The Scandal You Started, page 4
With her expression now hidden behind a curtain of rosewood-coloured hair as she coughed and gulped for air, his attention went to the rest of her.
Crystals of shock and confusion crackled through his muscles, freezing him in place.
What the bloody woods is she wearing?
Sprawled on the floor with her hands barely holding her body up, her tangled legs were wrapped in pale grey…trousers? At least, that was the only item of clothing he knew of that the wide-legged fabric resembled. They were newly in fashion, and he’d only really seen the dandies of the ton wearing them.
But why on Neves was a woman wearing trousers in the first place, let alone such awful, ill-fitting ones that looked like one leg could fit two of hers?
What she wore on her torso was far worse, though.
Dominic had no means to describe the fitted fabric. Dark forest green in colour, it had the shortest damned sleeves, displaying her smooth, warm golden arms and delicate wrists, one of which was wrapped in a thin gold chain. The fabric was also tucked into her trousers. But it wasn’t a corset or stay—he knew that because her ample breasts and the softness of her belly sat comfortably rather than being bound in a cage of stiff cloth or bone.
Even more confusing were the slippers she wore on her feet. White and flat, they had strings zigzagging through several holes before being tied in a bow. The same way the neckline of his linen shirt might have been had he bothered to present himself properly.
Nothing about her way of dressing made any sense, nor resembled what was typical for a woman. And he was by no means an uptight prig, but even he was finding her clothing insanely improper and scandalous.
Dominic shuffled awkwardly on his feet, raising his eyes away from her because, as much as he loved a woman’s body, he felt rather coarse staring at her.
Well…coarse for only a second apparently, because intrigue and confusion had him shamelessly eyeing her again.
He swallowed as his brows settled low over his eyes. “What the deuces are you wearing?” he scolded.
She didn’t answer or move from her sprawled position. Understandably, considering he’d nearly drained the life from her. So he put his hands on his hips, allowing her a while longer to gather herself before he demanded an answer again.
When she slowly raised her head, Dominic swayed the slightest bit forward, ready for her explanation. Instead, he received silence from her…
And a solid blow to the chest as her hair slipped away to reveal her face.
A single breath passed between his lips as his lungs locked up and shut down shop, leaving his heart to pound against the closed doors like an entitled customer.
His hands slipped off his hips, losing all their strength.
Oh, she's...beautiful.
Not fashionably so—blonde, small-faced, blue-eyed with delicate features and milky skin—but still, she was a beauty in her own right. Even with the redness painted over her warm golden cheeks and nose, and the bloodshot look in her catlike brown eyes.
If they could be called brown, that is, because they seemed almost charcoal. Like the colour of bark in a crowded forest on a misty morning. The fog distorted the individual wisps of brown, turning them dark and indistinguishable, only definable when one stood close enough.
And Dominic wasn’t close enough, but gosh, did he suddenly find himself compelled to be.
If not to count the number of shades that formed her irises, then to feel the long, painted lashes that fanned her eyes, now wet from unshed tears. Or to trace the confidently arched brows that weren’t quite as dark as her eyes or lashes.
She had a stronger nose than what might have been deemed feminine, but it paired well with her gorgeously proportioned mouth, her upper lip peaked so prettily, and the bottom supple. All set on a full face with high cheekbones, framed by long, wavy, rosewood-coloured hair, a few shorter locks kissing her cheeks.
He was struck breathless—speechless—by her exquisiteness. But that only confused him further.
What was this lovely creature, so scantily dressed, doing in his holding cell?
“Who…who are you?” he said, his voice far softer than before.
For several quiet beats, she stared at him before finally pushing herself further upright. Her throat, marred with pink, shifted, then she opened her mouth, presumably to speak. But besides a hoarse little exhale, no other sound came out.
Her glassy eyes stilled, and she clapped her lips together again. A million thoughts seemed to rush through her stare like a speeding phaeton, but he couldn’t pinpoint any of them.
Then she turned her head, and he followed her direction to the tray on the table. He glanced back at her, and she was tapping the centre of her chest with one hand.
Was she telling him she’d brought the tray in? Wait, was she a—
His brows knotted as his head reared back. “You are a maid?”
As soon as the bewildered question left his mouth, he knew it was absurd.
Of course she isn’t a maid.
It wasn’t just the way her face fell into a bland stare of judgement, making his shoulders widen in defence of his blunder. But there was something about the way she held herself with poise, that could almost be likened to that of a well-bred lady, even despite her lack of attire.
