Charles watched Elizabeth out of the corner of his eye. Her head was downcast. He didn’t realise how much he’d invested in her response until he heard her say, softly, “I’ve had enough of Captain Trethveyan to last me a lifetime. I don’t ever want him to touch me again.”
Reynolds gave a snort of laughter. “Not so satisfactory under the covers, then, eh, my lady? Your husband wins in the bedroom stakes, eh? What do you think of that, Trethveyan?” he sneered.
What did Charles think of that? He was devastated. He’d been so successful at convincing Reynolds that he had no finer feeling, Elizabeth believed it, too. She actually preferred Reynolds’ mauling to even being touched by Charles? He calculated the time. Reynolds couldn’t last much longer. Soon he’d be out of the picture and there’d be just himself and Elizabeth. Once they were alone, with Reynolds unconscious in the corner, he could explain everything to her. He could devise her escape. He’d protect her. To the death, if necessary. He shut his eyes against the memory of her writhing beneath him in pleasure. When she’d believed he was the man of honour she remembered, she’d given herself unconditionally. Reynolds had poisoned the sweetness between them.
“I will just have to persuade her otherwise.” Charles took care with his delivery. Just the right degree of cynicism to satisfy Reynolds. There was too much at stake. “I charmed her once. No…” He smiled. “Twice,” he amended. “I can do it again.” He glanced once more at his commander. The man was rocking slightly, as if he were on a boat. His gaze focused on the table as he studied the pool of wine that had formed when he’d spilt it while trying to negotiate his goblet to his mouth.
“Got to piss.” He rose and staggered across the room. They heard the scrape of pewter as he knocked over the piss pot in the annexe then the loud, endless tinkling noise as he relieved himself.
Followed by a crash. A dull thud. The sound of a body hitting the floor.
Thank God. Charles sagged with relief. In a moment he could lay himself bare. Reveal to Elizabeth the truth of Reynolds’ sadistic pleasures, the charade he’d been forced to maintain. Mostly, though, he could tell her what was in his heart.
“It appears it is just the two of us, once again, Lady Drummond,” he said, bowing as he excused himself. “But first I’d like to make sure.”
7
Elizabeth sucked the air into her lungs and spun round with hammering heart towards the annexe. She could hear the sound of Charles dragging Reynolds’ body down the passage. How much time did this give her? Thirty seconds? Then he’d be back to…what? Have his revenge? Ravish her? Earlier, she’d allowed him to make love to her. She’d revelled in the feel of his body covering hers, filling her, glorying in her. Ha! The only thing he’d gloried in was his revenge. He’d used her as a vessel for his poisoned spleen, like the vilest creature to walk the earth. The golden-haired young man to whom she’d lost her heart was a fairy story she’d embellished over the years. Her father had been right. Silas had been right. What could a young girl know about the truth of a man’s character in just a few short meetings? She’d been a fool. Charles Trethveyan was nothing like the gilded hero of her imagination.
And she’d paid the price.
She fingered the vial beneath the silk that stretched across her chest. Slowly, she drew it out of her bodice. Charles’ goblet was a short stretch across the table. It was still full. Full enough to disguise the faint bitterness of the fast-acting poison but not too full that one goblet wouldn’t render him lifeless within seconds.
Woodenly, she rose as she withdrew the vial on its cord and held it over the goblet. All she had to do was tip the granules into the wine. Her hand was trembling so much she nearly spilt the precious powder upon the table but still she couldn’t complete the action that would see her released from her torment.
Released from her torment. Hours ago, she’d been transported to heaven in Charles’ arms. He’d come back to her. He embodied all that had ever been good and joyful in her life. Now even those memories were destroyed. Charred black, like Silas’ soul and the life he’d forced her to live as his wife. His chattel. She’d dreamed of Charles as her saviour, believing like the foolish girl she was, that not only could he whisk her to safety, freedom and happiness, but that he could snatch her two babies from Silas’ kinsman—that they could be brought up in Charles’ household. With her. That together they had a future.
