CHAPTER TWO
fter agreeing to Lord Hartmoor’s indecent proposal, Daphne was ushered from the study by the frightening butler—who silently led her back down the winding corridor and along a maze of nearly identical hallways until they had come to a different wing of the palace altogether. Just as she began to wonder just where he was taking her, he paused before one of many carved oak doors and pushed it open.
“Ye’ll sleep here,” he’d said simply, before turning to walk away, leaving her standing in the open doorway.
She had scowled at his back, baffled by this man who must be the most unconventional butler she’d ever encountered. A London servant would have seen to her comfort—offered her something to eat, inquired if she needed someone to fetch the supplies she’d left on the back of her horse. She had decided then to have a word with Adam concerning the hospitality of his house—if he expected her to remain and … service him, then she would expect to be treated with common decency.
Though, as far as she knew, the thirty-thousand-pound bank draft he’d written right in front of her might be the extent of the consideration she’d receive for her sacrifice.
Those thoughts died the moment she stepped into the room and found both a crackling fire and steaming bathtub waiting for her. Beside it stood a young woman in the plain attire of a maid. She had seemed out of place in the dark, imposing castle where a savage lord insisted on being referred to as ‘The Master,’ and large butlers with scarred faces treated guests as if they bothered them by simply existing. With a friendly smile, ruddy cheeks, and blonde hair arranged in a soft chignon, she appeared like a wildflower in the midst of a cracked desert.
“Good evening, my lady,” she said with a curtsy. “The Master has chosen me to act as your lady’s maid during your time here. Would you care for a bath?”
The girl’s accent struck her as distinctively English, a bit more polished than the average servant’s, but still not quite cultured. How did this girl know to curtsy to her and refer to her as ‘lady’? For that matter, how had a room and bath been prepared for her so quickly, when Adam could not have known she would accept his offer? When he’d rung for the butler, he had issued no instructions beyond “escort Lady Daphne to her guest chamber.”
Then, she recalled the murmured conversation she’d heard between the master and butler as she’d stood outside the study. Perhaps the instructions had been given before the conversation had even taken place—which meant he’d known all along that Bertram had not arrived on his doorstep demanding an audience. He’d figured out who she was before he’d even turned to greet her—had assumed with the typical arrogance of men of power than she would accept.
For now, fatigue overwhelmed her, and she did not have it in her to question or argue.
“A bath would be splendid, thank you,” she said to the girl. “What is your name?”
“I am Maeve, my lady,” the maid replied as she approached and began helping Daphne undress. “You poor thing … you must be chilled to the bone. Let’s get you out of these wet clothes.”
The heavy clothes fell in a wet heap on the floor, and Maeve helped her into the bathtub, where she sank into the steaming water with a sigh. She allowed the maid to tend to her, lying against the back of the tub while Maeve took up a sponge and scrubbed her arms, neck, and chest with a sweet-smelling soap. Seeming to disconnect from her body, she let the maid manipulate her like a rag doll, shifting her about to reach different areas of her body.
I’ve just sold my body to a monster.
The thought resounded through her mind, echoing as ominously as Adam’s voice had through his cavernous study. It caused her to grow numb, her limbs hanging uselessly from her body and her eyes growing unfocused. Perhaps it was not too late to renege on their agreement. After all, her virginity remained intact. However, returning to London would feel too much like failure without the answers she sought—without the money that could save her family.
I’ve just sold my body to a monster. But I did not sell my soul.
Resolved, she left the tub and pushed Maeve’s fussy hands away. Dismissing the maid and assuring her she’d do all right on her own, Daphne dried herself and slipped into the nightgown she’d been offered. The thing was prim and trimmed in lace; a bit at odds with the role she was to play, but she would not question it. The gown proved warm and comfortable against her freshly scrubbed skin, and the turned-down bedclothes appeared inviting.
Tomorrow, she would steel herself to come face to face with Lord Adam Callahan again. Tonight, she would rest so she’d have the strength to fight.
For fight, she must.
To guard her soul from the beast, to save her mind from the ruin his sharp words and foul deeds could cause. A body could heal … a broken spirit would never be the same.
As she climbed into the large four-poster bed in the center of the room, Daphne wondered where in the castle Lord Hartmoor slept in relation to her. Did he undress for bed down the hall, or even just next door? Or had he banished her to some far-flung wing, where she was to remain until he came to claim what she’d promised him—what belonged to him by way of their agreement?
