Part 16 (1/2)
”We're at Bradlaw House?” Hope jumped in her heart. She'd been there before, but never upstairs. A small garden party had been held in their honor after she and Edward came to Christie Park to escape the gossip when they were first married. Lady Bradlaw had been all that was kind, conducting her through an exquisite parterre garden. Lord Bradlaw, a friendly, jolly sort, was a neighbor and one of Edward's oldest friends. Caroline never understood how such a warm, animated man could cope with the block of ice that was Edward.
He looked warm enough now, and a wave of her own heat suffused her cheeks. Edward loomed over her, deliciously wet and naked, the blade of the knife glinting in the sunlight. ”Ah. You'd never manage a bluff in a game of cards-your expression betrays you utterly. Don't get any ideas. Tom and Susannah Bradlaw are still in town waiting on the king's pleasure. They can't help you run from me.”
She made a gorgon-face at him. Let him understand that. She wouldn't need the Bradlaws' help. At least she knew where she was, and how to get back to London. She held her breath as the knife came perilously close to her heart.
”Go ahead. Stab me.”
”Don't be ridiculous. Hold still.”
Caroline waited for him to cut the ropes again.
Ping ping ping. The cherry-red b.u.t.tons of her spencer bounced to the floor.
”What are you doing?” she rasped. The b.u.t.tons had been fas.h.i.+oned to resemble little rosebuds and she had been very fond of them.
Edward frowned. ”I'm not sure a knife will do. I'll be right back.”
h.e.l.l and d.a.m.nation. He was back with a large pair of shears before she could count to one hundred.
”I'll have you know this outfit cost a fortune!”
”I'll replace it.” Mercilessly, he cut the sleeves of her jacket straight down her arms. He balled up the fabric and it joined the rest of the mess on the Bradlaws' carpet.
”You are a fiend,” Caroline said behind clenched teeth. Much worse than her old neighbor Charlotte's lover Sir Michael Bayard.
”I've got to hurry. It wouldn't do for the water to get cold. You might catch a chill.”
”I hope you catch lung fever!” She flinched when his hand snaked under her bodice as he cut the red kerseymere skirt down to the hem. She was left in nothing but rope and her chemise and stockings. Her half-boots had been removed long ago after the series of kicks.
Edward grinned. ”No corset?”
Caroline would not dignify the question with an answer. As she had been travelling alone, it had seemed simpler to dispense with the contraption. Her destroyed carriage dress had been constructed with special boning at her direction.
Snip snip snip. Despite the warmth of the afternoon sunlight, her nipples contracted as her chemise gave way to air. Edward's hands trembled as he unfastened her garters. He had put the scissors down somewhere, but unless he untied her hands, he was safe.
For the time being.
She wondered how he'd get the stockings out from under the rope, but then he gripped her heels and cut the bonds. She lay still as death as he folded each stocking down with agonizing precision, his knuckles brus.h.i.+ng her leg with each fold. Raising one limb, he ma.s.saged the pins and needles away with his warm, strong hands. Up and down, up and down, his fingers squeezed and released perfect pressure on the soles of her feet, her calves, the back of her knees. She forgot she was free to kick him as he swept up her inner thigh. His forefinger wandered just where she wanted it to. To her shame, she was wet and eager for his touch. Then he seemed to remember that the water temperature was no doubt cooling as her betraying body flared in heat.
”Can you walk or shall I carry you?”
”Carry,” she whispered. She was too languid to step across the minefield of blossoms and cut clothing. He scooped her from the mattress and climbed into the tub, nestling her in his lap. His erection teased her cleft, but he made no move to insert himself in her aching hollow.
Her hands bound as if in prayer, she leaned against him as he covered her with his scent, the soap slick against her back and b.u.t.tocks. Edward smoothed the bar over her hip, then swirled it around each breast until her nipples were stiff and rose-pink between the bubbles. She was his canvas as he painted every inch of her with froth, sliding back and forth over her sensitive skin. Her anger was slipping away as it always did when they were twined together. She closed her eyes and sought a fragment of sanity, but it eluded her as she fell deeper under his fluid spell.
