Page 31 of Brutal Serpent

“Keep that up. I want to watch your face as I fuck you.”

With the other hand he yanked at his breeches, bringing his cock out and I watched in horror as one drop of wax rolled onto his face from the candle.

It must have burned; it must have been hot, but he didn’t flinch.

I screamed then, as loud and long as I could, inflating my lungs as much as I could so the sound would carry.

And St. Erth didn’t even try to stop me or cover my mouth. He only put one hard hand on my back and drove my hips down over his cock, his hand pressing, forcing me to take every single thick inch as my core burned from his intrusion.

“Scream all you like,” he laughed contemptuously. “No one here would dare to interfere with anything I do to you.” I felt the rough tips of his hands skim my flesh as his cock stroked in and out of me, wet and slippery on my thighs and hard and punishing in my cunt.

“Help!” I cried. “HELP! Somebody please help me!”

My husband reached a hand up to tighten in my hair, the pins all tumbling out around my shoulders.

“Keep that hand with the candlestick nice and high,” he warned. “Or you’ll go over my knee. I am going to put a baby in you, Viscountess.”

Then with both hands this time he ground my hips over his cock and my arm with the candlestick trembled but I didn’t dare to do anything but watch his golden, savagely handsome face, the blood smeared across his lips and my breasts as he buried his face in between them.

When he had released in me with a loud feral groan, he picked me up, his cock still inside me, and carried me back down to my bedroom. There was a strange pulsating heat between my legs that I didn’t know the meaning of, and he laid me on my back and was already breeding me again.

CHAPTER 17

Catherine

Ihad been at Rosewood Manor less than a week when I got my monthly flow. I was more pleased to see the bright splash of blood than I had ever been, because I knew it meant I would have another few weeks to figure out how to escape St. Erth before he filled me with a baby. I also knew gentlemen didnotvisit one when one’s blood was flowing, as it was known to be very bad for the liver.

I would have one whole week free from St. Erth!

Although I had been informed married gentlemen and ladies usually spent the night in separate chambers, for some unfathomable reason my husband insisted on either staying in my bed or dragging me into his, every single night.

A few days ago I had fallen asleep from sheer exhaustion in his bed, and when I arose in the middle of the night, I had gone sleepily into my own bed. But I had barely gotten settled when my enraged husband had kicked my door down and dragged me bodily back into his bed, where he threw me down and fucked me angrily.

I could not understand it.

Then a clever idea came to me. Perhaps I could get even more time away! Then I might have the ability to think up a way to foilhis plan for revenge. St. Erth wouldn’t know how long my flow would last. As long as I wore a guard-napkin he would not know when I stopped! It would be very inconvenient to wear one, but worth it if it kept St. Erth away from me.

Shortly after arriving at Rosewood Manor, I had written a letter to my parents. I wanted to assure them that I had arrived and, I hated to admit to myself, I was anxious to get the true story of what had happened with St. Erth’s mother.

Surely there had been some mistake. It must be another of his tricks.

A short letter from home had arrived, and I retreated into the sitting room after dinner to read it in peace. St. Erth usually took his port in the library first.

I read the letter through several times in a row, not comprehending the words.

There were no assurances that what St. Erth had said was a lie. Most of the letter was taken up by my mother’s lamentations. They had had to give up their London home early, and not without pawning several of her favorite pieces of jewelry. Papa’s signet ring had had to be pawned to cover the cost of his gambling debts, and Mama was sure that St. Erth had been the one behind the shopkeepers refusing to extend them any more credit.

And all this fuss over a lightskirt Papa can barely remember anyway!she wrote with indignation.

My stomach sunk. This was not what I had hoped for from the letter! I wanted a defense, some explanation for why St. Erth’s mother had been turned away when she was ill.

This only seemed like confirmation that what St. Erth accused Papa of was true!

I sat down at the writing desk, determined to get the truth out of them, but was startled to see St. Erth stride into the sittingroom. Usually he came in later, after he had taken his port in the library first.

“I’m still. . .I’m still. . . my flow. . .” I stuttered, but he narrowed his eyes at me.

“Are you suggesting I cannot go into any room in this house I choose?”

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