Submitting to His Lordship (13 page)

He had tried to ascertain the answer to that question during dinner, but Isabella had been hell bent on flirting. That she could so easily disengage her attentions from Lord Devon to himself eased his concerns a little, but her unexpected appearance at the Chateau had him taken aback. He recalled their courtship two Seasons ago and could not identify anything that would lead him to believe her a candidate for the Chateau Follet.

The daughter of the Duke of Trent, Lady Isabella was much admired among the
ton
for her beauty and had no shortage of suitors, especially given her dowry of twenty thousand pounds. Isabella had entertained his suit initially but then waivered in her reception. In retrospect, she might simply have been engaging in one of those courtship games favored by the fair sex wherein the lady encourages a man’s affection and ardor by rebuffing his attentions. A game that Halsten had little patience for.

In contrast, Miss Herwood’s guileless manner appealed to him. Her situation made her an unsuitable mate, of course, and even if he had less regard for how society might receive such a match, he could not entertain the possible negative effects on Lucy’s future. But try as he might, he simply could not excise Miss Herwood from his mind.

Remembering the easy manner in which she conversed with Lord Devon, he said, “I forbid you to speak to Lord Devon.”

She withdrew her arm from his. He knew that she would not take kindly to his demand, but he could not resist the effects of jealousy.

“I speak in defense of your interests,” he added. “He is not a man to trifle with.”

“Because he might taint my virtue?” she replied. “He would not be the only one with such an honor.”

He felt the heat rise above his neck.

“You need not worry of me, my lord. I have seen many a man like Lord Devon. Might I suggest your efforts be better spent protecting the honor of Lady Isabella? She has much more to lose.”

He had been tempted to issue just such a caution to Isabella, and he fully intended to speak with her at a more sober moment. He wondered when to seek such a time and remembered that Lord Devon had referenced the East Wing.
Good God, did Isabella know what lay in store in the East Wing?

Gauging his thoughts, Miss Herwood said, “She is quite the beauty.”

“She has more beauty than sense,” he thought aloud, but feeling himself closer to the true subject of discussion, turned the focus back on Miss Herwood. “You should not have encouraged the attentions of Lord Devon.”

“It would have been rude not to speak to him, and as you and Lady Isabella were quite engaged, I had few options.”

The truth of her statement did not satisfy him. “You know the rules.”

“You would rather I sit and twiddle my fingers like an idiot?”

“Yes, Had I not stated that you would not flirt with a member of the opposite sex?”

“What precisely happens in the East Wing?”

He reached for her to lead her back to her chamber. “You need not concern yourself with the East Wing.”

She eluded his grasp. “I confess a great curiosity to see it.”

He felt a tug at his groin. “You are far from ready to be in the East Wing.”

“Lady Isabella is a new guest.”

“If Lord Devon had any consideration, they would not be in the East Wing.”

He took her by the elbow and guided her back to her room more harshly than he had intended, for the thought of Isabella in the East Wing had made him angry.

“I will be back within the half hour,” he told her once they had reached her bedchamber. “Shall I send for Bhadra to attend you?”

“That won’t be necessary.”

Her curious gaze at him suggested she wanted to understand his intentions, but he was too agitated to delay the night with explanations.

“Half an hour,” he repeated.

“Is that a promise or a warning?”

“Both,” he growled.

Yanking her to him, he smothered her mouth for emphasis. He worked her mouth in selfish consumption, his ardor fueled by vexation. His tongue delved deep and he paid no heed to the fine lines of her lips. When he was done, the kiss had blurred and dampened the rouge about her mouth.

“Half an hour then,” she murmured between uneven breaths.

She stepped inside and closed the door slowly between them. He stood on the threshold, tempted to throw open the door and ravish her mouth once more. But he could not leave Isabella to her own devices. With quick strides, he caught up with the group as they made their way through the halls of the East Wing, admiring the many erotic paintings that hung there.

“This painter adored the fleshy figures of Reuben,” Marguerite explained as they stood before a full-length painting of a woman standing naked beneath a waterfall, the water splashing over her heavy breasts.

He came upon Isabella. “A word with you, my lady.”

Lord Devon turned around with the intention of objecting, but Halsten silenced him with an icy stare. Devon moved on with the group as they strolled to the next painting of two men bathing.

“Where is your companion?” Isabella asked with an arched brow.

Ignoring her question, he said in a low and firm voice, “This is no place for you, Isabella.”

She fluttered her silk fan, the upward quirk of her mouth indicated she was enjoying his attention. “You know me too little to make such a statement.”

He had to acknowledge the truth of what she said. He would never have supposed her to be one open to the activities at Chateau Follet. Had he known, he might have pressed his suit with more passion. Though not required in a wife, a shared interest in his libidinous pursuits, married with other qualities he sought, would have made for a perfect match.

“Nevertheless, you know not what you do,” he countered. “The East Wing here is no place for a novice.”

“Ah, you have come to rescue me then?”

“I would have you reconsider. Lord Devon is a rake of the worst kind.”

She tapped her fan against his upper arm and gave him a teasing look that would have melted many a man. “It is not like you to be jealous, Halsten.”

He took in a deep breath. “Please, Isabella. I speak in earnest for your welfare.”

She smiled. “You’ve an interest in my welfare, do you?”

“Does your father know your whereabouts?”

This time she frowned. “Don’t be a fool. I am staying with my cousin in town.
She
introduced me to Devon.”

He had never met this cousin but would not trust the keenness of anyone who recommended Lord Devon.

“You ought return to your father, Isabella.”

“Why?”

He could not tell if her defiance stemmed from her headstrong ways or from pure foolishness. If he could, he would take her back to her father in his own carriage.

