Read My Favorite Countess Online
Authors: Vanessa Kelly
My Favorite Countess (25 page)
Bathsheba clutched at his hands, gripping so fiercely he suspected her bluntly cut nails would score his skin.
“You don't understand,” she blurted out. “There were other things. Things he did that I hated. Things I should haveâ”
She broke off, too upset to continue. His heart wrenched to see her pride so thoroughly stripped away.
With a quiet murmur, he urged her to move over, giving him room to join her on the bed. He wrapped his arms around her rigid body, pulling her against his chest.
“Then why don't you tell me, so I can understand,” he suggested quietly. “And it might do you good to talk about it. I find that sharing problems can sometimes ease the burden.”
Bathsheba cast him a doubtful look, but then gave a cautious nod. After taking a deep, shuddering breath, she launched into a halting narrative, describing her husband's growing taste for depravity and her attempts to assuage it.
“But, eventually, nothing I did could satisfy him,” she said. Her voice was steady, but it held a lifetime of heartache. “He grew angry, accusing me of not loving him. He began to ask for things I could not, would not do. Ugly things. Soon, any affection he had for me withered. Reggie turned to other pleasures to satisfy his needs. It was terrible what he did, but I couldn't stop him.”
A light mist of perspiration broke out over her skin, and she began to shiver. He tightened his arms around her.
“Go on, sweetheart. What did he do that you hated so much?”
She swallowed noisily. “He wanted young girls. Very young girls. He would bring them home late at night, after all the servants were in bed. Only his valet knew. I think he helped Reggie procure the girls. Where he found them, I don't know. Perhaps a brothel, but I never knew for sure.”
John fought not to show his revulsion. “How did you learn about this?”
“He wanted me to join them in his bed. When I refused, he decided to punish me.”
“How?”
She nodded to a door on the other side of the large marble fireplace. “We had connecting bedrooms. He forced me to leave the door open, to hear everything.”
His stomach clenched with useless rage, but he pushed the emotion away. This was about her feelings, not his. Bathsheba had been abused and abandoned by the very man whose duty was to protect her. John couldn'tâand wouldn'tâfail her now.
“But that wasn't the worst part,” she continued. “Of course I hated him for humiliating me like that. But I hated him more for the girls, for what he did to them.”
Her strangely flat tone raised the hairs on the nape of his neck. He steeled himself for the worst.
“Most of them were prostitutes,” she said. “But . . . some were virgins, I think. He would threaten them, so they never dared to make much noise, but still I would hear them weeping. Afterward, he would give them money. If he really liked the girl, he would give her a piece of my jewelry. Obviously it was enough to keep them quiet. His valet would take them away, and that would be the end of it.”
“How long did this go on?”
“Not long. Perhaps a month or two. Until one night, when it was late and I had already fallen asleep. I woke up to screams from the other room. I ran in and saw him on top of a terrified child. She couldn't have been more than nine or ten.”
She pulled in a rasping breath. As he murmured comfort, his gut roiled with a combination of sorrow and fury.
“I threw myself on top of Reggie, trying to drag him off,” she said in a voice taut with emotion. “But he was like a madman, completely out of control. It was . . . awful. For a moment, I thought he would kill me, but at least I stopped him from doing any more harm to that child.”
Bathsheba clamped her lips shut, as if she had to hold something back. Clearly, she was leaving out details of that horrific nightâwhether to spare him or her, he couldn't be sure.
After collecting herself, she continued. “Eventually, Reggie came to his senses. Boland and I did what we could to help the child, but my husband insisted on sending her away that night. He told me that if I said anythingâwell, let's just say he knew how to make good on his threats to keep me quiet. Even so, he worried that he had gone too far. That was the last time he brought a girl back to the house.”
She sat up and pushed herself out of his arms. John let her go, understanding her need to put some distance between them.
“Even though it was too late to help those other girls, I couldn't stand it any longer,” she said. “And Reggie was a little afraid of me now, because of that nightâof what he had done to me, and to that child. So I started to punish him, using the only weapon I had at my disposalâmyself.”
