Paying the Virgin's Price (15 page)

          He looked at her again and his gaze grew as soft and warm as it had been on their walks together in the park. And for a moment she weakened, wishing the man in front of her could ever again be Nathan Dale. Then he said, 'I have heard tales of Sultans in seraglios, taking days, even weeks over this process. The slow baring of the flesh, the destruction of inhibition, the readying of the minds and bodies of both participants, the evoking and sharpening of each sense to appreciate the final consummation. It is not a thing to be rushed.'

          The timbre of his voice dropped, and his pace slowed to linger on each word, each image forming in his mind. Was it her imagination, or could she smell incense, hear the exotic music and taste dates on her tongue? She could see herself lying back in silk cushions, the height of decadence as he bent over her, caressing and perfuming her skin.

          She caught her breath, trying to find her anger again, for the image had been strangely pleasant.

          She saw his half smile change again, as though he knew what she had imagined and it pleased him. 'I will have you home by dawn. Not too late to save your reputation, if you have managed to conceal your absence.' He paused again. And then said, 'If you still wish to go through with this, that is. I have no intention of forcing you to do something you find abhorrent.' He paused once more time. 'It is not too late to change your mind.'

          'No. I am resolute.' But her voice did not sound that way in her own ears. He had given her the chance to get away. Why did she not take it and run? Or take it as her moment of victory. She had but to say the words, 'Touch me and you will never see Helena,' and the evening would be at an end.

          But when she should have spoken, her traitorous mind had been wondering how the impending process could possibly take weeks. She had missed her opportunity.

          Perhaps time was an illusion. Because he was progressing so methodically that each thought, each smile, each word from his mouth, seemed to take hours to reach her. Several more heartbeats passed before he said, 'Very well. Then let us begin.' He touched her shoulders with his hands, brushing the cloak out of the way, and draping it gently over a chair. When he turned and caught sight of her dress, he froze in place for a moment, and she could feel his eyes travelling over her body, lingering on the exposed flesh.

          She waited for the pounce. The rough grasp and the shock of his ravenous mouth against her breast.

          'So beautiful. But too much, too soon,' he whispered. 'You are like a feast, and I am a starving man. You come to me like this, knowing that, other than by accident, on the very first day, I have not felt the touch of your ungloved hand?' He reached for her again with tenderness, beginning at the shoulders and letting his fingers trail down until they barely touched her own, and then he took both her hands, and brought them to his lips in a gesture that was more reverence than kiss. Then, one at a time, he tugged gently at her fingers until he had pulled her long white gloves down, baring the flesh of her arms inch by sensitive inch. The gloves dropped to the floor and he brought her hands to his face again, rubbing them with his closed lips, binding them together with his fingers about her wrists as he kissed the palms, turning them so that they were cupped before him and he could taste each fingertip in turn before settling over her pulse point, his tongue flicking against the skin in time to the ebb and flow of her blood.

          From somewhere deep within her, there came an unexpected shudder of delight.

          He smiled. 'This is why it must not be too quick. We must not squander this night. Do you understand?' He held her by the fingertips, walking backward, leading her through the door and toward the stairs. 'I have so much to learn.' He never took his eyes from hers as he went, drawing her after him, up the stairs and down the hall, to the master suite.

          She went with him, powerless to resist, as though the kisses on her hands had bound her to him more tightly than any shackles. She glanced about her as they walked, and saw that, in ten years, the decoration of the corridor had changed. Colours, furnishings, the hangings on the walls, all different or rearranged. It was a different house than the one she had left, just as she was a different person.

          And Nathan Wardale was a different man from the one she expected to find here.

         
No. The same.
He was the same man that had ruined her father, and she must not forget it. Nathan Dale's stories of hardship and loss meant nothing to her. They were not justification for what he had done to her. Other men had suffered, yet they did not buy and sell innocent girls over a gaming table.

          And yet, he continued to stare at her in wonder, as though none of that had happened. He looked as she imagined a man in love might look, as though no past or future existed outside of his lover's arms.

          They had crossed the threshold to his room, and he released her, closing the door to shut them away from the rest of the world. And for a moment, she wanted to reach out to him, to cling for support. Or run away. The world had gone mad and would take her with it if she thought too closely about what was happening to her. Then he came back to stand very near to her, and he kissed her on the back of the neck as he had in the park. It was sweet and soft, not like she had imagined the kisses of her despoiler to be. 'I wish to touch your hair.' There was a faintly wistful quality in his voice, as though he thought she could deny him.

          She moved to the mirror above the tall dresser and pulled the remaining pins from her hair, ready to shake it free. And then she caught sight of him, watching as though mesmerized by the sight. She basked in the warmth of it, for his gaze was as gentle as the touch of his hands had been, when bringing her here. Though his words had been seductive, everything about his actions calculated to reassure and not threaten, to coax the responses from her gradually. Her anger faded as she watched him, and he felt it go. And then he paused to look into her eyes, and breathed, 'Let us undress.'

          The anger came flooding back, and anxiety along with it. She did not see the note that she had come to retrieve. And how much longer did she wish to play this game, before bringing it to an end? Shedding a few hairpins and a pair of gloves did little damage to her honour. But she could not very well strip to her chemise before springing her trap. Or perhaps she could. For it was difficult to see the man standing so reverently in front of her as a true adversary. She took a moment to gather her courage, and reached to undo one of the tiny hooks at her back.

          He shook his head. 'Let us undress each other.' And he caught one of her hands in his, rubbed the knuckles across his lips until he felt her fingers begin to relax, and then placed them on the end of his cravat.

          She paused for a moment, unsure, still waiting for the move on his part that would give her reason to strike back. And then she took hold and gave a gentle tug, watching as the elegant knot dissolved into a wrinkled strip of linen and dropped to the floor.