Despite the anxiety caused by imagining waking up with him on top of her, she could not keep her eyes opened once she’d slipped beneath the bedclothes. No … Adam would never be so duplicitous. A man who so clearly stated his intentions would not skulk about in the dark and take what he wanted with the tapers snuffed out. He would come to her with every candle in the room blazing, so she would be forced to look upon him as he claimed her, defiled her, treated her like the whore he’d promised she would become.
She would need her wits about her when she faced him again, and that knowledge allowed her to slip into a sound slumber.
When Maeve entered her room the next morning, Daphne had already awakened. Having found a dressing gown draped across the foot of the bed, she’d pulled it on over her nightgown. Smoothing a hand over the heavy, rich fabric, she’d wondered who it had belonged to before her. The thought of some other young, unsuspecting chit in this room, wearing this same robe as she waited for Adam to come despoil her, had made her shudder. However, the frigid chill lingering in her room had kept her wrapped in the warm garment while she’d padded barefoot across the room to spark a fire in the hearth.
Once she had coaxed the flames to life, she had remained before the large fireplace, her back turned to soak up the warmth of the blaze. She’d studied her surroundings with curious eyes, grudgingly forced to admit she had been given a room fit for a princess. As prison cells went, one truly could not ask for better.
The large bed sat elevated on a platform in the center of the room, draped with blue damask curtains tied back to the posts with tasseled ropes. Thick rugs matching the curtains covered stone floors, and the lower half of the walls had been paneled in rich, dark wood. The upper half boasted blue wallpaper printed with a silvery filigree. She’d approached the wall to touch the paper for herself, marveling at its rich texture. No expense had been spared to refurnish and remodel this room, and she supposed it must be the same for the rest of the ancient castle. She had not been certain what to expect when setting out for Dunnottar, but it certainly hadn’t been paneled walls and brass sconces.
This was how Maeve found her, stroking the wallpaper. Pausing near the door, she smiled and curtsied as if she had been chosen to serve the queen instead of a woman contracted to act as Lord Hartmoor’s plaything.
“Good morning, my lady,” she chirped happily, moving to the large, ornate armoire located in the corner of the chamber. “The Master has requested your presence in the adjoining drawing room, where breakfast will be served.”
So, it would begin. Squaring her shoulders, Daphne nodded as the maid faced her with a gown draped over one arm.
“Very well,” she replied. “Might I ask whose clothing I will be borrowing during my stay here?
Allowing Maeve to help her out of the dressing gown, she studied the maid closely. The girl avoided her gaze.
“These are the only loaned items you’ll need to wear while you are here,” she replied as she unbuttoned Daphne’s nightgown. “The Master will have your measurements taken and garments purchased for you.”
Daphne scowled as the nightgown fell away from her body. Why extend such a courtesy, when his motives toward her proved the unsavory sort? Would it amuse him to dress her in rich garments only to rip them from her back before plundering her body?
“That is entirely unnecessary,” she protested while Maeve helped her into a pair of stockings and garters. “My stay here will be a short one, and a few borrowed garments will suffice.”
“Master’s orders, my lady,” the maid replied, her cheery tone never faltering. “You will find it easier to simply acquiesce to his wishes, and all will be well.”
Anger burned like a lump of hot coal in her throat, rebellion rising from her gut to fill her chest. Yet another person who expected her simply accept the dictates of the man controlling her fate. If she’d had enough of that from her brother and father, then she certainly would not tolerate such from him.
“Perhaps you do, but I do not,” she argued. “I shall address the issue with him myself over breakfast.”
Amusement pulled at the corner of Maeve’s mouth as she approached Daphne with the gown. The expression mocked her, seeming to warn that she might broach the subject with Adam, but should not expect him to bend. Well, the maid and her so-called ‘Master’ had another thought coming. Just because he had purchased the right to use her body for thirty days and nights did not mean she could not stand her ground on matters such as these.
Glancing down, she gasped, realizing that while her thoughts had wandered, Maeve had begun dressing her in the gown … with no undergarments beneath them.
“Is there at least a chemise I might wear beneath this?” she asked, feeling completely naked without the layers of her petticoats, corset, and drawers.
At last, Maeve’s demeanor faltered, her cheeks flushing crimson as she seemed to fumble for words. Finally, she managed to mutter something about “Master’s orders” and “no undergarments.” Daphne’s face heated as the maid finished the row of buttons running down her back, her ire at Adam rising even more.
“Another matter I shall have to address with Lord Hartmoor,” she declared.
Maeve’s smirk returned as she urged Daphne to sit at the vanity to have her hair brushed.
“Of course, my lady,” she murmured.
