Bertrice Small - Captivated

When it was over, he called her every vile name in his extensive repertoire, and after extricating herself from his still-rigid erection, she coolly said, "Your cooperation was greatly appreciated." Then she leaned forward and carved a bloody path down his cheek with the nail of her forefinger. "I understand retaliation, too, my lord," she murmured. "And if cursing would help, I'd add mine to yours." Sliding from the bed, she picked up her robe and slipped it on. "Your next scheduled orgasm is after breakfast," she remarked. "Pleasant dreams."

She disappeared through the door into an adjoining room, and, minutes later, Pierce entered through a door on the opposite wall. "Were you a spectator, too?" the marquis heatedly inquired.

"Not likely, sair. Such piquant sights are raffled off in the barracks. There's only so many observation points and the lady closed most o' them."

"Like slaves in a breeding shed," Hugh disgustedly spat, although he'd performed for spectators in the occasional orgy common to young, hot-blooded London bucks. "Get these bindings off so I can punch a hole in the wall."

"I wouldn't recommend it, sair," his batman gently responded. "Seein' as how you might need that there hand"his voice lowered to a whisper"for riding or shooting later, if you know what I mean."

At which point, the men's conversation continued in tones pitched too low for those listening outside the room.

The Princess Sofia dismissed her maids immediately as she entered her rooms and, lying on her bed, mentally checked off the first of sixty required encounters with the Marquis of Crewe. There was no point in bursting into tears, although she was very close to losing her composure. But her family depended on her, her mother in the most dire peril at the moment under her husband's guard, so she must see that this month with the marquis ended successfully.

Conception was a requirement. Once it was certain, her mother would be freed, and after that, there was always the hope in the following eight months she herself might find a way to escape. She had no intention of leaving a child under Marko's supervision, and she desperately hoped the world was large enough for refuge once that time came.

Morning arrived too early; she begrudged the sun shining into her room, and no matter the glory of the spring day, her mood was dismal. She slowly dressed herself, unable to face the necessity of talking to the servants. And she wondered what would happen if she didn't appear in the breakfast room as scheduled. But her mother was a pawn in this dangerous game, so she did what was expected of her.

The marquis was in a glowering mood, the wound on his face prominent even against his tanned skin.

"You'd think in this pile of rooms, we wouldn't be required to eat together," he growled as she entered the sunny chamber.

"Take your complaints up with my husband. He has a droll sense of humor."

"He's a sadist, you mean."

"How astute, my lord. You noticed. Although I see, your sullen mood hasn't affected your appetite," she insolently added. His plate was piled high with bacon, kippers, ham, eggs scrambled with mushrooms and tomato. He was buttering a croissant, not his first apparently from the debris of crumbs at his plate.

He looked up from his buttering, his mouth set in a grimace. "Let's hope you start puking soon and this charade can come to an end."

"One can but hope," she sardonically replied, the sight of food curiously unpalatable. It was impossible, of course, that she could be pregnant after a single encounter with the marquis, but when the first sip of her morning coffee turned her nauseous, she wondered if all his rumored bastards were indeed the result of a remarkable virility. They ate together in silence, or rather he ate and she picked at a piece of dried toast, her lack of appetite eventually coming to his attention.

"If you don't eat," he nastily said, "you'll faint when next you climax."

"I may not," she coolly replied.

His brow lifted in loathsome irony. "Faint?"

Her own brows delicately rose. "Does it bother you if I have an orgasm?"

He debated his answer for a moment, not sure why he was offended beyond his captive status. "Yes. Don't ask me why," he honestly added.

"It seems to me I should get some pleasure from this ordeal."

"Ordeal?" he skeptically repeated. "You could have fooled me."

"Would you like me to compliment you on your physical prowess? I didn't realize you were so vain."

He wasn't, and another niggling second passed while he wondered at his indignant response to the princess's passion. "How many lovers have you had?" The impulsive question surprised him, but he didn't retract it.

"Not as many as you. There are records and there are records," she gently noted. "I'm very much outclassed by your repute."

"And you've never become pregnant?"

"I wouldn't have dared. Marko has very strong feelings about pure bloodlines."

"And yours are pure?"

"How rude you are."

"You're much too beautiful." It was his first civil remark.

"You mean only chorus girls and actresses look like this."

"Generally, yes."

"And you should know."

"And I should know."

"My family is Hungarian on my mother's side and noted for their favorable matches."

"If they all look like you, I can see why. So Marko has money."

"That's what favorable means, my lord. You know that better than most. My father's family is Venetian; they settled in Dalmatia long ago and gave numerous counts to the Hapsburg court as envoys to Venice. Does that suitably satisfy your standards?"

"I have no standards as you no doubt know," he replied, rude once again, his brief moment of compassion revoked by recall of the compulsion behind his visit to the country. "Although under other circumstances, you and I might have had a damned good tumble in the hay."

"Have you dispensed with your recent attempt at celibacy?"

"Temporarily, it seems. Will your husband's schedule permit another cup of coffee before the next fuck?" he insolently inquired.

"As long as you don't take too long," she replied, snide and oversweet.

When the guards came into the breakfast room shortly after, he stood and sketched her a brief bow. "Until we meet again, Madame," he impudently murmured. "On stage."

It minutely salved his anger to see her furiously blush, a minor concession to his umbrage, but satisfying. And after he'd entered his bedroom, he held the guards at bay with an upturned palm, undressing himself this time. He preferred not being touched by other men, a fact he explained to them in fluent Italian. Since she was from Dalmatia, he assumed Italian would serve as a bridge between the guards' native tongue and English.

"We have our orders," their leader explained, his tone mildly apologetic.

"Everyone does, do they not with Prince Marko," he dryly retorted. "But tell him when next you see him that I'm coming to kill him once this is over." The marquis stood eye-to-eye with the tall guard, their gazes both unflinching.

"I'll tell him," the man replied, "in a month. Do you need to be tied?"

"If you want me to stay."

"I thought so." And the trooper nodded his head toward the bed.

The tying was swift and efficient, everyone civil, accomplished at their tasks, and then the marquis was left to wait for the prospective mother of his child. He shouldn't have been left alone so long, for the added interval gave him unwanted opportunities to recall their heated coupling of the previous night. The princess was flamboyantly sexual, hot-blooded, unbridled in her response. Irresistible to a man of libertine propensities. His thoughts fluctuated equivocally between provocative arousal and hot-tempered annoyance, but he was realistic enough to wonder how long his annoyance would last once she stood before him in all her naked glory.