Page 48 of The Villain
He gave her a little push toward the washstand, which she took as a silent command to make use of it. Her hands shook as she walked to it, peering back at him over her shoulder. He had begun disrobing, his coat slung carelessly over the bench settled at the foot of her bed, his cravat thrown on top of it. She swiftly turned her back before he could remove his shirt, her throat constricting so tightly, she could hardly breathe.
Did he mean to have her again … in her bed this time?
She trembled with equal parts fear and anticipation as she removed her robe, then the nightgown—which had not survived the encounter in the music room unscathed. Droplets of Adam’s seed had begun to dry on the fabric. Letting it slide off her shoulders, she took up the soap and scrap of linen waiting beside the washstand. She found the rosewater still warm, its scent mingling pleasantly with the floral-scented soap.
Making quick work of cleaning herself more thoroughly, she dried and then donned the clean nightgown. Like the other items Adam had ordered for her, this gown seemed more like something a courtesan would wear than a demure young lady, the black silk clinging to her breasts and waist, a high slit allowing easy access.
But, as she approached the bed, she supposed the title of ‘courtesan’ did not lay far from where she found herself.
Paid to be a man’s plaything.
He stood on the other side of the bed in nothing but his breeches, his unbound hair falling down his back. His naked upper body was shown to its advantage, the moonlight illuminating the hard bulges and sinewy ridges. She idly wondered how he would feel if she pressed her hands against his chest. Would that part of him be hot to the touch, much like the velvety skin blanketing his cock? Would the coarse hairs tickle her fingers … would it be soft to the touch like the hair on his head?
“Get in,” he snapped, his voice breaking her out of her reverie.
Despite the strain in his voice, he did not appear to be vexed with her … merely a bit impatient. She scrambled into the bed, swiftly covering herself with the blankets. He followed suit, climbing in beside her and turning onto his side. One long arm came around her, dragging her across the space between them until she rested against him. A gasp burned in her throat, a visceral reaction to the hot, male body pressed against her. He gave off a heat that seemed to sink through her skin and settle as deep as her bones.
“Relax,” he growled against her ear. “I am not going to take you again … not right now. That isn’t to say I might not want to later. I’d rather keep you within reach if I wake up and decide I want you than have to cross the palace to wake you in the middle of the night.”
Nodding her understanding, she swallowed past the anxiety lodged in her throat. His words hardly eased her mind. In truth, she would rather have endured him again right away as opposed to being awakened when she least expected. While she was clearheaded, she could brace herself for whatever he might do to her. In a state of half-sleep, she would be defenseless.
She lay silently for a while, staring at the ceiling overhead. Her body slowly relaxed against his, fatigue beginning to drag her under. The change in his breathing told her he had fallen asleep, which served to ease her anxiety a bit more. She turned to look at him, finding him no less intimidating in sleep than when he was awake. Even with his eyes closed, his lips parted, his breathing deep and slow, he reminded her of a wild cat—the strength in his muscles and the threat of the large hand splayed over her lower belly putting her on edge.
Despite that, she eventually drifted off to sleep beneath the heavy—yet somehow pleasant—weight of his arm, his warm breath softly fanning the side of her neck.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
hen Daphne woke the next day, she found the bed beside her empty. The sun streaming through the windows stung her eyes, its brightness telling her it must be at least an hour past noon. Her sleep had been restful, though Adam had awakened her twice during what remained of the night. The first time, she had come to with his cock slipping into her, the hem of her nightgown snatched up to her waist. He had entered her while she laid upon her side, his large body curled around hers, one hand possessively holding her hip. She had splintered within seconds, muffling her screams in the pillow as he’d pounded her from behind, his pelvis colliding with her buttocks in a rhythm matching her beating heart. He’d pulled away from her and spent with a low groan, turning away from her to spill his seed upon the sheets.
