Page 14 of The Villain
He waved her off as if it were of no consequence and led her on, opening doors as they continued down the long hall. There were several drawing rooms, all decorated in an intriguing mixture of old and new. In the midst of the corridor lay the study she’d been ushered into—Adam’s domain.
“How did Dunnottar fall to you?” she asked as they reached the end of the corridor and a winding set of stone steps leading upward.
“In 1715, the Earl Marischal was found guilty of treason and stripped of his titles and lands—including this castle. It was acquired by the York Building Company, and remained in their possession until I purchased it five years ago. A lavish expense, some might think, but as a direct descendant of William the Lion, on my mother’s side, I thought it a necessary one. A piece of my heritage, I suppose.”
“I had wondered which of your parents was the Scottish one,” she mused as they came to the landing of the second floor.
He raised an eyebrow at her and smirked. “Was it the burr that gave me away?”
Despite what he’d done to her this morning, she could not help but smile back at him. It seemed a genuine grin, unlike the flash of teeth and snarl he’d flashed at her previously, reminding her of a predator preparing to attack its prey.
“It isn’t strong,” she assured him. “Just pronounced enough to be noticeably Scottish.”
“I can make it stronger when I’m of a mind to, lass,” he said, the accent becoming more pronounced with every word. “Most cannae tell when I dinnae want ’em to.”
Daphne suppressed a giggle, reminding herself who this man was. This was no courtship—he was not a suitor flirting with her while giving her a tour of his home. He was a lecher who had stripped her naked in front of his butler before throwing her onto a table to do wicked things to her. He was the man who had ruined her family.
Adam’s demeanor shifted as if he’d had the same thought at the exact same time. His expression hardened, his jaw clenching as the humor fled his eyes. Jerking his gaze away, he inclined his head down the corridor.
“Shall we?”
Holding her head high, she kept pace with him as he led her down a corridor which opened into a long gallery at the end. They paused there so she could inspect the paintings hanging on the wall, with stained glass windows appearing here and there along the stone. Instead of the family portraits she had been expecting, the gallery had been filled with art—expensive paintings commissioned by some of the most famous artists in London. In some places, she found stone sculptures and busts. Aside from those things, the gallery remained mostly empty—except for the weapons rack she found at the very end of the hall.
She gasped in delight when her gaze fell upon the fencing rapiers hanging there, along with a selection of face masks. A trunk lay on the floor beneath them, and she would be willing to wager it contained the necessary padding needed for the sport of fencing.
“You fence?” she asked.
“Aye,” he replied, opening the trunk and revealing that it did, in fact, contain fencing attire. “Do not tell me you have taken up the sport of fencing, little dove? Do ladies of your social standing not indulge in the typical pursuits of sewing, singing, and the pianoforte?”
Daphne huffed. “I become all thumbs with a sewing needle, am an abominable singer, and find the pianoforte to be a tedious instrument. I’ll have you know, I’ve been fencing since the age of twelve.”
The mocking smirk that set her teeth on edge returned, and he advanced on her, his eyelids drooping seductively.
“Naughty little dove. Engaging in a man’s sport when no one is looking. What else do you indulge in when no one is watching, I wonder?”
A lump lodged itself in her throat, and she backed away from him, unable to help the instinct for self-preservation warning her away from him. The memory of what had occurred over breakfast was not far from her mind, reminding her of how easily an encounter with him could change on the whim of his mood.
He followed, pressing her against the wall with his body, stunning her into submission with the raw power emanating from his hard muscles.
She stiffened against him, sucking in a sharp breath, causing him to smile—a feral display of teeth that sent a shiver down her spine.
“N-nothing, really,” she demurred, turning her head to avoid his gaze.
It was too probing, tooknowing.
His breath huffed against her neck, his nose sliding along her jaw as he moved his mouth toward her ear.
“Oh, come now, little dove. There must be something. Tell me something naughty, a secret you would never dare utter aloud.”
Her face flushed as she thought of days spent hidden in the woods, grass staining her gowns as she lifted them to allow a pair of hands beneath. Pulse quickening, she closed her eyes and recalled the feel of his lips on her neck and breasts, his groans in her ear as he taught her how to touch him the way he touched her.
No. Those summers spent in bliss, roaming the lands between her parents’ estate and his were too precious to speak of.
“Truly, there is nothing,” she whispered as he went on nuzzling her neck, his arms a menacing cage trapping her against the wall.
“Liar,” he growled, his teeth scraping against her earlobe. “Come now, Daphne … tell me one of your secrets, and I will tell you one of mine.”
Her heart stuttered as she realized what he must mean, and she forced herself to meet his gaze and not look away. “A secret about my family … about why you ruined us.”
