Star Crossed Seduction (14 page)

It must be, yet it confused him. For it had not been triumph he’d sensed in her as he had prepared himself to do what he must do with her, but vulnerability and fear, and even a hint of sadness. He fought to remember these weren’t her real emotions. He knew what her motive was. This coupling was only the cynical act of a hardened schemer who would do anything to serve his enemy.

And yet, he couldn’t stop feeling that subtle connection with her. Was there no end to the tricks this woman would play upon him?

He must ignore it. He was no longer her dupe. She might sigh and pant for him as much as she would, and flaunt herself at him, slick with simulated hunger. He wouldn’t be fooled. And that soul connection she still made him feel? He would stamp it out. He would take her like the lying whore she was and pound the passion out of her. He would use her ’til he got what she’d made him want, heedless of her needs. He’d unleash on her the full force of the sexuality he’d always been so careful to keep in check, knowing it was more than any woman could tolerate. She would learn what she had meddled with when she’d sought to use his passions for her own ends. Let it be a lesson to them both.

But it was good that it was dark, and that he need no longer gaze into those lying eyes of hers, which even now, when he knew the truth of what she was, still looked so clear, so filled with innocence despite her worldly pose.

How did she do that? When this was over, he must study her technique, so he could master it. It would come in handy to a man in his line of work.

But not now.

He groped toward her body. She hadn’t moved since he’d pushed her shoulders against the bed. She lay there still, with her thighs open wide and her feet still on the floor. He moved between her legs and groped for the seat of her desire. When he found it, he thrust two fingers deep inside her, feeling her strong muscles tense around him, so warm and responsive. He imagined those same muscles tensing around his swollen organ and gave himself up to the bestial urges that arose in him in response.

Then he grasped his throbbing penis with his other hand and lunged toward her, letting his fingers guide him deep into her as he impaled her with one swift thrust. He wouldn’t delay his pleasure to give her hers. If she wanted pain, she’d get it.

But she was slick and ready for him, and he slid in easily, each nerve alive to the silken feel of her as she took him in, sheathing him in her slippery warmth, her cunny firm and yielding at the same time. He thrust his hips as he drove as deep within her as he could go, heedless of how large he was and sparing her nothing.

When she gasped, he reached beneath her buttocks, lifted her hips, and forced them against his, overcome with the need to pierce through to her lying heart. But there was no need for force. She eagerly thrust her hips to meet his, rocking against the edge of the bed with her lithe and powerful thighs, meeting each pounding thrust of his with an echoing motion of her own.

Driven mad at this new evidence of her shamelessness, he quickened his thrusts, furious that she could feign even this, that she could ride these waves of passion even though he took her with no care for her pleasure, consumed by his towering selfishness. And not just meet him, but urge him onward. She dragged his chest down on top of hers, digging her nails into his shoulders and raking the sensitive spots that made him want her even more.

It was wrong. All wrong. But he couldn’t stop himself. Still lodged within her, he lifted her torso from the edge of the bed and shifted her until she was lying fully supported on the mattress. Then he knelt between her legs and pinned her to the bed with his strong arms. Thrusting in time with the unstoppable rhythm that beat in both of them, he sank into the exquisite silken slickness with which she had thought to deceive him.

He slowed the tempo as his pleasure mounted, desperately wanting to prolong the exquisite torment. Slick sweat slid between them as he pulled away just far enough to grasp one swollen breast with one hand. Her nipple was so hard it gouged his palm.

As the intensity of his strokes increased, her gasps came faster and louder, turning into little cries that echoed the deeper ones that tore out of his own throat. Her quiver tightened around him and squeezed him in long, slow waves of rhythmic pulsing that thrummed with his desire as he tumbled over the edge, lost in pleasure, lost and desperate, the blood red light of his anger mixing with wonder as he met her even now, in the timeless space of ecstasy, no longer alone and heedless of anything but the way he had merged all that he was with her.

As she convulsed around him, he exploded within her. His dammed-up hunger poured out with his life force and surged through the intensity they had created together, until nothing was left of his desire but the streamers of shock that ran through him.

She’d been open to it all—the lover in him, the killer, and the beast.

He fell forward, drained. Her breasts flattened under him as she took his full weight. He gasped for air and felt his heart pound as it hadn’t since he’d galloped away with Baji Rao’s men in hot pursuit. The moment stretched out, infinitely long.

