When Angels Fall (35 page)

Hesitating, she grasped the gown even tighter to her chest. All her instincts told her that she was doing something dangerous. Anything she wanted this badly had to be.

“Ivan, you must listen—”

“Lissa, give me the pleasure of watching you undress.”

She put her hand out in a futile effort to stop him. “No, you must listen. Those names I’ve been called. They’re not true. You must know that I’ve never . . .” She was so pitifully naive she didn’t even know how to delicately explain what she had never done.

His mouth curved in a strange little smile. He walked to her and trailed his finger down her bare shoulder.

“Are you telling me that, contrary to what I’ve heard, you’ve never lain with a man?”

She couldn’t look at him. Uneasily she nodded, and a grim smile came to her lips. “I hate to disappoint you, but I’m not the hardened character everyone believes me to be. And I’m not the girl for you now.”

She tried to rise from the bed. His hand stopped her. He tipped her head up and he stared at her as if he could look into her soul.

Finally he whispered, “Lissa, you take my breath away. You’re an angel fallen from heaven and I want you so, I’ll go mad if I can’t have you.”

A shadow passed over her eyes. Bitterly she reached
her hand out and traced his scar. “I’m no angel,” she whispered.

He grabbed her hand and stopped her movement.

“Perhaps you are. Perhaps it’s you who might save me.” With that, he bent his head and his lips trailed down her neck until he met with the hollow of her throat. He left a scorching kiss in its sensitive recess, then his hands impatiently pushed her gown down from her bosom. His teeth grazed the swell of her breasts and he desperately tore at the buttons of her chemise. Her petticoats were expertly untied; her garters unclasped. Soon her dress joined the ornate pile of discarded garments, along with her ruined slippers and her drawers edged with Brussels lace. She was left with only her strapless corset and chemise to retain her modesty, and that was fleeting, for without warning, he grabbed her laces and wickedly ripped her corset in two.

She gasped, shocked by the violence of his actions. But he wasn’t through with his onslaught. As if she were naked, his hand slid over her full breast, making the fire in her belly only burn brighter. She was still in her chemise, yet the fine dotted muslin was like a transparent sheath. Ivan seemed to find her quite tantalizing in it, and her nipples soon ached from the savagery of his caress.

Too quickly, he wanted more. Again she was shocked by his methods; he dispensed with her chemise in the same manner with which he had her corset. With her last garment in tatters at her feet, she was suddenly overcome by terror. Naked, she tried to pull back from him, tried to put her hands over her breasts, but he wouldn’t let her. He forced her arms to her sides, then cupped her chin so that she would look at him. When her frightened gaze locked with his, he inexplicably confessed, “My beauty, you take my breath away. So don’t pull back now.”

His words were too ferocious for her to tell him nay. She moaned in protest, but before she knew what was happening to her, his mouth had covered one dusky pink
nipple and she shook from the pleasure he gave her. Time seemed to stand still as his warm palm slid between her legs. He caressed the inner satin of her thighs, and when he finally felt her response, he groaned, unable to wait any longer. He stepped from the bed and removed the last of his clothing.

She watched him in the firelight, her eyelids heavy with desire. He was so beautiful, more beautiful than she had ever imagined in her simple girlish dreams. Now she would dream of him as a woman should—picturing him in minute detail. She would remember the broad chest well covered with crisp, black hair; his long, powerful legs perfectly formed to handle the most willful Thoroughbred; the buttocks hewn of pure, rock-hard muscle. He was ardently well endowed with manhood, and a tremor of excitement and fear ran through her as he came back to the bed. Her arms again wrapped protectively across her chest and she tensed when his weight came down on the mattress.

But soon she was enveloped in such warmth she wondered if she could ever feel cold again. He rolled on top of her and kissed her as if he had never kissed her before. When he seemed as if he couldn’t hold back any longer, he filled his hands completely with her ample breasts, and he whispered against her pale hair, “I’ve waited so long for this. An eternity. But no more.”

