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Dark Desires

Page 1 of 11

Dark Desires

by Thea Devine

chapter 1

contents

"If you force me to marry that man, I will never, ever let him touch me ..."

She had said it; she had meant it. And now she stood beside Courtland Summerville, powerless, still as stone, hiding behind her veil, her pride, and her rock-ribbed determination to never ever submit to him.

He was not the man she was supposed to marry.

He was a monster, and her father had sacrificed her to him, and she couldn't look at him, or the crowded church, or at the minister without feeling like the whole thing was a nightmare.

She hated him. And she hated Gerard Lenoir, the man she loved, who had just stood by and let her father give her to Court. It was inexplicable, unforgivable, that he hadn't even fought for her, and she would never understand why.

She felt as if she were all alone in that church, that there was no one there for her, and that the man who had walked her down the aisle and handed her over to Court was a stranger.

She heard the words of the service; she heard Court's strong burnished voice reply to the time-honored questions of love, honor, and duty in the affirmative, and her heart started pounding painfully.

Had she truly thought he would say no, he wouldn't. Take her.

Oh, God, take her ...

Or that Gerard would charge up the aisle at the last minute to save her?

Gerard was nothing less than a craven coward, brought to heel by the wealth and influence of Court's family, and the determination of her father, who so desired this marriage that he was willing to trample anyone who got in his way.

"Drue Caledon, do you take Courtland Summerville ..."

She swayed slightly; she felt as if she were watching a play, and that someone else was responding to the minister's words.

That someone said, "I will," and heard the minister pronounce them husband and wife; that someone turned as he presented them to the assembled guests.

Someone else ... who was she?

To his credit, Court didn't try to kiss her; his expression was impassive, forbidding. She couldn't imagine him ever touching her, even though the marriage contract between him and her father specified that he had every right to have her and that she would submit.

Written in stone. Her life, his to do with as he pleased ...

Dear Lord

It was unimaginable.

She placed her icy hand in the crook of his elbow and allowed him to lead her out of the church and into the blazing sun of a sultry Louisiana morning.

The heat hit her like a wall, suffocating, thick, imprisoning. And they still had to get through the reception; no matter what the reality, all the amenities had to be observed. They waited on the bottom step until the youngest daughters of the surrounding parish families came to the forefront to strew petals in their path as they led the

way to the rear of the church.

Her father and Court they did everything to a nicety ... everything to circumvent gossip and make it look as if the marriage was real.

She kept her gaze down as they paced slowly behind the children and the fluttering rose petals, with the guests following in their wake.

... Gerard my love

But it was a love not staunch enough or powerful enough to save her from this...

Behind the church, the servants of Wildwood had made a veritable wedding bower in the garden under the direction of the minister's wife.

I don't want this ... I don't

People she'd known all her life coming up to her, pleased for her, delighted for her, swelling with the summer-rich sense of the passion to come. Everyone loved a love story, but better than that, they adored an excellent dynastic match.

And of course that was part of Court's thinking when he'd agreed to her father's proposition.

I won't forget that. I'm a commodity, with a value set like a sack of rice or a bale of cotton. I am worth his paying off father's debt and accruing a half share in Oak Bluffs, and he gets a housekeeper, a manager, and an heir into the bargain.

What do I get?

Mauling by a man I despise. Marriage and status and the loss of the true love...

How can I ever find forgiveness? How could he use my father like that?

Court was watching her; she felt those dark, unfathomable eyes grazing her as she moved amongst the guests accepting their good wishes.

She girded herself. She was neither hungry nor thirsty, and Court had provided enough food to feed the whole parish for a month. But that was the way. Every expectation must be met.

Except mine.

She accepted a cup of cafe au lait .

He had wanted a morning wedding, a breakfast reception. And then they would go to Wildwood where they would spend two weeks alone, with only a skeletal staff to serve them.

He had planned for everything.

She watched him as tightly as he watched her. There was no denying that Courtland Summerville had a commanding presence and an elegance that should have made him very pleasing to her. Certainly the unmarried ladies of the parish were gaping at him like lovesick girls, almost as if they didn't care that he had made his

decision, and as if they harbored the unrealistic fantasy that things could change.

Forbidden thoughts.

Oh God ... Gerard ...

She felt the ache spiraling through her body. Never to have Gerard, gentle, sweet, kind Gerard with his soft kisses and even softer hands. He knew how to coax, when to press, how to wait, when to beg.

He was not a brigand, like Court. He was a gentleman, and self-made.

And maybe that was part of what she loved about Gerard. That he had risen above his circumstances and earned his wealth, his reputation, his fame.

He took nothing for granted, Gerard, not even her. And he had been going to marry her; everything had been planned.

Don't even think about it.

"Drue?" Court, standing beside her, and she hadn't even noticed.

She summoned up a weak smile. "Court."

"I trust everything is as you would have wished."

"It's a lovely reception," she said, injecting some sincerity into her tone. It was; she didn't have to lie about that.

"Now, why don't you pretend that everything else is what you wish as well," he said harshly. "You look like you're lost at your own wedding, and that doesn't sit well with me."

Let the lies begin.

She stiffened her spine. She wasn't going to allow him to ride roughshod over her, even though he scared her to death.

"Surely you didn't expect me to pretend I'm in love with you," she hissed.

"You will be."

The arrogant ass. "I will do my duty, nothing more, nothing less. It's an arranged marriage, and I don't see any reason to give any more than has been contracted for." She was shaking all over now. She'd never shown him any defiance, any emotion at all to define how ill-used she felt by her father and him.

"How interesting. The fawn has sharp little teeth."

"I bite, too," she said viciously.

"I hope so," he murmured.

"Don't you"

"No!" He grasped her arm. "Don't you. You're mine now, little fawn. And as you say, you'll honor every single clause of that contract."

A feeling of dread washed over her. The hour was coming closer when they must leave, and she didn't know how to prevent it. "That's all I am to youa piece of property to furrow and plant your seed."

"And a convenient way to extend my empiredon't forget that," he added venomously. "A half interest in Oak Bluffs your father will never have to lift a finger again. And isn't that the point of the exercise?"

"Paying off his gambling debts was the point. And you knew exactly what you were doing when you loaned him the money and then squeezed him for payment. What else could he do?"

"It was his proposition," Court said flatly. "He wanted it."

"You took advantage of him."

"We've had this conversation, Drue. I've taken advantage of nothing. I have saved your father's reputation and his life."

"And filled your coffers, your bed, and your nursery besides."

"I call that smart business, Mrs. Summerville. You should be proud you have such an astute husband."

She felt the familiar fury envelop her. There was no arguing with him. He saw himself as their savior even though he was the man to whom her father was indebted. She would never understand such skewed thinking. It could only have been his plan from the first. And that meant he was a conniver and an opportunist.

"I'll never forgive you."

The light in his eyes flared dangerously.

"I don't care," he said heartlessly, and, always mindful that people were watching them, he smiled at her as if she had just told him she loved him, he dropped a brutal kiss on her mouth and callously walked away.

"My dear." Her father, with his palliating tones, his reasoned arguments. He looked as proud as if this wedding were real and Court her choice instead of his. "You are absolutely doing the right thing."

"For whom?" she asked bitterly, but she had always known she would do anything for him. And now she had: she had signed away her life to Court so that her father's life could continue on just as it always had, with the sole stipulation that he never gamble again.

What if he did? she wondered. What if her bluff, glad-handing father went to New Orleans and put a dollar down on the outcome of a horse race? And lost. What would happen then?

But she knew. Court had given her father an ultimatum, all of it spelled out in the contract. He would bail him out once out of duty; twice out of honor, and the third time, he would take the remaining half of Oak Bluffs and leave Victor with nothing.

And Victor was not a man who was used to nothing. The threat scared him. And the fact he had two chances to get it right was a speculator's dream. He had been very good, her father, in the past months since he had bartered her and half of Oak Bluffs away. He had stayed at the plantation, tending to business, salivating over the

money that Court had deposited in his bank, even knowing that Court would demand an accounting of every penny spent.

That was how partners operated, Court said. Everything in writing. None of this trusting to the honor of the other business. That was how a man got trapped in a lie.

So how did it happen that she was ensnared in the biggest lie of all?

The cost was too great, she thought despairingly as her father dropped a light kiss on her cheek. Her body. Her loyalty. Her life.

She hadn't seen it in quite those terms in the light of her father's desperation. The moneylenders were after him, he'd told her. He'd lost three seasons' profits, and the money had to be paid. It was a simple business deal: an alignment of two of the parish's wealthiest, most distinguished families. No one would know the worst.

And she Oh, here was the best part, her father said, she would be provided forhe would never have to worry about her again.

She remembered how she had gone still, her body frozen at the idea of being provided for. By Courtland Summerville. Her father's creditor. Her father's friend.

"You look beautiful," her father said, stroking her silk-shrouded arm.

But he'd said that earlier, after he had walked her down the aisle in her drift of virginal white, just before he relinquished her to Court's care.

"Thank you." What could you say to a father who thought that the sacrifice she had made for him was really a blessing for her?

"Soon you'll be in your new home, all snug and safe with your new husband," her father went on. "I can't tell you how happy that makes me."

I just bet it does.

Her thought shocked her. She had never, ever had any negative feelings about her father's situation.

But that was before she had actually promised to love, honor, and obey his worst enemy.

"Are you happy, Father?" she asked quietly.

"Aren't you?" he countered, as if she had always seen the solution the same way as he.

She looked away from him. It was getting easier and easier to lie. Court could have taken everything in payment of the debt. But he had only demanded a partnership in Oak Bluffsand her. She was only trading one satin cage for another. Except that one was occupied by a tiger.

"I amcontent. This is the best solution."

"Let him take care of you, Drue. He's a good man, really."

He's a monster. "I'm sure we'll rub along just fine."

"There could be love, if you let it ... He's a passionate man, as I'm sure you well know."