Bathsheba finally turned to look at him, and the blazing hatred in her gaze scorched the air between them.
“You see, Reggie didn't love me, but I was his most prized possession. He was very jealous when other men paid attention to me. Earlier in our marriage, when he first accused me of infidelity, I denied it. But then I realized I could use his suspicions to strike back. I no longer denied that I was having affairs, but let him draw whatever conclusions he wanted to make.”
She paused, a cold smile lifting the corners of her mouth. But the bleakness in her gaze tore at John's heart.
“I didn't dare challenge him openly, of course,” she continued. “But, then again, I didn't have to. A flirtation or two, playing the strumpet now and again, and he assumed the worst. It drove him mad with jealousy. Finally, when he could no longer control himself, he challenged a man he presumed was my lover to a carriage race. Reggie was drunk, of course. He overturned his curricle and broke his neck.”
She paused, as if waiting for him to respond, but what could he possibly say that would give her comfort? All he could do was listen with sympathy and understanding.
After a moment, she shrugged and carried on.
“When I heard the news, I laughed. I was in a room full of people, and I laughed. No doubt I will burn in hell for it, but it was the happiest day of my life. I will never apologize for that.”
He nodded. “No sane person could expect otherwise.”
She looked taken aback, as if she had expected another response. He drew her resisting body into a comforting embrace.
“Bathsheba, did you ever tell anyone about what he did to you? To those girls?”
She scoffed at him. “Who would have believed me? I was a nobody from Yorkshireâthe daughter of an impecunious viscount. I had no family in London, no influence to speak of. Most of the people I knew were Reggie's friends. And he was the Earl of Randolph, so handsome and charming, so popular. So wealthy. As far as the ton was concerned, it was a miracle he noticed me in the first place.”
Suddenly, her voice broke, and she sagged against him as she started to sob. “But I should have tried harder. Been stronger for those poor girls. I should have done something.”
She wept, bitterly and for a long time, while John cradled her in the circle of his arms. He tried to absorb her grief with his own body, wishing he could pull it away from her and take it into himself. Not since Becky had died had he felt so helpless and so enraged.
After a time she quieted. The candles had burned low, casting the room in a thick, warm darkness. Only the occasional hiccup from the soft bundle of misery in his arms broke the silence.
When she was calm enough to listen, he made her sit up and face him.
“Bathsheba, listen to me. Your husband was a monster, and there was nothing you could have done to make him change. Sadly, you were also right to think that no one would have taken your word over his. It's loathsome, but that is the way of the world when it comes to men of wealth and power. And he would have punished you for making the attempt.”
She dropped her gaze, refusing to meet his eyes. He gave her a slight shake.
“You must stop blaming yourself. It was no fault of yours, and you only torture yourself with useless recriminations.”
“I deserve to be tortured,” she whispered.
“You've already been doing that for years,” he said in a firm voice. “It's time to let go of the past.”
She sniffed like a sad little waif and gave him a wavering smile, trying to look brave. But when he smiled back she flushed and looked down at her hands. His gaze followed, catching on her ragged fingernails. Now he understood.
“I don't know how you can stand to look at me,” she said in a low voice.
He gave an exasperated snort. “I'll tell you what I see when I look at you,” he said, taking a hand and kissing her fingertips. “I see a brave, intelligent woman who should be cherished and protectedâeven though she doesn't need that protection. I see a woman who endured humiliation and abuse, and yet refused to bend under the burden of her troubles. I see a woman so worth having that any man in his right mind would walk over hot coals to be with her.”
She kept her head down, but the edges of her lips twitched up just a bit.
“I would walk over those flaming coals to be with you,” he said, nuzzling her ear. “And I would laugh while I did it. That's how much I want you.”
She gave a watery giggle. “Then you're an even bigger fool than I took you for, John Blackmore.”
He gently turned her in his arms and settled his lips over hers, tasting the sorrow and the grief, and the need to be loved. She didn't push him away, but she didn't put her arms around him either.
