fireplace, and then made her way down the corridor that was quiet except for the muffled sound of the sea in the distance. Elysia walked slowly, trying not to glance into the dark corners and alcoves as her candle spread a wavering light ahead of her. She protected the flame carefully with her cupped hand, from the drafts, that would have carelessly snuffed it out.

As she left the stairs she heard the grandfather dock in the hall chime two, its bell-like notes echoing. Elysia glanced furtively toward Lord Trevegne's study. No light appeared beneath the bottom of the door; he must finally have gone to bed. He had taken a bottle of port from the side board and left the dining-room immediately after the last· course, foregoing dessert. Then he closeted himself in his study, and was still there when she retired a few hours later.

Elysia held her candle up along the row of books, its light revealing the titles as she moved down in front of one of the shelves in the Library, trying to decide upon a selection. Surely one of these would help her to sleep. Elysia was reaching for a thick volume of Latin when she felt that she was not alone, and turned around quickly,

Lord Trevegne stood in the doorway that connected his study to the library. He was leaning against the door jamb, minus his coat and cravat, the light from the fire playing over his figure, the half-empty glass in his hand.

'Well, well, what have we here?" he said coming forward into the room, "a midnight raid upon my library?"

"I thought you had gone to bed," Elysia said clutching the thick book to her breasts protectingly, afraid of the strange glint in his eyes.

He took the shaking candle from her hand and held it up in front of her, his eyes going over her slowly, lingering on her unbound hair, as it shimmered from the glow of the flame. "The door was open, and I thought· I heard a noise, so I came to investigate–and what do I find? My blue-stocking wife," he sneered. "Couldn't you sleep? Too bad, but in a
mock'
marriage you have only your books to comfort you in the wee hours of the morning,"

"It is sufficient enough. You think men are the only ones who should be educated? Well, women have just as much right to use their minds–"

"They have no need to cultivate their minds, my dear," he interrupted, "for all they need use to get what they desire is their bodies."

Elysia gasped, the color flooding into her cheeks. "That's a lie!” she told him hotly, stepping closer in her anger, "for it is you men who would keep us ignorant, and used purely for your pleasures. Your wife to obey your commands, bear your children and manage your home, your mistress to obey and satisfy your desires. Oh, yes, you would keep us ignorant–for once educated, with rights of our own, we would have no need for you!”

Lord Trevegne stood silently staring down into Elysia's white face, her eyes blazing green fire in her anger and her breasts heaving from her outburst. He threw his now empty glass into the fireplace where it shattered into a thousand splintering shards.

Elysia flinched at the sound of the breaking glass, and the violence of the gesture that reflected his feelings. He snuffed out the candle he had taken from her with his fingers and dropped it to the floor as he reached for Elysia, grabbing her shoulders with his big hands. .

"So you would not need men?" he said ominously, his eyes smouldering into her frightened face. "It is time I taught you just how much you do need us–me to be precise, for you shall never know another man, now that you are mine. I have waited far too long to teach you a few lessons–putting up with your vixenish ways, allowing your insults to go unpunished, suffering what I would never have allowed another to do–and live." He laughed cruelly. "A mock marriage you would have! I am going to show you, my snow queen, how very real it can be–and will be."

The Marquis pulled her into his arms before Elysia could make a move to protest, his lips coming down hard on hers. She felt him pressing her soft body against his, molding her to him. His muscular thighs were pressed tightly against her legs, his hands roving caressingly over her back and down to her hips, pressing her still closer. Elysia tried to struggle from his iron-like grip, but he only tightened it until she felt like a part of him. His opened mouth parted her lips with demand, while one of his hands moved over her shoulder and down to the neck of her robe, sliding beneath to the edge of her nightdress-the flimsy material of little protection from his searching fingers, as they found and caressed the soft, warm flesh of her breast.

He stopped abruptly, and picking Elysia up into
 
his arms, strode from the Library, carrying her across the Great Hall and up the wide staircase. Elysia fought frantically with him, aware now of the full impact of his intentions. She knew that nothing could stop him from succeeding this time.

"Put me' down! Or I'll scream this house down about your damned head!" Elysia threatened as they neared the top of the stairs.

"Go aheadl No one would dare to interfere. I am sole master here–and, master of you, my wife. I have a legal and moral right to do with you as I please." He laughed, sounding diabolical to Elysia's terrified mind.

Elysia beat at his chest and shoulders, striking a hard slap across his face before he shifted her in his arms, securing her flaying arms beneath his–where they remained impotently pinned.

The Marquis' swashbuckling ancestors seemed to look down approvingly as he passed with the struggling girl in his arms; his devilish look matching theirs.

"You beast! Would you rape me? For that is what it will be," she told him in a voice shrill with fear. "Would you force your attentions on an unwilling woman, who would find them repulsive?"

"No, it shall not be rape, Elysia," he said grimly as he freed his hand to open the door to his bedroom, "for I shall make you desire my kisses and caresses until you beg me to take you and make you mine; and by God you shall want me!”

The last thing Elysia saw before he closed the door was the Chinese screen; its lacquered faces staring down grotesquely into her frightened eyes. The thin red lips painted forever into vacuous smiles, and black, slanted eyes staring coldly and expressionlessly into space, the richly-colored Oriental dresses mocking the death-mask faces.

The Marquis threw Elysia down upon the bed and began to strip himself of his pantaloons and shirt. "Don't try it, Elysia," he warned as she made a sudden move to leave the bed, "for there is no escape for you now."

Elysia stared up at his naked body in panic, feeling a terror so deep that her body began to shake uncontrollably. She rolled off the bed, making a run for her bedchamber, but Lord Trevegne moved quickly, grabbing a handful of her long hair as it flew out behind her. Giving it a painful yank, he jerked her back into his arms. "Afraid, my dear? Can't you take the dare–afraid I am right?" he asked quietly as he pulled her out of her robe, the semi-transparent nightdress masking her body until he ripped it from her with one rendering sweep of his long fingers.

He picked her up and threw her onto the bed, following her down, his long lean body pressing hers into the softness of the mattress. Elysia turned her head away from his seeking lips, moving it back and forth on the pillow, until finally, he held it still with his hands while his mouth settled possessively upon her lips.

Elysia felt an engulfing blackness descending down into her consciousness, and the wetness of tears on her cheeks. She was expecting to be hurt and bruised by the punishing force of his kisses–but she wasn't. She felt soft and light nibbles against her vulnerable mouth, tender from his earlier, angry kisses. The pressure deepened–not painfully–but persuasively. Her breathing became his as he continued to kiss her, exploring slowly her mouth, opened to his searching tongue.

She could feel his hands moving down over her body, caressing her flesh in a hypnotic fashion touching her intimately, and making her body turn traitor to her mind as she felt strange sensations spreading throughout, as he buried his face in her soft hair, entwining it about his neck and shoulders, binding them together. Alex continued his slow, but determined attack on her senses, exploring her until she moaned softly. Elysia felt beyond herself–she no longer had control of her emotions. He was like a master puppeteer, pulling the strings that controlled her every movement, as she involuntarily put her limp arms around his strong neck hugging him closer, moving invitingly beneath him, her movements coming naturally to her in her desire to feel the ultimate pleasure and satisfaction from his lovemaking.