Reckless Viscount (14 page)

He braced his hands on the mattress on either side of her knees and the muscles of her thighs tightened.

“I am going to release your feet. Do you promise not to kick at me?”

She hesitated.

There was a familiar note of amusement in his voice. As if he were tempted to tease her. At a time like this? The man was shameless and Abbigael was still so very confused. She wanted to blame her lack of comprehension on residual aftereffects of the sleeping draught, but she worried it was the man himself making her feel as if she were suddenly in a world gone topsy-turvy.

Finally, because he continued to watch her so intently and she really did want to be free of her bindings, she nodded her head.

He eyed her with caution as he settled his hands on her knees then slid them down the outside of her calves. She suspected he thought that by moving slowly he would avoid frightening her, but the sensation of his large hands traveling along the full length of her legs gave rise to new sensations in her heavy limbs.

And then there was that sudden flicker of light in the shadowed depths of his eyes. She saw it just before he lowered his gaze to her feet, but that brief flash of life and color sparked a delicious tingling in her blood. She clenched her teeth against the sound of distress that rose from her throat. She did not understand what was happening, but she knew she did not want him to be aware of how he affected her.

His hands followed the curves of her calves until he reached her ankles. Then he slid back in his chair and lifted her legs to set her bare feet against the surface of his thigh. She felt the solid warmth of muscle beneath her feet and a flush spread across her cheeks and down the length of her throat.

Thankfully, his eyes were still lowered and he didn’t notice her reaction. Fearful that he may look up and she might accidently meet his gaze, she lowered her eyes as well. But the sight of her feet being held so carefully in his large hands brought another unwelcome flush to her skin.

He pushed the hem of her nightgown up to her knees and Abbigael saw that it was one of her own stockings wrapped around her ankles. Intently focused on his task, he untied the knot, unwound the silken undergarment and dropped it to the floor beside him.

With the wide pads of his thumbs, he rubbed her ankles where the binding had been, and though she knew she should pull her feet back, she didn’t simply because it felt so good. The soothing pressure of his fingers worked magic against her bare skin, easing the discomfort left by the wound stocking. A moment later, he brushed his thumb across the underside of her foot and her leg jerked involuntarily. Her feet had always been horribly ticklish. As if he hadn’t noticed her sudden tensing, he made another light pass along the soft skin at her arch.

Abbigael protested sharply behind her gag and pulled her feet back.

He bowed his head to hide his expression, but not quickly enough for her to miss the twitch of his lips.

He had done that on purpose. The man was
definitely
shameless.

Abbigael narrowed her eyes and tried to strengthen her resolve. It did her no good to fall under the spell of his expert touch and teasing manner. She straightened her posture, which had softened while he had been massaging her feet and ankles, and lifted her hands from her lap, offering them to him expectantly.

Leif met her round watchful gaze. “You will not attack me?”

She stared at him stonily, allowing her irritation to show in her eyes. No matter how gentle his fingers or how charming his hidden smile, he had abducted her. Releasing her would not completely make up for it, but at least it was a start.

He dipped his chin and eyed her slightly askance.

“I know I don’t deserve it, but my instinct for self-preservation demands that I ask you to promise you won’t grab some heavy object and bash me over the head.”

Abbigael rolled her eyes and uttered a sharp retort behind her gag.

An inappropriate grin threatened his solemn expression, but he nodded as he reached for her hands.

“I will accept that.”

This knot had been tied much tighter and more clumsily. It took a bit to untangle, but with a few muttered expletives he managed to loosen it.

Abbigael immediately pulled her hands back, fearful he might claim another opportunity to soften her with gentle attention. She began to rub at the light abrasions that encircled her wrists from the securely wound stocking, flexing her stiff fingers to encourage the return of full circulation.

When he lifted his hands toward her gag, she stiffened and leaned away, searching his face warily.

He met her eyes with an expression of calm determination and slight amusement and curled his fingers to beckon her closer.

“Come,” he said commanded softly, “your fingers are far too stiff to release the knot in the gag.”

Abbigael flexed her fingers and felt the prickling of returning sensation. He was right. Even if her fingers managed to work properly, her shoulders were sore from sleeping on them in the same position all night and she could barely lift her arms, let alone reach behind her head.

“Trust me, Irish.” His lips twisted sardonically. “I have some experience with the effects of bondage.”

She eyed him with a scowl of confusion and stubborn defiance.

Now what was that supposed to mean?

By the look on his face, she guessed it to be something of a wicked nature. There was an odd twist low in her belly as she wondered if he had once been tied up or if he had tied other women. Neither thought sat well with her at the moment.

His low laugh sounded raw and forced to her ears. And she wasn’t sure if he laughed at himself or her own obvious distress.

He beckoned her closer again. “Come here.”

Seeing no other choice if she wanted to be completely freed as quickly as possible, Abbigael sighed and leaned toward him, lowering her eyes to her lap.

In silence, he lifted his hands to the cloth tied around her mouth. The knot was even tougher than the one on her wrists and wispy locks of her hair twisted in and out of the cloth. He took his time and did not tug too hard, but Abbigael had a horribly sensitive scalp and more than once tears came to her eyes when strands of hair were pulled free.

She welcomed the moments of pain as a distraction from the further havoc his proximity was wreaking in her awareness. Maybe if she closed her eyes, she could convince herself the situation was not so very intimate. But when she did so, her other senses strengthened. The male scent of him surrounded her, the warmth of his body seemed to reach out to her, and she found herself matching her breath to the steady rhythm of his.

Once the knot was loose enough to lift the gag over her head, he did so, dropping it to the floor alongside her discarded stockings.