“Do you want me to stop?” he whispered. It would probably cripple him, but he couldn't stand to take advantage of her vulnerable state.
She closed her eyes and sighed. “No.”
The sadness in her voice almost cleaved his heart in two. He pressed another soft kiss to her lips, then drew back.
“Won't you look at me, Bathsheba?”
She shook her head. “Not yet.”
He slid his arms around her and lowered her onto the mountain of pillows.
“Then keep your eyes closed. Keep them closed and just let yourself feel. Because I'm going to make love to you, sweetheart, the way you truly deserve.”
Chapter 18
Bathsheba stifled another hiccupping sob, squeezing her eyes shut as John eased her onto the pile of cushions jammed against the headboard. She couldn't look at himânot yet, anyway. It was just too mortifying. Except for Bolandâand Sarah, of courseâno one knew anything about the nightmare of her marriage. Even Sarah didn't realize the extent of Reggie's perversities. For years Bathsheba had kept the knowledge buried in the darkest corners of her soul, too ashamed to tell anyone.
But John had found a way to breach her secrets, and he had done it so quietly and so skillfully that she could hardly explain how it happened. And for the first time in a long time, she no longer felt alone.
The mattress moved, springing up as John rose from her side. For a panicked moment she thought he was leaving, finally unable to contain his disgust at her cowardly behavior. Then she heard the whisper of clothing being removed and a few moments later the mattress dipped as his long, lean body came down next to her. His muscular arms pulled her against his chest, the dusting of curly hair tickling her cheek as she instinctively snuggled into the security of his embrace. He murmured soft nonsense words, kissing the top of her head as he brushed the hair away from her face.
By some undeserved miracle, he hadn't rejected her. Even now, he lavished her with tender caresses, his questing mouth moving over her cheeks, along her jaw and chin to finally capture her lips in a sweetly scorching kiss. She moaned and opened for his tongue, tangling with him in a heated exchange that weakened all her limbs and brought a hot rush of moisture between her thighs. It seemed impossible she could respond so effortlessly given the emotional torment she had felt only moments ago. He possessed a kind of magic. She could hear it in the deceptively gentle voice and feel it in the wandering, sensual touch that drove her to the edge of abandon.
As he delved into her mouth, tasting her with a deepening pressure, his hands continued their bone-melting exploration, stroking from her throat to her shoulders, lightly massaging, as if to draw away any lingering grief or sorrow.
Bathsheba murmured her approval into his mouth as her body surrendered to pleasure. She arched her back, silently begging him to touch her breasts. Her nipples, tight with need, tingled with anticipation as his skillful fingers danced across her skin. The velvet darkness behind her eyelids seemed to accentuate every sensation as shivers raced down to her belly and below, teasing her innermost flesh with a luscious, tormenting ache.
Moaning, she broke the kiss and turned toward him, insinuating one leg between his, savoring the feel of his muscular thighs and calves, and the coarse hair that tickled her smoother skin. Her mound pressed against his torso, sending a spasm of pleasure deep into her pelvis. His erection, heavy against her belly, seemed to twitch in response.
God, she loved this. Loved the feel of his bodyâso hot and hardâloved how she grew soft and wet, and ready for the taking. Because with him, she knew she was safe.
“Christ, Bathsheba,” John groaned. “You're driving me mad. I can't wait much longer.”
She smiled in the sweet, self-imposed darkness, pressing her lips to his chest, tasting the salty tang of his damp skin. The agony of revelationâof sharing those terrible, shameful secretsâseemed to fade to nothing, replaced by a bright, blazing desire.
Bathsheba tipped her head back, arching her spine as she thrust her breasts into the wall of his chest. With a tempting wriggle, she rubbed her throbbing nipples against the dense, rock-hard muscles. He growled and his hands moved down to capture her bottom in a convulsive grip. Lifting, he positioned himself, nudging the head of his thick staff just between the folds of her sex.