What a fool she’d been. What a dreamer. Silas had chastised her for it in the early days of their marriage and she’d learned to mend her ways. What had come over her since Charles’ return?
The sound of boots rang upon the floor. He was returning. Charles was coming to claim her. Like a prize. Whether he’d do it gently or not was no longer important. He saw her merely as another notch on his belt of conquests, enemies to slay, victories to gain…betrayals to be avenged.
She looked at his goblet then at the vial in her hand. She had to do it. She was doomed, otherwise.
Sucking in another shaking breath, Elizabeth quickly, cleanly, emptied the granules into Charles’ wine. In an agony of fear she watched the tell-tale fizz, cursing herself for her tardiness, rising to greet him in order to delay him.
“So, Charles, victory is all yours.” She was surprised at the calm she managed, then remembered that her life had been built on hiding her true feelings. The ability to project a dignified calm had been well entrenched. “What will you have me do? What indignities must I suffer to satisfy your thirst for revenge? For clearly you do not believe my claim that I preferred you to Silas enough to risk my father’s anger by running after you like the lovelorn fool I was. Ten days’ imprisonment in my chamber with gruel and water was my punishment. What more revenge do you have in store for me?”
As she went to him, she realised she wanted to delay the inevitable. In that reckless moment when she understood how worthless her life was, she didn’t care that his intention was to possess her. Silas possessed her lawfully every night and it was torture. Disgusting. Charles had possessed her, too, and, despite the painful knowledge of his motivation for doing so, it had been the most pleasurable moment of her life.
Languidly, she rubbed herself up against him. She’d play the part. Let him think she was as bad as he. That she’d trade her body to save her skin. And her husband’s, though she didn’t care if she never saw Silas again.
He caught her off guard as he gripped her shoulders and put his face down to hers. “Reynolds is unconscious. I’ve had the men take him away.” He looked as if he might say more. Some intangible emotion crossed his face. She’d almost say it was yearning, then he brought his mouth down to hers and her brain emptied of everything except the pure exquisite pleasure of his touch.
The urgency of his desire swept away all rational thought, making her boneless. But she was as thirsty as he, his hunger igniting sparks of longing deep within her. Sparks that combusted into an inferno of lust and longing, that made her twine her hands behind his neck and press herself against him, as her mind became void of all but the need for satisfaction.
No words were exchanged. There was no need. Their desire was matched by their mutual urgency for release, a desperation that fuelled their passion to ever greater heights. When Elizabeth stumbled, Charles picked her up by the waist and sat her upon the heavy oak table. Without conscious thought she wrapped her legs around his waist, hitching up her skirts and leaning her weight onto the table as he moved against her.
His breath was as fevered as hers as he fumbled to remove his belt, his eyes bright with lustful intent as he flung aside his scabbard. It rang loudly upon the flagstones, skittering to the far corner of the room, and Elizabeth groaned her impatience as she felt the pulsing need within her. She moved forward to hasten him free of his breeches, grasping him around his shaft before leaning back, her legs open and ready for him, a smooth, slippery welco
me as he drove himself into her with a cry of triumph.
She balled her fists as she took each thrust with a gasp of pleasure, the pounding pressure sending her into a sensuous otherworld she’d never experienced. Her brain swirled and her body registered its carnal satisfaction with a steady escalation of nerve endings on full alert.
Faster. Harder he pounded into her, as if his life depended upon it, and she felt the sweat bead all over her body as she clenched her teeth, fighting at the same time as embracing the steady advance towards cataclysmic, ultimate release.
What did it matter that he possessed her now through lust and revenge, compounded by cold calculation? He’d loved her once, and wasn’t she fulfilling her carnal desires as much as he? The red haze behind her eyes was searing her brain, her breath was coming fast and shallow. The cliff face beckoned and she balanced on the edge of oblivion, wanting, dreading…
With a cry he erupted into her, fuelling her own tumultuous response as she shuddered upon the waves of orgasmic lust that enveloped her.