          His neck was bare. It had never occurred to her to look at a man's throat before. She was so used to seeing them covered. She reached up and touched him. He was soft and smooth, close shaven though it was late in the day. Perhaps he had done it for her. And without thinking, she undid the neck of his shirt and let her fingers linger in the hollow of his throat.

          His eyes closed as though he were sleeping and lost in some very pleasant dream. And then, he leaned forward and kissed her again, one hand cupping the back of her neck. He was bolder this time, opening her mouth and letting her feel his hunger as he slowly licked into her and drew her tongue into his mouth. She should not enjoy this. And yet she did. Her hand still rested against his throat, and she could feel the way his pulse increased as he grew more passionate. He pulled away, to kiss the hollow of her throat, bending her back to lay his cheek against her exposed chest and press his lips to the upper slopes of her breasts. As a counterpoint to the dizzying feel of the contact, she felt the barest touch of fingertips at her back. And when he withdrew, her dress was open and loose against her body, the sleeves slipping off her shoulders.

          He touched her face, then, placing his fingers under her chin and tipping her lips up to touch his. And he whispered, 'You are beautiful tonight. Even more beautiful under the silk you wear. And I swear by all that is holy that if you give yourself to me, you will not regret it.' He kissed her again, pressing his lips to her cheek, her hair and her neck, and wrapping his arms around her body.

          He was warm, and it took away the chill on her back, so she nestled close to him, putting her arms around his waist under his coat. After a time, he whispered, 'Would you help me off with my coat, please?'

          It was not such a hard thing to run her hands up his body until they reached his shoulders and to push the wool away from him. The coat fell to the floor. She glanced down at it, ready to bend and pick it up, for it would become wrinkled if they left it in a heap.

          But he sighed, 'Unimportant,' against the shell of her ear.

          And when he used that tone, it did seem so. He was making her feel as if she was the thing most important to him in the world. She laid her head on his shoulder, and felt how different it was. Now that the coat was gone, she could feel more of the man and less of the tailor. And she felt a strange stirring, as the outlines of his body were uncovered to her.

          His hand was on her back, fingers spread to span it, and he rubbed gently, his other hand stroking her neck and her hair. And the buttons of his waistcoat were poking against her chest, so she undid them, one by one, and pushed it out of the way.

          His breathing quickened and he kissed her again, running his tongue along the seam in her lips until she opened them again. The taste of him amazed her. It was wine and spice, and she could not seem to get enough of it. When she stopped for breath, she found that they had pushed her gown out of the way, until it hung from her body at the hip, and his waistcoat had followed his coat to the floor.

          He looked down, and gave a shaky laugh. 'My valet will be appalled.'

          'Oh, dear.' She looked in the direction of the changing room.

          He gathered her to him again. 'I am teasing. Do not think of it. We are alone, remember? All alone.' He put his hands on her hips and pushed her dress the rest of the way off her body. 'No one will see. No one will hear. And not a word shall pass from my lips over this.' Then he reached around her and undid the knot of her stays.

          She had a moment's fleeting longing for his first suggestion, that they do it quickly without bothering to remove their clothing. It was all getting out of hand, and her thoughts swirled into focus and away again. She would put an end to this. She would stop him, soon. Another minute. Perhaps two. But it felt so wonderful as he worked slowly to lay her bare. And to put her hand on his shoulder and feel muscle through the linen of his shirt was as exciting as feeling his fingers on the small of her back, with a bit of cotton lawn as the only protection. Without thinking, her hand moved on his body, and she could feel the softness of hair, the smoothness of skin and the hard flat nipples on his chest, resting just below her fingertips beneath the fabric.

          He smiled at her, and then closed his eyes and sighed. 'Your touch is so gentle. I am not accustomed to gentleness.'

          She wondered if he meant that he wished her to be more bold. She surprised herself, for even caring what he wished. There was nothing in their agreement that required her to act, only to submit.

          He opened his eyes again. 'Touch me as you wish to be touched, so that I may know what gives you pleasure.' And he mirrored the position of her hands on his body, placing his fingertips against her nipples, but making no effort to do more.

          It was maddening. The skin beneath his hands tingled in expectation of his movement, and her nipples peaked as though her body could imagine the brush of his fingers and the increasing roughness of his touch.

          His face relaxed into a lazy, seductive smile, and he leaned forward to kiss her, catching her lower lip with his teeth and sucking gently upon it.

          Her breast ached in answer to each tug upon her lips, and she moved her hands experimentally over his chest, rubbing her thumbs against him.

          In answer, he moved his hands on her, and kissed her again, his tongue tracing designs upon her lips.

          Desire stirred within her. That was what she wanted. To feel him touching her, possessing her. She circled, rubbed, palmed and pinched. And he did the same. She pulled away from his kiss and buried her face in his shirt. She pressed her lips to him, licking softly against the linen until it grew wet and clung to his skin. She bit at him, sucking hard, doing her best to draw the little bud into her mouth.

          He took a deep breath, and she could hear his heart, so near to her ear, beating faster. His hands on her breasts grew more forceful, tormenting her body as she did his. Then he took them away, and cupped her face, pulling it up to his mouth, and kissing her with the same demanding strength, pushing his tongue into her mouth, thrusting until she could feel the penetration deep within her body. He trailed down her throat, marking her flesh with the force of his kisses until he settled over her breast. He paused for a moment, letting his breath warm her, then took the cloth-covered nipple into his mouth. The sensations grew in her, and she dug her fingers into the muscles of his shoulders, as though she feared that the force of her feelings would rip her away from his body.

          When it seemed all but unbearable, he released her and began again on her other breast. She gave a tiny laugh of relief, for she had forgotten that there was still more to feel. The same feeling of expectation was building, compounded with the excited nerves that he had left behind.