Suffering through the rest of her toilette in silence, she remained still while Maeve loosened her braid and brushed her hair, leaving it hanging free down her back. Then, in an act that sent bile rising up in the back of her mouth, Maeve tied a length of ribbon around her neck in a makeshift choker, creating a saucy bow against her collarbone.
As if she were a cat to be adorned before presentation to her master.
The maid turned her to face an ornate mirror, standing behind her and beaming as if proud of her handiwork. The previous owner of the navy velvet gown she wore must have possessed a petite frame, for it fell a few inches short and hugged her body a bit too tightly. She supposed she ought to be grateful not to have a corset on, as the dress cinched in her waist quite a bit on its own, the neckline biting into her breasts. The plump flesh spilled from the bodice, and despite trying to pull the fabric up to cover herself, Daphne eventually gave up. The frock was too small, and no amount of tugging could change that.
She had to admit the choker Maeve had fashioned out of ribbon enhanced her neck, causing it to appear longer and slenderer. Its navy color—a match for her gown—caused the blue of her eyes to appear brighter and more vibrant.
“Perhaps a chignon,” she suggested, running a strand of hair between her fingers.
Maeve inclined her head. “The Master—”
“Has ordered that I wear it unbound,” Daphne finished for her with a sigh.
“Now you’re catching on, my lady,” Maeve replied with a giggle. “You will find him through that door, there.”
Following the maid’s pointing finger, Daphne spotted a door she had not noticed before—the wooden panel apparently leading to the aforementioned sitting room.
Turning to tidy up the bed, Maeve seemed content to pretend she was no longer in the room.
Daphne took a deep breath, squared her shoulders, and marched toward the door with resolute intent. Never one to cower or hide, she would face him and show no fear. He might have broken the men of her family, but Adam Callahan would not break her.
She opened the door to find herself in a drawing room with decor matching her bedroom. The same blue and silver paper covered the walls while oversized furniture in matching shades sat positioned to face the hearth. Across the room from her rested a table covered in a white cloth, adorned by silver candelabras and tapers dripping wax, laden with several platters of food.
It was here she found Adam, seated in one of the two chairs, his long legs crossed and angled so they did not hide beneath the table. A white linen napkin lay draped over his thigh, and he sipped tea from a china cup that appeared no larger than a thimble in his massive hand.
Her mouth went dry, and she faltered halfway across the room at the sight of him. Heavens, she had forgotten how large he was—his shoulders and arms bulging against the fabric of his coat, skintight breeches clinging to powerful thighs.
Clenching her hands and swallowing past the knot of anxiety in her throat, she raised her chin, refusing to be intimidated.
“Good morning,” he said without turning his head to look at her. “Come. Eat.”
His words fell on her like the curt commands they were, causing her to stiffen. Yet, she did as he said, having no intention of shunning a meal after having ridden through the night without dinner.
As she neared the table, a dark shadow peeled itself away from the corner and converged upon her. A strangled cry died in her throat as she recognized the butler—still shrouded in unrelenting black, still wearing an expression of disdain at the sight of her.
He remained silent and stone-faced as he approached the table, pulling out the empty chair for her. Nodding her thanks, she sank into it and studied the platters spread out before her. For a moment, she simply stared at the various foods presented, overwhelmed by the choices.
After pouring a cup of tea for her from the silver tea service placed at the center of the table, the butler returned to his place in the corner.
“Help yourself to whatever you wish,” Adam said. “I certainly hope you are not one of those chits who insists upon pretending to have the appetite of a bird.”
Reaching for the dish of coddled eggs, she raised an eyebrow at him. “Many ladies eat that way in public because of the way our undergarments restrict our bellies. Though, during my time here, I suppose I shall not have that problem.”
He paused in buttering his toast and glanced up at her, humor dancing in his eyes, though his mouth remained a hard, unmoving line. She smirked, certain he had understood her subtle jibe. Good. She would ensure he knew how displeased she was at being forced to prance about without proper undergarments.
Returning to his breakfast, he declined to answer her. Her stomach had begun to ache from hunger, so she filled her plate with slices of ham and toast, then laced her tea with sugar and milk. As she ate, she snuck glances at the man seated across from her—the fiend who had savagely destroyed her family.
He had the sort of Corinthian frame the men of London used padding beneath their clothes to achieve and the ladies giggled over behind their fans. His clothing proved plain and unadorned, nor were they latest fashion, but they had been tailored to fit him perfectly and appeared to be of high quality.
Still hanging loose around his face, his dark brown locks gleamed with golden highlights in the glow of the candles. This morning, his eyes appeared dark brown, the golden and green flecks practically invisible. His expression offered no hint of his thoughts or mood, which Daphne found disconcerting. It made this man dangerous, more so than she had imagined before coming here.
