Lust (9 page)

But then she and her sisters had gone away. She had often thought about this little copse at the back of the
house, and the hours she had spent running free. It was such a shame that her favorite spot had been neglected, allowed to whither into wildness.

If they were going to be spending any time in London, Chastity would need to see to this garden. Not only because herbs and flowers interested her, but because she needed something to take her mind off last night in the maze and the dark-haired stranger. He hadn't said his name. She knew only that he was a prince, and that he had spoken to her most scandalously, and she had allowed it. Truth be told, she had
reveled
in his words, in the way his breath was hot against her throat and his hard body pressed into her soft one.

After coming in from the maze, she had been disoriented, her head heavy and foggy with the lingering effects of his seduction and the heady scent that had preceded his arrival. Thank heavens Mercy had found her and pulled her into an empty salon where she had immediately set Chastity's hair and gown to rights. Mercy, in her kindness, had not questioned Chastity's crumpled state, but her worried expression had told Chastity how dreadful she really looked.

She complained of a headache and a desire to leave the ball, so her father had promptly loaded her and her sisters into the carriage and taken them home. Mary had been livid, of course, but Prue and Mercy had seemed to understand. Once home, Chastity had fallen onto her bed and slept as though she had been drugged. Her sleep had not been peaceful, but clouded with visions and dreams of a masked stranger with blue eyes and black hair. A
stranger whose voice seemed to constantly whisper to her….
Let me in….

Even now she heard it, murmuring to her from across the stone fence at the back of the garden. She didn't know how to resist it, only knew that she must. It was a trial, she realized. A test of her strength, her virtue. And sometimes, especially in the dark while she was alone in her bed at night, she feared that she would fail it. Her virtue, she knew, was slowly being stripped from her, and she was helpless to impede it.

Stopping to inspect a row of peonies and their swelling buds, Chastity noticed a footprint in the dirt. It was large, pointed at the toes. The imprint, she was certain, was that of a boot, a pair of Hessians.

It was a strange place for a footprint to be. Perhaps if her father had been a big man, or if they had a gardener, she would have thought nothing of it, but her father wasn't tall enough to have a foot of this size, and with their arrival in London only a few days ago, a gardener had not yet been installed. It could not belong to her brother, Robert, either. For Robert had not come to call on them.

Intrigued, Chastity followed the footprints, noticing how they seemed to lead away from the garden and the house. Which was even more bizarre because there was nothing back there but the stone fence that enclosed the garden. Beyond their yard was a small thick brush that was slated to be razed to make way for another square of fashionable town houses.

Where did the footsteps lead? she wondered, clutching
the posy tightly in her hand. The trail abruptly stopped at a wall covered in ivy at the back of the garden. By now, the sun was slipping quickly beneath the horizon, making way for the moon to creep up into the evening sky. It was rather dark back in the corner, what with the ivy and the shadow of the house and the tops of the trees that loomed over the garden wall. She really should return to the house, but she ignored the self-protective instinct.

Dropping to her knees, Chastity saw that the ground was disturbed, as if something had been slid against it. But what? There wasn't a gate in the garden, not that she could recall anyway. But there was a footprint there…

Perhaps the man had scaled the garden wall and dropped to the other side? But what would someone be doing in their yard? A footpad? A housebreaker? Fear skittered through her, making her thoughts race. But then the breeze blew, taking the long, loose tendrils of ivy, scraping them against the stone, revealing a fleeting glance of a rusted piece of metal. A latch? A gate?

She thrust aside the ivy, revealing a long-neglected garden gate in the faint glow of dusk. She had never known of a gate, but as she reached for the rusted latch a deep-rooted memory sprung forth.

“Oh, don't be going through that gate, miss,” Cook's assistant had said in her thick Yorkshire accent. “The faeries will take ye and carry ye off and we'll never see 'ide nor 'air of ye again.”

