Ruined by Moonlight (15 page)

So she’d written the note in French, the choice of language based entirely on the delicate whitefish aspic they’d been served the day before. The only contribution Ran had made was that he mentioned the dish was one he’d had in Paris, and instantly there had been thoughtful speculation in her eyes.

Those lovely eyes that he’d looked into before he’d rashly kissed her and then pleasured her, and then spent a restless night doing his best to not take it to the ultimate culmination.

He needed to stop thinking about it.

His
plan had been much more straightforward but it hadn’t succeeded, and so, at this point, he was willing to
concede that perhaps this was their only recourse, no matter how chafing it was to continue to be confined. He’d decided to do his best to access one of the two stained-glass windows by making a tower of the table and chairs, which proved precarious despite Elena’s assistance on holding it steady, not to mention he had no means of breaking the glass, and that once he did gain the somewhat formidable height, the brief glimpse he got through one of the lighter-faceted pieces showed a dizzying vista of trees a daunting distance below. In short, if he did manage to destroy the window and crawl out, he doubted he would do anything but fall to his death trying to descend from the tower.

Not exactly a resounding success.

Their options were extremely limited as far as he could tell, so he was more than willing to hope Elena’s plea for help might prove fruitful.

In the meantime it was beginning to get dark, which gave them little recourse but to converse, as the single lamp usually burned out early and wasn’t replenished until the next day. Which left them in the dark together and that was a dangerous combination indeed.

He should never have touched her.

But you did. What is done is done.

Bloody hell.

“Do you think whoever owns this estate is down there, maybe even now entertaining guests?” As the bar dropped into place behind the departing servants, Elena turned in a whirl of silk and golden hair. “The walls are so thick we hear nothing. I have done my best to make a mental list of what houses are not that far from London that might have turrets, but I am afraid I’m not widely
traveled enough to come up with more than two or three, and I doubt we are in Windsor Castle.”

“I’ve done the same.” He tried to ignore the entrancing shadow between her breasts, recalling the warm, supple weight of them in his hands with a clarity that had an unfortunate effect on his libido, making his cock swell. It wasn’t that he didn’t acknowledge the simple equation of bed, exquisitely attractive woman, and darkness; it was just that the danger of it all had grown, not lessened, after their mutually satisfying encounter the night before. They’d been cautious around each other all day.

He found her virginal embarrassment arousing, and if asked to make odds on
that
at White’s not even a week ago, he would have lost his money when he emphatically took the position that he thought innocent misses were dull and to be avoided at all cost.

Unfortunately, she was more intriguingly distracting than ever now and that was entirely his fault.

Or
her
fault. He wasn’t sure which and that was disconcerting. Control of his life was paramount because he’d discovered in a painful way long before this abduction that when that slipped all could be lost.

“Do you think you might know where we are?” Elena sat down opposite now that the table was cleared, her gaze inquiring.

“It can’t be too far, given how long it was between when I was accosted outside my club and the time I woke up here. Unless I lost a day and a half, and that seems unlikely. We were both drugged but recovered fairly quickly.” He’d been pondering it—while trying to not think about her proximity—all day. “I don’t think we were taken a great distance. I do know”—his voice
hardened—“that I had to be given the intoxicant at my club. It is the only possibility. That’s the last I remember of the evening, and I swear to you once again I do not drink too much on a regular basis.”

The glass of whiskey in his hand might not be the best support of that declaration, but in his defense he was doing his best to forget she was in the room but her physical presence was impossible to ignore. Luscious in peach silk, her hair was in a cloud of golden disarray that tumbled enticingly down her back. Not to mention the room was darkening and the bed beckoned.

Arousal surged and he negligently adjusted his robe to hide it, trying to define his options.

Abstinence. He could do it. Or could he? He’d spent three nights with her before ever even touching her, but now the dynamic between them had changed.

He wasn’t sure that was an option unless she had more restraint than he did, in which case he would take the floor again as a makeshift bed.