Once she’d eaten enough to ease the hollow sensation yawning in her stomach, she took a sip of her tea and glanced up to find him watching her. He’d cleaned his plate and now leaned back in his chair, staring at her in a way that left her feeling like a mouse being stalked by a cat.
Prey. That was how he made her feel … like game to be devoured by a predator.
“Is there something on your mind, little dove?” he murmured, inclining his head.
His pet name for her rankled, reminding her of the insults he’d hurled at her the night before. He thought her weak, a simpering chit cowering in a gilded cage, preening for those who admired and protected her.
Her nostrils flared as she took in a deep breath, determined not to allow him to ruffle her. “I would like to have a word with you, Adam.”
The only response to her use of his Christian name came with the slight lift of his eyebrows.
Waving a hand, he shrugged. “Speak your mind freely … Daphne.”
He’d purposely emphasized her name, the underlying growl in his deep voice rumbling through the syllables like a purr. The sound did strange things to her belly.
Inclining her head to the large butler lurking in the corner, she cleared her throat. “Alone.”
Adam smiled, the flash of teeth both sudden and startling. The motion lacked all humor, though, more akin to a lion baring its teeth.
“Niall, Daphne is uncomfortable with your presence,” he declared, glancing over her shoulder at the silent butler. “You’ve frightened the girl half out of her wits. Would it kill you to crack a smile from time to time?”
Her eyes widened, and she glanced over her shoulder at the butler—who was apparently named Niall. Her face burned with embarrassment, but he hardly seemed ruffled.
“Of course I’m not afraid,” she said, turning back to Adam. “What I wish to discuss is a delicate matter, and—”
“Excellent,” he quipped with a dismissive motion of his hand. “Niall loves nothing more than listening to the inane concerns of pampered ladies, don’t you, Niall?”
The butler remained where he stood, but did turn his head to meet his lord’s gaze. “I’ve been known to indulge in a wee bit o’ gossip, Master.”
The mocking tone of both their voices set her teeth on edge.
“My lord, I really must insist—”
Adam’s fist came down on the surface of the table, causing the silverware to rattle and tea to slosh from her cup and pool in the saucer. She started, flinching in reaction to the sudden outburst, her heart taking up a rapid cadence. Any humor in his expression fled as he slowly rose to his feet, the golden prisms in his eyes flaring to life as if stoked by some inner fire.
Rounding the table in two quick strides, he took her arm in an iron grip and hauled her to her feet. She struggled against his hold, but he gave her a swift tug and wrapped his other arm around her waist. Her entire body stiffened as it came against his—the hard planes of his chest digging into the soft flesh of her breasts.
Her breath caught and held in her throat while his huffed against her cheek.
“Perhaps I am not making myself clear enough,” he whispered, his voice low and ominous as he pressed his mouth against her ear. “This is my domain. I am the master of everything and everyone inside it, and for the next thirty days and nights, that includes you. Aside from your lady’s maid, you do not possess the authority to order my staff about. This is not London, little dove … you cannot shoo Niall from the room as if he were some bothersome fly. If you do not wish to speak in front of him, then I suggest you keep those pretty lips of yours shut lest I find some other way for you to occupy them.”
Short pants made her breasts heave against his chest, the anger and confusion this man made her feel setting the surface of her skin on fire. One second, she was ready to take him to task; the next, he was catching her off guard with his sudden shifts in demeanor. Going slack in his arms, she ceased fighting his ironclad hold and glared at him, refusing to avoid his piercing gaze.
“I was informed you intend to purchase clothing for me,” she snapped. “I simply wanted to tell you there is no need to go to such lengths. If there are more where these borrowed clothes came from, I am happy to make do with them. Or, perhaps Maeve might loan me a few simple garments.”
He chuckled, the sound vibrating through his entire body—and, by proxy, hers. His teeth flashed again with a sardonic smile, and he kept one arm around her, but released the one he’d been holding, using the now-empty hand to cup her face.
“Isn’t that just darling, Niall?” he teased, stroking a thumb along her lower lip. “The little chit would rather wear the rags of a maid than the expensive trappings I could provide her. Could it be because she doesn’t want to be pretty for me?”
“I cannae pretend to know, Master,” Niall replied dryly.
“It does not matter whether you’re dressed in rags, the finest ball gowns, or nothing at all,” he continued, stroking her lower lip with slow swipes of his thumb. “You are mine to do with as I please. I am paying good money for access to your ripe, virginal body, and that means I will use you how I wish, when I wish, where I wish. It also means you will wear what I tell you to wear, or you shall wear nothing at all.”
