SubmittingtotheRake (3 page)

“Impossible,” she murmured.

“Is it?”

He reached toward her ankle and slid his hand under the hem
of her gown. She gasped when his hand came in contact with her stocking-clad
leg. Her body jumped at the touch, but she could do far worse if she truly
loathed what was happening. Gently he drifted his hand up the silk until he
reached the softness of her bare thigh—a hundred times smoother and more
delectable than the feel of silk. Heady with anticipation, he reached under her
arse, between her thighs, and when he connected with her wetness, he closed his
eyes, his breath ragged.

The blood was pounding in his cock, and he allowed a husky
quality to creep into his voice. “Your body, Miss Merrill, proves the
possibilities.”

Running his hand around her thigh, he palmed a buttock.
Glorious.
He grasped the flesh more firmly and heard her groan. Flipping the dress and
petticoats over her waist, he laid bare the prize. Two perfectly rounded orbs,
as unblemished as those of a babe, gleamed in the dim light of the candles. He
licked his bottom lip as if he were about to feed on a succulent cut of
beefsteak. He delivered a sharp slap with the back of his hand and watched in
delight as the mound of flesh quivered.

“How many, Miss Merrill?”

“Hmmm?” came the dazed voice from beneath the layers of
fabric.

He gave her a formidable swat.

“Four,” she answered quickly.

Sebastian smiled to himself. She could be trained.

“Eight it is,” he said. “If I have to repeat myself again,
we will triple the number.”

Greedily, his hand slapped at her arse. The smack of bare
flesh to bare flesh rang in his ears as melodious as a symphony. When he was
done, he gazed with satisfaction at the red imprints his hand had left upon her
pale skin. He could smell her arousal and confirmed it when he slid his hand
between her and found her wetter than before. His erection pressed painfully
against her hip.

Abruptly, he stood and dragged her to the post.

“What are you—” she protested when he pulled her wrists
around the post and tied them overhead with silken rope.

The hemp he would save for another time.

Another time?
Sebastian silently cursed himself. What
the bloody hell was the matter with him?

Stepping back, he admired her form pressed against the post,
which cleaved her breasts and separated the globes to either side. Miss Merrill
was not unattractive. Her rounded figure reminded him of Ruben’s portrait of
Hélène Fourment. Supple. Ripe. He could see himself entwining his fingers in
her lustrous dark hair. She had a complexion free of blemish and that required
little in the way of powder or rouge. And those voluptuous lips…

A sense of remorse crept into him as he observed how Miss
Merrill’s bottom lips quivered. She had very full lips. More succulent than her
cousin’s. He wondered how such lips would feel beneath his own. He imagined
taking her mouth would be like sinking into a rich, sweet strawberry.

His head swam with lust, and he needed to clear it before he
did something he did not intend—such as tearing the clothes from her and
ravishing her. He reminded himself of the anger that he had felt earlier. The
impudence of this woman, to foil his plans for a pleasant weekend and deprive him
of the joys of exploring Miss Josephine’s lovely body. The effrontery of her to
stand there in judgment of him with those wide brown eyes—eyes possessed of
such clarity that he could see every emotion through them. He almost feared
looking into them too deeply.

Worst of all, she had had the audacity to speak to his own
reservations where Miss Josephine was concerned.

“Miss Merrill, I leave you to contemplate your situation.”

Her eyes widened and pleaded with him.

He could not let her go—did not want to let her go—but could
not trust himself to stay. His cock, hard as the post she was tied to,
stretched agonizingly. He turned, avoiding her gaze for fear that he could too
easily give in to those doe-like eyes, and left her to seek the reprieve of his
own chambers and ponder what the hell he was to do with her next.

Heloise yanked at her bindings with enough desperation to
cause the rope to chafe against her wrists. She simply had to escape.

But escape from what
? a sardonic voice inside her
asked. From his exquisite touch? From facing the fact that she had, indeed,
enjoyed what he had done to her—that her body had been aroused to wetness by
it?

