Page 9 of The Villain
His pet name for her rankled, reminding her of the insults he’d hurled at her the night before. He thought her weak, a simpering chit cowering in a gilded cage, preening for those who admired and protected her.
Her nostrils flared as she took in a deep breath, determined not to allow him to ruffle her. “I would like to have a word with you, Adam.”
The only response to her use of his Christian name came with the slight lift of his eyebrows.
Waving a hand, he shrugged.“Speak your mind freely …Daphne.”
He’d purposely emphasized her name, the underlying growl in his deep voice rumbling through the syllables like a purr. The sound did strange things to her belly.
Inclining her head to the large butler lurking in the corner, she cleared her throat. “Alone.”
Adam smiled, the flash of teeth both sudden and startling. The motion lacked all humor, though, more akin to a lion baring its teeth.
“Niall, Daphne is uncomfortable with your presence,” he declared, glancing over her shoulder at the silent butler. “You’ve frightened the girl half out of her wits. Would it kill you to crack a smile from time to time?”
Her eyes widened, and she glanced over her shoulder at the butler—who was apparently named Niall. Her face burned with embarrassment, but he hardly seemed ruffled.
“Of course I’m not afraid,” she said, turning back to Adam. “What I wish to discuss is a delicate matter, and—”
“Excellent,” he quipped with a dismissive motion of his hand. “Niall loves nothing more than listening to the inane concerns of pampered ladies, don’t you, Niall?”
The butler remained where he stood, but did turn his head to meet his lord’s gaze. “I’ve been known to indulge in a wee bit o’ gossip, Master.”
The mocking tone of both their voices set her teeth on edge.
“My lord, I really must insist—”
Adam’s fist came down on the surface of the table, causing the silverware to rattle and tea to slosh from her cup and pool in the saucer. She started, flinching in reaction to the sudden outburst, her heart taking up a rapid cadence. Any humor in his expression fled as he slowly rose to his feet, the golden prisms in his eyes flaring to life as if stoked by some inner fire.
Rounding the table in two quick strides, he took her arm in an iron grip and hauled her to her feet. She struggled against his hold, but he gave her a swift tug and wrapped his other arm around her waist. Her entire body stiffened as it came against his—the hard planes of his chest digging into the soft flesh of her breasts.
Her breath caught and held in her throat while his huffed against her cheek.
“Perhaps I am not making myself clear enough,” he whispered, his voice low and ominous as he pressed his mouth against her ear. “This ismydomain. I am the master of everything and everyone inside it, and for the next thirty days and nights, that includes you. Aside from your lady’s maid, you do not possess the authority to order my staff about. This is not London, little dove … you cannot shoo Niall from the room as if he were some bothersome fly. If you do not wish to speak in front of him, then I suggest you keep those pretty lips of yours shut lest I find some other way for you to occupy them.”
Short pants made her breasts heave against his chest, the anger and confusion this man made her feel setting the surface of her skin on fire. One second, she was ready to take him to task; the next, he was catching her off guard with his sudden shifts in demeanor. Going slack in his arms, she ceased fighting his ironclad hold and glared at him, refusing to avoid his piercing gaze.
“I was informed you intend to purchase clothing for me,” she snapped. “I simply wanted to tell you there is no need to go to such lengths. If there are more where these borrowed clothes came from, I am happy to make do with them. Or, perhaps Maeve might loan me a few simple garments.”
He chuckled, the sound vibrating through his entire body—and, by proxy, hers. His teeth flashed again with a sardonic smile, and he kept one arm around her, but released the one he’d been holding, using the now-empty hand to cup her face.
“Isn’t that just darling, Niall?” he teased, stroking a thumb along her lower lip. “The little chit would rather wear the rags of a maid than the expensive trappings I could provide her. Could it be because she doesn’t want to be pretty for me?”
“I cannae pretend to know, Master,” Niall replied dryly.
“It does not matter whether you’re dressed in rags, the finest ball gowns, or nothing at all,” he continued, stroking her lower lip with slow swipes of his thumb. “You are mine to do with as I please. I am paying good money for access to your ripe, virginal body, and that means I will use you how I wish, when I wish, where I wish. It also means you will wear what I tell you to wear, or you shall wear nothing at all.”
As he leered at the generous amount of flesh revealed by her indecently low bodice, a niggling of fear trickled down her spine. Something told her he would make good on his threat to have her traipse about nude.
“Might I at least be allowed a chemise?” she asked, hating that he would reduce her to begging for so basic a dignity as smallclothes.
But, dash it all, she could not let this encounter past without gaining anything—even something so small as a pair of drawers. Not after he’d taunted and humiliated her in front of Niall.
“No,” he replied. “I want as few layers between me and you as possible. What fun would this be if you wore a chemise under that gown?”
He emphasized his last words by moving his hand from her face and placing it between her shoulder blades. With a flick of his fingers, the first button loosened from its hole.
She sucked in a sharp breath, thrashing in his hold. No man had ever seen her completely undressed, and her limited experience had not prepared her for this. The soft kisses and tentative caresses she’d been treated to in the past should not be expected here—she had known that. But, when setting out to do battle with him, she had never expected him to disarm her so quickly.
