Bertrice Small - Captivated

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, soonshe 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.

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 herselfas if she couldfor 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. Noclothes. 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."