With a gasp, she jerked against him. She had to bite her lipâhardâto keep the delicious spasms from swamping her. It was too soon. She wanted him to take her slowly, to feel her pleasure-swollen nub throb on the edge of orgasm again, and again. Pulling back until she was finally ready for a release, one so strong it would shatter all the bitter memories and ugly self-loathing that had plagued her for so many years.
“Bathsheba.” John's voice was so rough she barely recognized it.
“Yes?” Hers was groggy, sated with pleasure, though they had barely begun.
“Open your eyes. I want you to look at me.”
A pulse of anxiety shot through her. She shook her head, still too afraid of what she might see in his eyes. No man had ever looked at her the way John did. The desire she understood and welcomed. But beneath that lurked other thingsâcompassion, understanding. And perhaps something more. Something she wasn't yet ready to face.
He growled his frustration but, as if he couldn't help himself, gave another slow pump of the hips. Bathsheba's anxiety faded and the pleasure returned. By succumbing to his sexual needs, John gave her back a measure of control. She knew he would channel that need into giving her the shattering release she craved with all her soul.
She slipped a hand down between their bodies and gently squeezed the hard, satiny column that pressed into her mound. With a muttered curse, he pushed her on her back. Before she had time to protest, he settled between her thighs, slipping his erection once more between the lips of her wet flesh. She drew her knees up, deepening the contact, rubbing against him to increase the friction on her throbbing bud.
“Do you approve, my lady?” he murmured in a dark, wicked voice. He moved, teasing her with an agonizingly slow penetration.
She moaned, clutching his buttocks, trying to bring him even closer. “Don't stop. Just keep doing it like that.”
He gave a hoarse laugh. She felt the breath of it whisper across her nipple, making it tighten with an almost unbearable intensity. The urge to open her eyesâto watch him making love to her, to watch her own body and its response to himâgrew stronger by the second. But she refused to yield, too enthralled now by a darkness that heightened all sensation and focused all feeling on the touch of their bodies and the heady musk of their arousal.
A second later his mouth fastened on her nipple. Heat swirled from the point of contact and another hard spasm took her in the vee between her thighs. She gasped, sucking in the muscles of her belly as she tried to hold back the cresting tide.
“Ah. Now I have you,” he murmured, giving her nipple a slow, rasping lick.
He brought his hands into play, holding her breast, kneading it as he sucked and nipped. She fought to pull the breath into her lungs. He played with the other nipple, pulling and tweaking it into a rigid, exquisitely tormented point.
A growing awareness pulsed in a thick beat through her veins. No man had ever aroused her soâto the edge of all restraint, awakening a storm of emotions she had never experienced. Yearning, fear, desire, all rode along the knife edge between pain and pleasure. She had to move. Had to push back against her impulse to submit, or else she might lose herself in the raw power of his sexual hunger.
He stilled. John's mouth left her breast, leaving it cold and tingling.
Bathsheba opened her eyelids to see him looking straight down at her, his silver eyes glowing with heat, transfixing her with the force of his desire. She stared back into his sternly beautiful face, held captive by the ferocity of her own mystifying needs.
The hard planes of his features softened. “Bathsheba,” he whispered.
She pushed hard against his chest, toppling him to his back. In a flash, she straddled him and slapped her palms onto his shoulders, pinning him to the bed. It was laughable, of course. He would only stay there if he wanted to, but she hoped with all her heart he would.
A sly grin lifted the corners of his mouth. “What is your wish, Lady Randolph?”
She frowned, trying to look severe. “My wish is that you keep your hands and mouth to yourself, my dear doctor. It's my turn now.”
His body grew taut beneath her as erotic tension shimmered in the air. He gave a jerky nod. She rewarded him a lascivious smile, delighted by the way his hands clutched the sheets.
With a soft laugh, she slithered down between his legs. She bent her head, letting her hair swing over her shoulders to brush across his groin and the swollen head of his erection. He groaned and closed his eyes.
“You're killing me,” he muttered.
“Not yet, my darling. But soon.”
