Submitting to Him (5 page)

“Where’s Nick?” she asked.

“He left when the phone rang.” Blair was already packing, paying little attention to neatness or where things went. If he’d had to he’d walk out and arrange for their belongings to be sent. “The helicopter will be here for us in an hour.”

Elise picked up the internal phone. “I’d better tell them we’re leaving.” She paused with the phone halfway to her ear. “I’ll ask them to keep the rooms. How long do you expect this problem will take to solve?”

“I’ll need at least ten days to settle the deal, maybe longer.” He looked at her, his sombre face warning her of what was to come. “After that, you know we are booked up for months with this international hotel acquisition project. Before we came we knew these few days were a stolen luxury.”

Something hard and lumpy lodged in her throat. She loved Blair but she knew she could love Nick too, if only they had the time.

“There’s no way we could stay a little longer?”

Blair’s mouth tightened. “I can’t. I have to be there.” He looked at her, his eyes suddenly blank and distant. “You could stay if you really wanted to.”

She knew what he was offering. She rushed over to him and wrapped her arms around him. “Never. I don’t want Nick if I don’t have you there as well.” She looked up at him. “How could you even think that I would want that?”

He rubbed wearily at his face. “I guess I’m not thinking clearly at all. Ring the desk and see if you can get Nick to come up here. We owe him an explanation and a personal goodbye.”

Five minutes later there was a peremptory knock on the door. Nick stood there looking formal and efficient but the emptiness in his eyes matched Elise’s feelings.

“You’re leaving?” he asked. “Is it something I did? Something to do with…?”

“No, not at all, “ Blair said. “I have been called away suddenly on business.” He looked down the corridor and seeing it empty pulled Nick inside. “I have no choice.”

“You will be coming back though,” Nick asked.

“Not for months,” Elise said, a tear trickling down her cheek.

Nick reached out and caught it one his fingertip. He stared at it for a long time, his throat working. “Months?” His chest rose and fell on a deep breath. “I thought…but it seems I was mistaken.” Turning to Blair he said. “I thank you for the opportunity you gave me to share your knowledge of your beautiful wife. I will always be grateful but she belongs to you and your generosity could only ever be temporary.”

He bent slightly from the waist, a formal, but oddly fitting farewell. “Have a safe journey.” He turned and headed for the door.

“Wait.” Blair’s voice stopped him as he stepped into the corridor. Nick turned. “This doesn’t have to be over. There might be a way.”

Hope stirred in Elise’s chest. Blair was a master strategist. If he had a plan, they had a chance.

“Come with us,” he said to Nick. “You have skills I need. The three of us can live and travel together.”

Elise’s breath let go with a rush. “Perfect,” she said. “Oh Blair, thank you.”

She turned to Nick but instead of the pleasure she expected his face was dark with anger.

“I am not some whore you can purchase for your pleasure. I am a man. I have my reputation and my self-respect.” His brow was furrowed. Harsh grooves formed on either side of his mouth. “I want to be with you, but not like this. Never like this.”

Blair laughed. The bright joy of it surprised even Elise. “You do have extraordinary bedroom skills,” Blair said, his face split by a grin. “But those weren’t the skills I was referring to. You’re the best hotel manager I’ve come across in years. I told you before…the running of this hotel is brilliant. Your management of people and finances is responsible for that.”

The grim look faded from Nick’s face. “Go on. I’m listening.”

“The deal that’s taking me away from here concerns my acquisition of one of the world’s largest hotel chains. I want you to come with us as a consultant. Once the takeover is successful I’ll appoint you as CEO of my hotel acquisition department. We won’t always be able to be in the same place at the same time, but a lot of the time we will be.”

Elise looked from one man to the other, her heart fluttering with excitement. “It would work. I’ve seen you interact with staff. You could do it, Nick.”

“I’d have to work out my notice,” Nick said.

“Nah. You wouldn’t.” Blair’s grin widened. “I’m buying the entire hotel. I can have a temporary manager in here in five hours. Hell, I can have a team of temporary managers flown in. Money no object.” He raised his eyebrows. “Not that that will be the case for long. Once you start working for us I’ll expect you to ensure that all my hotels run at a profit. What do you say?”