A little tremor fluttered in her stomach as she recalled that day, saw her own chubby little fist grasping the latch.
She had been six and adventuresome—full of harmless mischief, her father had always said. The assistant, whose name Chastity could not quite recall, had been a superstitious young lady. But then, the country folk from the north typically were. Alas, however, those from Glastonbury could hardly be called any different—for she believed in the fey, too.

“Do you believe in faeries?” she remembered asking the young woman as she pulled Chastity away from the gate.

“Aye, I do. And you should, too.”

“Are faeries good?”

“No, miss. Not all. Some faeries… Well, some faeries are full of mischief and darkness.”

“Darkness?” Chastity had asked, perplexed. The young woman had flushed then, and checked over her shoulder to locate the cook, who was busily snipping away at a sprig of rosemary.

“Aye, darkness. But the kind of dark that ye dunna need to know about yet. But rest assured, the Dark Faeries, they will corrupt you they will, by tempting you with all sorts of wicked delights.”

Chastity in her innocence hadn't known what the servant meant by that, but now she did. She believed in faeries, and knew that there were beautiful, sensual fey out there that could tempt even a nun to commit any kind of sin.

And tonight, in the darkening of the twilight sky, she was no longer six. And there was no one to warn her away from the gate and remind her that not all faeries
were good and benevolent. Whatever lay beyond this garden gate was far more powerful than a memory from her childhood, for it pulled her forth, making her forget that it was growing dark and she should be inside.

Dropping the bouquet of lilies, Chastity used both hands to tug at the latch, which seemed to be rusted shut. But that was impossible! The footprints had led her there. In fact, they seemed to disappear beneath the gate. Someone had been in the garden, and that someone had opened this very gate and stepped through.

Chastity tugged one last time. With a groan the ancient hinges gave way, allowing her to open the gate far enough to slide through sideways. As she was squeezing through the opening, her gown caught on a rusty nail, which snagged the hem and tore through her stocking, also tearing at the skin of her ankle.

But Chastity barely felt any pain. She could only look around in awe at the magical land before her. A forest. An enchanted forest, it seemed, for everything was beyond beautiful—and glistening. She had never seen anything so lovely. And the scents… She inhaled deeply, discerning a mixture of florals and heavy spice. The perfumed air was a dichotomy of light fragrance and heavy, drugging aromas.

Standing by a copse of ancient oaks and rowan trees was a dark-haired man atop a black horse. Beside him, a large white hound with black eyes stared back at her, as if he and his master had been awaiting her arrival.

A gust of wind came up, making her skirts billow around her feet. The wind carried the scent of blood
that she felt seeping into her shoe over to the beast and the man. The animal whimpered and lowered to his haunches, as if frenzied by the metallic tang of blood. The man's blue eyes suddenly darkened with a hunger that frightened her.

She turned to run, every instinct warned her to, but the gate suddenly slammed closed, pushing her all the way through and into the forest that now surrounded her. The dog whimpered again, and slowly Chastity turned, her back pressed against the gate as she watched the animal's ears fall flat against its large head. Mentally she prepared herself for the attack, for the dog was now whimpering a series of low howls, its black eyes fixed on the small maroon puddle at her foot.

The man nudged his mount forward, coming into view beneath the moonlight. The same man from the path in Glastonbury. The mysterious and seductive stranger who had been the focus of her nightly dreams. The very one who made her think illicit thoughts, made her want, deep in the night, when she was alone and her body was aching.

“No,” she whispered, her eyes widening in alarm. He smiled, even as she reached behind her back, her fingers trembling as she attempted to find the latch. Frantically she endeavored to open the gate, but to no avail.

“Chastity Lennox,” he drawled in that hypnotic, seductive voice. “I have been waiting for you.”

THE SCENT OF BLOOD—CHASTITY'S BLOOD
—slammed into Thane, sending Lust to the deepest part of his soul. Strange, when Lust was hungry, needing to be satiated, almost nothing had the power to make him retreat. But the smell and sight of her bleeding sent Thane's cardinal sin running, freeing him to slide from his horse and go to her. Bel immediately loped beside him, just as eager to reach Chastity.

