Page 15 of The Villain
He laughed, his chest rumbling against her breasts and causing her nipples to pebble. She shuddered, but held his gaze, determined not to back down from a direct challenge.
“A fair exchange,” he relented. “You first, little dove. Tell me something wicked.”
She tried to think of something—anything that would placate him enough to earn the promised secret. She’d come here for answers, and thus far had only been told that the men responsible for protecting her were not who she’d made them out to be in her mind. How could that be when her father had always doted on her—even when her willful nature had frustrated him? How could that be when Bertram had always been the man she trusted more than any other in the world? Her uncle had had his faults, but he certainly hadn’t deserved to be coerced into murdering himself.
She must think of something, but would not betray the memories of those summers spent in the country with the man she had once hoped to marry. There were some parts of her Adam would never touch.
Reaching for the first memory she could fathom—one of the few which could be considered naughty—she blurted it out without thinking.
“I once stole an erotic novel from my brother.”
Adam drew back slightly, his lips quivering with amusement. “Is that all?”
Shock dropped her jaw. “Well, ofcoursethat is all. You needn’t sound as if I’ve confessed to pilfering a biscuit from a bakery, as if what I did was of no consequence. The novel was quite explicit in detail and rather shocking to read. Not to mention the scandal that would have ensued had anyone known I’d read it. My reputation—”
“It has always amused me how easily a woman’s reputation can be ruined,” he interjected. “How adorable you are, little dove … so pure and sweet, your white wings untouched and pristine. I am going to enjoy sullying them.”
A shiver shot through her at what his words implied, and the promises he’d made over breakfast of the different ways he would go about ruining her.
“Did you blush as you read the erotic novel?” he teased. “Did the words cause your cunt to grow wet?”
Her neck grew hot as she remembered reading page after page of filth—of being both titillated and intrigued by it.
“Of course not,” she lied.
He chuckled again, the sound a grating reminder that he was laughingather. “How easily you lie, little dove. I know they taught you it is safer to pretend—to lie to yourself about the things you think about when you are alone at night in your bed … to be ashamed of the things you desire. No one is here. You can admit it to me.”
Shame fell on her like a crushing force, but she forced her chin up and speared him with a defiant glare. She would never confess to being wanton, to have come close on quite a few occasions to becoming the whore he now tried to make of her.
“There is nothing to tell,” she insisted. “I stole the book, read it, and put it back before Bertie was the wiser.”
He scowled, moving away from her with a heavy sigh. “You disappoint me, Daphne. Our time together will become so much more enjoyable once you cease playing the lamb to my lion. You called me a villain last night; yet, I have never been dishonest about the sort of man I am. I told you what I want from you, and the price I am willing to pay for it. But you insist upon playing the coquette, lying both to me and yourself about who you are and what you desire.”
How did he see through her so easily when he had barely known her an entire day? She’d spent her life hiding behind a carefully cultivated mask of innocence, holding her tongue when she’d rather speak, spurning kisses when all she’d ever wanted was to be kissed, pretending to be embarrassed by the reaction of her body to certain stimuli when she’d wished to revel in it. What good was her pretense if a man like Adam could see straight through it?
“I do not know what you expect from me,” she replied, injecting as much coolness into her voice as she could muster. “But I will never play your whore.”
“My whore,” he murmured, reaching up to cup her face, his thumb tracing over her lower lip—still tender from his earlier assault. “Perhaps not, but you will be mine, Daphne. I will have you whether you play the innocent or the wanton.”
He stroked her lip with the pad of this thumb, pressing down enough to pull her mouth open. Her breath quickened, and the response he’d coaxed from her this morning roared to life once more, leaving her feeling off-balance and dizzy.
God, why can’t I fight him? What is it about him that makes me feel so weak?
“You promised me a secret,” she reminded him—because she needed him to talk, to return to their original conversation before she lost her head again.
He gave her a slow smile, lowering his hand and allowing it to brush against her breast on its way down. “So I did. You wish to know about how your uncle met his demise.”
“At your hands,” she snapped, taking the opening his lowered arms offered and slipping out from between him and the wall.
He fell in step beside her, and they walked back the way they’d come. “Are you sure? I feel certain I’d heard he killed himself.”
“Because of you!” she bellowed, turning to face him with her hands balled up at her sides.
Unruffled by her outburst, he paused and leaned against a closed door they had not yet explored beyond.
“No,” he retorted, grinding the words out from between clenched teeth. “Allow me to let you in on a little secret about your uncle. The man was a known gambler, a habit only exacerbated once he began over-imbibing … something he did much more frequently toward the end of his life. Haven’t you ever wonderedwhyhe’d taken to drinking so heavily, drowning himself in spirits from sunup to sundown?”
Daphne wrinkled her brow, her ire cooling as confusion pushed to the forefront of her mind. It was true, Uncle William had always had a bit of a gambling habit, though he’d never lost so heavily until … well, she was not entirely certain. Five years ago, perhaps. That was when he’d begun a swift descent into near poverty, taking her father with him.