But no more.
The words made her eyes fill with bittersweet tears. He had wanted to have her. Tomorrow, when his lust was satiated, his interest in her would surely wane. He’d made it all too clear that she was a demon he wanted to exorcise from his soul. When he had done that, perhaps he would even move back to London. And leave her behind in horrid little Nodding Knoll, never to be thought of again.

A tear escaped her eye. This night was probably destined to be and its outcome was perhaps also as preordained. It was her terrible secret that she loved this
distant, despicable man, and her pride was ultimately the price she would pay for it. She stared up at him and studied his hard, handsome features in the firelight. She had every reason in the world to avoid him, but somehow he had caught her—with his heated touch, his passionate words. Suddenly she knew she couldn’t fight him any more. Her only choice now was to grab her happiness with both hands, because tomorrow it would all be gone.

Impulsively she pulled his dark head to hers and kissed him with all the fire in her soul. Understanding as no other could, he returned her kiss, then eased between her supple thighs.

She had never felt so complete as that first moment when he entered her. His thrust was strong and sure. Though there should have been pain, the pain in her heart dimmed any other she might have felt. Her hands clung to his muscular arms and she lost herself in the power of the moment.

Ivan took her with ferocious glory, and beneath him, Lissa began to understand her mother’s insatiable desires. Yet now she almost wanted to laugh. To think she had ever feared that she would turn into Rebecca, when it was far worse than that. Her mother’s affliction had been to want too many men, but now Lissa knew the truest hell was to want only one man, the one she could never really have.

Her fingers dug into the muscle of Ivan’s forearms. He groaned her name and she almost wept. His rhythm was hard and unbreakable; she soon began to quiver from excitement. Her pleasure was building until she wanted to beg him to stop. But she didn’t beg him, and he didn’t stop. His breath came quick and furious as if he were holding back. The scar on his face was as white as she had ever seen it, and she couldn’t stop herself from touching it. But then she could bear no more. She moaned his name and in her delirium, her nails raked down his cheek. She flung her head back, taking her fulfillment in long, exquisite
waves. Above her, she heard him gasp “Lissa . . .
my
Lissa” before he groaned and found a pleasure as long and exquisite as her own.

If ever there was a night as black as this one, she had yet to live through it. In the flickering, dying light of the hearth, Lissa watched Ivan sleep. His knee rode intimately between her thighs and his arm rested possessively at her waist. Her hair was spread over his chest like a mass of sunlit threads, in startling contrast to the coal black curls behind it. As she lay near him, she felt his breath coming even and deep. Unable to stop herself, she rested her hand lightly against his chest. Beneath her palm lay warm skin and hard muscle; deeper still, his heart beat strong and sure. She looked at him and her eyes filled with tears of grief and love. In slumber, Ivan Tramore looked more like the angel Gabriel than the notorious bastard eleventh marquis.

And now she would have to leave him.

She closed her eyes and fought back her tears. She tried to summon the courage to go, but her courage failed her once more and her mind drifted to more pleasant hours. He had made love to her three more times, and with each moment, his need for her only grew more desperate. The sheets bore testament to her truthfulness, and the fact she’d been a virgin had seemed to please him immensely. He had kissed her so deeply then she wondered if it were possible for them to meld into one.

Yet now she would have to leave him.

Numbly she sat up. It was time to go. If she lingered in his warm bed, he might awaken. He would surely take her again, and though a part of her heated at the thought, another part of her wept. It was all too clear that they had no future. She had found no forgiveness or love in his bed. There was no more between them now to build a future on than there had ever been before. The only thing
she left behind were the remnants of a torrid, hateful past —a past he would never let go. Even Letitia’s mother knew that; Arabella knew it too; and most of Nodding Knoll. And when he opened his eyes in the light of dawn, she would see he knew it too. The rejection would be there, unmistakable, undeniable. It would shred her heart into a thousand bits and leave her incapable of going on. He had wanted retribution for their past, and now that he’d got it, there was nothing left for her, except to leave, so she wouldn’t see what was in his eyes.