As he leered at the generous amount of flesh revealed by her indecently low bodice, a niggling of fear trickled down her spine. Something told her he would make good on his threat to have her traipse about nude.
“Might I at least be allowed a chemise?” she asked, hating that he would reduce her to begging for so basic a dignity as smallclothes.
But, dash it all, she could not let this encounter past without gaining anything—even something so small as a pair of drawers. Not after he’d taunted and humiliated her in front of Niall.
“No,” he replied. “I want as few layers between me and you as possible. What fun would this be if you wore a chemise under that gown?”
He emphasized his last words by moving his hand from her face and placing it between her shoulder blades. With a flick of his fingers, the first button loosened from its hole.
She sucked in a sharp breath, thrashing in his hold. No man had ever seen her completely undressed, and her limited experience had not prepared her for this. The soft kisses and tentative caresses she’d been treated to in the past should not be expected here—she had known that. But, when setting out to do battle with him, she had never expected him to disarm her so quickly.
He tightened his arm around her, the hand at her back now moving up to clutch her neck. He stilled her movements and forced her to look at him, his hooded gaze deceptively calm. Beneath the limpid stare, she saw the depravity simmering in the depths—the hunger of a predator prepared to maul and devour its prey.
“Shh,” he murmured. “Fighting will not cool my ardor, little dove. In fact, it will only stoke it. Is that what you want?”
Trembling in his hold, she shook her head. Of course he would enjoy the hunt, the chase, and the inevitable surrender. No monster wanted to pursue a victim that lay limp and accepted its fate. Perhaps that would be her salvation—passively accepting his attentions instead of fighting against them. If she could cause him to grow bored with her, she might escape this ordeal unscathed. She certainly was not worldly enough to raise any other sort of defense. Cursing her inexperience, she wished she knew what to do, what to say to gain firmer footing with him.
“I will undress you now, and you will let me,” he said, his voice low but his tone firm. “Yes?”
Taking a deep breath, she released it on a shaky exhale. What else could she do but allow it?
“Yes.”
Going back to her buttons, he smirked. “Good girl.”
She avoided his gaze, staring off across the room as he worked his way down her spine, steadily slipping the buttons free and causing her dress to slacken until it slipped off her shoulders. The warmth of the fire caressed her bare back, but she avoided thinking about it—or about the fact that only his body mashed tightly against hers kept the gown from falling away and baring her completely. She tried to distance herself from him entirely, to become nothing more than a piece of flesh for him to manipulate—not a living, breathing woman who could be hurt on a whim.
Keeping her pressed up against him, he lowered her, allowing her body to drag against his in a slow caress. The fabric of his wool coat rasped her nipples through the velvet of her gown, and his cock brushed against her stomach. Heat flamed in her cheeks at the feel of his masculine organ, hard and pulsating against her.
“You will not try to run or claw my eyes out when I release you, will you?” he teased with a glance at the gown still held up over her breasts.
It would seem he did not intend to allow her the distance she needed to survive this encounter. Very well, then. She would do what she’d intended from the moment she’d agreed to this preposterous arrangement … she would face him, confront him, meet his challenge by showing him that she would not be so easily fazed.
Still avoiding his gaze, she kept her lips pressed together as she took a step away from him—not far enough that he mistook the movement as evasive, but just enough that the gown sagged down to her waist. With her forearms still trapped inside the long sleeves, her breasts and belly now lay bare to his view, the gown resting at her hips.
Only Adam’s eyes reacted to her state of half-nudity, the dark pupils dilating and the golden flecks dancing with the green. Goosebumps rippled along her skin as his gaze skimmed her naked breasts and traveled over the plane of her stomach. Reaching out with one hand, he fisted the front of the gown and gave it a rough jerk, leaving it in a pile at her feet. She flinched, but held her ground as he stood back, studying her with an almost clinical sort of detachment.
The mystery of what he might be thinking as he traced the curves of her waist and hips with his scrutiny put her on edge. While she did not care whether she possessed enough womanly appeal to tempt him, she did not want him to become displeased by the simple sight of her. After all, he had paid thirty thousand pounds for every inch of the skin he stared at now.
“Would you look at that?” he murmured, his voice joining his gaze to travel over her in a handless caress. “Niall, isn’t she the bonniest thing?”
Gasping, she covered herself—one hand cupping her mons and an arm shielding her breasts. He’d caused her to forget the presence of the butler, who loomed somewhere behind her, silently witnessing this entire encounter. Willingly allowing him to inspect her had been one thing … being forced to let another man witness it, quite another.
