Swept Away By a Kiss (8 page)

He bit down upon it, forcing his senses to obey and shifting his gaze to the ropes, bonds like shackles holding her captive. They represented everything he despised, everything dark and evil in the world. Nothing like the feeling of life and hope this woman’s spirit sparked in him.

He moved forward on the bed. Bebain had situated her in the center of the mattress, her shoulders leaning against the intricate headboard. Silently Steven cursed Maximin for purchasing the fancy iron piece months ago in Philadelphia. If he had chosen a bed more like Steven’s—solid mahogany—Bebain could not have arranged her upon it so provocatively.

It didn’t matter. The madman would have contrived another way to display her enticing curves and creamy skin. But Steven did not need Valerie lying upon her back, clad only in a sheer silk shift, to become aroused. That morning she had been half asleep and pointing a knife at him, and he had gotten hard so fast watching her she might as well have been Aphrodite.

Now was no different, despite the ropes and Steven’s resolution to remain in control, at least upon the surface. Sometimes the Jesuit habit’s loose skirt did come in handy.

Taking care not to touch her skin, he pressed his fingertips into the first knot at her collarbone and pried. Fashioned of cured hemp, the rope flexed, strong but malleable. He would free her from her bonds eventually.

Whether he would do so before she fainted from lack of oxygen he couldn’t be assured. Beneath his hovering hands, her breasts rose and fell with quick, short breaths. Steven pinned his gaze on his task, not allowing it to stray to the exquisite mounds brazenly defined by the tight bindings.

“Say something.” Her voice came as a bare whisper near his cheek, her breath caressing his skin.

“Relax.”

“Easy for you to recommend.”

“Not so.” Most assuredly not.

“More distortion of the truth, Father La Marque? I suspect nothing ever ruffles your composure.”

The knot sagged open. Steven turned to the next one. Lace tickled the base of his palm. As suited a wealthy English noblewoman, she wore an elegant shift, with scalloped straps caressing her graceful shoulders and finely figured embroidery edging the neckline. A tiny satin rose nestled at the alluring shadow between her breasts, hinting at concealed beauty. It was a garment fit for a princess, even a princess made of steel rather than the satin Valerie appeared to be upon the surface.

The second knot slipped free, but not enough to unfasten the tie binding her to the headboard. His fingers followed the loosened rope between her breasts to the next lynch. She sucked in a breath, tightening the fabric over her flesh. Dusky pink circles pressed up under the white silk.

“Why did you go to live with your cousins in Boston?” Steven didn’t know if he asked the question to quiet her nerves or his. The back of his hand brushed the inner swell of her breast. A quiver radiated through her. Heat pooled in his groin, insistent.

“The earl sent me.” Her voice sounded flat. Steven suspected his would be rough if he spoke. He nodded, fixing his concentration upon the twist of rope tucked against her ribs.

He wanted to touch her, to cover her slightly raised nipple with his tongue and tease her arousal to a hard peak through the thin veil of silk. He could not, for so many reasons. The most vital was not even his priestly pretense, or that it would satisfy Bebain’s wishes.

The ropes held Steven’s desire in check. When he took a woman to bed, he wanted her free, unfettered to touch him just as he touched her. These wrappings, intended to make Valerie into a gift he could not refuse, repelled him even as the woman within them set his body on fire.

“Your brother, the earl?”

“No.”

A peculiar frisson of warning skittered through Steven.

“Husband?” He didn’t think he had mistaken it, but perhaps she was a widow. Plenty of Englishwomen her age lost husbands to the war.

“I am not married.” As though reading his thoughts, she added, “Nor have I ever been married, as you correctly informed Bebain the other night.” Her voice was tight, as though she still harbored anger for the things he had said to dissuade Bebain from taking her.

“I thought we dealt with that this morning. And you were not offended that I assumed your innocence.” She felt spectacular against his skin, the soft weight of her breast yielding to the pressure of his fingers as he worked at the knot splayed flat against her ribs.

“That is the second time you have presumed to know my tolerance for offenses,” she murmured.

He glanced up. He shouldn’t have. Her lips were parted and damp, the tender redness faded at the edges. Her eyes shone like lit coals, beckoning.

Only a man with a fool’s destiny would resist the invitation.

Chapter 8

I
presumed correctly upon both accounts, didn’t I?” Low and husky, Etienne’s voice skimmed across Valerie’s senses like whiskey upon the tongue, flooding her with eagerness. His touch shimmered through her flesh until her thoughts muddled. The stiffness of her limbs and soreness of shoulders and back faded away beneath his regard.

“Perhaps.” He did not need to know any more about her, certainly not whether she was a virgin. Few among the
ton
would believe the truth if she told it anyway, and it could not possibly matter to this man either way.

He held her gaze, his hand warm against the underside of her breast and immobile. He had halted his efforts at untying her. Valerie’s belly tightened, the sensation shivering outward. Her nipples prickled.

“Etienne,” she whispered, not knowing what she intended or even wanted beyond freedom from her bindings. Not the frustrated craving coursing through her now. How could she want that? She had changed. She was not the same foolish girl she had been for so many years.

The sound of his name seemed to recall him to his task. He dropped his gaze and finished with the knot. A muscle flexed in his hard jaw. The rope slackened, his grasp slipped away, and Valerie took in a deep, free breath.

“Your father sent you to America, then,” he said, returning to his questioning as though nothing had passed between them.