Abbigael straightened and met his gaze. She was unsure what to say now that she could speak freely. She licked her dry lips and tried to gather her scattered thoughts into a cohesive whole.

He looked back at her with a shuttered expression in his eyes and a slight curve to his lips. He seemed to have a difficult time taking even this situation seriously. Then he slid back in the small wooden chair until he was once again slouched against the curved back with his elbows resting on the narrow arms.

“All right, Irish, let me have it.”

Chapter Thirteen

Abbigael took a slow breath. Then another.

She opened her mouth to speak. Then closed it again.

Lord Neville lifted his brows.

Maybe it was the amusement in his face, or maybe the tension and confusion and odd stimulation of the morning finally coalesced into a fully comprehensive reaction. She couldn’t be sure what managed to shake her from her choked silence, but whatever the catalyst, Abbigael suddenly knew exactly what to say.

“Are you outta your mind?” she asked roughly, her throat still raw and dry from the effects of the gag. She could hear the brogue thickening her words, but didn’t care to refine her pronunciation. “What in the name of the heavenly father gave you cause to steal me from my bed an’ carry me off to who knows where? Have you lost all sense?”

“Likely long ago,” he replied in a careless drawl, then continued before she could interrupt. “I should state now that I cannot properly answer any specific questions about our current predicament as my memory of the last couple days is foggy at best and completely obliterated otherwise.”

“You were drunk,” she accused.

“Most days.”

Abbigael ignored his flippant response.

“Have you any idea just how terrifying it is to wake up and find yourself in a strange place with no idea how you got there?”

“Actually, I…”

“Or what it feels like to wake after sleeping through the night with your wrists and ankles bound?”

“As a matter…”

Her gaze held a blazing light as she sent him a scathing look she hoped showed him just how fed up she was with his interruptions, and he wisely closed him mouth.

“How dare you?” she finally shouted. “How dare you treat me with such heedless disregard? I canna fathom your cause or reason for doing this, but I willna stand for it.”

She twisted her hands together in her lap. It was too much. The last few days of watching her dreams crumble in the midst of harmful whispers, waking to find herself a victim of abduction, and the subtle but constant onslaught of sensations created by simply being in the presence of the man before her were more than she could handle.

Every muscle in her body felt strained and pulled tight. Her pulse beat rapidly in her ears. Her initial fear turned to wary confusion had been building since she first woke and was starting to make her insides shake. She felt the rising tide of her own jumbled emotions and desperately tried to hold back the flood. The pressure within her was reaching a breaking point and she feared that any moment she would either dissolve into a torrent of tears or scream with frustration.

“Irish…” Leif began in a soothing tone.

Abbigael’s frazzled nerves jolted at the sound of that one low murmured word. Her wide eyes met the deep richness of his and a shock of something bright speared through the chaotic haze of her distress. Her stomach flipped wildly and panic started to creep from the edges of her awareness.

“No, no, no! Do not
Irish
me.” She held up her hands as if to keep him at bay even though he hadn’t moved an inch toward her. “I willna hear any of your honeyed words. They drip from a forked tongue. You’re a right devil to be takin’ me as you have, coming upon me in my bed, gagging and trussing me up like a spring goose, nearly scaring the life outta me. I thought…I thought you…”

The words caught in her throat. She wouldn’t admit she had thought he might have some true feelings for her. Of course he didn’t. Why should he be different than anyone else?

Her pause of distress seemed to prod him into action as he straightened from his careless slouch and slid forward to clasp her face in his warm hands. Abbigael’s distress turned instantly to alarm, but rather than resisting his touch, she stilled beneath it. His expression was imploring, as if he wanted to say something but couldn’t form the words.

No, she had to be mistaken. Men like him did not beg for anything.

But there was absolutely no mistaking the complicated fire in the depths of his eyes. It was a perfect match to the unnamed flames within herself. Flames that had been building since this man first approached her with his wicked smile and jaded glance.

In the next second, before Abbigael had a chance to form another thought, he pulled her forward and claimed her mouth with his. The world spun crazily out of balance as a dizzying sensation rushed up from her chest to spread through her stiff limbs.

There was passion and fire and need in that kiss and Abbigael’s entire body responded to it with full vigor. Every cell and nerve and strand of muscle came to life. The warm, solid impression of his mouth on hers distracted her from any thought.

He slid one hand into her hair at the base of her skull, exerting just enough pressure to hold her in place. Then he curved his arm around her upper back and in one smooth motion lifted her further onto the bed as he stood and rose over her. Never breaking the contact between their lips, he lowered his body to lay half on top of her, half alongside her in the narrow bed.

His weight was heavenly. His body was hot and solid where he pressed along her side, partially covering her. His mouth was warm and firm. Abbigael brought her hands to his sides where she splayed her fingers and felt the ridges of his ribs beneath his thin shirt and the lean muscles that wrapped from his chest to his back.

He was so strong. So male. Being pressed to such a body was a heady thing. She wasn’t exactly sure how she had gone from berating him to lying beneath him, nearly breathless from the lovely feel of him, but she couldn’t deny how perfectly right it felt to be here now, just like this.

He shifted the position of his lips on hers and the subtle sliding friction brought a tingling rush to her limbs. She had been kissed by him before, but this was so unlike that other time. This had a deep note of urgency. She felt it in herself. And she felt it in the tension of his body against her.

He turned his head to fit his lips more securely over hers. Abbigael lifted her chin, seeking the same, and a low sound of appreciation sounded in his throat. His lips parted and he very deliberately touched the center of her bottom lip with the tip of his tongue. She gasped at the delicate sensation and he took advantage of her parted lips to dart his tongue between her teeth. He angled his head and tightened his fingers at the back of her neck, forcing her to accept his full possession of her mouth.