With her back firmly pressed against the garden gate, Chastity seemed to pale even more as she watched their approach. Thane suspected her pallor was not from blood loss, but trepidation of both Bel and himself.

Recalling her fear of animals, Thane sternly ordered Bel to heel where he was. The insolent pup made a snarl of complaint, but with a well-placed glare, Bel wisely chose to listen to his master.

“Come, sit down.” Reaching for her hand, Thane
gently guided her to a stone bench beneath a weeping willow. Trembling beside him, Chastity, wide-eyed, followed him, her gaze never leaving Bel. “He won't eat you, if that is what you fear.”

She did not smile at his jest, indeed she trembled even more as he assisted her to the bench. When she sat down, he saw her wince, and he bent to his knees, carefully slipping the shoe from her right foot.

“Don't,” she squeaked. He tried again, but she moved her foot before putting space between them. “It's naught but a scratch and it isn't proper for you to see my…limb.”

He'd be seeing a damn bit more than her foot, he thought—and soon. But he needed to remember that she was a lady, and ladies didn't allow gentlemen, known or unknown, to touch them. Anywhere. Not even some thing as innocuous as a foot. And this particular lady, he reminded himself, was more than just a highborn lady of the ton. She was a paragon of virtue.

“You're hurt and bleeding,” he replied softly. “Allow me to help you.”

Her gaze caught his, and he saw how wary she was. “I will just go back through the gate and to the house. My maid will have a look at it.”

“Why? When I am right here and ready to assist you?”

Her chin lifted, sending him an impertinent glare. “Because you are not known to me, sir, and you make too many presumptions with my person.”

“We were introduced the other day. Have you forgotten?”

The way his voice dropped reminded her of the sensual stranger in the maze. She knew then they were one and the same. Heat came to her cheeks as she recalled the scene in the maze, his face against her breasts, his tongue curling around her nipple. Oh, how she wanted that again. But even more, she wanted to stay and enjoy his company. To discover who he was. What he wanted with her. Perhaps, even to be courted by him. In the middle of the night she had allowed herself that fanciful turn of mind, but that was in the night, this was another matter. She absolutely could not allow herself to stay here.

“My name is Thane,” he reminded her, drawing her out of her thoughts. “You were with your sisters.”

“That was not an introduction, sir. We are still not known to one another, and therefore, this—” she glanced around at the garden that surrounded them “—this secluded spot we now find ourselves in is most dangerous. Now, then, excuse me.”

As she slipped her foot from his palm, Thane watched her attempt to stand. Her balance was off because of the pain in her ankle—the pain that was very much evident on her face. But like a proud, determined little solider, she took one step, and then another, hobbling her way back to the gate to the place where he could not follow.

He knew he wasn't supposed to do this, but he had no choice. Standing up, Thane caught her, turning her so that he could place his hands on either side of her face, forcing her to look at him. Then, slowly, he lowered his
mouth to her ear, brushing his lips along her hair. Gods, she smelled so good. So right. Never had a woman's scent—fey or mortal—aroused such a deep-seated hunger inside him. He wanted her. With a blinding intensity that he could not resist. Even now he pulled her closer, trying to rub up against her, to weaken her defenses.

“Release me,” she gasped.

No, he couldn't. Even if he wished to, his movements were no longer his own. Lust was beginning to rule him now, to become separate from the fey. “Chastity,” he murmured as his mouth descended to her neck. “You know not how you tempt me.”

“Release me at once, sir!”

The shrillness of her voice cut through the haze of lust that not only clouded his vision but his judgment, as well. He knew not how to soften her, to make her desire him. He had never met a woman he could not seduce. Until her.

“Please.”

Her plea effectively sliced through his conscience. “Forgive me.” Reluctantly he moved away from her. Once he was at a safe-enough distance away from her, he cleared his throat. “There is no need to run from me. Tell me what I can do to help you.”