“’Tis hard to say from behind, Master,” Niall replied, his tone light, as if the two men were discussing the weather instead of the nude woman standing between them. “Though from here, I can attest she’s got a lovely arse.”
If she flushed any more, she might go up in flames, her entire body from scalp to toes alight with humiliation.
“Well, don’t be shy,” Adam prompted, grasping her shoulders. “I’m a bit jealous of Niall’s view of your arse, and I know he’s keen to see those fine tits of yours.”
Before she could blink, he had spun her to face the butler, who remained at his post in the corner of the room. He had an unobstructed view of her as Adam gave her a little push forward. Then, coming up behind her, he grasped her hands and forced them away from her body, revealing every bit of what she’d tried to hide. Keeping a firm hold on her wrists, he lowered them to her sides and pressed his front against her back, his pelvis cradling her arse and giving her another feel of the hard ridge between his legs.
“You enjoy his eyes on you, don’t you, Daphne?” he rasped against her ear as across the room, Niall appraised her with eyes that betrayed nothing.
Lifting her chin, she met Niall’s gaze defiantly. “No.”
Adam nuzzled her neck, inhaling deeply and then releasing his breath on a chuckle. “Liar. You know how bonny you are, don’t you? You primp and preen for the young blades of London, priding yourself on remaining chaste while driving them mad with lust for you. Swaying those hips of yours when you walk and batting those long eyelashes for their attention, then retreating to the protection of the men who cosset you. Back into your cage where it’s safe, little dove … they cannot touch you there. And there you remain, pretty, unsullied, and pure.”
“Not for long, eh?” Niall mumbled, prompting another laugh from Adam.
“Not for long, indeed,” he agreed.
Releasing her, he approached the butler, turning his back to her dismissively as he reached into the breast pocket of his coat. Daphne refused to cover herself, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of knowing how he’d humiliated her. She kept her head held high and her gaze locked on him as he handed an envelope to Niall.
“Have this letter delivered to Fairchild House in London, posthaste,” Adam commanded. “We must let Daphne’s family know their pampered princess will be safe with us.”
Bowing to his lord, Niall then cast her one last cursory glance. “Right away, Master.”
As the butler retreated from the room, tucking the envelope into his breast pocket, she breathed a sigh of relief. At least Adam would remain true to his word and ensure her family knew she was safe. At least, as safe as she could be in the company of the man who seemed set on their destruction.
They would be horrified to know where she had gone, but not foolish enough to come after her. Too much hung in the balance, and with Bertram’s reputation already in tatters, they would do everything they could to conceal her absence from the ton. They would understand that it had to be her—that she was the only Fairchild with anything of value left to barter with.
When she returned home thirty thousand pounds wealthier, she hoped they would be able to forgive her for what she’d had to do. She hoped Bertram would understand she’d done it all for him—her brother; the only man who had ever treated her as if she possessed a mind of her own. The only man to treat her as an equal.
Her virtue in exchange for her family—a price she was more than willing to pay. They might not have always understood her—her parents trying to stifle some of her less than ladylike propensities—but they loved her, and had done what they could to help her fit in with the other ladies of her age, to ensure she had a secure future and could make a good match for marriage. Bertram had accepted her as she was, often giving her the sort of understanding and affection their father had seemed incapable of. When they were finished being hurt that she’d acted without their leave, they would forgive her. Perhaps, they would even thank her.
Once Niall had gone, Adam returned to her, arms folded over his chest. All the humor had fled the room, as if the butler had taken it with him. Adam’s gaze upon her felt cold now, as if he assessed how best to effectively dismantle her.
Then, he was moving to the table where they’d shared breakfast, shoving dishes and platters aside. Turning to her, he grasped her waist and lifted her as if she weighed no more than a feather. He deposited her upon the table, grasping her knees and pulling her legs apart as wide as they would go. The swift motion threw her off balance, and she used her hands to brace herself, forcing her back to arch and thrusting her breasts upward. She wanted nothing more than to right herself and close her legs, but he quickly stepped between them, looming over her and bracing his hands on the edges of the table to trap her between his arms.
“The idea of forcing you to run about naked has just become more appealing,” he said, his lips brushing against her jaw. “Yes, I can see it now … you crawling to me on your hands and knees wearing only those stockings.”
She turned her head just before his lips could touch hers, narrowing her eyes at him. “I am not a dog, and I will not crawl about on the floor like one.”
Leaning even closer, he nuzzled her nose with his, momentarily disarming her with the unexpected gesture. Were he not looking at her as if prepared to rip her to shreds, she might have mistaken it as one of affection.
