Page 36 of The Dove
She nodded in agreement, another tear slipping down her cheek. “No more laudanum.”
They sat staring at each other in silence for a moment, before she spoke again.
“I’m sorry, Hart … I don’t mean to hurt you … I don’t mean to make you worry.”
He shook his head, tightening his hold on her shoulders and placing a kiss on her forehead. “Never apologize to me for things you cannot control. It is my duty to worry, and I’d suffer a thousand hurts if it meant you would be all right.”
She issued a sigh, a sound that carried in it a thousand thoughts and emotions.
“This will not be easy,” he warned her. “Your body will crave the laudanum. It won’t be pleasant.”
The smile she gave him broke his heart. “I know … I want that, too.”
He understood what she said as well as what she did not say. She wanted the pain, the sweating and the trembling of withdrawal. She wanted it, because it was better than numbness, better than swimming in a void of darkness.
He had just opened his mouth to reply to her when Niall’s voice came from the doorway.
“Master … there is someone here demanding an audience with you.”
Scowling at the man over his shoulder, he wondered who the hell could be calling on him this time of night. “Whoever it is can sod off, Niall.Now is not the time—”
A commotion in the hallway had him falling silent, another familiar voice ringing out through the open door.
“Where is he? I will not be put off! Tell the bloody coward to come and face me!”
Daphne.
He was on his feet in an instant, moving toward the door without a second thought, drawn toward the sound of her voice. She sounded angry … no,furious… but he did not care. He only wanted to lay eyes on her, to have a taste of his own addictive drug … his opium … his little dove.
He entered the corridor just in time to find her barreling toward him, hands balled into fists at her sides, her face a mask of unrestrained wrath. Before he could speak, she was on him with an enraged snarl, her slight body colliding with his big one. She stunned him into passivity for a moment, and he could do nothing but stand there as she slapped him over and over, screaming at him. Her words came out in a jumbled screech he could not decipher, but he felt the weight of each one, heard the accusations she leveled at him, felt the anger in every strike of her hand against his face.
He wrapped his arms around her and lifted her off the ground, trying to wrestle her into stillness. She thrashed and flailed in his hold, her feet striking his shins, her fists pummeling every inch of him she could reach.
“You bastard!” she shrieked as he began carrying her into the room adjoining his—the feminine suite that had once belonged to her mother. “You snake!”
Her blows were starting to affect him, stoking his anger and his lust all at once, until the feelings became one—his blood heating and rushing in his veins, going straight to his groin and engorging his cock so fast, it was uncanny. Fighting down the urge to bend her over the nearest piece of furniture and silence her with the ram of his cock into her cunt, he threw her away from him.
She landed on the bed with a huff, falling silent momentarily when the wind was knocked out of her. He stalked to the open door and peered out at Niall, who was staring after them with a mixture of confusion and annoyance upon his face.
“Stay with Olivia,” he barked before grabbing hold of the door. “No laudanum.”
Without waiting for a response, he slammed the door. He had just turned to address Daphne when she came flying at him again, grunting and snarling as he grabbed hold of her wrist before she could land another blow.
“I hate you!” she bellowed as he spun her about and slammed her against the door. “I hate you, you bloody bastard!”
Her other hand came at him, and he plucked it out of the air, pinning it above her head along with the other. She bucked against him, but he overcame her easily, using his body to press her against the door. Genuine confusion wrinkled his brow as he gazed down at her, finding tears in her eyes and her face reddened with fury.
He wanted to believe she might be angry with him over their encounter at the ball—the things he’d said to her during their waltz. However, he quickly realized that it must be something else, as he’d never seen her so angry, trembling with the force of her rage, her chest heaving as she attempted to get her breathing under control.
“I realize you have many reasons to hate me,” he said calmly, hoping that being reasonable might help him get to the bottom of whatever had upset her. “Perhaps you might tell me what it is that’s made your loathing especially potent just now?”
She bucked against him, her pelvis bumping his and making him grit his teeth. Goddamn it, being this close to her was a terrible idea when she was in such a state—because she had murder in her eyes, and all it did was make him want to expel that fury from her, ram her full of his cock and drill it right out of her.
“I knew you were despicable, but I never would have believed you capable of something like this,” she spat, narrowing her eyes at him. “It was foolish of me to think you capable of any form of decency.”
Her cryptic words began to annoy him, and he gave her wrists a squeeze, pressing her tighter to the door, obliterating what was left of the space between them.
“You are going to have to be more specific, little dove,” he snapped.
