My Lady Quicksilver

She couldn’t leave him behind if she was the only chance he had of recovering.



Eighteen



Rosalind knew as soon as she touched the door handle that Lynch was awake. She could almost hear him listening and sweat touched a damp hand to her spine.



Courage.



Resolutely, she turned the handle.



The sight of him stole her breath. Spatters of dull, drying blood flecked his chest and the bed sheets, his arms yanked high above his body and bound with enormous iron manacles that someone had driven into the wall with what looked like railway spikes. The sheet covered his hips, but they’d bound his feet in much the same way and from the vial and pair of needles on the bedside table, they were dosing him regularly with hemlock.



She slowly closed the door behind her. Lynch watched her, those black eyes gleaming in the flickering dance of candlelight. A predator’s eyes. Not the man that she longed for. Not her clever adversary, her dearest enemy.



“Hello,” Rosalind whispered, trying to still her racing heart. “I’ve missed you, my lord.” Her voice sounded loud in the room, silence broken only by the slight shifting of sheets as his head turned to track her.



This was what she had hated and feared for so long. Balfour’s eyes had been like that, black and emotionless, when he’d cut Nathaniel’s throat in front of her. You are the devil, she’d screamed at him then, and she’d believed it.



Rubbing at her chest, Rosalind crossed to the window and jerked the curtains back, unable to stand the dark anymore. What did she believe now?



Behind her, the low exhale of his breath caught her ears. When she turned, Lynch twisted his face away, hiding from the almost-blinding light. Of course. Blue bloods tolerated sunlight, but they preferred darkness, with their overly sensitive eyes and pale skins. The higher their CV count, the harsher they felt it and right now, with the bloodlust ruling him, he’d be even more sensitive.



Rosalind tugged the curtains half-shut. “I’m sorry. But I can hardly see.” Her nose wrinkled up. The room smelled like blood. She opened the window and a cool breeze stirred the curtains.



“Have you eaten?” she asked, her voice strengthening. She eyed the rusty stains on his shirt. “Have they bathed you at all?”



The answer of course was no.



Crossing briskly to the door, she reached for the handle. It was only then that she realized how relaxed his body had been, for he jerked to attention, the manacles cutting into his flesh.



“No!”



Rosalind paused. Their eyes met. “I’m not going anywhere,” she said. “I’m only going to send Garrett for some fresh sheets and water.”



Breath heaved in his chest, his eyes glittering dangerously. Rosalind slowly turned the handle. “I won’t leave the room,” she promised.



Garrett waited in Lynch’s study, leaping to his feet with a desperately longing expression as soon as he saw her.



She shook her head, not daring to step over the threshold. “I need warm water and soap,” she told him. “Fresh sheets for his bed too, and some blud-wein.”



Garrett nodded, his shoulders slumping in relief as he sprang toward the door. Rosalind didn’t have the heart to tell him there had been no change.



Closing the door, she turned back to Lynch. His lip curled and he glared through the wall, an angry purr sounding in his throat.



“That’s enough,” she said, stepping between him and the door. His gaze lit on her and she shivered. Dangerous.



The corded muscles in his throat clenched and he strained against the manacles that bound him. Rosalind hurried to the bed. “Stop it,” she said, laying her hands on his chest. “You’ll hurt yourself.”



The reaction had been instinctive. Hard flesh flexed beneath her gloves and her lips parted as she looked down. Those eyes watched her again, but the look was no longer dangerous. Stark primal need crossed his expression, desire burning in the black heat of his eyes.



It lit within her, her body reacting as if he’d put flame to oil. Rosalind lifted her iron hand tentatively, stroking her other hand over his bare chest. The buttons on his shirt were torn, gaping over hard flanks and the rippled muscle of his abdomen. Instantly she was transported back to that night in the bathing room, not so long ago. The feel of his teeth on the back of her neck and his hands cupping her breasts and sliding lower, into the vee of her thighs. His hips thrusting against her, warm lips tracing the curve of her shoulder…



A little shiver ran over her skin, her nipples hardening behind the thin lawn of her chemise. Fear died a short death in her breast.



He didn’t want to hurt her. He never had. To claim her as his own yes, to sink his teeth into the smooth skin of throat and drink her blood. Whether he could have stopped himself, she didn’t know, but he had no intentions of hurting her.



Just of claiming her.



Pain she could deal with—the idea of belonging to him, to anyone, so completely, sent a nervous thrill through her. Not entirely unpleasant, almost the same play of nerves that she enjoyed in dangerous situations—and yet so much more terrifying. Her feelings for Nate had been the warm joy of friendship and shared respect, a love that didn’t challenge her yet left her feeling safe and protected. Whatever this was—whatever she felt for Lynch—was a maelstrom in comparison, and she wasn’t sure if she could hold herself together through it.



She didn’t know what to do, but she did know that she had to try and help him through this. The idea of losing him to the bloodlust almost choked her.



“My lord,” Rosalind murmured, kneeling on the bed and leaning over him. “I know you’re in there.”



Her whispered breath traced his ear. Lynch turned his head with a snarl, breathing hard as he drew her scent into his lungs.



Her heart thundered in her veins. Slowly, Rosalind brushed her silky glove over his lips, leaning closer. Lynch stilled beneath her like some enormous jungle cat, violence bunching in each muscle. But she wasn’t frightened anymore. He was bound and chained and she had the upper hand.



The thought was almost titillating.



Leaning down, she traced her gloved finger over his lip, dipping wetly into his mouth. Then lower, down the cleft in his chin and then the smooth hollow of his throat. The muscles beneath her hardened like marble, but he held still, a fine tremor in his arms. Reined in by her touch, the look in his eyes darkly curious. As if warning her that he was by no means tamed, he turned his face into her hand, his teeth sinking into the fleshy pad of her palm.