And then she dipped and took him between her lips, taking as much of the hard length into her mouth as she could. His hips bucked, but she refused to relinquish her hold. Now
she
controlled
him
, and that power, combined with the hot beauty of the act, brought another surge of moisture to dampen her thighs.
she
controlled
him
, and that power, combined with the hot beauty of the act, brought another surge of moisture to dampen her thighs.
For several minutes he surrendered, groaning as she caressed his rock-hard length with her mouth. Every muscle in his body flexed and strained, clearly fighting the need to prevail in this unexpected, entrancing battle for dominance.
Taking a deep breath, she lifted her head to study him. The head of his erection was flushedâsmooth and slick from the attentions of her mouth. She gently rubbed her thumb through the moisture, letting her fingers drift down the thick column of flesh.
John groaned, arching his muscular torso as she pleasured him. Just looking at him made every nerve in her body throb with lust. And made her heart ache with an unfamiliar tenderness. Tonight, at least, she could have her fill, and make him as crazed for her as she was for him.
Twice she brought him to the brink of orgasm and twice he fought to hold himself back. No matter how skillfully she used her hands, her mouth, her tongue, he resisted all her efforts. It had become a wicked game, but one played in deadly earnest. And he was clearly as determined to win as she was.
But John was only a man, and eventually he broke.
“Enough,” he finally growled.
He reached out, taking her by the shoulders and forcing her to withdraw. He flopped onto the pillows, gasping for breath. Humming with satisfaction, Bathsheba sat back on her knees.
John pushed himself up on his elbows to study her, and the game changed again. The civilized doctor had disappeared. With his heavy-lidded eyes and thick, dishevelled hair, he reminded her of a buccaneer, one who had just boarded her ship, determined to claim his treasure.
Bathsheba panted with excitement. She felt vaguely alarmed, but couldn't deny the thrill of knowing she had pushed him to the edge of his limits.
Eyes full of smoky intent, he returned her taunting smile with one of his own. In that moment, she realized the game was lostâby her. Her alarm spiked as she sat frozen on her knees, waiting like a silly little rabbit for a predator to strike.
He lifted a hand and crooked a finger at her.
“Come here.”
The deep, growling command made her pulse trip and flutter. She tried to tell herself she had no choice. But she did. And the choice she made was to surrender, knowing with an instinctive flash of wisdom that he would keep her safe.
She crawled up his long body until she straddled his hips, presenting her breasts to his mouth as a gift. He closed his eyes and sucked. First one nipple, then the other. She moaned, just about to sink down on his rigid length when he pulled away.
“Come up higher, Bathsheba,” he said in a lazy voice. “I want to taste you.”
She hesitated for a second but then complied, inching up and planting her knees on either side of his shoulders. His low murmur of satisfaction as he brushed his calloused hands on the inside of her thighs made her shiver.
“Take hold of the headboard,” he ordered. Then his big hands grasped her bottom, and he guided her down to his mouth.
She jolted as his tongue delved deep between her sensitive folds. He parted her with his fingers, spreading her wide as he sucked and played. Desperately, she clutched at the headboard. Her legs quivered as he ravished her with his mouth.
He spread her tender flesh, fingers stroking as his tongue darted in and out. She swayed against him, using her hips to urge him to move his mouth, and that wicked tongue, onto the throbbing bud of her sex. Never had she felt so hot, so wetâa burning tightness that begged for the relief only he could provide.
“John,” she pleaded, her voice rising to a broken wail.
He teased her with his tongue until she started to sob with frustration. She knew she would do anything for him, be anything for him, if only he would give her what her body so urgently craved.
Finally, his mouth moved, closing the tiny, crucial gap. He fastened on the aching peak and sucked, and her insides detonated with luxurious spasms.
As wave after wave rolled through her, he pulled her down to his hips. With one hard thrust he surged into her, impaling himself in her wet sheath. She pressed down on his groin, her fingers clutching his shoulders as he stretched her with his thick erection. He pumped, grinding her hips against his pelvis, and another wave of violent shudders racked her limbs.
John bit out a strangled oath as his climax gripped him. She could feel her inner muscles clenching around his staff, drawing him even deeperâto her very coreâas he poured his seed into her body.
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