“No, not a dog,” he agreed. “More like a kitten wearing a bonny little ribbon.”
Taking the end of the ribbon tied around her throat between his fingers, he caressed it, his sun-kissed skin dark against her porcelain. His knuckles brushed her breast, and when she shuddered in response, he grinned and repeated the motion—dragging his knuckles across her nipple over and over as his thumb and forefinger played with the silk ribbon.
“Will you purr for me when I pet you?” he whispered.
She had just opened her mouth to hurl a stinging retort when he suddenly slammed his lips over hers. The words lodged in her throat, shoved down by the invasion of his tongue as he slipped it into her mouth.
Daphne had been kissed before, and in truth had always found the experience varied depending upon who one happened to be kissing. She would have liked to think her past experiences would prepare her to be kissed by Adam.
As it turned out, nothing could have prepared her for this.
His mouth pressed hard against hers, his lips parting and closing in a languid rhythm that left her drugged, his tongue retreating to trace the seam between them before invading to search for hers again. The velvet rasp of his tongue sent a little thrill through her, causing the tips of her breasts to tighten.
A low sound rumbled between them—a growl vibrating through his chest and echoing between their parted mouths. Her head began to spin as the primal sound echoed around them while he mauled her with his lips and tongue and teeth. She winced when he bit her lower lip, then sighed when his tongue caressed away the sting. Then, as if the first bite had been a prelude, he nipped her again, hard enough to draw a sharp cry from her. He followed the bite with gentler bites, then slowed the tempo of their kiss entirely, languidly brushing his mouth over hers as their racing breaths mingled on the air between them.
Before she could make sense of the mess his assault had made of her faculties, his heavy hand fell onto her belly. Meeting her gaze, he held it as his hand began to slide down toward the mound between her legs. Despite her intentions to remain passive, she couldn’t muffle the low whimper of panic that escaped as her thighs clenched, impeded from closing by his body wedged effectively between her knees.
“Shh,” he crooned, still steadily brushing his lips over hers. “Let me touch you, little dove.”
His thumb slipped between her lower lips, finding the hidden bud of pleasure. She’d only let one other man touch her here, but it became hard to think of him now as Adam stroked her in slow circles, the calloused pad offering delicious friction.
“Oh,” she whimpered, small shudders of pleasure rippling out through her body with every pass of his digit over her clit.
He deepened their kiss, his tongue tangling with hers as he dipped his thumb lower to discover the wetness seeping from her core. Smearing it over her pearl, he increased the pressure of his caresses, changing his rhythm as if he noticed she angled her hips toward him more when he touched her a certain way. As if he knew, by simple touch, what she craved.
“That’s it, love,” he grunted, his voice thick and heavy with the lust causing his cock to bulge against the front of his breeches. “Relax and let me touch you. Doesn’t that feel so good?”
Biting her lower lip, she choked back a moan. He was touching her as if he existed in her dreams and knew what she imagined a lover doing to her as she lay alone in her bed. As if he’d touched her before and already knew every contour and pleasure spot to be found.
As if he wanted to ensure no man could ever touch her this way again without causing her to think of him.
The bloody bastard.
She could not fall prey to his seduction, to let him make her forget why she was here. Her family was destitute, and he held the funds she needed to set things right. All she had to do was let him use her without losing hold of her good sense in the process.
“Aren’t you going to fuck me?” she asked, panting her words out between ragged breaths.
With a grin, he tickled her entrance with his index finger, still steadily plying her clitoris with his thumb. “Eager for my cock already? Sometimes, a man simply wants to sample the goods before the plunder.”
Meeting his gaze with a defiant tilt of her head, she sneered. “Or maybe a man simply isn’t up to the challenge?”
He froze, his fingers stilling between her thighs, his eyes flashing with golden lightning strikes. The feral gleam there warned her she’d gone too far, but she remained powerless to avoid her fate as he snatched one of her hands up from the table, causing her to fall onto her back. Dishes rattled when she hit the surface, and as she attempted to prop herself up on one elbow, he took her other hand and pressed it to the fall of his breeches. She gasped at the feel of his cock against her palm, the organ seeming to have grown even more since he’d pressed it against her earlier. It fairly throbbed with power and promise, a threat too large to be ignored.
“Does it feel as if I’m not up for the challenge of fucking you until you beg me to stop?” he challenged. “Or maybe you won’t beg me to stop … maybe you’ll plead for more.”
Even knowing that needling him would be dangerous to her well-being, Daphne could not resist. “Me, beg you? Never.”