She shook her head vehemently at the voice. Who knew what
other devious plans the earl had in store for her? The spanking had been
relatively harmless—though her arse still smarted from it—but she only had to
look at the frightful instruments hanging on the wall to know that a world of
darker possibilities lay within Lord Cadwell. She eyed the riding crop. “
The
more you dread it, fear it, disdain it, the more you enjoy it.”
Those had
been his words. She contemplated the pain the riding crop could induce. Could
she derive pleasure from such pain?

Warmth flared in her loins. Why did the mere thought
titillate her? Her curiosity surprised her, but it was curiosity that killed
the cat. Perhaps it was curiosity that had compelled her cousin to want to be
here, but she would not fall victim to the same.

She strained once again at her bonds, her arms sore from
their position, and attempted to undo the knot, breaking three of her
fingernails in the process.
There simply has to be a way out.

The door opened and the earl appeared, a touch disheveled
but no less dapper. He had removed his coat and loosened his cravat. She stared
at the sinews of his throat and felt a wave of warmth washing over her. She
quelled it.

“Miss Merrill, I have decided—” he began.

“You will set me free or pay dearly for it,” she informed
him hotly.

He paused, then raised his brows in amusement—a reaction
that only fueled her anger.

“My uncle will see you brought before a magistrate,” she
continued. “If you do not release me, then prepare to spend your time at
Newgate.”

He crossed his arms and leaned against the wall. His
bemusement when he should have been daunted by her threats both infuriated and
worried her.

“On what charges would I be sent to Newgate?” he asked.

Damn his insolence
, Heloise fumed.

“On kidnapping!” she snapped. “And…and surely there are laws
against this…”

“This what, Miss Merrill?”

“You know quite well to what I allude!”

She pulled at her bonds for emphasis, but he continued to
wait for her elucidation. She let out a sigh of exasperation.

“Of forcing your attentions upon me!”

To her horror, he laughed. He pulled away from the wall.
“Tell me, Miss Merrill, did you not come here of your own free will?”

She bristled. “Yes, but—”

“My coachman was not under orders to abduct anyone.”

“Yes, but—”

He took a step toward her. “Did you not lie willingly across
my lap?”

Her flush of consternation began to pale.

“You—”

“And request I spank you four times?”

“I did n—”

“And
enjoy
it?”

He stood a breath away from her, invading her space and
further scattering her thoughts. Her volleys had not struck their target. She
needed a new approach.

“How would you explain to a magistrate that you submitted
against your will when the evidence reveals your pleasure?”

“Please,” Heloise attempted. “Surely you are not without
conscience or sensibility…”

“Only devoid of morals,” he reminded her.

She swallowed at the verbal blow but pressed on. “You can
understand why I might—why I thought I had no other recourse?”

After probing the depths of her gaze he stepped away from
her. Without the intrusion of his body, she took an easier breath.

“It is no small effort you have made to protect your
cousin’s virtue,” he acknowledged. “Indeed, you have risked your own ruin to
save her.”

“I will explain to my family that a dear friend took ill and
I went to visit her.”

“In the middle of the night? Without packing a valise?”

“I was beside myself.”

“I find it hard to believe that Miss Merrill could ever be
so discomposed.”

“My uncle will have no reason to doubt my word.”

“And what of Josephine? What will you tell her?”

“I will beg her forgiveness and hope that she will, in time,
come to understand the wisdom of my action.”

“Perhaps that will come to pass,” he said as he began to
walk around her. “Or more likely, she will find another man to whom she can
attach her fancy and forget her lost invitation to the Château.”

Heloise found herself having to agree with the earl.
Nonetheless, she professed, “I hope someone who merits her affection. Someone
who will make her happy.”

“And what do you hope for yourself, Miss Merrill?”

The question was an unexpected strike. No one had ever asked
her that before.

“Myself?”

“What sort of man will you marry or take a fancy to?”

