Bertrice Small - Captivated

When Sofia came into the room, a cool self-possession masked the tumult of her feelings. "I don't know if I can do this," she quietly said, standing just inside the door. Only the pressure of her mother's welfare had brought her back to this room.

"But they're watching."

"Perhaps."

"You don't strike me as naive," Hugh mocked. "Maybe we should just chat about the weather," he silkily went on, "and see how long it takes before someone comes in and forces us to copulate."

"Right now I dearly wish I were an orphan." She hadn't moved from the door, her hands pressed to the wood as if seeking strength from the sturdy oak. Her white dimity robe lent her an air of touching innocence, the blue ribbon in her tousled hair slightly askew, like that of a fey maiden.

How did she do it, he wonderedalter so completely from incarnate sexuality to this trembling, unsure adolescent with high color on her cheeks?

"How old are you?" His gruff voice sounded very loud in the silence.

She looked up, startled, seeming to forget where she was. "Today?" she queried as though getting her bearings. "Much too old," she added in a whisper.

"Tell me."

"A million years old," she simply said, her green gaze distant.

"I'm twenty-seven."

"I know. You were twenty-seven in March. I read the dossier."

"You're younger, aren't you?"

"No." Her brows tilted upward in whimsy. "But thank you."

"Should I guess?"

"No, it doesn't matter. Nothing matters," she breathed, her voice trailing away.

"Are you all right?" A modicum of concern infused his voice, but he caught himself in time, not about to allow himself sympathy, and as her eyes flared wide in astonishment at the compassion in his tone, he'd already lapsed into a moody scowl.

"You were almost human for a moment," she murmured. "Don't worry, I won't tell anyone."

"Are you going to stand there all morning?" he gruffly muttered, wanting her when he shouldn't. But he'd lived too long in the world of privilege to question what he wanted.

"Are you ready then?"

He couldn't help but smile at her naiveté, his teeth flashing white against his tanned skin. "Come and see," he whispered.

"Should I draw the drapes?"

His gaze flitted from them to her, and he shook his head. "Unless you want to," he hastily addedhis first small courtesy.

"I'm sorry about the scratch," she offered in turn, her hand fluttering upward briefly toward his face.

"This is turning too civil," he teased.

"You prefer angry women?"

"I prefer seeing that robe on the floor."

"Please, don't be coy," she returned, smiling for the first time… in an age. "I can't untie you, can I?"

"Not really," he said with a boyish smile. "But you can kiss me if you like."

Such delicious charm, she thought, even in this extremity. How lethal his allure must be under more gracious circumstances. "What makes you think I want to kiss you?" she asked, the merest flirtation in her tone.

"I can tell," he said, his dark gaze amused.

"Because every woman wants to kiss you?"

"When I'm nice they do."

"Like now."

"You noticed."

How could she not. He exuded joy and warmth along with a tantalizing sexuality. Not to mention that he was the most beautiful man she'd ever seen. "Do women ever say no to you?"

"Only one," he said with a beguiling smile. "And I'm trying to coax her nearer right now."

"So your record won't be spoiled."

"So I can fuck her," he wickedly replied.

Irrepressible desire trembled through her body, memory a powerful impulse.

"If you sit on me," he murmured, "I'll let you come as many times as you like." His gaze flickered downward toward his swelling erection.

"I shouldn't want this," she whispered, transfixed by the riveting sight.

"And I shouldn't be here, but… since I am," he quietly noted, "and since you are"his heated glance slowly traveled down her body"why not make the best of it."

"I should refuse."

"I know. So should I. Tell me how strange this is."

"It's strange," she quietly agreed.

"Tell me about it at closer range," he softly suggested, his smile ravishing with promise.

Pushing away from the door, she responded to his heated smile, to his stark beauty, to the mesmerizing lure of his enormous erection. Her robe trailed across the pale Aubusson carpet as she moved from the door to the bed, a small, incipient joy beginning to warm her senses. "Tell me this is all right," she hesitantly murmured.

"This is very fine," he breathed. All the rest was hellish, he thought, but even thin-skinned and moody, he recognized the rarity of emotion drawing them together. "Come sit by me."

When she did, she placed her hand on his thigh as if she needed solid reassurance, as if his strength could sustain them both. "I don't want to take my robe off," she said, her voice low, strained.

"Then don't."

"I had to last night… because"

"I know."

"They may be watching."

"What's the commanding guard's name?"

"Gregory."

"Gregory! Fucking shut the closures!" he shouted in Italian. "The lady would like some privacy!"

The scraping sound of closing apertures indicated assent, and Hugh pleasantly murmured, "Now we can get to know each other better."

"He must like you."

"Or dislike your husband. Which apparently isn't very hard from the sounds of it. Gregory and I have an understanding," he said with a mischievous wink.

"I still don't want to take my robe off."

"You don't trust them to shut all the peepholes?"

"One learns not to trust anyone."

"How long have you been married?"

"Fifteen years."

"Good God. You must have been a child. How frightening for you."

"The marriage settlement was considerable."

"I'm sure it was," he cynically murmured.

For a flashing moment, the pain shone in her eyes, but as quickly it was shuttered away. "He's often away."

"I could protect you from him."

She shook her head. "You don't understand."

"Show me the way out of here," he quickly said, "and I guarantee your safety."

"I can't. He has my mother."

His surprise showed. "As hostage?"

"Until I return pregnant."

"And then what?"

"He releases her."

His gaze narrowed. "Can you trust him to do that?"

She nodded again.

"Jesus," he muttered on a slow exhalation of breath.

"Does your life look more pleasant now?"

"Untie me," he abruptly ordered.

She withdrew her hand and marginally distanced herself from him, her fear apparent. "I don't dare after last night."

"I give you my word. I won't run."

She contemplated him for a lengthy moment, wanting to believe there were honorable people in the world. "Lord Crewe… what if you're lying?"

"I wouldn't do that to youto your mother," he softly added.

His quiet addendum convinced her, as did the tenderness in his eyes. "We both suffer if you renege," she quietly warned.

"Don't worry. I'll take care of you."

Her eyes glistened with tears. No one had taken care of her for a very long time. With the death of her father, her family had been left unprotected. "Thank you," she softly said. "But I'm not your responsibility."

"You are now," he brusquely answered. "Untie me."

But when she released him, he put his finger to his mouth, rose from the bed, and carefully surveyed the room to see if they were being observed.

Her heart beat wildly while he moved about the large chamber, not certain he would keep his word and stay, her thoughts in such chaos, she couldn't separate joy from fear, desire from anxiety. Nor understand why she was sitting, hands clasped tightly in her lap, shivering, trembling for him.

When he'd offered to care for her, she'd blindly wanted him to, like a heedless young maiden. But harsh reality wouldn't allow such fantasies for longnot with a husband like hers. And a wave of sadness washed over her, the emptiness of her future devastating to consider.