She shuddered. Her father was no romantic; he had lived his own life to the fullest while her mother was alive. And Mother had run Oak Bluffs and kept every feeling, every resentment, to herself till the day she died.

Passion had never entered into itexcept where her father's gambling was concerned.

There was passion, larger and grander than any love story she could concoct. And it had seduced him, sucked him in, held him utterly in thrall. It was the love of a lifetime, and he wasn't over it yet; maybe he never would be.

Who would willingly submit to such ungovernable feelings?

You'd get towed under; you'd be rendered helpless, you would drown.

Not me.

Not me ...

And then the thought came, unbidden, unwanted, never spoken: There was only one way to get through it.

... Like Mother. Just like Mother. Removed. Restrained. Resolved.

Respectable.

... now she understood ...

That was all a woman could ever hope for ... and nothing had changed in a thousand years.

She lifted her chin. "The whole of St. Faubonne Parish knows what a vigorous man Court is."

"Now, now, Drue. A lady never listens to gossip. And you are now his foremost advocate. Never forget, my dear. No matter what, he's your husband, right or wrong." Her father's gaze skewed to where Court was standing, talking business with the gentlemen of the parish.

My husband, oh, my God my husband ...

All wrong ...

She wanted to run. Oh, God, she just wanted to drop everything and flee and let her father take responsibility for his own weakness, his own stupidity.

But there was no escaping Court. He was as inevitable as the sun, aware at every moment where she was, andshe thought, panickedwhat she was thinking.

Don't move, his impassive gaze seemed to say. Not a move without me. You're mine now to do with what I will.

Her father moved toward Court, toward the knot of men who were the most influential in the parish, and she felt as if her anchor were gone. He just floated away from her, drawn by the business of men, drawn by Court, who was as magnetic as iron.

And just as hard. There was no mistaking that look. The minute her father joined the group, Court broke away and headed toward her.

And sheshe just stood rooted to the spot, waiting for him. Her husband ... the word stuck on her tongue.

Her legs felt like jelly. She knew her face was pale and her hands were shaking.

"So beautiful, my love," Court murmured as he held out his hand.

She had no choice but to take it. He could take everything from her father in an instant. The least she could do was take his hand.

Together, they walked into the crowd as rose petals rained on them, the signal that it was time to go.

Oh, God so soon ... ?

Their carriage drew up in front of the church, driven by Isaac, who was dressed as formally as Court.

Her legs wobbled. Time to go. Time to fulfill every promise. Time is up. Time, her enemy.

Court helped her into the carriage and climbed in after her; Isaac snapped the reins and they were off, circling around the church drive, past the gardens and the trees in the distance.

She turned around to look at the receding crowd of well-wishers waving them home, and it was then she saw itthe figure moving restively in the shadow of the trees, recognizable by the bend of his body, the agitation of his movements.

Gerard had come; dear Lord, Gerard had come. He'd been with her from afar, suffering with her, for her, as helpless, as devastated, as she.

Oh, Gerard ... my love thank, you, my love ...

He'd come. He'd watched. He'd agonized. He hadn't let her go through it alone.

chapter 2

contents

So beautiful ... so treacherous

That bastard, skulking in the bushes ... as if he could have missed it. As if Gerard Lenoir had wanted him to miss it or Drue's reaction.

Tears.

Damn him. Goddamn tears ...

He was seething as the carriage bowled onto the River Road toward Wildwood, cutting through heat as thick as cotton.

It wasn't worth it. Goddamn ... he had made the biggest mistake of his life, saddling himself with a vice-ridden father-in-law, an encumbered plantation, and a woman who bated him.

Stupid for the first time in his life, his greed and a moment of rare opportunity had gotten the better of his common sense.

Or had he ever had common sense where Oak Bluffs was concerned? He'd watched for years as Victor Caledon ran it into the ground while he pursued the passion and promise of the gaming wheels in New Orleans .

And Drue, standing by, defending him, watching her mother work herself to death, and knowing not the half of her father's corrupt nature.

Drue ...

When had he first become really aware of Drue?

But he knew when Gerard Lenoir had begun to pursue her as the direct proportion of money her father owed him increased.

Drue was to have been Gerard's payoff. And Oak Bluffs was to have been his by virtue of his marrying Drue.

But Gerard had been too busy seducing Drue to be aware that Victor Caledon would never, ever sanction the union. Gerard Lenoir would never step foot on Oak Bluffs even as a guest.

So Victor had come to him, and offered him Oak Bluffs and Drue in exchange for the partnership and a face-saving perversion of the truth: that Court was Victor's creditor, and that Drue and a stake in Oak Bluffs could satisfy every debt, every lien, every loan ... every lie.

And Drue was never, never to know that Gerard was the one to whom her father had owed that vast sum of money.

And so a man got ensnared. Court had dearly wanted Oak Bluffs. And, shockingly, once he made the bargain, he found he wanted Drue as well. And that was something he hadn't planned on.

Or was she all the more desirable because she wanted another man?

Or was it because he didn't want Lenoir to have her?

He slanted a glance at her pensive profile under the parasol Isaac had provided her to ward off the sun.

She stared straight ahead, as if keeping her gaze rooted would repulse other things. Real things. Him.

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Dark Desires

Page 2 of 11

She was so beautiful, with her long black hair that Edme had braided into a coronet to support her veil. She looked regal. She looked as if she were going to meet her fate.

She had lifted her chin, a defiant little gesture, to combat the luster of the tears drenching her blue eyes. She would not cry. She wouldn't.

She bit her lips, perfect soft lips; he wanted to kiss them right there, right then, to make up for the kisses he didn't bestow when he took her to be his wife.

But she wasn't thinking about Court Summerville. All of her energy, her desire was focused on Gerard Lenoir. Her tears were for Gerard, and her kisses. And her body, sacrificed on the altar of duty to him, would have been Lenoir's as well, if he hadn't poured a hundred thousand dollars into Lenoir's pocket to save Victor

Caledon's reputation and prestige.

Court felt a tremor of pure fury. Drue was his now. He'd bought her, he'd laid out the terms so there would be no misunderstandings, and, by God, she'd agreed. She was his, all of her, her body, her mind, her soul, and she had no business pining for Gerard not a half hour after the wedding.

His jaw tightened. Before this night was out, he thought, he would hold her to the bargain. And he would do it without force and without recourse to the baser nature of man.

He was going to make her want him. He was going to arouse her to a fever pitch until she understood what it meant to be consumed by desire.

He had all the time in the world, he thought. It would be like taming a wild animal. You did it slowly, by increments, showing, playing, stroking, rewarding, until it trusted you.

And thenoh, and then ... it would do anything you wanted.

Anything.

His body quickened as he savored the thought.

Everything ...

He thought of a hundred things in that instant that would encompass everything and his body responded accordingly, raw, hard, there.

Yes ... he would subjugate the little fawn, and he wouldn't rest until he wiped Gerard Lenoir from her memory and made her beg for his lust, his sex, his love, him.

Wildwood!

The beautiful moss-draped, tree-lined drive at the end of which was the house, white columned, stately, four-square, and, as the carriage drew closer and closer, huge.

Nothing like the comfortable, manageable house at Oak Bluffs.

She could get lost there, swallowed up.

She felt as if Court had devoured her already.

She couldn't bear to look at him. Or to think what came next.

No, she knew what came next: the discharge of her father's debt, her body, her will, her future as the payoff.

She suppressed a shudder.

Gerard ... oh, Gerard The ache almost consumed her.

I can't think about Gerard , if I think about Gerard, I'll I'll never be able to...

... to

oh, my God ... to ...

Her body went cold. The carriage quivered to a stop in front of the broad front steps.

Immediately the butler emerged from the house through the etched glass double doors, followed by a half dozen servants who lined up on the veranda and down the steps in order of precedence.

Isaac came around and put a cushioned step under her foot, and Court gravely helped her down.

"This is Joseph," he said, indicating the butler. "Mary. Evie. Lucy. Charles. Louisa."

She nodded in turn to each of them, and then, lifting her skirts, she mounted the steps and he guided her into the reception hall.

Grand. Too grand for her. It was overwhelming, with ceilings that had to be fifteen feet high at least and a swooping staircase rising up to her right, all the way to heaven. There were sofas and console tables lining the walls and gilt-framed paintings that glowed in the soft light of the chandelier that was lit for the occasion.

She stepped hesitantly onto the first of three Oriental rugs that were scattered on the parquet floor, noting the beautifully molded arches that led off to the downstairs rooms, the doors of which were just tantalizingly ajar.

Home.

My home. Now.

... oh, God

She was aware of everything: the weight of her dress as she walked farther into the hallway and it tailed out behind her. The silence. The scent. A different scent than at Oak Bluffs. The grandeur.

The sound of footsteps retreating to other parts of the house.

She felt the train being lifted off the floor. The thickness of the carpet beneath her feet. Court, beside her, watching her intensely.

It was all too much. And she couldn't love it. Dear God, she couldn't love anything except Gerard.

And she had better stop thinking about that ... about him or she would never be able to fulfill the bargain and Court would take Oak Bluffs away from her father as surely as he planned to take her.

Best to get it over with, she thought. Best to just let it happen, and then it would be done and maybe Court would just leave her alone.

Apart from the introductions, he hadn't said a word since they left the church. And neither had she.

He was struck by how much he wanted this moment to be more than it was. But then, he was not bringing to this house the woman he had chosen, the woman he loved.

Rather, she was the pawn in a game to enlarge his empire. And pawns didn't have feelings or preferences. They were just moved where they were the most expedient and, in the end, they were expendable.

But the fawn had feelings. The fawn could bite the hand that was about to shroud her in luxury the likes of which she had never seen at Oak Bluffs. The fawn could run away.

No! He made that decision instantly. However they had started in matrimony, she was still his, and he felt as possessive as if he had loved her all his life. The bargain, suddenly, did not enter into it.

He wanted Drue Caledon. Right then. Right there. Wanted to pull off her virginal gown, expose her naked body and sink himself deep inside her. Wanted, wanted, wanted ...