Maybe it was the self-possessed tilt of her chin.
Was she a harlot then?
Dominic almost scoffed aloud at the thought.
Now, why on Neves would his kidnappers send him a prostitute to play with? Unless this was their attempt at trying to tame his anger at being locked up for a fortnight.
Maybe she worked with them?
But who were they anyway? Where had that bastard River Harris, who’d lured him with the promise of a profitable investment, gone? Where and to whom had he bloody damn brought him? And what the deuces did these people think they could get out of him by keeping him there?
He had so many questions. And maybe this little woman could answer some of them.
If he could get her to talk, that was.
Dominic closely followed her gestures again as she jabbed a finger back in the direction of the tray and then made a C shape with her hand and lifted it to her mouth like she was drinking something.
Oh, water. She wanted the glass of water.
Dammit, why had I not thought of that?
“Of course,” he said and took two swift steps to the table attached to the seamless blue flooring. He swiped up the tall cylinder, gently jostling the liquid inside, then headed back to her.
Rather than placing it in her outstretched hand, he folded his body into a crouch, balancing himself on one knee. She drew back into herself, her eyes narrowing with distrust, but he offered her a gentle smile and held the glass before her mouth.
“Allow me, please,” he encouraged, tilting it towards her lips.
She hesitated, but then, tentatively, without removing her beautiful eyes from his, placed her tightly pressed mouth to the glass. If it hadn’t been for the wince her brows twisted in, he might not have realised she’d actually taken a sip. Leaning back, she ever so softly cleared her throat and winced again, and fuck, because he felt it in his chest as an acute stab.
He’d hurt a woman.
That was unfathomable. Unforgivable.
It went against everything he stood for, every ounce of respect he’d always been taught to show women. Why hadn’t he bloody looked at her before reacting? How could he have been so reckless with his anger?
Dominic swallowed around his guilt and moved the glass to her again. “Take another sip, sweetheart.” She shook her head, but he nudged the rim against her lips anyway. “Just a small one. Come on.”
There was a momentary flicker of defiance in her stare, but she took a small drink, then gently urged his hand away.
Placing the glass down on the floor, he dipped his head to look her right in the eyes. “How do you feel?”
She tilted her head and squinted, then shrugged. “Not bad, but not particularly great either,” was what he could only assume she meant.
“Please accept my sincerest apologies,” he said. “Had I realised you were a woman, I would never have reacted so violently.” He huffed an amused sound, one corner of his mouth lifting. “Not that you resemble a man in any way. But I did not wait long enough to see that. And for that, I am truly sorry.”
Beckoned by the strand of hair clinging to her lashes, Dominic gently skimmed his blunt fingers across her forehead and over the shell of her pink-tipped ear, tucking the lock out of the way. And bloody woods, her hair was so silky, and her earlobe looked biteable with a single small, looped earring in it.
He didn’t want to move his hand away, only wanted to pet her some more, but when her brows puckered in a frown, he curled his fingers into his lap, not wishing to frighten her further.
“Might you be willing to accept my apology and forgive me?” he prompted.
As her forehead smoothed out, she nodded.
His mouth spread into a wide smile. “Thank you.” Then he placed his upturned palm before her. “Shall we get you on your feet?”
The lovely creature settled her small hand in his larger, bandaged one. Dominic gently squeezed her fingers, supporting her as she leveraged herself. But once she’d managed to shuffle onto her knees, he looped his arm around her waist and pulled them both into a standing position in one swift move.
She let out the softest gasp and wobbled against him, gripping his bicep with her free hand for balance. Without thinking, without being able to stop himself, his arm cinched her flush against him. And gosh, he nearly groaned like a lusty fiend as his body greedily mapped hers.
Oh, sweet soil of Neves, she was most definitely not wearing a stay of any kind.
Through the pathetic fabric of her…shirt—whatever the damned thing was—he could feel the heat and suppleness of her skin as if she were naked.
The generous curve of her hips. The graspable fullness of her thighs bracketed between his. And the delightful dip in her waist that made him want to fall to his knees and nibble on her. There was this vanilla-cherry scent wafting off her in the sweetest of waves too, and he couldn’t help but wonder if it was coming from the valley between her plump breasts squashed against his chest or the delicate crook of her neck. Or maybe from the tender spot just under her ear…
Gosh, she was a marvel.