Only gradually was he dragged back to earth by the sound of her rough breathing. Mixed with it were the faint night sounds of the street outside. He tried to cling to the memory of the pleasure that had filled the universe only moments before, but it was gone, no more real than the memory of the hoofbeats that had pursued him.

He pulled out of her, feeling the sticky wet seed gush out. He rolled away. The darkness oppressed him. He couldn’t see her. He couldn’t hear her. He couldn’t bear to face what he had done to her and how much he had enjoyed it.

He was no better than the men who raped the sepoys’ wives, raped them because they were the enemy’s women. He could no longer feel superior to those men, monsters though they’d been, or tell himself he was different from them.

He wasn’t different. He’d found pleasure beyond description in conquering this enemy’s woman. He had forced himself on her, driven by rage, not love. He had turned his manhood into a weapon and found at last the ecstasy that had hitherto eluded him.

Was there no end to the harsh lessons this woman had to teach him?

He would have given everything he had to be able to abandon her now in the darkness so he might never have to see her face again. But he could not. His duty hadn’t changed. He must keep her under surveillance to make sure she didn’t steal the Nawab’s jewel and provoke another costly war. British lives depended on it.

Her breathing had calmed, too, and in the darkness, he heard her sit up. Was she proud of the performance she had put on? Did she know she’d made him feel that she had taken as much pleasure in their brutal coupling as he had? Did she suspect that, for a moment there, right before the end, she’d made him feel she was the only woman he could ever want, the only woman who could ever satisfy him, the only woman whose strength could match his own?

He hoped not. He couldn’t bear to have her know it. It was bad enough that he must live on with the knowledge of what he really was. He must not let her know the power she might exert over him.

But just as he tried to armor himself against the desolation that threatened to overwhelm him, he heard it—a tiny sound. The merest hint of a sob. It was followed by a sniffle that was too loud to be real. If she’d meant it to hide her sob, she’d failed, for it hadn’t fooled him. He groped in the dark toward where her face must be. His fingers met her cheek, as smooth as marble, though warm as marble could never be. And as they did, a warm tear coursed over his finger.

Surely she hadn’t feigned that.

A wave of despair welled up in the shared, invisible space where they had met soul to soul, and something broke within him. He felt once again that sense they were connected, but the link, this time, was infused with agony.

Futilely, he stroked her cheek, fighting down the urge to mutter the soothing words that rose within him unbidden. He was confused beyond all understanding, undone by the concern he felt for her, his enemy, his lover, this woman whose strength and cunning was equal to his own.

Chapter 12

T
emperance looked away when Trev got out of the bed and relit the candle. She didn’t want to see the contempt its treacherous light would reveal in his glittering eyes. But when his task was done, he didn’t look at her but merely sat down on the chair and began the process of sliding his legs into his buckskins.

He worked quickly, with none of the slowness with which he had disrobed. He was done, having taken from her what he’d wanted from the start. She need only control herself for a few moments longer, then he’d be gone. The first words he spoke confirmed it.

“A few days hence, I leave for Surrey.”

So that was the end of it. She should feel relief. Whatever she had expected from making love with him, it hadn’t been the powerful mix of rage and ecstasy that had swept over her. It should have made her hate him, for he had made good on his claim that he was cruel. Yet how could she, for she had responded to him as she had never responded to Randall. As she hadn’t known she could respond.

She could barely stand to remember that slowly building swell of pleasure that increased inexorably until she had moved into a state, impossible to recall, where she’d felt one with him, as if his soul poured into hers, mingling its waters with hers as they both found their release.

The shame of it sickened her. Why had she experienced that, for the first time, with this man who did not love her? Who seemed to hate her, so cold had he been as he had prepared himself to take her so ruthlessly.

Her heart congealed at this new evidence of the depths to which she could sink. At least she’d been able to make herself believe Randall loved her. He’d said just enough to allow her to cling to that tattered dream even after he’d set her to stealing for him. Even after she’d seen his eyes hungrily following all those other women. He’d left her with her illusions.

Not like Trev. Trev, who had warned her he was cruel and proved it. Who had used her body so brutally and brought her to ecstasy by doing so. Ecstasy like nothing else she’d ever experienced, not even when she’d thought that Randall loved her.

“In a few days I must leave for Surrey,” he repeated.

“I wish you Godspeed, then, on your journey, sir.”

“Sir?” he repeated in an exaggerated tone. “I should think that after that”—he gestured toward the sheets—“you would address me as a friend.”

“Oh yes. And your friends call you, ‘Trev,’ ” she mimicked. “What does it matter what I call you since you’re leaving?”

