Nothing Denied (9 page)

“I can’t leave, can I?” she final y said softly.

“Of course you can,” he drawled.

She pursed her lips in frustration. “You know I cannot return to London and the lack of prospects and future I have there. So, I wil stay and make an attempt to please you.”

He smiled. She made it sound like such a chore.

“You must have thought very heavily about this while you readied yourself for supper after I left you.”

She nodded as a servant placed the first course before them. “I did. It hardly left my mind.”

“Even while you brought yourself to pleasure in the bath?” he asked mildly.

Beatrice had taken a spoonful of soup before he spoke and her eyes widened as she began to cough. He waited for her to regain her composure.

“Wha–what are you talking about?” she asked when she had wiped her mouth.

“My dear, my servants wil never breathe a word about you to anyone outside the house, but they are loyal to me.” Gareth leaned closer, grabbed the edge of Beatrice’s chair and dragged it toward him. “You can pretend you are resigned to what I’ve offered you, but in truth it excites you. Enough that you pleasured yourself with a servant in the room.”

She turned her face, her cheeks fil ed with hot color, but Gareth sensed her titil ation at the idea that the maid knew what she had done. That a stranger had reported her erotic actions to Gareth. He leaned forward and pressed his mouth to her throat.

Beatrice moaned and tilted her neck back for greater access, but then she seemed to come to her senses and shook her head. “No, here? At the table?”

“Anywhere I want you, Beatrice,” he answered before he pushed her chair back into its original position. “Any
time
I want you.”

She shivered as she stared at him, slightly less pul ed together than she had been when she entered the dining room. He could actual y feel her physical barriers coming down. Already she was more open to what he wanted than Laurel ever had been.

But a physical surrender wasn’t enough. He didn’t want pretend obedience and submission. He wanted her to lay out her entire being to his care. Inside and out.

He took a sip of wine. “I want something right now.”

She nodded, her brow arching as she tried to regain some of her distance. “I can see that.”

She stared pointedly at his crotch and Gareth glanced down at his bal ooning erection with a dismissive shrug.

“That isn’t what I want…yet.” He slid his chair forward and leaned closer. “I want to know more about you. There is little information to be found beyond a pedigree of your family and the rumors spread about your poor attitude.”

Her hands clenched against the table and her gaze darted away. “What else matters but pedigree and rumor, my lord? Those things make the world go around.”

Gareth leaned back and folded his arms. The porcupine element of her personality was back. Her tone was sharp, her body language said to stay far away. Any softness he had seen earlier in his bed was gone.

“Pedigree and rumor have gotten us here, but if we are to marry at some point, I think a bit more wil be required, pet.” He tilted his head. “Tel me about your father. He died some years back, did he not?”

The color drained from Beatrice’s face and she simply
stared
at him for a long, charged moment. Then she shook her head.

“It hardly matters now, does it? He is dead. I do not wish to speak of him.”

Gareth’s eyebrows went up at the stony and flat expression on her face. She was a wal now, one there would be no breaching. Yet.

“Very wel ,” he said, ready to give her a smal bit of ground at the beginning. “Then your mother. You two are obviously close in some ways, and yet you long to escape her. What can you tel me about her?”

“She is what you see. What else is there to say?”

Beatrice snapped, and drank another long sip of wine.

“Then what about your sisters?” he asked, frustration mounting in him at her utter stonewal ing. “I would very much doubt any of them can be defined only by what you see. I have heard whispers about both Lady Rothschild and the Duchess of Kilgrath and how they managed to marry the men in their lives.”

“If you have heard whispers, then why ask me?” She sniffed. “You already seem to know al . Why would I know more?”

“Because they are your blood,” he pressed.

She shrugged as if she couldn’t care less. “Just because they are my blood, it does not necessarily fol ow that I know anything about them of interest, or that they know anything about me.”

Gareth stared. Whatever she felt about her family, it was something so powerful that she actual y seemed t o
fear
sharing any part of it with him. That kind of barrier was what he would have to destroy if he was to dominate her entirely. She had to trust him or else he would never truly have her ful submission and surrender.