A gasp wet Rosalind’s lips, the sensation seeming to tug all the way through her, right to the heart of her sex, until she throbbed with liquid fire. The pleasure of his bite was almost painful, almost a little too harsh. She rocked onto her knees, biting her lip, her fingers curling helplessly around the side of his face.



“Please,” she moaned. Begged.



His teeth released her skin and feeling flooded into the flesh, making her eyes clench shut and a shudder run through her.



A knock on the door tore her head up, a hot flush of heat burning through her cheeks. Had Garrett heard her? Tension rode through the hard body on the bed and she stroked his face, turning it toward her.



“I’ll be back,” she whispered, leaning down to brush her lips against his cheek. The rasp of his stubble roughened her sensitive mouth. “Then we will finish this.”



Dark lashes hooded his eyes. He liked that.



Rosalind hurried to the door. Jerking it open just wide enough for her body, she saw Garrett’s gaze lift over her shoulder. Some protective urge almost made her straighten, as if to block Lynch from his sight.



“Thank you,” she murmured, accepting the bundle in his arms. A pair of sheets, with a bowl of water balanced on top and a butter-yellow bar of soap to the side.



“Is he—”



“Go,” she told him, pushing the door shut with the toe of her slipper. “He’s not going to hurt me.”



The door shut in his face.



“Mrs. Marberry,” Garrett called through the door.



Rosalind glanced over her shoulder as Lynch stirred, staring malevolently at the door. “You’re making him worse. Leave us alone. I’ll send for you when I need to.”



“There’s blud-wein in the liquor cabinet in the corner.” Then Garrett’s footsteps echoed on the other side of the door as he walked away, the sound vanishing as he shut the other door between them.



Steeling herself, Rosalind turned around, her arms aching from the strain of the sheets and the water basin. She put them down, then swiftly tore the shirt from his arms. There was no point in retaining it; it was quite ruined.



“Come closer,” Lynch commanded, his voice a harsh whisper as his gaze locked on her throat.



“No,” she replied, dragging the sheet out from under him. Her expression softened when she saw the helpless fury cross his face. “Please. Let me take care of you.” Her lashes lowered. “Perhaps you’ll even enjoy it, sir?”



Stillness. He watched her though; she could feel it prickling over her scalp.



Once she’d stripped and remade the bed, she tucked towels around his body and then placed the basin on the chest of drawers by the bed. As she washed him, he seemed to calm, his eyelids drifting half-closed. She knelt over him with the washcloth, dragging the sheet lower.



Lynch’s black eyes locked on hers and his hips gave a suggestive thrust as he sucked in a sharp breath.



“Not until you come back to me,” she whispered.



Those eyes narrowed dangerously. “I never left.”



His dark side tempted her. Rosalind slid the soapy washcloth beneath the sheet, her hand cupping the surge of his erection. Lynch froze, his back rigid.



“You know what I want,” she whispered, fisting his cock. Heat speared through her abdomen…and lower.



“You know what I want.”



“To claim me,” she murmured, unable to tear her gaze from his. Twisting her wrist, she drew another snarled gasp from him. Her nipples hardened and Rosalind swallowed. “Perhaps I’ll claim you?” she suggested, the thought burning through her with wicked intensity.



Tossing aside the washcloth, she dried him with the towel, taking her time and paying taunting attention to his straining erection. She’d thought the expression in his eyes couldn’t get any darker, but he was almost writhing now, fury and need choking him. The manacles rattled as he yanked against them.



“Let me go.”



“Let him go,” she countered, grabbing a handful of her skirts and straddling him.



Those merciless eyes locked on her. “I am him.”



“You are all the darkness in him,” she corrected, leaning low and pressing a kiss to his chest. The combination of fear and power made her feel frightfully dizzy.



“What do you think he is?” the demon inside him whispered.



Rosalind reached out and traced her tongue over his nipple. Lynch jerked. “He is good,” she whispered. “And loyal and honest and brave.” She took her time, her teeth sinking into the delicate flesh of his nipple.



“And the rest? The darkness,” he demanded with a snarl. “You belong to me too. Don’t ever forget that.”



His hips thrust beneath her, hot flesh driving against her thigh. Rosalind gasped, her own hips flexing. Somehow the end of his cock rasped against her, riding the wet silk that clung to her quim.



“Take me,” he whispered. “Give yourself to me. Need you… Want you…”



She couldn’t think. Rosalind groaned, then shook her head. “No. Not until you let him surface.”



“Not…stopping him…”



The tip of his cock breeched the slit of her drawers. Rosalind sank her nails into his rippled abdomen. She could feel him now, silky slick against her wetness. Those wicked black eyes met hers and then the broad head of his cock dipped inside her.



She’d thought she was in control. She was wrong. A gasp tore from her lungs and Rosalind flexed involuntarily. She wanted this, needed it. But she wanted to be here with him.



“Why?” she whispered, her thighs burning as she held herself above him. “What is he—are you—afraid of?”



Lynch smiled, a dark, wicked look that made her melt. “He’s afraid of me.” He gave a thrust. Earned another hot inch. “He’s afraid of letting me go.”



Rosalind clenched around him, riding just the head of his shaft. She took a calculated risk. Lynch’s darkness, his hungers, were just another part of him. If she couldn’t accept it, then how could he?



She threw her head back and sank down, embedding him to the hilt. Her skirts flowed over his stomach and chest and Lynch cried out in need as she took him.



So long since she’d had a man. So long since she’d wanted one. But she’d wanted this one from the start and that thought had terrified her. Rosalind met those black eyes and slowly, slowly arched up until just the tip of him penetrated her. A blue blood. Her worst fear once, but she was starting to realize that he was just a man, like any other. She sank her teeth into her lower lip with a groan and sank back down.