His soap-filled hand stroked downward to her belly, then lower to her swollen c.l.i.toris. She opened her legs to him, desperate for more. He used a hard corner of the lime-scented cake in place of his fingers, rubbing with dedication until she drowned in sensation, his lips at her throat, his thumb at her breast. As she raised her hips in cresting o.r.g.a.s.m, his c.o.c.k sheathed itself in one deliberate thrust.
At last. He filled her as she shuddered around him, rising and falling, heedless of the water splas.h.i.+ng over the rim, heedless of anything but his hard c.o.c.k and hands on her hips lifting her from bliss and then back down. She was branded by his owners.h.i.+p everywhere as he embedded himself deep within her. His ragged breath tickled her neck, his teeth grazed her shoulder. The dark damp hairs of his chest curled against her back as his hand cupped her mound to keep her tight and taut against him as he emptied himself. She glided from wave to wave, helpless to find a shred of objection, to find a shred of anything that might pa.s.s for thought. She would be indignant later, make him sorry later, leave him later.
Later would come all too soon. For now she was content to be fitted to him in perfect harmony, her heart skipping as his c.o.c.k pulsed inside her. The water had lost its warmth, but she was hot and heaving in his arms, reluctant to seek comfort anywhere else.
She stayed on his lap as he dipped a sponge into the pitcher, wiping cool water across her brow, down the bridge of her nose, circling the apples of her cheeks, soaking up the tears that fell. His lips rested in her hair as he smoothed a path to her throat. His touch was perfect in every way.
”I have waited for this for almost a month, Caro.” His words were rough, reminding her of his villain-voice.
”D-don't get used to it. It won't happen again.” But it would, if she stayed at Bradlaw House. She had to shake herself out of her sensual coma and do her own plotting.
”Ah. What will it take to make you change your mind?”
”There's nothing you can do.”
”What if I free your hands?”
Caroline had practically forgotten she was still enslaved by rope. That was the least of her enslavement, but he must not know it. ”It won't matter.”
”Very well then.” He lifted her up and slipped away. ”I'll dry you off.” He hoisted one long leg over the side of the tub.
”I can dry myself.”
He reached for the stack of towels and draped one low on his hips. ”It will be difficult if I don't cut the cords.”
”You mean you won't?”
He shrugged. ”You seemed to think it wouldn't matter.”
”Well, it does matter! I meant there's nothing you can do to keep me here. To make me be your wife again.” She couldn't hope or yearn or deceive herself that it would ever be different between them. Edward could never be less than a perfect gentleman, and she was as far from perfect as she could possibly be.
”We'll see.” He pulled her up from the tub, then rubbed her vigorously with a linen towel. He fas.h.i.+oned it toga-style and Caroline was reminded of the debacle with the sheet so many weeks ago.
”Edward,” she said, trying to blunt the edge of impatience in her tone, ”this really is ridiculous. You are too old to be playing games with me.”
”This isn't a game.”
”What do you call it then? You are a grown man who disguised himself as a ruffian and took a woman by force!”
”Not by force. By cunning. And you are not just any woman. You are my wife. If you'll sit down, I'll brush your hair.”
For the first time Caroline realized her own bottles and brushes lay on the vanity table. Mrs. Hazlett must have put them there. She imagined if she went into the dressing room, her clothes would be hanging neat as you please. Edward had persuaded her servants to conspire against her. Caroline knew just how convincing he could be, but she was not going to cooperate.
”Absolutely not.”
”You've said that before. You really don't want your hair to dry like that. I'm having flashbacks to the ill.u.s.trations of Medusa in my Greek textbook.”
”I may have not had your cla.s.sical education, but I believe if you looked into Medusa's face, you could see your own death,” Caroline retorted, staring him down. ”Well?”
”Sorry. Still very much alive. I'll have to take the scissors to the knots in your hair next.” He had the gall to look rueful, as if the whole nightmare was not his fault.