When a few silent moments had passed, Gareth said, “I find it interesting that you wil share your body with me, that you wil even agree to submit to my other demands…and yet you are so reticent to share even the barest hint of your past. You won’t al ow even a glimpse of your inner thoughts.”

Beatrice turned her face so that Gareth could only see her in profile, but by the thin line of her mouth and the worry around her eyes, he could see the internal battle she was waging.

Final y she tapped her fingernails nervously against the edge of the plate beneath her soup bowl.

“I have found in my life that the most damage, the most hurt can be done by people who know my past

…or my thoughts. Why should I give anyone a weapon like that to use against me?” Her gaze moved to him.

“Especial y you, whom I do not know beyond one encounter in bed. Why should I trust you?”

He drew back, surprised that she would admit these thoughts. Yes, these were al first steps. Stil , he had to be careful in his response.

“What I want to do, to share with you, wil require some trust, Beatrice.”

She shrugged. “Wel , perhaps I wil be able to grant you that, and perhaps I wil not. Time wil tel , won’t it?”

Gareth watched her for a long moment. Beatrice was blunt, she had been cal ed a bitch for her coldness, but he understood that on so many levels. Her attitude was her shield, her protection. Unfortunately, she had been so long in the habit of protecting herself that he was not certain if he could ever force her to release that habit. But the longer he spent around her, the more interested he became in breaking down her barriers. In overcoming her obstacles.

In making her his in every way possible.

“Yes,” he said as he raised his glass in salute to her.

“Only time wil tel .”

Chapter Seven

W
hen Beatrice had refused to share anything of her personal past with Gareth at dinner, somehow she had expected an inquisition for the rest of the evening

…and perhaps even a trip home when she would not capitulate to his personal probing. She didn’t want that, but what he asked her to share was too much for her. However, the rest of the dinner passed in surprisingly companionable conversation. Gareth backed away completely from the personal topics she loathed, instead asking her about her pursuits and tel ing her about his own. It had been so long since she had shared in such civil discourse that she hardly knew how to respond.

But now they were walking together up the long hal way toward the staircase. Gareth didn’t touch her, he wasn’t even holding her elbow, and yet Beatrice felt his presence through every part of her. Simply standing near him made her feel like he was invading her space, fil ing her pores, touching her in ways that were whol y inappropriate.

Truth be told, she rather liked the feeling.

“I never got a chance to show you my home,” Gareth said as he motioned up the stairs. “Would you like the tour?”

She nodded. “We won’t start in the main area of the house, though?”

He shook his head. “My main house is real y no different from anyone else’s in Society. I have a magnificent bal room that I never use, several boring parlors, a cluttered office, a bil iard room, a music room…If you’ve seen one of those kinds of chambers, you’ve seen them al , just in different colors and with varying quality of furniture.”

“I suppose so,” Beatrice said slowly as she moved up the stairway behind Gareth. “Then why bother with the pretense of a tour at al ?”

He smiled over his shoulder at her and Beatrice was put ful y to mind of a cat with his prey. He was toying with her and it took every bit of her self-control not to lash out at him because of it. She didn’t like being his game.

Or at least, she
thought
she didn’t. Sometimes she wasn’t sure. Being with him was rather like riding in an out-of-control phaeton. She feared and anticipated the next turn with equal measure.

“Because, my dear, there are places in this house that are entirely out of the ordinary.” He stopped before a door and pul ed out a smal golden key from his inside coat pocket. “Like this one.”

Unlocking the door, he motioned her inside.

The chamber was dark, except for a low fire that hardly il uminated anything. It took a moment for her eyes to adjust, after the brightly lit hal way. She felt Gareth move and then a few lamps blazed forth and the fire raised.

Blinking, Beatrice looked around her. Part of the reason she’d had trouble seeing was that the room was decorated in black. Black curtains, black coverings on what little furniture surrounded her, even a black rug covered the polished wooden floors. It was a devil’s room with the devil’s accoutrements. A long, wide table sat in the middle of the room, covered in soft, supple leather that put Beatrice to mind of a fine saddle. Attached to the leather were what looked to be matching restraints, some at one end, some at the other and some in the middle of the area, though these looked like they could be tucked away.