“I’m not leaving you. I’d like you to accompany me.”

Her heart sank. “After that?” She, too, gestured toward the bed.

“Yes, precisely, after that.”

His eyes hardened. He was with difficulty suppressing more anger. “Wouldn’t it please you to explore further what we’ve begun? I know you didn’t find it intolerable. I’m not easily fooled by women.”

His confidence infuriated her. “Perhaps this time you were.”

“Oh yes. Perhaps you
have
fooled me. It’s not inconceivable.” His words were tinged with heavy irony. “But I enjoyed our encounter too much to dwell on such a suspicion. I’d regret having to go to Surrey without you. Would you not regret it, too?”

The chill in his voice was at odds with the flirting tone he pretended. It held no trace of even the pretense of affection. Even Randall had pretended to feel love for her after they had coupled.

She couldn’t bear it. She couldn’t help what she’d already done. She must live with the knowledge of how low she could sink. But she didn’t have to continue on this path to self-destruction.

“I won’t go,” she said.

His eyes widened with surprise. Then he recovered his poise. “There’s no more need to flirt with me. No need to feint and parry. You’ve made me your slave with that.” He gestured once again at the stained sheets. “Surely you know it. Let’s make the most of the time we have left.”

He let his voice soften, as if trying to give it some of that kindness he had simulated before, but his words came out icy cold. “Wouldn’t you like to come with me to Surrey, to the estate of the Mad Nabob, Sir Humphrey Diggett? I know you’ll find his collection of Indian curiosities irresistible. He has peacocks and monkeys and jewels—” He paused to let the word sink in, then repeated it, “—jewels that are the envy of the world. Surely you must wish to accompany me there.”

“I do not.”

Real surprise filled his features now. “Why?”

“Surely you don’t need me to tell you.” She couldn’t keep the bitterness out of her voice.

“But I do, Temperance, I do.”

He looked, unaccountably, confused.

Best to leave him that way. Let him think she left him because she’d been disgusted by his rude assault, as she should have been. Let him not guess the truth that he’d taught her the pleasure she took in savagery. Let him not know the power he might wield over her with what he could do to her body—and her soul.

As he pondered her reply, something flashed in his eyes. They were the blue now of tempered steel, fixed on her in an eagle’s gaze, regal and compelling—and heartbreakingly beautiful. It reminded her why she had given herself to him. Of what she had found with him. Of how dangerous it would be to spend another moment with him.

She wouldn’t do it. She would fight the forces within her that pulled her toward self-destruction. She wouldn’t love a man who hated her, a man who could make her take pleasure in her own humiliation. He wasn’t worthy of her love, no matter what he had made her feel.

“It was you,” she whispered, “who told me I deserved more. You, who said I deserved love—and fidelity. You were right. I was wrong. You taught me my lesson. With that”—she pointed one last time at the bed—“I can’t take any more. We must part.”

His face twisted with something that looked like anguish. He turned away.

It made no sense at all.

H
er words reverberated like the shock of a grenade. Had he misjudged her?

He’d expected her to greet his invitation with relief. If she was the Weaver’s tool, she should be rejoicing that her cool act of prostitution had paid off and won her the invitation she needed to put herself into a position where she could steal the jewel.

But she’d refused his offer. And though his first thought had been that her refusal was just another move in their infernal game of cat and mouse, he couldn’t believe that now. The firm set of her lips, pale as she bit them to hide an emotion that was not triumph or even relief, told him how serious she was. She wanted no more of him. Not after the brutal way he’d treated her—despite the powerful orgasm his brutality had evoked.

Or was it because if it? Had she been as appalled as he was by what they had discovered together? The shiver that pierced him gave him his answer as clearly as if she had spoken the words aloud. Again, he had connected with her in that dimension beyond words even more strongly than before.

For the first time since he had stumbled from the under secretary’s office, he remembered the words he’d ignored in his shock at Fanshawe’s revelation.
We are not certain she is working for them. Though we have reason to believe it likely
.

Likely, but not certain.

Had he misjudged her?

And if he had, if she were innocent—the pain knifed though his vitals. For if she were, he would have paid at last for the way he had gone along with the heartless plan that had won their glorious victory at the cost of the sepoys’ women’s honor and their lives—paid for it by raping the one woman he might have taught to love him—the only woman strong enough to meet him where he’d always been alone.

Perhaps there was something to the Hindu belief in karma. He deserved just such a punishment. But he didn’t know if he had the strength to endure it.