“I know that serious look,” she laughed. “La, would you whisk me away, my knight in shining armor?”

A muscle along his jaw tightened. “Isabella—”

“I protest,” Lord Devon interrupted as he came upon them, having torn himself away from the group. “You have occupied Lady Isabella long enough, Rockwell. Have you lost the delightful Miss Sherwood?”

Recalling that he had assured Miss Herwood his return within the half hour, he suppressed the desire to force Devon away—or deck the man in his pretty face. He turned to Isabella.

“You know my concerns, madam. I am at your service.”

He bowed and took his leave. As he made his way back to the West Wing, he shook his head. How the devil was he going to convince Isabella? A part of him wanted to stay with her and keep his eye on Devon, but then he would be a poor host for Miss Herwood.

And he had unfinished business with Miss Herwood.

Frustration with Isabella and anger with Lord Devon had already stirred his blood, and as he neared Miss Herwood’s bedchamber, he was fit to burst. He knocked upon the door and did not wait for a reply. He found her sitting on the settee, but she rose to her feet upon his entrance. Closing the door behind him, he lost no time in doffing his gloves and coat. He unwound his cravat.

Surprised by the swiftness of his actions, Miss Herwood made no movement and only stared. His palm itched to spank that precious arse of hers, but what he intended required patience.

He reached for her, molding her body to his. His lips grazed her neck. He slid his tongue lightly along the side of it.

“You have been extremely disobedient, Miss Herwood.”

She gasped when he took a mouthful of her neck. “If it be meek and obedient women you favor, I wonder that you seek my company.”

At times he wondered as well. He had never doubted her independence and willfulness, which bordered on brash even, but these qualities only enhanced his interest in her.

“You are not in your gaming hell,” he said as he moved his lips over hers, “but upon my grounds. Therefore, you will adhere to my rules.”

“I do pity the woman who must suffer you for a husband,” she murmured against his mouth.

For some reason her statement irked him. He grasped her buttock and squeezed it hard. Her eyes flew open. Heat swirled about his groin. He spun her around and began unpinning her gown.

“If you’ve an interest in the East Wing, you must first prove your mettle,” he informed her as he yanked the bodice down her arms.

The skirts were as easily dispensed with. Standing in only her chemise, stays, and stockings, she shivered, though Bhadra, as he had instructed before leaving for dinner, had had a strong fire burning in the fireplace. He ran a knuckle between her shoulder blades and admired the contours of her upper back.

“How?” she inquired as he unlaced her stays.

“You shall see soon enough.”

The stays fell to the floor. Reaching around with both hands, he palmed each breast. The amount of wine she had consumed was sufficient to lower her inhibitions. She leaned back against him and arched herself further into his hands. He kneaded each mound through the chemise and felt her nipples harden. He pulled and pinched the rosy nubs, making her groan, as his own head swam with the possibilities. She had a strong, beautiful body. If she proved tolerant, there was much he could do to her.

He slid the chemise down her body. Slipping his hand between her thighs, he found her already wet with desire. He stroked her there until she whimpered and ground herself against him. Her arse pressed against his cock, which stretched toward her. How easy it would be to unbutton the flap of his pants and ram his cock into her derriere. To cool the temptation, he stepped away from her and went to one of the armoires to retrieve coils of rope and a cat-o-nine tails. Her lips parted slightly but she was no stranger to the items. She had enjoyed them greatly in the past.

“Remove the stockings,” he instructed as he rolled up his sleeves.

With lust shining in her eyes, she did as he bid and slid the silk down her legs. She stood before him completely naked, a little more at ease than before. Once more he swept his gaze appreciatively over her body. His cock pulsed, wanting action. He sauntered over to her and looked into her eyes, confirming that she wanted him as much as he wanted her. He brushed his fingers gently along her collarbone and kissed her shoulder.

Then his demeanor changed. Thrusting his hand into her hair, he yanked on the coiffure to force her chin up, then smothered her mouth with his. She yelped but yielded to the assault upon her mouth. He dug deep into the warm, wet crevice with his tongue. Her breathing became heavy against his upper lip and he smelled the wine from dinner. He would taste of her in as many ways possible before they left, he promised himself. Fire consumed his veins and he disengaged himself abruptly for as much his sake as hers.

“Lie down upon the bed.”

Still breathless from the kiss, she took a moment but complied with a touch of awkwardness. He stretched her arms overhead and bound her wrists to the bedposts with the rope, then did the same with her ankles till her body formed an ‘X’ with each limb tethered to a bedpost. Stepping back, he admired his handiwork.
Damn
. He could see the glisten of wetness between her legs.

She pulled at her bonds, but the ropes had little give. He could see that she felt ill at ease being spread and exposed in such a manner.

“Remember the safety word?” he asked as he retrieved the tails.

“Rati,” she said, the name of the goddess coming from deep in her throat.

Even her speech affected him, and he could not attribute blame to the wine as he had consumed only two glasses in the course of the evening. He steeled his nerves. What he was about to do her required a steady hand.

“Your punishment begins, Miss Herwood.”

He passed a hand from her toes and up her leg, past her hip and ribcage, and up to the bottom of a breast. He cupped it tenderly. It had a lovely shape to it and large areolas. He leaned down and put his mouth upon the puckered nipple. A tiny purr escaped her. He swirled his tongue over it and gently sucked. Her toes curled in response. He flicked his tongue at the nipple, licked it, pulled it until she twisted in her bonds. He reached a hand to her groin, grazing the hair between her legs and sliding a finger against her clitoris. She emitted a shaky groan. While attending to the nipple, he fingered that other nub and occasionally slipped his finger into her hot, soaking womanhood. Her body arched off the bed.