The force of his arousal shocked him. He wanted ... he conjured up a dozen things he wanted to do to her, all of which were as explosive as fire.

"Get her upstairs," he said roughly. He had to plan this. He couldn't just force her. He couldn't just take her. He clamped down on the heat that raced through his blood.

"Yes sir."

Evie, behind her, helping with her train. "Missus ..."

Drue reached blindly for the banister. Oh, God, she was going to have to do this. She heard it in his voice.

"Get her ready."

"Yes sir." Evie, like a little shadow, trailing behind her as she climbed the steps. A mountain. A thousand steps to meet her fate. Why didn't he just attack her there? So much easier. Over quickly. She'd get an heir, and then it would be done.

"Evie!" His voice, ragged and raw. Evie halted, waiting until he took the steps two at a time to reach her and whisper something in her ear.

"Yes sir." Evie shifted the heavy train. "Missus ..."

She swallowed hard, blinking back her tears, and continued up the steps. And finally, the landing, decorated with the same rich furnishings as the hallway below. Muted light here, and a half dozen doors leading to the bedrooms.

"First door, missus, to your right."

"Of course," she murmured. That would be to the front of the house, the biggest, most luxurious rooms.

The door opened readily into a sumptuous room that was as large as the parlor at Oak Bluffs, and swathed in satin and lace.

"Master say undress you, missus, and make you comfortable."

"Yes," she whispered. "Yes." Comfortable ... that didn't nearly describe this beautiful room. And all for her.

She stood still as a mannequin as Evie positioned her in front of the armoire mirror and pulled forward a cushioned stool.

"Missus is tall, pleasing to the master," she murmured as she stepped up and began pulling out the pins that held Drue's wedding veil. It fell in a drift of tulle onto the thick Persian carpet.

"We gonna fold him up and store him away, save him for missus's daughter someday," Evie said, as she retrieved the fragile material and laid it on the bed.

"You hold still now, missus. We gonna be real careful with this beautiful gown."

Drue could just see her over her shoulder in the mirror. If I could just disappear into the mirror... She watched in fascination as Evie carefully unfastened the intricate hooks and slipped the dress off her, inch by inch; first the shoulders, then the bodice, then down over the hooped petticoat until it lay in a puddle of ivory silk at her

feet.

And like a little bird, Evie hopped down, lifted the dress up and draped it on the bed. "Louisa gonna take care of that for you, missus. Not to worry. Now, that old cage petticoat" She untied the strings and it was gone. "And them drawers and stockings. And that corset. Should be burned, it so tight. You feel better when we get it

off. Then we get you a nice bath and dinner, and you be ready for the master."

She was chattering, Drue thought, to keep her calm, and to keep her mind off what was to come. But she was thinking of nothing else, and when Evie helped her into a satin wrapper, she was terribly aware of the feel of the creamy material against her hot, bare skin.

"Come."

This was luxury: Evie led her to an alcove between the bedrooms, a bathing room with an iron tub set on a marble platform, which Charles was in the process of filling with steaming water. And Louisa waited, with a tray of soaps, oils, and towels.

"In you go, missus."

Drue sank into the heat like it was her lover's arms. Gerard ...

NO!

The water lapped against her skin, hot, welcome, reassuring.

Focus on Court. Think about Court. Let Court into your thoughts. Just tonight. Just once. Court's not an animal. Court won't hurt you.

Soft ... everything soft...

She sank into the water, closing her eyes against reality as Louisa began washing her hair. This was the dream: a life of unutterable wealth as the wife of one of the most prominent men in the state.

What was a moment of surrender compared to that?

Soft... his hands would be soft, like Gerard when he petted her and coaxed her into giving him a kiss ...

No!

She moved restively in the water, sending waves over the side of the tub.

"Shhh, missus, shhhh ..." Louisa crooned as she poured a vial of oil into the bath water. "Master not gonna hurt you no how. Don't you worry none ... shhhh ..."

How did she know? How did she know?

Drue leaned back into those gentle hands that were massaging her head so firmly, so competently, into the rich oily water that soaked into her skin.

"Shhh, missus, shhhh ..." Louisa soaping her body, singing under her breath now, lulling, soothing, comforting.

She could stay there forever, she thought, just give herself over to Louisa's kind hands, and float away to oblivion.

"Missus ..." Evie's voice intruding on the silence. "It's time."

Time? Time? The water was cold now, her hair drenched, her body dripping as she reluctantly took Louisa's hand and stepped out of the tub and into the towel Evie held out for her.

"There you go, there you go, missus," Evie murmured, wrapping her tightly in the towel and then leading her back into the bedroom and seating her on the bed, from which the dress and veil had been removed. "Sit you down, missus. There you go. I make you ready for the master."

Ominous words. Drue cringed. Make you ready ...

Evie at her feet, rubbing them, and her legs, and then wrapping them in another towel. At her hair next, briskly drying it.

She felt sapped, suddenly. Bereft.

Make you ready ...

Evie took her brush and began combing through her tangled hair. Slow, calming strokes, sliding the brush through the thick strands. She was the ideal ladies' maid, properly deferential, experienced in all the ways of handling her mistress.

Just what you would expect from the master of Wildwood ...

Her breath caught. Master of Wildwood master of her ...

"We ready now, missus." Evie's soft voice in her ear. "Stand you up now so I can take these wet towels."

She stood, limp as a rag doll, and let Evie remove the towels.

"Master come to you soon, missus."

Evie turned away, leaving her standing naked in the middle of the room.

"Eviemy robe ..."

Evie turned at the door. "Master give the word, missus. You wait for him there, like so. No robe. No towel. No clothes. Nothing. Nothing to keep you from the master's desire."

And then, before Drue could react, before she could move, Evie exited the room and locked the door emphatically behind her.

chapter 3

contents

"Evie?" She pounded frantically on the door. "Evie ... ! Evie ... !"

Nothing. No one. She wheeled and darted into the bathing alcove, but Louisa was gone as well, silent as a ghost; the connecting door was bolted.

Locked in! Like an animal confined for mating ...

She felt murderous, vulnerable. She grabbed the bedspread and wrapped it around her shaking body. She would never be naked for him. Never!

She wanted every just impediment to their union.

She wanted Gerard. Furiously, she pulled open the armoire doors.

Empty! But what did she expect; they were his servants, they had no loyalty to her, they would do his bidding, not hers. And obviously, they had had strict instructions to remove her clothes.

Mistress of Wildwood ... she thought bitterly, pulling the bedspread tighter around her body as she paced around the room... . In name only. In reality she was nothing more than his slave, as much at his beck and call as anyone else in the house.

And he had set it up so well she had nowhere to run ... and no place to hide.

How could her father have let this happen? How could Gerard?

And thenthe waiting; how long would he make her wait? And when he camethen what?

He's entitled to a hundred thousand dollars worth of my body ... A lifetime of servicing him in the name of filial love and daughterly devotion ...

A brood mare ...

She stopped her furious pacing by the satin-draped window and she pulled back the filmy under curtain. There was peace and beauty outside that windowthe bright midday sun softened by the shadows of the oaks that lined the drive, the rolling green lawn stretching to the road, and the levee and the flowing river beyond.

There was no one in sight. In a house like Wildwood, all of the work was done subtly, behind the scenes, so that all a visitor or a passerby saw was a picture of calm and serenity.

But she was neither calm nor serene. A moment from now, or an hour, Court would unlock that door and demand his marital rights.

It was unimaginable. She was so used to Gerard's gentlemanly way of courting her. Of respect and reverence. Of kisses lighter than a soufflé.

She knew already that Court was a man of intensity and passion, and a temper that was under laid by a very short fuse. He had a low tolerance for fools, and no store of patience at all. When Court wanted something, he got it, and she knew that her body was no exception. He would not have agreed to the bargain if he hadn't, for

some reason, wanted her.

But no, what he wanted was Oak Bluff, and if he got a reluctant body with it, well, it probably wasn't any different to him than buying a whore in the French Quarter.

Oh, God ...

A man like Court didn't like to wait. He would be here, soon she was sure of it.

She dropped the curtain and turned back into the roomthe beautiful, luxuriously furnished room that should have been a bridal bower, and a place of transition from her virginal world to one of carnal delights.

It felt like a prison.

What would he ask of her? And how?

Would he even kiss her?

Or would he just throw her down on the thick feather bed and demand that she spread her legs?

He wouldn't be that callous. He couldn't.

But then, he wouldn't know that she loved another, that she had already discovered the pleasure of kisses and caresses in another man's arms ...

Oh, Gerard ...

She groaned. The betrayal was almost crippling. She would have given herself to Gerard in an instant, and instead she was waiting for her dark master to come and command her as he would any slave.

She shook away the thought. She couldn't keep thinking like that; it would only lead to disaster. She felt resentful enough already.

And scared.

One night, Drue. Just one night and you'll be a virgin no more. He'll just come and sink himself into you, and after that, it will be easy.

Easy for him ...

Never easy for a woman

She had never seen a naked man. Not her father. Not Gerard. And she herself had never been naked this long after a bath. Always her maid scrubbed her down, rinsed her off, and trundled her into a towel, robe, and gown within the space of ten or fifteen minutes.

She felt as if she had been exposed for hours. She felt uncomfortable, awkward, stupid, deathly afraid.

Gerard would never have treated her this way ...

She shuddered. So useless thinking of what might have been ...

And what was her father doing, this night of the sacrifice of his virgin daughter to the god of saving face?

STOP IT!

She was acting like a frightened child, a victim, when she should be comporting herself like a queen. After all, she was the mistress of Wildwood.

For whatever that was worth ...

... for her part, Drue Caledon will act as mistress of Wildwood, including, but not limited to, providing companionship and sexual congress for her husband; attending to all household functions, overseeing the house, gardens and servants; keeping account of and doling out stores, arranging dinners, attending to guests; and other

unspecified services as defined by her husband that fall within the purview of her wifely duties ...