He busied himself with the buttons on his breeches, struggling to calm his emotions, reminding himself of the importance of his mission. When he looked up, Temperance was doing up the fastenings of her gown, Her fingers fumbled with the buttons that ran along the opening at the back, and, without thinking, he took a step toward her to assist her. But at his approach, she spun around, and cried out. “Don’t touch me. I couldn’t bear it.”

“I meant only to help you.”

“You’re the last person on earth who could help me.”

He didn’t know words could hurt like that. He turned away, so she couldn’t see his pain, and pulled on his shirt, blinking back his emotion. When he had calmed himself enough to face her again, she was kneeling to put on her shoes. She had knelt like that when he’d commanded her to remove his boots, when he’d been so intent on humiliating her. He’d been so filled with rage back then, but now he could find no trace of it. He wished he could. For with his rage gone, all he could feel was shame.

Then she made her way to the cupboard in the corner of the rented chamber and took out the pitifully small bundle that contained her things. She rummaged through it until she found the notes he’d given her in the coffeehouse. Holding them in her teeth, she retied the bundle. Then rising to her full height, with that warrior’s pride shining out of her burning eyes, she brandished the notes at him like a weapon.

“Take them back. I’m not what you think I am. I won’t let myself become it.”

When he made no move to take them, she flung them at him. Then she turned on her heel and made for the doorway. He prayed she would stop, that this threat of hers to leave him would turn out to be just another of her tricks, a stratagem to make him want her more so she could do the bidding of her masters. But she did not pause. She did not look back. She pulled open the door and flung herself down the hallway.

He galloped after her, rushing down the stairs and out into the street, where he nearly collided with Major Stanley, whose unsteady gait suggested he was far gone in his cups.

“A lover’s spat so soon?” Stanley quipped. “Well, no surprise. She’s a spitfire! When I popped my head in to bid her good evening earlier, she looked as if she’d have gladly torn off my ballocks. Probably for the best you’re quit of her. I trust she didn’t take anything of value when she fled.”

Only my
heart,
he thought.
Nothing more.

T
emperance slowed her steps. There was no more need for haste. He hadn’t followed her. He could have, but he’d chosen not to. He was done with her now. She could go as slowly as she chose; he wouldn’t come after her. He wouldn’t turn his glinting eagle’s eye on her or deprive her of her will with a command uttered in that harsh growl of his that cut through to her heart.

Why couldn’t she rejoice that she had regained her freedom? Why did she feel as if she had been abandoned? It was she who’d fled from him. And yet, with every step she took away from him, she grew weaker, as if her very life force was dependent on his presence. How could this be when he hated her, when what she felt for him could lead her only to her destruction?

The fog that curled around her smelled of the river, damp and dank. Its cold tendrils seemed almost alive, like malevolent fingers drawing her toward the banks. She looked ahead and saw the glint of the water far off at the end of the street. Its depths hid relentless currents as strong as the invisible undertow that pulled her back, even now, toward the man she must not let herself desire.

She couldn’t resist its pull any more than she had resisted him.

She let herself drift toward it, down the pavement, which led to a stone pier. It was one of the ancient stairs where boatmen had been landing their passengers for centuries. As she neared it, she smelled fish and refuse. The water shimmered ahead, its dark depths illuminated by the fitful beams of lanterns hung on the vessels that plied the channel not far from shore.

The night was still, and there was no breeze to ruffle the surface. But that smoothness was deceptive. Like herself, the river hid strong forces that once roused could sweep a palace off its foundations, sink an unwary ship, and drown the sailor who underestimated its power.

She walked out onto the stone pier and picked up a piece of broken cobblestone. She held it for a moment, feeling its weight in her hand. Then she tossed it as far over the river as she could. When it hit the water, it made a splash and vanished, leaving behind only a few circles that rippled out from the empty center before fading away, leaving no hint that anything had pierced the icy calm.

Snake had warned her she’d end up in the river. Would she sink like that, make only a few ripples as she slipped beneath the surface, and vanish forever when the ripples had faded out?

She took a deep breath of the cold moist air and shivered. The river called to her. Its calm was soothing. The tiny wavelets that murmured against the base of the stone stair didn’t pound like the angry breakers that crashed unseen on the shore hidden deep within her soul. She’d underestimated the power of the forces she carried within her. She’d thought she could control them, but she’d been wrong.

As Trev had shown her.

Another wave surged up and crashed against her heart as she recalled how he’d given her that key, taunting her, and daring her to take the freedom she’d always pretended was what she really wanted.