“Allow me to return to my garden.”

Anything but that.
She had been here with him for too short a time. He had wasted these moments alone with her by making her frightened of him. He was at an utter loss as to how to go about lessening her fears. How to change that wariness into a burning passion for him.

No woman had ever been able—or willing—to resist his erotic charms. This woman, who did not appear to desire him at all, was a complete novelty to him. But Thane could say with all honesty that he had never wanted a woman as much as he wanted Chastity Lennox. The thought of her leaving him now gave him a panicked feeling. Him, the fey who had no shortage of women vying for his attentions and body. Automatically his fingers reached for her, pulling her lush body close to his.

“My lord,” she demanded. “Release me at once. It's most improper to be alone with you, and in the dark no less.”

Ignoring her protests, Thane knew what he must do. So he began whispering the ancient enchantment spell into her ear. The moment she went soft beneath his hands, he knew the words had worked their magic.

She was entranced now, but not completely under his spell. He was only temporarily bending the rules, he told himself, not breaking them. He would not use the enchantment to seduce her, even though Lust, and his own body, were crying out for release.

Trying to think of something other than sex, Thane reached for her hand. “Let us see the damage, shall we?” he suggested as he helped her to the bench. Carefully she sat down, her hands folded demurely in her lap—a movement he knew came instinctively to her.

Bel chose that moment to shove his muzzle between Thane's shoulder and Chastity's stockinged foot which was now stained red. “Not yet,” he told his hound. Obediently, Bel sat on his haunches and waited.

“He means you no harm,” Thane murmured as he gently turned her foot inward to examine what he hoped was only a scratch on her ankle. “He remembers you, that is all, and is eager to make friends with you.”

Her lovely green gaze turned to him, and the full impact of her stare focused on him made Lust begin to rear up again. The enchantment spell had taken some of the fear and apprehension from her eyes, leaving them wide and lustrous—dreamy. It made him think of how she would look after he kissed her, or teased her skin with his tongue. Which made him think of his current position between her thighs—which of course made him think of sliding the layers of taffeta and linen up higher, revealing her quim, which would be at a perfect level for tasting.

He wanted that, to debauch her with his mouth, to feel her fingers gripping at his hair, her hips calling to him in the ancient female rhythm begging him for more.

No matter how much he wanted that, Thane could not allow his sin to become the stronger entity. Chastity was vulnerable like this, under this light enchantment he had placed her in. He had only done it in case he needed magic to mend her flesh, or dull her pain—and to ease her fear of Bel. He did not enchant her to take advantage of her. But Lust would not give a damn about that. Lust had no honor. No feeling other than euphoria. Lust, Thane was afraid, had gotten him into all kinds of moral entanglements—all of them affecting his own honor and soul, not Lust's.

But Thane had honor. Dignity. And seducing Chastity
under the guise of magic was not honorable. Besides, he wanted her to desire
him.
No woman really ever had. They'd only cried out for Lust, but never, he thought, for the fey prince.

What would it be like, he wondered to have a woman desire him solely for himself? What would it be like to have
this
woman? To have more than just sex with her? He'd never experienced that, an emotional attachment with his liaisons. He was suddenly parched for it, friendship and love. Quiet conversation while she lay in his arms. What would it be like to touch without intent to fuck, but rather to simply feel her skin, to bring her close to his body, to absorb her into his soul.

Gripping her ankle, he looked down at his fingers, which were holding her foot while he tried to forget what he had just admitted to himself. Lust and Thane were synonymous. Never to be separated. Chastity would have to accept both. And…he would have to share her with Lust, no matter how much he coveted her for himself. Would Lust want those tender, intimate moments that Thane did? Would he even allow it?

Tongue thick in his mouth, Thane noticed that his heart suddenly felt strange, as if it were not beating properly. He must not dwell on things that could not be changed, he told himself. Chastity was to be brought to his world for the good of his court. She was therefore not, in essence, completely his. But God help him, he wanted her to be his—all his.