Written up as tightly as any contract executed by a lawyer. Court had known exactly what he wanted and how to get it. She was nothing more than an item on his list to be attended to when he had the time.

And she had willingly signed herself into servitude, goaded on by her father's penitent promises of reform and his visions of a future full of wealth and luxuryfor them both.

Did any woman ever have a choice? Had her mother?

The silence of the house was disturbing. A house of secrets, she thought despairingly, behind whose walls she was already immured as absolutely as a nun.

And she would know all the secrets of a woman and a man before the day was over.

The ring felt odd on his finger: constricting, eternal, forever there.

What a man did in the space of a moment that irrevocably altered his life ...

He might not have married for years, if it weren't for the lure of Oak Bluffs ...

And Drue.

He climbed the steps slowly, thoughtfully. It would be so easytoo easyto just give in to his carnal impulses. He wished he were a creature of the senses, like that blasted Lenoir. Then he'd have no conscience about taking what he wanted and the hell with the consequences.

Lenoir had been so sure that Oak Bluffs would be his. And Drue.

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Dark Desires

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But all that was over now. Victor was contained, for the moment, although he had no illusions about that. Lenoir was goneCourt had made sure of it before they even left the church grounds. And now all that awaited him was the moment of truth with Drue.

He had set up the scenario; the only thing he didn't know was how it was going to play. Without a doubt, she still cared for Lenoir, which was going to make his possession of her that much more difficult.

And his highhandedness had probably made her either scared or furious. He wanted her full of spit and sass, like that flash of fire she'd shown at the reception.

For him.

He didn't want a doll that he could prop and pose any way he desired. He could buy that on any street any night in New Orleans .

You couldn't buy a lady. Naked. In your bed.

His blood burned at the thought.

You bought Drue.

He quelled the thought and shrugged out of his frock coat, tossing it at one of the console tables, as he reached the landing.

He was no shining knight and he was the first to admit it. His motives were just as base as any man in heat, except that he had gone after one woman, one body, one object he wanted to possess.

But he was not a man of indiscriminate tastes.

His tie went next, draped over a piece of useless porcelain. His boots, kicked across the hallway.

His lust escalated moment by moment.

How often did a man get to set the scene for his seduction? The thought of Drue beyond that door, naked, quivering, waiting waiting for him made his juices boil.

Even if she didn't want him ...

He was certain she heard the rasp of the key in the lock, but she didn't turn from the window as he eased his way into the room.

He didn't know what he expected, but certainly not Drue wrapped up like a mummy, staring out the window and looking impossibly fragile.

He locked the door behind him, slowly, carefully, buying time. Drue was furious and not a little wary as she slanted an uneasy glance at him.

He folded his arms across his chest and leaned against the door, waiting. Goddamn it, goddamn it. She was thinking about Lenoir. Saving herself as if she could for that jack dandy.

Over his dead body. He'd kill the bastard first. And he was going to destroy every memory of him from Drue's mind, if he had to kill her, too.

The silence stretched uncomfortably. She had thought for sure he would come in making demands, making it easy for her to resist him, fight himhurt him so he wouldn't want to touch herever.

But he said nothing. No, that wasn't strictly true. His eyes spoke. His eyes burned with a message that even she, in her innocence, could read. He had come to collect on his investment.

And she was the payment.

"I want my clothes," she said tightly.

"No clothes." His voice was like iron.

Her heart fell. No clothes. No mercy.

What had she thought? He would come with pearls and poetry, petting and pleas?

He was rough and rude and accustomed to getting what he wanted.

So be it.

She turned and climbed stiffly onto the bed, dragging the bedspread behind her. "I'm ready."

He suppressed a flare of annoyance. There was no one less ready than Drue, with her martyred expression and thick cocoon of the bedspread swathing her more securely than a chastity belt.

She needed a strong, firm hand. Drue was not stupid. Or unaware. But what had he expected? The fawn was skittish and prone to hide from her predator. And his job was to lure her out and then dominate all her virginal impulses until she begged for surrender.

"I'm not," he said bluntly. "And this isn't how it's going to go."

"The only way it has to go is that you get it over with," Drue snapped, wriggling into an upright position.

That was better: the fawn was showing some teeth.

He didn't change his stance. Not yet. Not yet. This was not Drue's game, even if she refused to admit it. She had still to learn who had the power to make demands, and who must submit. But he would have his way. And he would have her, even if he had to discipline her to get her.

"This is the first thing we get over with," he said evenly. "Two conditions, little fawn, and they are not negotiable."

Her expression turned mutinous. "You've already dictated the terms, Court. I won't abide any other considerations on top of that."

"Two conditions," he said inflexibly, ignoring her. "You never, ever hide your naked body from me"

She made an angry motion.

"... and number twoyou will never deny me anything I demandin our bedroom."

Her heart swooped down to her toes. She closed her eyes and clenched her fists. She wanted to kill him. He'd bought her and now he had stripped everything from her, right down to her clothes.

He owned her, body and soul. There was nothing left of her now that didn't belong to him. And if she had thought to hold him off with words or with a puny wall of cotton, she had underestimated his determination to get most use of his newest possession.

He was her master and she was nothing more or less than a body to service him: his slave, to his whims, his control, his lust.

For all the days of your life... Her breath caught as the impact of those words struck her. Linked to him forever, never to know any other love, any other life.

"Did you hear me?" Court murmured, his voice deceptively, dangerously, low.

Her voice caught. "I ... heard you."

"Did you? You heard me? You know what I wantyou heard what I want and you haven't yet complied? Is that what I'm to understand, little fawn? That my wishes aren't paramount with you? That the two small inconsequential requests I have made are to be disregarded altogether by you?"

"I" She almost choked. The master was speaking, his voice like iron, his eyes cold, his expression impassive. He meant to exert every measure of control, to make her understand that he could do with her whatever he wanted, because he had paid for the right to do so.

Off the auction block and into his bed. What was the difference after all?

"I want you naked now!"

That tone brooked no argument, no resistance. And still, she couldn't bring herself to reveal her body to him. She cowered on the bed, feeling an overwhelming sense of betrayal.

Forgive me, Gerard ... my love, my love ...

"Get used to it, little fawn." He started toward her slowly, each step measured by his soft, lustful, dangerous words. "You will be naked for me from now on. There won't be a bolt of material or a piece of clothing in this room that you can use to cover yourself from this moment forward."

Closer he came, and she scrambled across the bed.

"I will dictate what you will wear, when and even if, and I will be the one who dresses youif I ever let you get dressed again for the rest of your life ..." Implacably, inexorably, he followed her around the bed as she backed away from him.

"I bought your naked body, my fawn, and it is mine, and I will have you anytime, anywhere, I want, and nothing you can do will prevent that."

He was within inches of her as she crouched by the locked door. He hunkered down beside her. "What you won't give me willingly, I will take. And you'll be confined to this room, naked, until my wishes are clearly understood."

Black devil... beast! How could he treat her so? She gathered every reserve of strength she possessed and got to her feet.

"You will never have me," she hissed defiantly.

He looked up at her. "Oh, but I will, little fawn. And this will be the hardest lesson you will ever have to learn. The master always gets everything he wants."

He rose gracefully to his feet. "I want you naked. Are you still going to resist me, Drue?"

"Someone should," she muttered, pulling the bedspread closer.

"But not the ungrateful drab whose father's life and reputation I saved. You should be naked and on your back, spreading your legs and begging me to stuff myself into you. Any other woman would have kissed my feet and any other part of my body I desired in gratitude for what I did."

He inched closer to her. "But not you. Oh, no, not the princess of Oak Bluffs. All that money and I can't even look at your naked body."

He was as close as a breath now, hot and engorged with lust, anger, and pure wanton desire. "You thought you could remain pure for that coxcomb, Lenoir, didn't you, little fawn? You thought I'd just lift your skirts and pump myself into you and that would be the end of it and you still could remain loyal to him. That's what you

thought, wasn't it? Wasn't it? But that's not nearly how it's going to be."

He closed his hand over the edge of the material that covered her shoulders. "My house. My bedspread. My money. My naked wife. Let go of this thing, now ... "

She resisted. She couldn't help herself. She could not willingly submit to him. And to the fury in his voice and the anger in his eyes. And the strength in his hand as he ruthlessly stripped the bedspread away from her body and stepped back.

She clutched the torn, ragged edge of the binding against her breasts, as if that would protect her from him.

He pulled it out of her hands and threw it on the floor, and then she had nothing but the cool gleam of his possessive gaze to cover her, from her burning face, downward to her taut-tipped breasts, downward still to those private places even she didn't know.

She froze as he walked around her to view her from every angle.

"Well, well, well, aren't you the hot-tailed little piece, my fawn. Who would have guessed that under all that virginal muslin and lace there was a naked body that looked like this."

And it was all his, his to teach, train, discipline, and do with what he would. No one else would ever have her now.

He was face-to-face with her again, his burning eyes two narrow slits as he gazed his fill of her naked breasts. "I think maybe I didn't pay too much for you." His voice turned steely. "Don't move, Drue. I don't think I can get enough of looking at you."

She could barely stand itthose knowing eyes, the huge obvious bulge between his legs, the feeling of vulnerability, and of being stalked by something more primitive and more powerful than she. He could devour her. He would, in ways she didn't even know about.

"Just ... just get it over with," she ground out.

"No. No ..." He was circling her again. "You are something to savor, my fawn. Those round, high breasts, those hard, pointed nipples, those hips, those buttocks ... I want to take my time with you. Days and days, I just want to look at you ..."

"Courtplease ..."

"No. I want you to live naked in my house from now on, and I will tell you what I want and what to do. And you'll do it, Drue. I promise you. You will do it. And you won't have a moment to think about anyone or anything else. Now, turn and walk away from me. I want to watch the movement of your buttocks when you walk."

"Please don't"

"Please don'twhat? Touch you? I haven't, although I want to, most powerfully. Force you? I haven't. I won't. It's enough for me to have you naked and at my mercy. Now, walk."