“I say yes.” Nick held out his hands.

Elise and Blair took one each. “I think we can call this a binding agreement,” Blair said.

Elise just smiled.

Also available from Total-E-Bound Publishing:

Bodices and Boudoirs: A Boudoir for Three

Alysha Ellis

Excerpt

Chapter One

“I have chosen a husband for you,” the Vicomte de Valenne announced. His cold gaze swept over his stepdaughter. “You are to wed the Marquis D’Arly.”

Angelique Beaulieu’s eyes widened. Her self-centred stepfather seldom stirred himself to any effort on her behalf. Unease prickled her skin. “I look forward to meeting the Marquis when the social season commences again,” Angelique said dutifully. “By winter, I will be out of full mourning and able to attend some quiet gatherings. If I find the Marquis acceptable…”

“The Marquis wants a bride now,” he snapped. “The connection is advantageous. If we wait, his choice will settle on another.” Her stepfather leaned towards her, one arm raised, his mouth a thin slash. “I expect your obedience and gratitude for the time and money I have spent on your upkeep these last ten years.”

“I am indeed grateful, Papa,” Angelique said. She did not remind him that her late father’s fortune paid for her upkeep
and
the Vicomte’s lavish expenditures. The pretence of docility kept the Vicomte’s temper at bay, a lesson she had learned well during her mother’s long illness. “But it is only seven months since Mama died.”

“I will
not
wait for some useless social convention,” her stepfather replied. “You are already over nineteen. You have spent the years when you should have been attracting a suitor caring for your mother in her illness. This may be your only chance of finding a husband. You will not refuse this offer.” His hand clenched into a fist and Angelique felt the blood drain from her cheeks. She hated the beatings, the humiliation, the sly smirks from the footmen, and the compassionate glances from the servants who remembered her father and happier times. How could marriage be worse than what she had already endured?

A small ember of optimism kindled into life. Her betrothal could be the beginning of a better future, where she would be mistress of her own household—safe and content, perhaps even loved…

* * * *

Angelique’s hopes crumbled to dry, bitter ash when she entered the salon that afternoon and laid eyes on the Marquis D’Arly. The Marquis was old—far older than her stepfather. His white skin clung to his cheekbones like creased wet parchment. He stared at her with pale, cold blue eyes and his narrow mouth twisted into a leer.

All her strength of will went into holding her hand out to greet the Marquis, but nothing could stop the shudder that passed through her when he bent and pressed his scaly lips to her fingers. As the tremor shook her, he looked up and something bright and febrile flashed in his eyes.

“Sit down, my dear,” the Marquis said, his voice sounding like the rasp of leaves in a dry winter wind.

Angelique moved towards one of the delicate, spindle-legged chairs, but her stepfather directed her to the sofa with one jerk of his chin. Then, defying all rules of decorum, he strode from the room, leaving her alone in the salon with the Marquis. He slid onto the seat next to her, the stuffy summer heat worsened by his miasma of age, sweat and overly sweet perfume. His foul breath poisoned the air as he leaned too close. She pressed herself into the cushioned sofa, fighting the urge to gag.

“So coy!” his whisper grated across her strained nerves. “I am delighted to find you as innocent as I have been promised. Your little cunt will be tight and wet when I take you.”

Burning with shocked embarrassment and praying she had somehow misheard, she tried to pull away, to put some distance between them. One of the Marquis’ hands snapped out with snakelike speed and held her fast. The other hand slid up her thigh, delving inwards, pressing the layers of her underskirts against her.

She gasped and began to struggle in earnest, her heart racing. “Let me go. This is not seemly.”