“This is hardly a subject—”

“Pray tell you do not see yourself as a lonely spinster,
content after some time to marry a kindly but boring vicar with limited
prospects.”

That he could guess the precise future she had foreseen for
herself disgruntled her.

“That would be better than succumbing to a rake,” she
retorted.

To her further disconcertion, he laughed. “Do you know what
I think, Miss Merrill?”

“I do not
care
what you think, Lord Cadwell.”

He was standing behind her now—which was worse than when he
stood in front of her for now she could not see him. She could only feel his
heat.

He leaned toward her. “I think you wanted to come here for
yourself. I think if you had been in Josephine’s place, you would have accepted
my invitation and been furious at anyone who tried to stop you.”

Her gaze blurred. She trembled inside.
Good heavens,
could it be true?

Stepping toward her, Sebastian lightly grazed the curve of
her rump. It proved a mistake. He could breathe in her scent—not the scent of
her soap or perfume, but something deeper, something that could best be
described as her essence—and it made the blood in him pound. His cock reared
its head. He would have ripped the clothes from her and fucked her there
against the post if he had lacked the resolve she had so flippantly questioned
earlier.

Hell and damnation.
After having convinced himself in
his room earlier that he had provided Miss Merrill a decent set-down, he had
returned, prepared to set her free and see her off home. But then she had
hurled those threats of hers. And looked so damn delicious tied to the post,
still flushed with arousal.

For the first time, he had no plan, knew not what he
intended. He knew only that his hands itched to touch her, grab her, make her
quiver with pleasure.

“Submit to me.”

He knew not from whence the words had come, but suddenly his
clothes were too warm. He undid his neckcloth completely.

Silence from her. He considered pressing his erection
against her derrière, but he needed her reply. There had been women from whom
he sought no consent for he knew full well their desire to be taken. And so he
had played the game with them, he the ravisher and they the willing victims.

But not with Miss Merrill. A light spanking was one matter.
For what he truly wished to do to her, he wanted her acquiescence. Her
submission. Her surrender.

“Submit to me,” he repeated, softly. “You can trust me.”

Though he could not see the expression upon her face, he
could sense her defenses coming down. He needed them to come down faster.

“You have such lovely hips, Heloise.”

She perked up at the sound of her name and allowed him to
place his hands upon her. He grasped her hips, the flare of which her gown
could not hide. What wonderful handles they would provide if he chose to fuck
her hard from behind.

“And the most delightful arse.”

She was likely blushing at the compliment.

He caressed a buttock, then placed his mouth near her ear.
“There is so much that can be done here…and here.”

He trailed his hand up one side of her arm to her wrist and
down the other before cupping a breast. “And here.”

A pause. “Such as?”

Ah, he had stimulated her curiosity. Good.

“Anything you wish.”

With both hands he manhandled her breasts, eliciting a low
groan from her.

“These,” he said, “can be fondled, kissed, bitten, pinched,
slapped—by hand or by any of the instruments you see before you. We could
fasten clamps to your nipples, pinch the flesh with pins, tie them until they
turn red with anger, adorn them with molten wax…”

Her bosom heaved against his hands.

“Have you had such attentions upon your breasts before, Miss
Merrill?”

“No,” she murmured.

“Has a man ever taken pleasure from your body?”

He half expected to rebuke him that such matters were none
of his affair, but she replied, “Two. There were two.”

Two too many
, he thought while impressed, not by the
revelation, but by her honesty. Given her obdurate protection of her cousin’s
virtue, one might expect to find Miss Merrill beyond reproach in regards to her
own, but Sebastian knew human fallibility all too well and was relieved to find
she was no virgin. Although learning that he was not her only encounter roused
an unexpected jealousy in his chest. Such a feeling was not common for he had,
in the past, often shared his women with the other patrons at Château Follet.

“And did they pleasure you?”

“It was many years ago. We were young.”

Just as well she did not answer him directly, Sebastian
decided. He was confident he could surpass any experience she might have had
and had no desire to know the particulars.