Oh, yes, at his mercy; precisely. Definitively. And all those references to Gerard ... they made her blood turn cold.

He knew

Dear God, how did he know?

And if he knew ... she had no choice but to do everything he wanted, anything he wanted to protect Gerard and to conceal the fact she loved him.

Her whole body felt like lead. She didn't know how she was going to do this, how she was going to let Court even touch her.

She swallowed, turned, so that for one instant the curve of her breasts and the tight thrust of her nipples were outlined in the light, and then she slowly moved away from him.

Don't think about anything or anyone else. Don't feel his eyes on you or the heat washing all over your body. Don't... don't... don't

He watched her through hooded eyes. She was so perfect, flawless, her buttocks soft and rounded and flaring into those swaying hips that were made to be grasped tightly as a man centered himself to penetrate her.

He wanted to grab her right then, right there, and ram himself into her; a thousand fantasies played in his mind as she stopped at the wall and waited for his next command.

Oh? It was going to be like that, was it? A tiny act of defiance that he would squash right now.

"Turn and come back to me," he ordered, and she swiveled around and started pacing toward him.

Her breasts bobbled just a little, her nipples begging that he look at them, marvel at them, lust for them.

He'd never been so hard in his life. He couldn't contain the iron-bar jut of his manhood. He didn't want to. He wanted to do exactly what she desired: throw her on the bed and embed himself in her to the hilt and beyond. He wanted to feel the bones of those hips grinding against him, and the hard-soft play of her breasts and nipples

against his naked chest.

He wanted ... all those things and more, more, more ...

He itched to slide his fingers between her legs and make her moan with pleasure. She was that close to him, and that far, and not nearly ready for such an assault on her senses.

Her lips were moist from her having tongued them over and over in her nervousness. He wanted to suck them, he wanted her to tongue him all over his body and then root for his manhood and suck him dry.

Instead, she was standing before him, naked, abashed, trembling, virginal, her bosom quivering, her nipples more tempting than fate.

He could not allow himself to feel sympathy for her. She wanted to "get it over with," that was all. She wanted to save her immortal soul for Lenoir. He could see it in her eyes. And that made it easy for him to make the command.

"Get on the bed."

Oh, God, yes, yes ... She closed her eyes and heaved a sigh of relief. The moment of reckoning was here.

But how did a virgin seduce a libertine, she wondered suddenly, panicked, if she couldn't stand him looking at her naked body with those knowing, ravenous eyes, and the threat of that hard, flexing rod of his sex. There was no way she could escape him, no way she could renege on that contract she had willingly signed.

But she hadn't thought it was going to be like this with him. That he would be so hard, inflexible, cold-blooded.

Just let him stick it into me and have done ... after that, the rest will be easy ...

She moved toward the bed, aware with every step of his assessing gaze.

She heard him pull in a hot breath as she climbed onto the bed, and sat on her knees with the curve of her buttocks tucked behind her ankles.

He couldn't believe his response to that one commonplace movement and the tempting picture she made. All he had to do was lift her, straddle her and poke his throbbing ramrod into that hot, tight pleasure hole.

But it was too soon for that. She was obedient now because she wanted him out of her room, and because she thought her nakedness would make him instantly come to heel.

Like that upstart, Lenoir.

He would have bet she had the bastard twirled around her little finger. She was probably very used to batting her lashes and putting men off or making them come to heel.

But he was no lapdog.

And that was just one hard lesson the fawn had to learn among many. He was a patient man, in spite of the fact that he ached for the full-bore possession of her sex. Oh, yes, he wanted her; the gnawing was intense, almost unbearable.

Which made it all the better. Because soon, soon, he would teach her how to want him, too.

"On your back, my fawn. Good. Nowhold your breasts up to me, and spread your legs."

She moaned; her body writhed in protest and the movement sent a jolt of pure boiling lust to his throbbing penis.

"Do it, Drue. I want to see everything between your legs."

She turned on her side. "I won't."

Damn the bastard He had to touch her, much sooner than he had planned, but he had to crush that refusal now.

She felt his hot, huge hand on her hip, rolling her ruthlessly onto her back.

"The master always gets what he wants," he growled. "Spread your legs, or I will spread them for you."

"I won't ..." It was enough, it was, and he wasn't even undressed, and she didn't know what he wanted or what he planned to do, but she couldn't yield to him in that, not that way, by putting herself in the most vulnerable position for a woman.

But it became clear that her desires held no sway. He ripped off his shirt, and tore off the sleeves with all the anger, lust, and crippling desire to cram himself into her channeled into containing her on the bed.

She couldn't escape him; he was stronger, tougher, relentless in his passion to have her nakedness exposed to the greed of his lust. She couldn't kick him hard enough, scramble fast enough, or roll far enough to elude his hot huge hands.

Mercilessly he wound each sleeve around a bare ankle and tied it to the posts of the bed.

"Bastard!" she spat. "Take me now."

"Oh, no, my naked fawn. No. I won't take you now. That would be too easy." He moved away from the bed to pull a small upholstered chair from the window over to where he could sit and see her perfectly, and he settled himself there.

"I cannot believe you're doing this."

"What am I doing, little fawn? I'm feasting my eyes on my wife's enticing nakedness."

She fell back against the mattress, feeling so exposed, so bare, she thought she would die.

But her body wouldn't let her die. Her body moved incessantly against the bonds that held her legs spread wide, as if the movement itself could loosen the knot instead of escalating the tension and anger she felt.

She arched her back against the restraints. "Damn you, damn you, damn you" No one had ever treated her like this. Gerard wouldn't...

His whole body seized up with every undulating movement of her rounded hips. He saw himself between her legs, riding that hot, bucking thrusting body so deep, so hard, that he exploded and drowned in her juices and begged for more.

He couldn't get enough of watching her innocent body finding an erotic rhythm of its own that he matched in his imagination.

This was his domain and he was the master. He had only to drop his trousers and present himself to her and her writhing, grinding body would take him to sweet, hot oblivion.

But denying himself his release only made the pleasure of anticipation that much more intense.

Slowly he rose from the chair and went to the bed.

"I hate you."

"Well, this is your first lesson, little fawn, I hate when you refuse me what I want."

"Take what you want," she whispered, "and then just go away."

"No, my wife. You don't yet understand. You are to willingly give me what I want whenever I ask, whatever it is. Sonext time I want you to spread your legs for me, you will lie down on that bed and make sure your legs are as wide apart as an ocean. Is that clear?"

"I will never ..."

He clamped his hand over her mouth. "I see. You still need to be taught who is beholden to whom. You'll note that I kindly didn't make a fuss over the fact that you didn't hold your breasts up for my inspection. Well, one must be patient with a sharp-toothed fawn. We have many days, Drue, many lessons to be learned. I didn't

think I would have to work you so hard after paying out so much money for you. I thought your overwhelming gratitude would compel your utmost desire to please me. I will tell you, Drue: it will come. You will surrender everything to me. And when you do, you will beg for everything I can give you."

"Never!" she spat, pulling at her bonds. "Never, never, never ."

He looked down at her pitilessly. "Evie will untie you in an hour or so. I want you to get used to the feeling of your legs spread wide for me."

"I hate you."

"It doesn't matter, little fawn. All that matters is that you never hide your naked body from me."

He got out of the room not a moment too soon; his sex overpowered him, erupting in spume of frenzied lust for her so intense, he doubled over with it.

Soon, he thought, soon. The fawn was nibbling. Very, very soon, sooner than she thought, she would be ready to feed that dark desire that would drown and consume them both.

chapter 4

contents

She lay limply on the bed, her legs aching from her struggle with the ties. She was in such turmoil, she could barely move. Didn't want to move. Wanted to just sink through the soft mattress into oblivion.

Court treating her like this!

What could he want from her, if not what every man wanted?

She moved fretfully against the restraints. It was hellish, this ... thisgame of exposing her and humiliating her.

And yetyet ... the look in his eyes when he finally got her naked ... he wanted her; there had been burning, naked desire in his eyes. Even she, innocent as she was, could see that.

And that her nudity had aroused his sleeping giant to the point of explosiveness. It was huge, thick, and hard as iron, and it wanted to possess her, even if he did not.

She levered up on her elbows to look at herself, to try to see what he saw. A thick, wiry bush of dark hair between her legs, and whatever else was visible beyond that. Her smooth thighs. Her long legs. Her flat belly. Her high, rounded breasts with their ever-erect nipples.

Tentatively, she laid the fingers of her right hand on her bushy mound. The hair between her legs was like a wild woman's; sometimes she felt the wiry strands between her thighs as she walked.

And always she felt her taut nipples pressing tightly against whatever she wore, making her very aware of her body.

She lay back on the bed and cupped her breasts, thumbing one nipple. Her body twinged, impacted by her sprawled legs, her nudity, her touch.

His cruelty.

If she gave in to him, her life, her sex, would never be her own. And she would mourn Gerard forever.

Her only recourse was to seduce him and fight him. Forever. Or to the end. Whichever came first.

Evie came after a while, with a tray. "Master say you eat."

"I can't sit up."

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Dark Desires

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"Master say make restraints prettier." She held up two strips of black satin. "Come. I untie your one leg, and you eat something."

She felt a moment of panic. Court meant it. The bastard meant it, and he was willing to go to these lengths to make her willing to spread her legs.

She could barely eat; she had no idea what it was Evie had on the tray. She watched as the servant untied her one leg, and then, as she nibbled, deftly surrounded her other ankle with the soft, slick satin bonds before she untied the ragged shirtsleeve.

"When you finish, mistress."

But Evie wasn't done. She picked up the shredded bedspread and stripped the bed of its sheets and pillowcases, and pulled down the curtains, while Drue choked down what she could of the food.

Dear God, the curtains, too

"Mistress cannot refuse the master," Evie said gently, removing the tray at Drue's signal. "Come. I tie your leg and you wait for the master to come."