He laughed, a soundless exhalation of air. “Seemly or not, you are mine. You must smile when your master pets you.” He pulled her hand down onto the rigid rod that lay under the brocaded silk of his dress coat. “My cock is strong and eager to perform,” he gloated. “I paid well for a fresh, young virgin and I
will
have you—tight and bloody, screaming and moaning beneath me.” His tongue flicked along his wrinkled lips. “You will obey me in all things, and you will take whatever punishment I see fit to visit upon you. If you give me a son to inherit the title, when I am finished with you I will be generous and allow you to retire to live in quiet seclusion in the country.” The hand holding her wrist tightened painfully. “If you do not, I will take you to a very private society to which I belong. Such a tender morsel as yourself will be an acceptable delicacy, even after I have finished with you. The habitués do not mind if the occasional offering is slightly used, as long as she is toothsome when they begin their…festivities.” The look in his eyes chilled Angelique in spite of the room’s warmth. “They enjoy punishing uncooperative girls. You will not be of much use to anyone once they have finished with you.”

She swallowed down an acidic rush of bile. “I find your conversation repellent, My Lord. I wish you to leave.”

The Marquis only smiled, a small curve of his thin lips. “You are afraid of me.” The smile grew cruel. “
Bon
. I like fear. It adds sauce to my pleasure.” He leaned over her, and squeezed her breast—hard—until she could not hide her pain. “Does it hurt, mignon? You will learn to love the pain, to beg me for it.”

Angelique shook her head, too enraged to speak. If she were a man, she would grab her sword and strike him dead. Her fists clenched in fury at her powerlessness.

The Marquis stood. “I leave you now. You have two weeks to prepare yourself for our wedding.”

 She stared into his loathsome face. “I will never marry you.”

“You have two weeks. Enough time to have bride clothes made,” D’Arly said. “I do not wish to see you in the black of mourning. During this time, however, I do not permit you to leave this house. You are mine, and, until I tire of you, you will not be seen by anyone but me. You
are
very beautiful.” He reached out and ran his bony finger down her neck and lower, to dip beneath the bodice of her dress. He traced the curve of her breast with one long, yellowed fingernail. “You are young and fresh and moist. I paid highly for such purity and I will not risk it being sullied.” He turned and left.

The door shut very quietly behind him and Angelique drew a shaking, horror-filled breath. How could her stepfather have chosen such a man to be her husband? She would rather die an old maid.

She hurried off in search of the Vicomte and found him in his study, leaning back in his chair, holding a glass of Armagnac. “Papa, please, you must find me a different husband. The Marquis and I will not suit.”

He slammed the glass from which he sipped onto the desk and his brows furrowed into an angry frown. “You are promised to the Marquis D’Arly. The marriage will take place on the date he stipulated.”

“I can’t marry him, Papa. He disgusts me.”

“Your feelings are irrelevant. The matter is decided.”

“Papa, he means me harm,” she protested. “He threatened me with unspeakable things if I did not obey him in every way.”

Her stepfather took another sip of brandy. “It is time someone taught you the wisdom of obedience. It appears I have failed to do so.”

“I won’t marry him and you cannot make me,” she shouted, no longer trying to hide her defiance.

“We’ll see, my girl.” He surged to his feet and swung his clenched fist in an arc towards her face and Angelique braced herself for the blow. His arm lifted, then stopped just short of contact to drop heavily to his side. Nothing could have more clearly demonstrated her stepfather’s fear of D’Arly. The Marquis wanted his property undamaged.

Her stepfather stepped back and grabbed the bell pull, shaking it with such intensity that three footmen hurtled into the room. They drew to an abrupt halt, waiting for orders.

“Take her to her room and lock her up. She is not to come out for any reason.” He turned back to Angelique. “You
will
marry D’Arly, even if I have to drag you to the altar.”

“You can force me to be there, but you cannot force me to say
I do
,” she hurled over her shoulder.

“Do you think your silence will make any difference?” the Vicomte replied. “I have only to send Père Bronard a case or two of brandy the day before the wedding and the good
curé
will be too drunk to notice your lack of consent. Your future is decided!” her stepfather roared, and turned his back on her.

The silent footmen made a circle around her, but she shrugged them off and walked with dignity to her room. Only after the door was securely locked and she heard footsteps descending the stairs did she sink to the floor and cry.

She briefly entertained the thought of running away, but she had nowhere to go—no family or friends who would take her in, even if she knew how to escape from a locked room, in a house guarded by staff who would obey her stepfather implicitly.