The second time, she’d been roused by his tongue between her thighs and the orange glow of dawn appearing outside her window. She had opened her eyes to find him lying between her spread legs, hair spilling over his shoulders, eyes closed. He’d lapped at her with a slow thoroughness completely at odds with his earlier claiming. He’d taken his time exploring her with languid tongue strokes and soft pulls of his lips, thrusting his hands beneath her nightgown to find her breasts so he could toy with them. He’d made her spend more times than she could count, his gentleness eventually giving way to urgency until he’d devoured her as if starving, his breath racing against her wet, tender flesh.
Then, without preamble, he’d sat back on his haunches and flipped her onto her belly. She’d hardly found her breath before he’d been straddling her, plunging inside her to the hilt. The ministrations of his tongue had made her so wet, the sting of his invasion had only lasted a moment. As he’d fisted her hair in one strong hand and pulled, forcing her back into a deep arch, she had closed her eyes and surrendered. He would have her whether she allowed herself to enjoy it or not … at least, this was what she’d told herself while screaming her pleasure, gripping the bedclothes in her fists as he’d hurtled her toward another powerful climax. It was what she’d told herself as he’d pulled free of her sheath and stained her back with his seed … when she’d collapsed onto the bed so he could wipe her clean before pulling her back against his chest and urging her to sleep a bit longer.
Now, as she sat up in bed, an emptiness yawned inside of her, opening in the pit of her gut. She should be glad to find herself alone, to be free of him for even a short time. Yet, she was forced to confront the fact that she’d just gotten her most restful night of sleep since arriving at Dunnottar, despite being awakened twice to slake Adam’s lust. Or, perhaps even because of it.
Groaning, she ran her fingers through her tousled hair and lowered her head. What the devil was wrong with her? She should not miss his presence, nor should she allow herself to feel anything toward him except antipathy. The man had treated her cruelly from the beginning, never ceasing to remind her she was no more than a means to an end.
But then, his haunted gaze flitted through her mind, reminding of her of the reason for it all. Why he hated her … why she was nothing more than a channel through which he could hurt Bertram … why he could never care about her in any way. The things he’d revealed to her in the darkest hours of the night—his pain, his grief—made her pity him as much as she abhorred him.
“Oh, my lady, you’re awake!” Maeve exclaimed.
Daphne glanced up to find the maid approaching the bed, carrying a tray laden with food and tea.
“The Master wanted me to ensure you had a proper meal,” she continued, waiting for Daphne to sit up straight so she could lay the tray in her lap. “He was called away on urgent business to Kincardineshire, but should return in a few days.”
Taking up a triangle of buttered toast, she bit into it and nearly swooned with pleasure. She hadn’t realized how ravenous she was until she’d tasted the first bite.
“Why should I care where he has gone or when he will return?” she retorted, annoyed with herself for the sinking feeling in her gut as she digested the news.
She told herself it was only because Adam’s absence meant she would grow bored. Without someone to fence with, how was she to occupy herself each morning? As well, she could hardly ferret out the other answers to her questions concerning Bertram and Olivia if he was not here.
Maeve did not reply, simply casting her a smug, knowing look before going about her duties. While Daphne ate, she selected riding attire, suggesting an afternoon ride while the weather was still so fair, then prepared another basin of rosewater.
After she’d eaten her fill, the maid set the tray aside then began her toilette. Once she had been bathed with the rosewater and wore a simple white blouse and skirt for riding, Daphne sat to endure having her hair combed, brushed, and arranged into a simple chignon.
Her spirits lifted a bit as she stepped out onto the front steps of the palace, turning her face up to the sun. She had not spent nearly as much time out of doors as she was accustomed to, and with the Scottish countryside stretching out for miles before her, she became filled with the urge to ride as far and fast as her mount would allow.
A stable groom quickly prepared her horse, and before long, she descended the escarpment, putting Dunnottar behind her. She rode for what felt like hours, her face breaking out into a smile as the soft breeze stroked its fingers through her hair and the sun caressed her face. Even the lingering soreness between her legs could not steal her enjoyment of the ride, the exercise going a long way to ease the tension in her tight muscles.