Carefully she disentangled herself from his embrace. Not making a sound, she slid to the other side of the bed and in dismay looked around for her clothes. They were scattered throughout the great chamber. In the waning firelight, the crystals in her snood still shot a fiery sparkle, but she realized the beautiful headpiece was no more. Ivan had ripped it and now the crystals lay scattered about the floor like snowflakes.

She was just about to rise from the bed in search of her chemise when a hand reached out and caught her arm.

“Where are you going?” Ivan asked testily.

Her whole body stiffened.

“Answer me,” he demanded.

Don’t look at his eyes,
she told herself. Unwillingly a tear escaped and slid down her cheek.

“Lissa—”

“It’s late,” she finally choked out. “And I must go.”

“Turn around and face me.”

She refused. Clutching the sheet to her bare bosom, she tried desperately to maintain her composure. Her eyes searched for her chemise and she finally found it on the stone floor, torn to shreds.

“You’re not leaving,” he stated evenly, his hand tightening on her arm. “So come back to bed.”

“Holland and Evvie will come looking for me if I don’t.”

“Let them come,
alainn.
They have no power to make you leave.”

She twisted her arm from his grasp. Discreetly she wiped her fallen tears. She then scooped her ragged chemise from the floor and used it to hide her nakedness. Without even glancing at him, she gathered her clothes and dressed in haste, desperately needing their protection.

She tensed when she heard the bedstead creak. Before she could pull on her tattered slippers, Ivan embraced her around her waist and her back was thrust against his chest.

“We’re not through,” he said angrily. “How dare you leave when we’re not through.”

Another tear streamed down her face, but she dropped her head, vowing he’d never see it. “We are through. This should never have never happened. I was not raised to share the bed of my stableboy,” she lashed out.

Her words were met with a cold rage. “You’ve shared the bed of a wealthy marquis. Don’t you ever forget that, Lissa. Don’t you ever forget who I am now.”

“How could I?” she whispered vengefully. “But as I recall, sharing the bed of a marquis didn’t comfort your mother, nor has it offered you solace in bearing your ignoble birth.”

He thrust her away from him. A terrible silence descended upon them. Finally he said, “My birth might have been ignoble, but if you hadn’t noticed, our stations have been reversed,
Miss Alcester,
and I now see no basis at all for your particularities. Stableboys or marquises, what difference should that make to the likes of you?”

Her head snapped up and she met his furious gaze. All the rage in her heart spewed forth. “I hate you, Ivan, do you hear? Tonight shall be the curse of my existence and I’ll hate you forever for forcing it upon me. Forever!”

He took a threatening step toward her. The crystals of her snood rolled underfoot and she was surprise they were not crushed into sand beneath his weight. He paused
and looked down. Just seeing the glass beads seemed to cause him agony. Violently he scooped some up and forced them into her palm. He held her hand closed in a brutal grasp while he said, “Then take these with you when you go, Lissa, as payment for a job well done.”

She did truly hate him at that moment. His words cut her like a knife, and if she’d had the strength she would have fought back. But she didn’t. All she could think of was getting back to Violet Croft and getting away from him and his hatefulness.

“Let me go,” she cried, his grasp on her hand hurting her. “You’ve gotten what you wanted, you wretched gypsy.”

He shoved her away and she lingered no further. With a sob, she dropped the crystals in her palm and swept up her mantle. Barefoot and corsetless, she ran from his chamber in a rush of tears. The last sound she left him was the thud of the great emblazoned doors as they shut.

A harsh, black silence filled the room once she was gone. As if contemplating murder, Ivan leaned naked against a bureau, crossing his arms over his chest. He stared morosely at the floor. The crystals seemed at once to infuriate him and titillate him with their brilliance.

He bent and held one in his hand. He turned to a small inlaid mirror behind him and cut Lissa’s name into the glass with the stone. He looked at it for a moment, but then he lost control, venting all his fury by smashing the little mirror with his fist. The glass shards fell to the floor, red with his blood, but he seemed to feel nothing. His only oath was “
A ma puissance,
Lissa!”