"I have no choice, do I?" Drue muttered.

"Mistress is beautiful. Master will come to love her," Evie murmured, as she efficiently packed up the bedding and trundled all of it and the tray out of the room.

The door closed.

The ominous door.

Her nipples tightened in anticipation of what was to come. Fear compelled her, closing her throat, making her tremble.

She grasped the edges of the mattress and held on. There was no point to fighting the restraints, to fighting him.

He would do what he wanted, and every slave in the place, including her, would submit to his will.

She waited, feeling every inch of her bare skin against the mattress ticking.

And she waited, her splayed legs accustomed now to the breadth of the extension he had forced on them.

And she waited, trying not to think of Gerard, and the betrayal of his love that this submission to Court's will represented.

There was something about the waiting; there was a cruelty in it and a wisdom. He had wanted her to get used to the feeling of spreading her legs for him, and as she lay there, she became acutely aware of the seductive cleft between her legs that had so entranced him.

And she could feel her nipples, so erect and pointed, becoming tighter and harder.

She felt herself stretching her legs wider apart still, as if her body were arching toward another lover.

"I wish you would take me," she whispered in anguish, and Court's voice answered, "Oh, no, little fawn. I will not take you now. You still have hard lessons to learn and memories I will destroy."

Her body jolted, and she heaved up onto her elbows. He stood by the little upholstered chair, dressed in trousers and nothing else, watching her writhe and yearn for another man.

And he was so prime; his shoulders were wide, his bare chest deep and covered with rough springy hair all the way down to the waistband of his trousers.

And below that, his engorged manhood poked out as hard and thick as a tree trunk.

She licked her lips nervously as he sank into the little chair. "What are you doing?"

"I'm admiring the many naked charms of my wife," he said, his voice deceptively calm. "I hope the satin bands are more comfortable. There's something about black against a woman's naked skin ... it's very arousing."

"Are you aroused, Court?"

"Unbelievably."

"Haven't you seen enough?" Daring of her, she thought, licking her lips. But he was like a predator playing with her, a wolf she could never tame. And didn't want to. So why she was taunting him, she had no ideaor did she?

"Not nearly, little fawn. Your naked body fascinates me. I want to luxuriate in it, I want to know every nuance of it ..."

"And when will I see your naked body?" she asked, her voice deliberately coy. It didn't work.

"When I'm ready to show it to you."

"You're ready now, Court. Even I can see that."

"But how hard I am has nothing to do with preparing you for the moment you will be ready, my fawn. For now, just looking at you satisfies my lust for you."

"I don't believe that." She couldn't believe that, not with him sitting there and his sex jutting up to the ceiling through his clothing like a flagpole.

"It doesn't matter. I am the one who will decide when you are ready. My desire to rut in you can only be enhanced by the lessons I teach you."

"What are you going to do?" she whispered.

He got up from the chair and came to the bed and she could see the hard-boned length of him poking upward beneath the thin material of his trousers.

"I'm going to tie your wrists to the posts, my fawn, so that just as you are learning the lesson of spreading your legs for me, you will also learn that when I tell you to hold your breasts for me, you will remember to do it."

"You didn't tell methis time."

"These are just today's lessons, little fawn." He grasped her one hand, tied it to the post with black satin, and then the other, and then stepped back to look at her.

"That's better. With your arms over your shoulders, your breasts are lifted toward me, begging for attention. But not tonight, little fawn. I just want to look at those incredible nipples, and maybe next time you will offer them to me of your own volition."

"I will never offer you anything," she spat, pulling her arms against the restraints. "You're crazy." But he wasn't crazy; he was her husband, for God's sake, her master, and his sole drive was to completely dominate her before he spent himself in her.

He stood right beside her head and she saw that his erection was even harder and more elongated than it had been before.

"Tomorrow, my naked wife, tomorrow we will test you to see what lessons you've learned."

"I know what you want," she whispered.

"You couldn't possibly, little fawn. Not yet."

"Take me."

"No!" he growled.

"You want what's between my legs."

"Oh, little fawn, you do have so much to learn. Here is a lesson: I want what I want to be mine. And tomorrow, I will see about making sure everyone knows you're mine."

"If you take me"

"You still won't be mine, my naked wife who still craves another man's sex. So you seeI have many things still to teach you. And what my body wants, what my penis wantsthat doesn't matter. All that matters is subjugating you."

She felt a tremor go through her body. Her nipples hardened. She felt a spurt of wetness between her legs as she understood. This was all about Gerard. Dear darling Gerard who never would have used her so cruelly.

He really knew about Gerard. She felt her bones go weak. How long had he known? It didn't matter; nothing mattered. All that mattered was that she couldn't afford one lovely thought about Gerard from now on, not one, or Court would know it.

"Court"

"Your nipples fascinate me, Drue. And you see how lifting your breasts makes them all the more enticing to a man. I've never seen such pointed nipples on a woman. They beg to be fondled and sucked."

"Do it," she breathed, watching the effect those two words had on his flexing erection. It spurted harder, longer.

He controlled himself with an effort. "But that's not what you want, my naked fawn. Not who you want. Not yet."

The threat... it was a threat it was why he had chosen to treat her this way. Why why why ...

Damn him, damn him, damn him She pulled, she raged, she writhed, she moaned ...

He moved away because he felt his iron control slipping. He didn't need to touch her. He didn't need to fuck her. He just needed to get out of that room before she understood the power that she wielded.

"Not yet." His voice echoed as he eased out into the hallway, closing the door behind him as an exclamation point to his surrender. "Not yet," he groaned, gasping himself as he gave in to his explosive need and shot his boiling lust down his rock-hard leg.

Not yet ... as he sank, spent, to the floor.

Sometime during the night, a servant untied her; she wasn't aware of the moment, just of the freedom from constriction, and the ability finally to turn and roll onto her stomach.

Finally. Even though it felt as if the satin bonds were still wound around her wrists. In her dreams, Gerard didn't notice them. In her dreams, he held her, coddled her, protected her ...

Sometime in the morning, she became aware of a presence in the room. Not in the bed beside her, but at the foot of the bed, watching her, ever watching her.

Not Gerard ...

She moved her body languidly, knowing he was watching, waiting, wondering of whom she was thinking as she stretched.

"Spread your legs."

She rolled onto her back and extended her long sleek legs outward to show him that this lesson was nothing to her, nothing to learn, nothing to do. But when, during the night of dreamy passion with the evascent Gerard, she had decided this course, she didn't know.

Whatever, it suddenly was easy. So easy.

"Sit up."

Slowly she raised herself upward, sliding down to the foot of the bed so that she could still splay her legs while she cupped her breasts and lifted them toward him, all the while watching the thickening length between his legs.

"Very good, little fawn. It is time for me to claim you as my own naked wife."

Her breath caught. Now, now, he would take her and the thing would be done and he'd leave her to her own devices.

He rose up and came toward her, his spurting erection directly in her line of vision, his extended hand holding what looked like a collar with two very long straps appended from it.

"What is this?"

"This is the first thing you will be permitted to wear, my fawn. Your legs go through the straps so that they are positioned just inside your thighs. You are to wear the collar and thongs at all times whether you are dressed or naked as reminder to you who owns you and who will possess you in good time. Put it on."

She shot him a defiant look and then slowly slipped her legs through the straps, and then stood up, pulling them tightly against her inner thighs, which made her mound more prominent.

"Like that." He could barely say the words; the sight of those leather straps defining her feminine bush and pushing out her high, pointed breasts sent a lightning bolt of desire to his groin. "Put the collar around your neck."

It was a wide, supple leather collar decorated with golden studs and a hook closure. She locked it, and he gestured for her to move away from him so that he could examine her minutely.

It was perfect, the thin leather straps taut against her pale skin, conspicuously outlining her sex and her breasts, and culminating in the symbol of his owning her: the thrall collar.

"Evie!"

Evie slipped into the room.

"Lock it."

Evie came up behind her, and a moment later, Drue heard the almost noiseless click of a lock; she heard him groan, she saw his body convulse before he mastered his sex, and she reached back and touched a tiny padlock, the key to which Evie gave him before she exited the room.

The vision of her collared and strapped to his specification aroused him unbearably: she could see that he was not fully in command of his wayward penis. It wanted her. It flexed and stretched and elongated and thickened almost as if it were enticing her as she sashayed around him, letting him view her from every angle.

He particularly liked the way the straps crossed her buttocks and disappeared invitingly into her crease, and then reappeared to tightly confine her femininity.

His penis liked it, too; he couldn't clamp down hard enough on his erection to contain the spurt of juice that stained the material of his trousers.

"On the collar is the seal of the Summervilles, wife, so that everyone will know that you are my possession."

"Take me then; everyone thinks you have already."

"Indeed. And only you and I know that I am exerting heroic control in not plowing you until you have been taught every lesson."

"I've learned your lessons," she protested. "I wear your thrall collar. I'm ready for your possession."

"No. I'm bursting to possess you, but you are not nearly ready for me. Come." He rose up from the chair, his erection bone hard in front of him. "We go downstairs for breakfast today."

"I"

"Naked. Just as you are."

"The servants" she murmured faintly.

"Naked," he said inflexibly, holding open the door.

"If anyone sees me" she protested.

"He'll just have to control his lust for you."

"How can he, if you can't?" she retorted.

He looked down at his throbbing manhood. "An aberration. It'll go away."

But it didn't. It never went away all the time they ate breakfast; her mouth went dry every time she looked at his erection, imagining the breadth and thickness, the mystery of him.

But then, her nipples kept reacting to the heat of his gaze. He couldn't take his eyes off them and they kept tightening and tightening and her body felt creamier and creamier just from the touch of his burning eyes.

And he knew it. He made her sit across from him with her legs splayed while they ate, and all of it, her nakedness, his lust, her feeling of being captive and contained, the leather straps on her body, the feral glitter in his eyes, all of it made her body squirm and her juices flow.