But nothing had, except in Valerie’s famished imagination.

She nodded. Etienne’s gaze trailed her stomach to her hands, strapped palms-down against her abdomen. Valerie pressed her knees together, the chunk of hemp at the crux of her thighs digging into her flesh. She shifted her hips to ease the pressure, and the line at her neck twitched tight.

Concern lit his tawny eyes. She wanted to ask what he meant to do next, but her tongue would not form words.

He touched one finger lightly to the twine around her wrists.

“This must wait for the rest.”

Valerie understood. She had understood even as Fevre tied the knots while Bebain watched, a smile of glee stretched across his narrow face as he anticipated the Jesuit’s agony and her shame. Bebain wanted her hands trapped until the last, so Etienne would be forced to unravel all the other bonds. He did not want her to be able to free herself.

But even as Bebain’s evil grin had clotted her blood, Fevre’s touch had not bothered her. As he fashioned her grim harness with unsteady hands, she suspected his fear of Bebain overwhelmed everything else and that he did not take any pleasure in the activity.

Valerie doubted the priest would enjoy undoing what Fevre had done. He brought his rigid gaze to hers. He did not want this. He might find her attractive, but he was not a man to be easily swayed from his convictions.

She parted her legs, drawing in a breath.

“Just do it, and end this,” she clipped, taking refuge in her loathing for Bebain. If she concentrated her thoughts upon the evil delight the pirate captain took from imagining his captives’ misery, she might be able to distract her nerves.

Etienne reached for the cords below her hips. The knot shifted against Valerie’s most tender parts, and heat erupted inside her. She tried to breathe slowly, to remain still as he grasped the tether and pried at it. She fixed her gaze upon his hand, hoping that watching his deliberate actions would cool the tendrils of fire racing from her core through her belly and limbs.

It did not. The sight of his strong hands between her thighs sent shivers of turmoil through her body. She wanted him to turn his attentions away from the rope. To touch her. She ached for it so badly she bit down upon her lips to stop herself from begging him to.

Etienne’s fingers grazed her. Valerie’s body flinched within, a sting of pleasure so intense a gasp shot from the back of her throat. Her eyes flew wide. But he did not seem to note it. She wrenched her gaze away, hoping he could not see the sweet, sudden throbbing of her flesh, so powerful that a moan gathered in her chest. Was it all inside her, or could he observe what he did to her and hate her for it? Hate himself?

She forced herself to look, sucking in tiny gasps of air. Sheer fabric bunched between her flesh and the knot, the silk obviously damp. Etienne’s beautiful, long fingers were white with strain as he dug into the hemp.

Wrapped in confused, heady need, Valerie lifted her gaze past the taut angle of his jaw to his beautiful mouth. His lips were a thin line, his brow creased.

“I am sorry,” she whispered.

“For what? That you boarded the wrong merchantman in Boston? That sadistic madmen sail the Atlantic?” His voice was tight, his accent thicker than usual.

Valerie’s insides shook with the strain of holding her legs still. It tortured him to touch her this way. His words and posture made that clear, but her body didn’t seem to care. She struggled not to press into his touch, to make the brief shock of delicious pleasure come again.

“I have never apologized to a man before.”

“I don’t doubt it.”

She bit the inside of her mouth.

“I know this is impossible, but you needn’t insult me.”

“It was not an insult.”

The knot fell loose. Etienne drew his hands away, exhaling audibly. Valerie’s gaze shot to his. He did not look at her, setting to work upon the ropes at her wrists. The perfunctory caress should not affect her more strongly than what had gone before. But somehow it did. In stunned silence she lost herself in his confident touch upon the backs of her hands and the insides of her wrists, all pretense of her self-control slipping away. Bathed in intimate heat, she ceased breathing.

He finished, drawing the tethers from around her neck and hips. She gulped in tides of air and struggled to a sitting position. Hands striped with red marks and trembling, she smoothed her shift over her thighs and tucked her feet beneath her, her entire body aching.

Etienne stood and turned to the window. He passed a palm over his face in a distracted gesture. His broad shoulders and back remained stiff, stretching the black fabric taut.

Guilt seared Valerie, irrational, but painful all the same.

“Thank you.”

“Don’t.” The curt word cut across the small room.

“You could have refused.”

“And left you to his promised punishment tomorrow?” He looked over his shoulder at her. “What sort of man would that make me?”

He was not saying what he wished. The heated glint in his amber eyes and the abruptly tempered tone of his rich voice told her so. She wished she knew the words to make him speak what he truly felt. But he held himself in harsh control again, impenetrable except for his entrancing eyes.

She gathered herself to stand upon wobbly legs, grasping the headboard for support. Etienne unclasped the top buttons of his robe, then reached for the lamp and unhinged it from the table. He snuffed the flame between his fingers, plunging the cabin into shadows. Flexing her feet and arms to restore feeling, Valerie heard him separate the metal casing and oil dish from the bulb, then strike the glass upon the table. It broke with a dull clank.

“Valerie.” Etienne’s voice came unexpectedly quiet in the dark. “I fear I have not been as careful of your sensibilities as I should tonight.”

Valerie swallowed down her choke of astonishment.

“I understand.”

“I suspect you don’t, in point of fact. But that does not excuse me.”

“I have put it behind me already,” she said, gripping the headboard, praying he could not hear her heart’s raucous pounding. “You will too, soon enough.”

“Now who presumes to know the other?”