“I suppose it is possible I was given something at the theater, but all I had was a glass or two of champagne and nothing else.” She glanced up at the window as if she also realized it was getting dark. “My father and mother also had the same.”

They’d been over this before more than once. Ran regarded her with as much impassiveness as possible, and she appeared introspective this evening considering what had happened between them the night before. “I think we are going to be in the dark over what happened until we get back to London.”

“And when will that be?”

She was almost a decade younger. He could hear the edge of restiveness in her voice and he was hardly reconciled
to this captivity either, but the war had taught him the benefits of patience. It was the inactivity that chafed the most for him, and unfortunately he knew how that lack of physical movement could be alleviated. “Whoever is behind this can’t keep us here indefinitely.”

Elena rose again after sitting for a moment or two, the hem of her dressing gown sweeping the floor as she paced toward the door and stared at it. “One would think so, but I once read a book where a woman was locked in a dungeon by her grasping sister until she was too old to bear children.” She turned with a rueful smile. “I know it was simply sensational fiction, but…Tell me, who is going to believe
us
once we are freed?”

An excellent point.

She
was certainly not too old to bear children, something he needed to keep in mind. Quite the contrary; the fertile-goddess image was striking as she stood there in the flowing robe, her blue eyes dark and inquiring. It was interesting, but he couldn’t help but wonder if they had a child, would it have his dark coloring or her golden fairness?

And where the hell did that rogue thought come from,
he wondered with a jab of pure male alarm. Not once in his lifetime yet had he thought about conceiving children except in the sense of how to avoid it happening. That was why he chose sophisticated lovers who took precautions to prevent conception, because making love was about the casual pleasure of it, not creating a child.

His delectable roommate was more than a little distracting and no doubt affecting his normal levelheaded approach to life. Perhaps it was time to give them both something else to concentrate on besides their captivity.

Elena was coming to know the notorious Viscount Andrews rather well and something had just happened. A bit perplexed, she saw his mouth tighten and his lashes flicker downward, and his face went utterly blank even though the careless sprawl of his body didn’t change.

It couldn’t be what she just said. Surely it had occurred to him their story would not be readily accepted by society. As she stood there Elena reminded herself that yes, of course it had. He was intelligent and far more worldly than she was, and he’d mentioned before they would have to fabricate a more plausible explanation for their absences, for it was much too incredible for the jaded
ton
to take as truth.

“No one,” he said with measured inflection. “No one will ever believe I didn’t touch you. And in all honesty, they’d be correct, wouldn’t they?” He added softly, “I’d like to touch you
now
.”

A singular warmth coursed through her veins at the predatory look in his eyes, and perhaps it was the proximity of his rangy body, the dark beard, and his slightly unruly midnight hair, or his generally overwhelming masculinity, but he looked quite dangerous suddenly.

The room was also growing dark, the lamp oil never replenished until the next day, and it must have begun to rain in the late afternoon, for they’d had to light it much earlier than usual, which meant it was already burning low.

There was no reason to refuse him. She’d already lain naked in his arms and, besides, she didn’t
wish
to refuse him. When he’d acted all day as if nothing of significance had happened between them, there had been a sense of pique until she’d caught him looking at her several times in a way that told her instinctively he was not quite as cavalier about the experience as he seemed on the surface.
She cleared her throat and said brazenly, “It appears we are in accord there, my lord.”

That brought him to his feet in a single athletic movement. “I was damn well hoping you’d have the sense to deny me, because apparently I’ve lost my mind.”

“I think it is mutual madness,” she said unsteadily.

“I usually have more control.”

She might not be experienced, but the subtle tension in the air all day told her he was speaking the truth, and the minute he caught her hand, lacing his fingers through hers and tugging her close, heated intoxication washed over her in a slow, rolling wave.

“Kiss me,” he whispered, lowering his head, his breath against her lips. “Elena, kiss me.”

Could any woman resist that suggestive husky tone?
Not many had, according to rumor, and she could understand it at the moment.