Just what she didn't want. She didn't want to succumb to this domination of her. She wanted none of him, except the one moment of possession that would legitimize the marriage.

How could she do that, when every provocation that he had visited on her had not been enough to make him sink himself into her?

How did one make a man relinquish that power?

Obviously the dictates of his body were not enough. He was not a man who was led around by his baser nature.

By every standard and what little she knew, he should have succumbed to her charms the moment he ripped away that bedspread.

But then, Court was the kind of man to whom women succumbed, and why he had decided that she was to be part of his bargain to obtain Oak Bluffs was beyond her.

And she obviously was not woman enough to entice him.

Except his pulsating body said differently, and he had been in a permanent state of high arousal ever since he'd walked into that bedroom.

And he kept referring to Gerard.

She almost groaned out loud. Gerard would never have forced her to do all the things that Court had. Gerard would have petted and kissed her, and waited on her time for the ultimate moment of possession. He never would have humiliated her like this.

She felt him jerk her arm and haul her to her feet.

"So ..." he said viciously, "the fawn dreams of rabbits in spite of the fact she has a stallion at her command. Oh, my dear wife, it will give me the greatest pleasure to wipe that milksop from your memory."

"I don't care ..." she spat. "I don't carehe's a gentleman, he would never ..."

"And I would? I could? This is the first I've touched you in anger, Drue, and you will feel the full force of it. You are never to let a thought of that mollycoddle into your mind ever again or I will bring him here and let him see you naked and groveling to me. Because, by God, you will prostrate yourself and beg for my penis." He

was furious, overset by a pure male rage that was frightening in its intensity. "Evie! Louise! Take her upstairs and get her ready."

Instantly, the two servants surrounded her, each taking an arm and pushing her unwilling body up the stairs.

He watched her naked, writhing buttocks in the erotic straps, and he didn't try to control his convulsive release.

Any minute after, he knew, the gnawing desire would take over yet again, stretching and thickening him to rock-hard readiness at the knowledge that the naked mistress of Wildwood would be waiting for him in her room, restrained and restive, and very aware now of his poking, pulsating penis.

Two days was all it had taken. The little fawn was an apt pupil. She couldn't keep her eyes off his towering erection during breakfast, and she'd been eyeing his sex all morning before they left the bedroom.

It was too bad she'd had to spoil it, butsome lessons were hard learned.

He knelt beside the chair in which she had displayed herself as they ate. The scent of her permeated his senses, rising from the minuscule moist blot from her wet. His erection jacked up a notch, his whole body tensed. It took but a moment to strip, to slide himself across the slick satin, to rub against the stain of her sex, to

commingle it with his own.

Not enough, not enough. He wanted it all.

He mounted the steps slowly, savoring the sultriness of the morning and the way the heat rose in his loins. He had never wanted a woman's body more. He couldn't get enough as he imagined her laying there, in her collar and straps, her legs wide open in invitationto him, and only him.

Oh, yes. And when he was certain she wanted only him ... then

Evie stood outside the door, guarding it. "Everything ready," she murmured.

Then ...

He opened the door.

Drue eyed him balefully from where she lay across the bed. "You monster."

She was on her stomach, her buttocks canted up slightly, with her hands in restraints, but not her legs. It wasn't all that unpleasant, especially since she had a first-rate view of his flat belly and the growth of hair that fanned down beneath his belt to his thrusting penis.

It was inches away from her lips, deliberately, she thought angrily, and she wondered what would happen if she pulled it into her mouth, material and all, and sucked it dry.

She turned her head away abruptly. She could not let herself be seduced by a length of muscle and the refusal of the man to do his husbandly duty.

If only he would, she could be faithful to Gerard for the rest of her life.

She felt something probing her sex.

"What's that? What are you doing?"

"I'm just giving you what you want, you vixen. Something to fill your empty place."

It was perfect. She was all there, and open to him. He sat down beside her wriggling bottom and, propping himself on his elbow, he began to stroke her exposed sex.

She wriggled away from his questing fingers, and he went after her, stroking and dipping, and as she began to push against his fingers, probing and then pushing his three long fingers deep and hard inside her until they met the sweet barrier that proclaimed her innocence and her need.

She shrieked as something pushed into her most private place as if it were made to be there. But it wasn't his penis or his obvious need.

"You are ... you are a bastard," she moaned, beating her feet against the mattress.

"And what are you, my naked wife, when your heart is full and yearning for another man? What you have now is all of me you can have until you crush his memory from your heart." He twisted his hand slightly and her body jolted at the sensation.

"Go away," she hissed, writhing against the sensation of the thickness of his fingers centered within her. "You are unspeakable."

"I am a man whose wife craves another man's sex," he said stonily, "and for that, she can only have this " And he pushed his fingers harder into her, and she gasped as he pushed against her virginity. "And this ..." A merciless twist of his fingers, and the feeling of him expanding her shocked her silent.

She couldn't move. She felt utterly paralyzed by the sensation of his fingers there. It was unspeakable; incredible; unknowable.

And he didn't move. Didn't speak. Just flexed his fingers every few minutes to let her know that he possessed her there, like that, just to that point of pressing her virginal veil; and that he could command those feelings from her whenever he desired.

He felt her every movement; whether she knew it or not, she was rocking against him gently, almost imperceptibly, seeking deeper penetration, enhanced sensation, in spite of the fact he could push no further.

He didn't know how much longer he could last, holding her like that, embedded in the tight heat of her most feminine place. And the straps of the thrall collar crossing over her buttocks almost undid him.

"Here is the lesson, wife," he whispered. "Only one man's penis can possess you. Which do you want more? A memory? A substitute?" He wriggled his fingers. "Or your master? Ponder that this morning, Drue, and how would it feel to be filled and fulfilled as my wife."

Never, never, never, never ...

Her body sagged as he slowly withdrew his fingers. No, no she didn't expect thatthe feeling of emptiness. Not from him. Not that.

She turned her head.

The bulge of his erection told her more plainly than his words what pleasure awaited her when she finally willingly eagerly submitted to him.

If only he would get it over with

It was in her eyes, and he read it clearly: the fascination with his ever-protruding penis, and her refusal to ever give in to him.

Let her lay there then, he thought furiously. Let her think about what she had felt, what just his fingers had made her feel. What she could have if she came to him willingly.

He couldn't take it another moment. He sagged against the door, his breath ragged, his body perspiring and taut with the sheer effort of controlling his lust; he felt like exploding, and shooting his seed all over her naked buttocks.

For one fulminating moment, he didn't care about lessons or love or Gerard Lenoir. All he wanted was that hot, bone-crackling release, and preferably centered deep into her hot, tight, traitorous body.

But then he pictured her nipples, her tight pointy nipples, and he wondered if Gerard had ever seen them, touched them ... His mind would go no further.

All the sensual games he was playing with her now were still not proof against her having given her body to Lenoir to touch, to play with. And if he ever found out that Lenoir had laid a hand on her ... Drue Caledon would remain his virgin bride forever.

But he would, finally, regretfully, let her get dressed.

chapter 5

contents

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Dark Desires

Page 5 of 11

So ... all the vixen wanted to do was taunt him and think about another man poking her

How much should a husband have to take?

Even he didn't know the limits of his controlor his passion. The only thing he knew was she wasn't going to tempt him to take her before he was ready.

And that resolve already required the endurance of a saint.

He lay stretched out on his bed in the room next door to Drue's, and watched idly as every thought of her excited him to a bone-hard erection.

Still a virgin; a beautiful, round bottomed, long legged, hot, wet naked, come-take-me virgin. That at least was some consolation.

You sure are ass-over-end insane for waiting to rut in her though.

Am I? I should just take her, the way she begs?

Why not?

Why not...

That inviting cleft between her splayed legs enfolding him ... those flaring hips cradling him; and then lunging and plunging and penetrating the final barrier and spending himself deep in that moist, rich velvet of her ...

He drew in a sharp, hot breath, every molecule in his body aching to get his hands on her, to thrust his way into her.

Waiting naked for you, primed as a pistol for you, look at how your fingers made her squirm for you ... she couldn't get enough of your fingers, for God's sake, in her furrow ...

... Hellfire ...

He had a squirming, naked woman already willing to spread her legs for him, and he sat here having wet dreams about her, instead of having her. That sounded a little off-whack to him, too.

But there was a method to this insanity. There was. It was just at this moment, with his penis throbbing with lust for her, he couldn't quite remember what it was.

He gave her a half hour before he came back to her bedroom.

She lay where he left her, belly down and restrained, her eyes closed, her mouth determined.

Which was how he knew she was not sleeping.

"What now?" she muttered dampingly.

His erection did not die. If anything, the sight of her quiescent body and lush curves aroused him all the more.

"Well, my fawn, you've gotten a taste of what it feels like to have a man's hand inside you. Now I thought I'd like a taste of you."

His words put her in a panic. "No. No. No!"

"No what, my wife who is never to refuse me anything... ?" His voice was silky, soft. Iron.

"I can't take this, Court." Was she throwing herself on his mercy? Maybe so, but he was the torturer, not she. If only, only, only he would do his duty ... they could dispense with the games and start to live their separate lives.

She could make do with that, she could ...

She shrieked. "What are you doing?!!" as he lifted her onto her knees and began rubbing something onto her protruding sex.

"Making myself a tasty treat, my fawn ..."

She moaned. Oh, Lord, the feeling of his fingers massaging something thick and sticky into her like that, all around her naked cleft was almost more than she could bear.

"You like that," he murmured.

She made a guttural sound at the back of her throat. "I don't like anything." Her body contradicted her immediately, undulating seductively against his swirling fingers.

"You'll like this." No, he liked this, the feel of her compressed woman flesh against his fingers as he swirled honey all around it.

"What are you doing?!!"

"I'm coating you with honey before I sip from your cup ..."

Omigod, omigod, omigod ... She pulled, she wrenched, she kicked, she writhed and she couldn't get away from him or the inexorable touch of his rubbing fingers.