Quickly he stole another glance at her, his body tingling with desire. She was so perfect to him. A
surprisingly lovely dichotomy of angel and devil. Her body, he thought as his gaze raked over her bodice, was pure sin. Designed for the carnal appetites of men—and fey.

She caught his stare, and the forthrightness of her gaze made him cringe. He was completely certain that during her perusal of him Chastity Lennox had not experienced one libidinous thought of him—of them—locked in carnalities.

He truly needed to think of something other than her lovely breasts, and the filmy fichu that had come loose from her bodice. Beneath the expensive lace the cleft of her décolletage beckoned, and he was so close to answering the call. With any other female it would be so easy, but with this one…

“Tell me, why do you fear animals?”

Her gaze slid from his face to fix on Bel. The dog pressed in, making her shudder and reach for his shoulder, where she clutched the velvet of his frock coat, making the pounding of his heart beat harder in his chest. Did she not understand the torment she put him through when she touched him like that? Her scent…he was going mad from it. What was it? he wondered as he discreetly inhaled. Angel Water…the perfume was all the rage after all. Every fashionable lady in London was daubing her bosom with the mixture of orange flower, rose and myrtle water. It was a scent used to entice the male sex, an aphrodisiac made to incite the deepest of sexual appetites, but never had the perfume had such an effect on him. Perhaps it was because he had never encountered
its heady scent mixed with the fascinating aroma of innocence. It called to him, begging him to corrupt her in all the ways he knew how.

Fingers on his shoulder dragged his thoughts away. He really was nothing but a beast. A creature controlled by base thoughts and sin. Would he ever be able to give Chastity a semblance of a normal life—a mortal life? Or would it only be about sex and pleasure? In the years since his sin had grown in strength, it had overtaken him, leaving him unaware of who he truly was.

He had never cared before, but now, strangely, thoughts that were utterly foreign to him began to invade his conscience. He barely knew this woman, yet he desired a deep and abiding connection with her. One that was, yes, sexual. But a bond that was also based on friendship. Closeness. Contentment. He didn't know when it had happened, but he wanted more. Not just a bed partner but a mate.

“Sir?”

Shaking his head, he realized that he had been looking up into her face. Staring at her. Dreaming of all the things he wanted with her, and not one of his thoughts had been for his dying court or the damnable spell that cursed his kind. He was forgetting his purpose here in the mortal realm.

“You were saying?” he said, making pretense of studying her ankle.

“You asked me about my fear of dogs.”

“So I did.”

He felt a shudder run through her, and then her fingers
moved from his shoulder, only to graze the strands of his hair that had blown free of his queue. It was his turn to shudder at the innocent contact. Thankfully, she was entranced, and unaware of his wayward thoughts or de sires. Had he not entranced her, he would not have had this time with her, unguarded and vulnerable.

“When I was a child, a dog…of this size knocked me down. He…bit my arm, then began to drag me by my leg. I'm certain he intended to tear me apart.”

Bel's tongue was lolling to the side as he panted. When he licked his lips, Chastity made a small whimpering sound and pressed closer to him, clutching him as if he were her savior.

“I…I can still feel its teeth tearing into my flesh.”

“Shh,” Thane whispered. “You need not recall such a painful memory.” He reached for her face, and she surprised—and delighted—him by placing her cheek into his palm. The enchantment, he reminded himself.

This was not the real Chastity, this was one who was bespelled.

“Sometimes I awake in the night, screaming, remembering what it was like to feel its teeth in my skin, my body being dragged away.”

“You are safe here with me, Chastity. I will not allow anything to harm you. Not even your nightmares.”

Skimming his fingers along her cheek, Thane absorbed the feel of her petal-soft skin, imagining what it would be like to experience her curved body pressed against his. It would be thoroughly arousing. But would it be as
satisfying as this very moment, with her clinging to him and him protecting her from a frightening past?