The kiss was no doubt a little inept but she obeyed, molding her mouth to his, tasting the heady whiskey he’d been drinking steadily since late afternoon as she shyly brushed her tongue against his in an attempt to seduce him as he’d done to her the night before. It must have been effective, for he gave a low groan and his arm slid around her waist.

The room faded, the darkness no longer important as her eyes closed, and nothing existed but the sensation of his embrace and his mouth moving against hers as he took over the kiss. The heat that shimmered between them was palpable, dizzying, an intoxicant she had never, ever expected.

Their lips clung softly, then a brush of their tongues, then a breathless parting before they joined again…

She wasn’t a complete fool; he was very, very good at
this or women would not flutter their fans and murmur over him when he entered the room. It was admittedly beguiling.

His hands spanned her waist, then drifted lower. “You enchant me,” he told her when he lifted his head, “And we barely began to explore the possibilities of how many ways last night.”

It charmed her—as maybe it was intended to—that he just waited then, not importunate but patient, as if giving her the choice, though he had to note her erratic breathing and certainly he knew she was willing. After all, she was warm and lax against him.

“I know.” She’d sensed it was just the beginning, the glimpse of a sensual world that was a glimmer of the future. “I cannot wait to learn more.”

“Passion and beauty are a dangerous combination, but it seems my instincts for self-preservation are in abeyance at the moment.” He nuzzled her neck and lifted her in his arms. “Let us continue your education.”

She let him carry her to the bed without protest and wasn’t sure if she was disappointed or not when he didn’t remove his robe but settled next to her and skimmed her cheek with his fingertips. His smile was endearingly boyish. “I’m not used to this.”

“I wish you would define
this
, because I am not quite sure what is happening between us.”

“Desire.” His gaze held hers. “Don’t you feel it?”

“Yes.” The stifled laugh caught in her throat. “But I am sure, my lord, you have felt it many times before.”

He chose to not address her point. “If I was prudent I would just settle on the cold floor.”

“But then I would be cold too, and I don’t think prudent describes you very well.”

“Your deliberate temptation isn’t helping this situation.”

She reached up and traced the line of one ebony brow with a fingertip, the gesture bold, but she was feeling fearless and wanton. “I am not sure if I know how to be deliberately tempting, but I am learning from a master.”

That he caught her meaning wasn’t in question. His dark eyes held a smoldering gleam. “Young women are often too romantic. That is why I avoid them.”

“I didn’t notice you avoiding
me
.”

“I have noticed that too.” He kissed her again as he subtly adjusted his position, the action effectively ending the conversation, his hand slipping between the parted folds of her robe and finding her bare breast, eliciting a deep thrill as her body tightened in response to the caress.

He didn’t wish to talk. And that was fine with her at the moment because all she wanted was the touch of his hands and the promise of the pleasure he offered so skillfully.

The lamp flickered but it only registered absently as his fingers cupped, caressed, and fondled.

It was all still novel for her but he knew exactly what response he would get, if the slight smile that curved his lips was an indication.

Damn him
.

But, then again…

His other hand slipped between her legs, the touch shocking but pleasurable as she tried for a moment to hold her thighs together and then surrendered. Exquisite sensation overcame modesty almost immediately as he stroked and her body reacted with wayward abandon, the touch no doubt forbidden but intimately delicious
nonetheless, especially when he kissed the hollow of her throat. There was something primal about how his hair brushed her collarbone and the graze of his mouth across her right nipple.

“Sweet,” he murmured against her sensitized skin, and she involuntarily shivered as his fingers slowly moved in a sensual circle.
What am I doing
, a vague voice in her brain asked,
allowing such liberties
. Taking what he had to give though she absolutely knew she shouldn’t. Had it not been for her growing realization that Randolph Raine was more complicated than people imagined—but entirely as attractive as it was rumored—maybe she would not have. His charm wasn’t superficial. Practiced, yes, but not without substance, and it was that realization that drew her more than his striking good looks or easy, seductive manner.