Page 13 of The Damsel
CASSANDRA PACED AWAYfrom the small hearth, which Peter had lit before going to stand guard in the corridor. He would remain out there until she emerged, unless she cried out for help—at which time he would charge in, prepared to strangle her bedmate to death. She hardly thought she’d need to call on him, given Robert’s amiable nature, which ought to have relieved her.
However, she was more anxious than ever, her hands sweating and shaking as she paced the cramped but clean chamber.
She only felt this way because she stood so close to her goal, and Millicent had assured her being nervous was normal. But, was she supposed to feel as if she might be ill, or swoon in a dead faint? Despite the frigid weather outside, this room emitted a stifling heat, causing her to snatch off her cloak and toss it aside.
That he hadn't refused her outright had been a relief, which helped ease a bit of her tension. One part of her mission—getting a man to agree to spend the night with her—had been accomplished. Now, she must get through the rest. She must touch him and taste him and … take him inside her body.
She closed her mouth, bile rising to the back of her throat at the thought. Then, she took a few deep breaths and attempted to calm her racing pulse.
She could do this. Millicent had urged her to try pleasuring herself first, so she’d know what she liked best. She’d even given Cassandra a box of implements she had called ‘dildos’; phallic shaped things made of lacquered wood, ivory, jade, and glass. She'd made use of the small ones first, unable to even look at the larger without succumbing to panic. Once she’d learned to use them and found she enjoyed it, she’d moved on to the larger ones and liked them even more.
Millicent had told her to keep them, and so she had—and often used her favorite, the ivory affair with a particularly large tip. So, it was not that she couldn’t abide penetration. It more to do with the thing going inside her belonging to a flesh and blood man.
Her heart kicked up its rhythm, pounding against her breastbone as she braced her hand against the wall and doubled over. She felt as if the wind had been knocked from her as memories came unbidden to her mind—recollections of Bertram pinning her with his weight, the brutal invasion of him battering his way through her.
She heaved, but nothing came forth, her body convulsing and her stomach twisting as if wrung like a dishrag.
It is over and behind you … it has been five years. You can get through this … you can move on with your life.
For so long she had lived in a state of perpetual anger and fear. She’d thought helping Bertram’s other victims take him down would help, that seeing him tried, found guilty, and hanged would help her sleep easier at night. As of this morning, her assailant no longer drew breath, giving her a bit more peace of mind. At least she knew he could never hurt another woman again.
Now she must face the thing that had terrified her since the day Bertram had raped her. As a young, idealistic debutante, she had listened to her elder sisters whisper about what went on in the marriage bed and experienced excitement. She’d thought she would marry someone kind, who would initiate her gently. Perhaps she would even enjoy it.
Bertram had robbed her of that, but Millicent had insisted all was not lost. She could learn ways around her fears and overcome them. She could know what it was like to be with someone of her own free will, and maintain control the entire time.
So far, so good, she thought as she straightened and turned just as the door to the room swung open.
Robert stood there. He had waited before following her, just as she’d asked. She supposed others might call him spineless, and perhaps he was, but a man who would bow to her wishes was exactly what she needed. As he closed the door and turned to face her, she couldn’t help but wonder at his reasons for saying yes to her. Millicent had insisted that no man would turn down such an offer, yet Cassandra had noticed the way he'd seemed to give this much thought before agreeing. He’d seemed intent on finding out her reasons for making such an offer, as if he actually cared to know and understand.
Nonsense. Since when has any man other than Papa cared about your thoughts or feelings?
She’d once thought Bertram did, but of course that notion had turned out to be false. Robert would be no different.
He began striding toward her.
“That’s far enough for now,” she barked.
He paused mid-step, now halfway across the small room, brow furrowed. He seemed bewildered by her, but Millicent had told her not to worry about that. That he might not understand all her actions would add to the mystery, and once his prick was wrapped in her cunt, he’d cease caring.
She came away from the wall, clenching her hands behind her back so he wouldn’t see how they trembled. Raking her gaze over him from head to toe, she could not avoid the realization that he might be the most beautiful man she’d ever laid eyes upon. If nothing else, her boldness had earned her a night with one of London’s most coveted bachelors. If word of this ever got out, no one would believe it.
“Undress,” she commanded, raising her chin.
Then, she backed toward the bed and sank down, bracing both hands on the edge of the mattress. He watched her while working at the knot of his cravat, his gaze far too assessing for someone who’d finished off an entire pint of whisky almost entirely on his own. But he was looking at her in that way of his again, making her skin tingle and her hackles rise.
Hurry up and undress so I can maul you.
Her mouth went dry at the sight of his throat. Such an innocuous body part, but it was long with tender cords begging to be bitten, and she could see the way his pulse hammered at the base of it. She bit her lip and forced herself to remain seated. That he could affect her this way proved a good sign. She would want him bad enough to go through with it, no matter her trepidation.
His coat came next, joining the neckcloth upon the floor. As he flicked open the buttons of his waistcoat she watched his hands, which were as perfect as the rest of him. Long-fingered and dexterous, they would probably be soft and nimble.
It was too bad she did not intend to let him touch her.
She didn’t trust him enough for that, so she focused upon something other than his hands. Looking at them would only tempt her to make him use those fingers to toy with her nipples, or even stroke her clit.
No touching.
It was the one rule she meant to hold firm to, and tying him to the bed would ensure he did not forget himself and do it anyway.
