Page 35 of The Villain
Clearing her throat, she glanced back up at him, fixing her face into a placid expression.
“If you wish to begin—”
“Not here,” he interjected, shaking his head. “Come.”
Turning and setting off across the gallery, he left her with no choice but to follow.
CHAPTER EIGHT
aphne remained silent as she followed Adam away from the gallery and down the winding corridor back toward the great hall. His long strides were swift and sure, as if he had a particular destination in mind. At first, she assumed he meant to take her to his study—the only room in the palace she had seen him occupy aside from the gallery and music room. Yet, they breezed past his domain, the door remaining tightly closed. He led her through the main hall and toward a door she had never noticed before—one she assumed led outdoors.
Sure enough, when he swung the heavy panel open, sunlight flooded the gap and stung her eyes. Squinting against the glare, she followed him into a large, square courtyard. Coming to a stop at his side, she gasped in awe, soaking in every detail of the little space. The sides of the quadrangle-shaped palace folded in around the courtyard, closing it off from the world. Stone paths guided the way toward a green hedgerow maze while iron benches here and there invited visitors to sit and absorb the scenery. Bursts of color drew her eye to the blossoms someone had carefully cultivated—roses, edelweiss, lilies, iris, tulips, and a plethora of others, complementing the green hedgerows with bursts of red, yellow, purple, and pink. In the center of it all sat a large well, the low edge allowing her to glimpse the clean, clear water inside.
“Oh,” she whispered, the reason she’d followed him out here forgotten. “It’s so …”
A breathless sigh escaped her as she approached the closest plant, reaching out to caress the delicate petals of a blood red rose.
“You must really love these flowers,” she murmured, the tranquility of the garden all but demanding a lowered voice. “They’re well taken care of.”
“My gardeners are compensated well for keeping them,” he replied.
Despite his attempt to sound nonchalant, she could hear the strain in his voice. Turning to peer at him over her shoulder, she frowned. He avoided her gaze, his hair falling over one shoulder as he gazed out over the courtyard.
“Still,” she offered tentatively. “This must be the most pristine, well-maintained part of the castle I’ve come across. It has to mean something to you.”
Uncertain why the sight of him surrounded by so much light and life tugged upon her heartstrings, Daphne approached the well, putting him behind her. She did not want to see that haunted look in his eyes, or wonder what it might mean. This man had destroyed her family, and, if he had his way, would tear her apart, too. He did not deserve her pity.
“Someone who lived here once planted the flowers,” he hedged, following her to the well. “I can take no credit for them.”
Bracing her hands upon the stone lip of the well, she gazed down at the water. It reflected her image back to her, as well as Adam looming behind her. She held her breath as he braced his hands on either side of hers, trapping her between his arms and pressing his body up against hers.
“This cistern supplies the entire castle with fresh water,” he said conversationally, as if he were not pressing the thick root of his erect cock against her back. “A system of pipes built into the palace walls allow us to pump it into the kitchen and the water closets.”
She wanted to ask who had planted the flowers and why they no longer lived here—if they also happened to be the same person her father, uncle, and brother had somehow wronged. Yet, the hard press of his chest against her back, the heat emanating from him and sinking through her skin, and the warning of his breath teasing the nape of her neck stole the words from her lips. Holding her back erect, she fought the urge to sink against him, to arch her spine and rise up on tiptoe so she could nestle her hips into the cradle of his groin.
“Why must you fight me, little dove?” he murmured, lowering his head and pressing his mouth against her ear.
His lips skimmed the back of her neck, his facial hair tickling the delicate skin, his breath caressing her like the brush of insistent fingers. With a whimper, she closed her eyes, her body jerking from the shivers she tried to keep at bay, the desire she tried to hide from him.
“The things you want … the things you need … I know what they are,” he whispered, grasping her hips and pulling her back into him. “They are why you have remained unmarried for so long, despite being the sort of woman the men of London clamor for … despite having your pick of eligible bachelors. They are why you stayed, even when I promised to hurt you, to break you.”
“You know nothing about me,” she retorted despite the pleasure causing her toes to curl in her boots, her eyes rolling back into her head as he brushed his lips against the back of her neck, his tongue creeping out to taste the ridges of her spine.
He chuckled, the rough sound causing liquid heat to pool in her middle and her cunt to clench with longing.
“I know you do not want courtly manners or sweet kisses,” he countered. “You do not want to be cherished or coddled. You want to be used, defiled … broken. You want to be spread apart and plundered until there’s nothing left.”
She could not suppress her shudder this time, her mouth going dry when he took hold of her hair, wrapping her disheveled braid around his fist before giving it a rough jerk. Her neck arched, her scalp stinging from his brutal hold as he contorted her, seeming not to care that the angle he held her in might cause discomfort. Her heart pounded so hard and fast, she would not be surprised if he could hear it, her veins fairly humming from the heady rush of her blood, the excitement that had ramped up her pulse.
“Keeping you here for thirty days and sending you back to London would be more than enough to ruin your reputation,” he rasped, his whiskers rasping her cheek, his lips soothing where the coarse hairs abraded. “But I knew the moment I laid eyes upon you that it would not be enough—not for me, and not for you. It will go easier for you if you submit and obey, Daphne… if you surrender to what we both want.”
Snorting derisively, she squirmed in his hold, determined to win the battle against her body, which seemed to react to him of its own volition, even as her mind screamed that she stood in the arms of a monster.
“How can I desire someone I hate?” she retorted.
He laughed again, the rumbling of his chest resounding through her back, warming her entire body and causing prickles of awareness to sting her skin.
“So naive of you to think lust has anything to do with softer emotions like admiration or respect. When you return to London with your reputation in tatters, what will it matter that you enjoyed it, that you craved it … even begged for it?”