Along one wal hung a smal col ection of riding crops. When Beatrice saw those, she staggered back.

“What the hel is this?”

“A room for my pleasure,” Gareth said mildly, as if he had shown her nothing more shocking than the boring bil iard room he had described earlier. “And I hope it wil become a room for yours, as wel .”

“These are
whips
, Gareth,” Beatrice said, motioning wildly at the wal . “You told me you would never raise a hand to a woman.”

Against her wil , her mind spun wildly to the rumors surrounding him. The death of his wife, the idea that he could have been responsible. Had he beaten his wife with those crops on the wal ? Terror fil ed Beatrice for just a moment before she stuffed it away.

“To be fair, I wouldn’t be raising a
hand
to you,” he said with a chuckle in his voice that grated along her spine. She hated that he was mocking her fear.

“You are not amusing, sir,” she whispered, staying back from him.

He frowned and grew serious. “My dear, some people find that just a touch of pain greatly enhances the pleasure of sex. The barrier between the two is quite thin, you see.”

Beatrice hesitated. When he said those words, she couldn’t help but think of earlier when she had found release in his bed. The pleasure had been so intense release in his bed. The pleasure had been so intense that it
had
bordered on pain in some way. And later, in the tub, her sensitive, sore sheath had only magnified her own touch.

“But I would never force you to do such a thing. I do not require pain for my pleasure,” he said, interrupting her shocking thoughts. “Though I certainly wouldn’t mind trying if you decided you were interested.”

Beatrice shivered, though she wasn’t certain if the motion was caused by fear or disgust or titil ation

—perhaps it was a combination of al three.

“And what of the table?” she asked, her voice stil hateful y shaky.

“I might want total control over you,” he explained with another of his nonchalant shrugs. “Tying you down into whatever position I desire gives me that. The same is true for the restraints on the wal .”

She fol owed the motion of his hand and gasped. She had been so shocked by the hanging selection of crops that she hadn’t noticed the fur-lined restraints on the wal . Could a man truly take a woman like that?

A part of her wanted to find out.

“The idea of surrendering control truly frightens you,”

he said softly.

Beatrice jerked her gaze to his. Tel ing him about her fear was almost more frightening than physical y surrendering to him in the ways he had described.

“Don’t be ridiculous. I’m not frightened,” she lied.

“Only shocked, as any lady in my position would be.”

“Hmm,” he said.

It was obvious he didn’t believe her. He stared for a moment before he crossed over to her. His hands came around her waist with more gentleness than she had expected and he molded her body to his own. She couldn’t help it. She leaned into him, reveling in his scent and feel.

“Do you want me?” he asked. “Tel me you do.”

She started. This order, it seemed different from the ones he had given her before. There was more urgency to it. This was the beginning of the surrender he had described.

Now she had to choose. Would she give him what he desired or say no?

“I do want you,” she heard herself say, even before she had actual y made the decision to do so.

“You want my body inside of yours,” he clarified. “You wish to give yourself to me.”

She nodded.

“No. Say it, Beatrice,” his tone was sharp. “Say it out loud.”

Again, she hesitated, loathe to lay so much of herself out for his inspection. But she had agreed to this, so she found herself whispering, “I want you to bury yourself in me.”

His eyes closed and a low, animal moan rumbled from deep inside him. “Very nice.”

She tilted her mouth up for his kiss, but he shook his head. Apparently his torture was not over.

“Now
ask
me,” he said, his voice low and rough.

“And say please.”

Beatrice stiffened out of instinct, but his arms, which had been gentle at first, closed tighter around her. She looked up to find him staring back at her, waiting. If she refused, he would let her go. But she would get nothing. And her body throbbed. It ached to be touched. What she had done for herself earlier in the day would not be enough, of that she was certain. She needed this man. Actual y
needed
him, a troubling fact she refused to consider in that moment.