Bear it... just let him get it over with and bear it...

But she was doing more than bearing it. She was inviting it, and against every feeling she had about him.

She hated herself. She hated her naked body. She hated him ...

"Ahhh," he growled. "And now ..."

"And now?" she whispered fearfully.

"... I eat my sweet treat ..."

And she couldn't escape. Where before he had held her middle with his iron-bar arm, now he relinquished her, and straddled her hips, pulling her onto her knees again.

"Now ..." he groaned, and bent over her. And took her with one long luscious swipe of his tongue against her pulsing, swelling sex.

Omigod... omigod... was there ever a more relentless mouth ... She fought him, she enticed him, she couldn't get away from him and his determination to lick and suck every last drop of honey from between her legs.

Her body stretched and pushed and begged; the leather pulled, shaped, contoured her woman flesh to give him the utmost access to her. Again and again, he inserted his tongue into her cleft, seeking the taste of her.

For one unsettling moment, she felt as if she were solely connected to him, just there, just like that. Her knees went weak and almost boneless from the sheer insensate pleasure of it.

He took it all and she was helpless to stop him, utterly without control, totally in his power to give her that with his succulent carnal kisses.

There, and there, and there ...

There was something too decadent, too erotic, and too dark about all those deep tongue-tied kisses.

As if he thought they could make her want him.

No, she could never never want him. But she could learn to live with and yearn for those unspeakable sensations he evoked in her.

She could learn to spread her legs for him whenever he commanded her.

She could learn to be the best whore and wife in the whole of St. Faubonne Parish.

But want him? Love him? No. Never.

Never ...

Her nerve endings quivered and her body quickened as his tongue caught the edge of her shimmering pleasure.

... ever ...

What was he doing? What was he doing?

Her body jolted as he touched some sacred secret part of her she did not know existed

... ever

and she slid downward into that dark erotic place and tumbled headlong into a waterfall of silver that broke ever so gently over his tongue.

Ripe ... ready ... and resisting him already

He held her hips tightly as he pushed against her, pulling every nuance of sensation from her body before he let her pull away.

And pull she did. As if she couldn't get away from him fast enough. What more could be said?

That he wasn't sated? Not nearly.

That this was her first brush with carnal pleasure? So likely.

That now she would offer herself willingly? Not hardly.

He made a disgusted sound and eased away from her tempting flesh. It was all he could do to keep himself from plunging into her.

She was there for the taking, her bottom tilted at exactly the angle to accommodate his roaring man flesh.

All he had to do ...

All he had to do

"Take me," she whispered, hoping against hope as she sensed his agonized indecision and eyed his towering erection.

"I think not, my fawn. I think the taste of you will sate me and prepare me for another day," he murmured, clenching his hands into fists to keep from running them all over her rounded buttocks.

Instead, he forced himself to climb over her and off of the bed.

"Such a pretty sight, my fawn, in the aftermath of your pleasure."

"Is that what it was?" she muttered, unable to keep the thread of sarcasm out of her voice.

"I see," he said stonily, his body flinching at the thought she might have experienced this already, with Lenoir. He hadn't even considered thatthat Lenoir might have tutored her in all the earthly delights save onebecause he had been too caught up in the heady discovery that she was still a virgin.

So there was still much for her to learnand for him, he could see that now. A man could take nothing for granted, especially when his penis was aching for release and leading him around by the nose.

"What do you see?" she demanded, alerted instantly by that tone in his voice. That tone meant his displeasure. And that he would prolong the inevitable.

She shuddered. She didn't know why she kept taunting him like that. It would only take that one moment of acquiescence to give him what he said he wanted. An actress could do it. A whore.

Surely she, even in her innocence ...

Not so innocent now

Her breath caught. She knew pleasure now.

She knew the pleasure of feeling something between her legs.

She knew a man's carnal kiss.

She knew the power of a woman's nudity.

Innocent no more ...

She felt as if he were reading everything in her eyes. "What do you see?" she asked again, keeping her voice as neutral as possible.

"A scared little fawn," he said, his voice deceptively soft. "A fawn who is still hiding from her fate."

She made a sound. She wondered how far she could push him. She wondered if she wanted to try. "And you're a man denying his. Look at you. You'd rather walk around with that pole sticking out than stick it into me. So either you're a coward, you don't want to for some reason, or maybemaybe your heart and mind are on

someone else, too ..."

She faltered at the expression in his eyes. Oh, God ... did I really say that to him? What is wrong with me?

He could feel himself turning stone cold.

Little bitch. Who could have dreamt the fawn's teeth were so sharp? Goddamn whore witch bitch ...

... he felt like showing her. He felt like jamming into her tight, wet cleft just to shut her taunting mouth. He felt like ramrodding his way right to the mouth of her womb and blasting his seed into the very core of her.

But... but

He wanted her prostrate. He wanted her shuddering with need. He wanted her crawling, at his feet, begging him for what he alone could do to her.

Until she learned that lesson, there wasn't a thing in the world she could do to tempt him.

And he'd keep his unruly penis at bay as well; and she would never know what that restraint cost him.

Her body betrayed her. During the night, as she restlessly tossed and turned, she felt herself stretching toward the phantom lover who had pulled such pleasure from her body.

Him!

Never him ...

How could she forgive him for all he had done?

Done? Done? What have I done, he would say. I've admired you. I've been patient with you. I haven't forced myself on you. And I've given you pleasure. Tell me what I've "done" ...

She moaned and rolled over again. She could write a litany of what he'd done, and none of it would make sense; no one would believe it.

Gerard would believe it...

She choked back a groan. Dear darling Gerard ... if he knew that monster kept her naked, kept her in restraints when it suited him, made her wear a thrall collar, forced her to display her sex for him, licked honey from her vessel, and made her writhe with pleasure ... what would he do? What could he do?

How did it sound?

Insane.

How did she sound?

Ungrateful.

GodWHAT?!! Ungrateful?!

She sat bolt upright, her body covered with a fine sheen of sweatfrom the unremitting thick sultry heat, or from her thoughts, desires, dreams?

She didn't want to know, didn't want to think. The collar, the straps, irritated her skin, as she supposed they were meant to do, to remind her of who owned her, and to whom she was beholden.

She swung her legs over the bed and sat for a moment, contemplating the moonlight filtering in through the window.

She could jump out the window and be beholden no more.

... ungrateful!! ...

She wrapped her arms around her midriff.

The heat was suffocating. And there wasn't a window open anywhere except the transom between the bathing room and the hallway.

He trusted her not.

She didn't even trust herself.

... ungrateful!!!... that he had given her pleasure and made her feel like a trussed-up turkey ... Oh, no, she wasn't going to give in to that; the pleasure was not going to supersede the indignity.

She wouldn't let it.

No matter how it sounded.

To her.

To Gerard ...

She fell on her back. If only he had taken me ...

If only he would come now and get it over with ...

He couldn't take much more of this. Or maybe he could, if he found a willing body to poke while he waited for his high-and-mighty wife to come around.

Plenty of willing bodies between St. Faubonne and New Orleans he could just see them, sassy, saucy vixens beckoning in the night, never hesitant to slide a hand up a man's pole to gauge the worth of what they had to sell.

He could settle for that, he could. A little sport, a quick spurt to relieve the tension and the ache, a wink and a kiss and he could be out the door, and nobody hurt.

But nobody with nipples like hers ...

nobody as naked and luscious-tasting as her ...

... nobody

Hell.

Maybe he'd have her for breakfast, he was that ravenous to possess her.

Maybe not, he thought, as he caught the expression on her face as Evie escorted her into the room.

A man couldn't ease up for a moment.

"Sit there," he ordered, pointing to an upholstered rectangular bench. "Straddle it. Eviebring over the little table, let her eat something, thank you."

"And coffee, Master Court?"

"Yes, thank you. Stay by for a moment, please."

"I'm not hungry," Drue said. "I want this damned collar off my neck."

"Eat, little fawn, you need your strength."

"I need an open window, a fan, and some clothes," she said in a petulant tone.

"She won't learn, will she," Court muttered, taking a biscuit and slathering it with butter and jam. "Well, I need to keep up my strength, little fawn. You almost sap the life out of me with your stubbornness."

"I hope so," she hissed.

"But not quite. As you can plainly see."

She saw. His whole body had bolted to life the moment she appeared on the threshold. And it just kept getting longer and stronger and harder as she stared at it.

An amazing thing

She bit into a biscuit with a ferocity that made him quiver.

Interesting ...

He sipped his coffee and pretended nothing had happened.

They could be any couple sharing breakfast, except that she was naked, wearing a thrall collar, and sat across a bench with her legs spread and her husband's eyes devouring her as greedily as he did his food.

"Evie."

"Master?"

"Do her hands now."

"What ... ?!" She was holding a cup and a biscuit, but Evie paid no mind; she grasped each wrist, and as the cup and biscuit fell to the floor, Evie firmly pulled her hands behind her and wound a satin tie around them.

"Thank you, Evie."

He watched through hooded eyes as Evie left them, firmly closing the door behind her; and then he turned his attention to Drue.

"Yes ..." he murmured. "Perfect."

Perfect the way her body arched and her breasts thrust forward because of her bound hands. Perfect how she had to press down against the fabric of the bench to keep her balance and her legs apart the way he liked them.

Perfect because her nipples were tight and hard with suppressed excitement and her eyes alive with curiosity and fury both at what he was going to do.

Maybe she knew.

Maybe she didn't.

He wanted those nipples.

He wanted her.

He dipped a finger in the jam pot, and pressed it against her nipple and began swirling it around the hard pleasure point.

She jerked away.

"Oh, no, little fawn. I will have this, too. I thought about it all night. Imagine it: me fantasizing about covering your nipples with jam so I can suck them. Hold still ... !" as she wrenched away from him.

He leapt up and straddled the bench behind her, holding her tightly against his hot hard chest with one hand, and reaching over to the jam pot with the other.

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10/9/2007

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