Pressing his thumb to her clit again, he smirked. “Never? Are you certain?”
Her mind went vacant, all rational thought fleeing as he began stroking her again, this time with increased vigor. Her chest heaved with the effort it took to hold in the moans simmering in her throat, begging to be released along with the tension coiling low in her groin.
Bloody hell, she had gotten herself in over her head. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. His touch was supposed to repulse her, not make her feel … feel … well, like the surface of her skin had been set on fire. Like she would die if he ever stopped.
“Do not make the mistake of thinking me some ham-handed Neanderthal who will spend the next thirty days rutting on top of you for less than a minute each night before falling into a sound sleep,” he said, his gaze boring into her as he joined his hand with the other, his thumb steadily circling her clit while a finger stroked the entrance of her channel. “I intend to savor you, little dove … take my time and use you in every way I can think of. By the time I’m finished with you, there won’t be a place you haven’t felt me in, a body part your future lovers will touch that I have not touched first.”
Bending down over her, he rocked his hips, adding more of his weight against the hands tormenting her dangerously closer to the edge. The moan she’d been holding back spilled out, the sound high and keening—completely foreign and driven by the primitive need driving her to buck her hips up against his hands.
“You will take my cock into every orifice,” he taunted. “First here.”
His tongue came out to lap at her lips, and he plunged it inside as if to mimic an act that made her face flame hot.
“Then here,” he added, his index finger gaining an inch into her cunt, and then another.
Her eyes slid closed, and she buried her face against his shoulder, too far gone to care about his crass words and their implications, too overcome with pleasure to think past the thumb pleasuring her most sensitive place while his finger slowly stroked her inner walls.
“And here,” he groaned, sliding a second finger past the first and toward the tight hole of her back passage. “Fuck, your tight little arse will feel so good around my cock.”
She choked on a gasp when his second finger slipped into the tight ring of flesh, just enough to send another jolt through her. This pleasure was foreign to her, tinged with a slight burning sensation. Taking a man there was a prospect she’d have never thought possible. It made her flush with embarrassment, discomfiture and curiosity mingling in a way that seemed to enhance the pleasure of his thumb against her clit. No matter how much her mind told her the mention of such acts should revile her, her body came alive at the promise of what his words and touch offered.
What the devil was wrong with her? She needed to put a stop to this, to push him away and demand he unhand her unless he claimed to get on with deflowering her. This had not been part of their agreement—him forcing pleasure on her, taking away her determination to lie beneath him and passively surrendering her maidenhead.
God help her, she was spiraling, her entire body going rigid as the tension unfurled in a fell swoop she had no choice but surrender to. Throwing her head back, she let out a keening cry, her back arching as currents of pure pleasure jolted through her, all converging between her legs in pounding spasms that sent her eyes rolling back into her head.
When it had calmed, she went still beneath him, her body now limp upon the table. Her limbs went slack, and she doubted she could even find the strength to lift her head.
Her eyes stung, hot tears pooling in the depths. What had she been thinking challenging this man? Not only had he stripped her of her armor, he had proven to her that she possessed not a single weapon with which to fight him.
Adam gazed down at her, seemingly unruffled by what had just passed between them. And why should he feel anything? This had been about proving he could make her desire him—that she stood no chance of simply lying passively beneath him and pretending to be someplace else. He would not allow it.
Backing away from her a step, he continued staring down at her in a way that left her on edge. It was the same way he’d looked at her just before offering to buy her body for thirty thousand pounds. His upper lip curling as if she disgusted him now that it had ended, he hurled his words at her in a tone that made the warmth following her climax die a swift death.
“Your father … your uncle … your precious brother … they are not the men you think they are.”
Turning on his heel, he left the room as if he couldn’t be away from her fast enough. Behind him, the door slammed, rattling in the frame and causing her to flinch. A cold numbness washed over her, his words penetrating her middle like a sharp icicle and lodging deep.
Slowly sitting up, and then standing from the table, she began to shiver, her entire body as cold as if her blood had suddenly turned to ice water. His words echoed in her mind, tumbling over and around each other as if some part of her could not make sense of them. What had he meant by them, and what had he hoped to achieve by hurling cruelty at her after making her feel such pleasure? It was as if he’d purposely timed it to ruin the moment, to tip her back off balance.
It had worked, making her head spin and her gut churn as she tried to pull herself together.
She wrapped her arms around herself and walked to where he’d left her dress, kneeling to pick it up in a stupor. Her hands shook too badly for her to put it back on, so she simply held it up over her naked breasts as she crossed through the connecting door to her chamber.