Page 12 of The Damsel
“As for why I am doing this … I want something that I’ve been taught I ought not desire. Unlike a man, I cannot go walking Covent Garden to find what I need, nor can I hire a mistress or some such. There is only this … me choosing the man I want with a mutual understanding of what it will entail.”
Robert supposed that when she put it that way, he could respect her motives. Women experienced desires just like men; but whereas those of his sex were allowed—and even encouraged—to pursue those needs, a woman’s reputation could be destroyed for similar behavior. And Lady Cassandra's reputation could not afford another blow. In truth, he could think of no reason to refuse her.
Daphne.
Her face flashed through his mind, as it always did whenever he thought of things like passion or desire. Consorting with whores had been one thing, but he’d never allowed himself to be with any woman outside such encounters. He’d never courted anyone else, never so much as kissed another woman’s lips in all the years he’d spent pining after Daphne.
Daphne belongs to Hartmoor now.
The reminder doused him like a bucket of frigid water, chilling him and settling a heavy weight in his middle. What was there for him to hope for now? What cause did he have for saving any part of himself, when Daphne might be speaking her vows to another man over the blacksmith’s anvil as they spoke?
Suddenly, he wanted her in a way he hadn’t at the start of their conversation. He wanted what she offered, if for no other reason than the prospect of losing himself in something else. Even if it were only for one night. Even if the woman in question had never displayed interest in him. Even if she was the last woman in the world he would ever have considered doing this with.
He bolstered himself with another sip of whisky, and before could lose his nerve said, “I accept.”
Something like relief seemed to soften her features, a bit of the tension in her back and shoulders easing. “Very well. Before we adjourn upstairs, there are a few things you need to understand and agree to. I will have rules, and you must follow them if you want the night to end well for you.”
His eyebrows shot up as he found himself taken aback yet again. This woman really was unlike any he’d ever encountered. Instead of being put off by her candor, he found it refreshing. After all the time he’d spent trying to woo Daphne with limited success and then heartbreak, he could appreciate a forthright lady. He didn’t think he would have to worry about being strung along or given hope where there was none. They would go upstairs and fuck. That would be the end of it.
“All right,” he said. “What rules?”
“First, you are to be bound by your wrists to the bed,” she stated as if remarking upon the weather. “Second, you are to follow my lead. There will be no attempts from you at dominating the encounter or ordering me about.”
It was a good thing he’d already swallowed his whisky, or he might have choked. She wanted him to allow her to tie him up and lay there while she …
Now her assertion that she would fuck him made sense.
“I see. I suppose I can agree to that, though I typically prefer to be a bit more … active, when I’m with a woman.”
Her gaze dropped to his mouth and lingered there as she inched closer, just close enough that he could detect the scent of cloves and oranges—a fragrance he might not have found feminine until he registered it on her. It made his cock twitch in his breeches.
“I promise you will not regret it,” she whispered, her voice lowering and taking on a husky quality that grew his cock to half-mast. It made him wonder how she’d sound moaning her pleasure, whispering his name.
What the devil was she doing to him? It had been some time since he’d had such a strong reaction to a woman. Not since …
You will not think about her. Not tonight. You came here to forget, and that is what you will do.
“Any other rules for me to observe?”
It seemed absurd—rules regarding intercourse. Yet, he knew without being told that she’d rescind the offer if he didn’t agree to them.
“Only that Peter there will remain outside the door … for my protection. I am certain you understand.”
He followed her gaze to the large man who had accompanied Cassandra and her friend, and found the man watching them. He had no doubt the chap would break him in half if he so much as sneezed in Cassandra’s direction. As much as Robert wanted to balk at the idea of him lurking outside the room, he supposed he could understand why she’d want protection.
The idea put a bitter taste in his mouth, made all the more sour by the knowledge that she’d been hurt once before. If he did nothing else tonight, he would make sure she enjoyed it.
“Understood,” he agreed.
She nodded. “Very well. I will go up first with Peter. Wait a few moments, then follow.”
Without giving him a chance to reply, she swiveled with a swish of her skirts and bounded toward the shadowed staircase with long, graceful strides. Peter followed at a discreet distance.
Robert remained for a long while, the effects of the whisky causing his head to swim, though his mind raced with surprising clarity. His decision to bed a lady in a roadside public house did not fit with his usual gentlemanly ideals. He might come to regret it.
As he pushed aside the tumbler in favor of finishing his spirits straight from the bottle, he pushed that thought aside. Caution and gallantry had gotten him nowhere with Daphne, so what use were they? Tonight, at least, he could forget the pain of his loss.
What did he have to lose?