Not quite coming up to his shoulders, she was forced to tip her head back to look him in the eyes. Nonetheless, she fit splendidly against him. So soft, pliant, and feminine against all the hard, rigid lines of his person. Like she was made for him.
She was everything he loved and desired in a woman epitomised.
Moulded right from the images that haunted his fantasies.
And that knowledge ignited him.
Like an anchor breaking through the surface of the sea, the initial impact sent thrashing waves of warmth in every direction, from his pounding heart to the twitching tips of his fingers and the lowest depths of his loins.
For the first time in what he had counted to be two weeks, he felt no fear or anger.
He felt desire, warm and potent in his blood, replacing the terrors of the past fourteen or so days with blissfully erotic thoughts of this mesmerising woman.
He’d never felt anything quite like it before in his life.
Having steadied herself, the woman, whose name he had yet to discover, pushed against him, trying to free herself from his hold. But he refused to release her. Couldn’t. In fact, he clamped his fingers tighter into her waist and held her a little closer, forgetting all proper etiquette.
“What is your name, sweetheart?” Dominic asked, his voice as thick as syrup.
The pushing and twisting of her hands didn’t quite stop, even though she fell still. “Ray—” she started, but a croak stole her voice away. After a moment, she tried again. “My name…is Rayna.”
Oh, her voice was charming too.
A little hoarse and raw, but sweet with a seductive, husky undertone. Not at all fake and high-pitched like most of the debutantes Mother Penny, his loving stepmother, tried to introduce him to as marriageable prospects. All out of the goodness of her heart, but still.
A jolt of arousal darted through his stomach at the thought of her—of Rayna—moaning and crying as she writhed underneath him, taking him deep in her most secret, precious place.
Dominic’s heavy, burning eyes darted over her head to the pathetic excuse of a bed tucked in the corner of his holding cell before dropping back down to her.
One very certain idea vibrated through the string tying his head to his groin.
He didn’t care who Rayna was to his kidnappers—he wanted her.
And he was going to have her on that rubbish bed, hoping it didn’t break under the hours of strain he intended to put it through.
But in the process of seducing her out of her clothes, he was also hoping she would willingly solve his unanswered questions about where he was and why.
Chapter 5
Rayna
Why is he looking at me like that?
Ever since she’d told Lord Norland her name, his honey-coloured eyes had taken on this dark, sleepy smokiness, and his pupils had expanded, almost consuming the entirety of his irises. Not to mention, no matter how much she pushed, he was refusing to release her, his hand massaging her waist in such a slow rhythm it was almost as if he were doing it subconsciously. And he wore the faintest, drugged smile too.
If she didn’t know any better, she would’ve said—
“You have a beautiful name, sweetheart,” Lord Norland purred.
The blatant suggestion in his deep, rich voice stabbed through Rayna’s midsection, releasing a torrent of prickling understanding.
Oh, for fuck’s sake.
That was the expression and timbre of a horny man.
Great! The bloody damned marquess had gone from wanting to kill her to wanting her full stop. And fuck, it was wrong on so many levels, but her body was reacting to the clench and release pattern of his caressing hand, softening and warming right between her thighs.
It was a quiet tingle, but it was very much shockingly present when it wasn’t supposed to be.
She had to defuse the situation immediately before it escalated past control.
His control. Not hers. Because no fucking way was she ever going to let herself lust for a Study. No matter how good-looking he was.
Rayna locked her elbows with renewed purpose, trying to break out of Lord Norland’s hold, but it was near impossible.
The man was huge, his body all hard, powerful muscle against her. At five-foot-four, she was neither small nor tall, but her gaze only came level with his sternum, and the breadth of his shoulders was ridiculous. He wasn’t quite barrel-chested, but he was sturdy and wide, and his arms were as dense as steel beams. If he enveloped her in them both, she would have found herself completely buried against him with no escape route. Heck, one arm had her feeling like she was fighting to move three tonnes of weight.
He was strong. Dangerously, irritatingly, deliciously so.
No! Not delicious. Not that.
Realising she was losing what little energy she had left trying to free herself, Rayna gave up pushing. She had no choice but to rely on Lord Norland’s embrace to keep her steady as she breathed like she’d been running for miles.
He’d come very close to causing her some serious damage. Thankfully, she was still able to swallow and speak, which was a good sign, but her throat was definitely going to be sore for the next day or so. Ash would have to examine her to make sure though.
“Let go of me,” she rasped.
“Hmm,” he hummed almost to himself, a mischievous twinkle dancing through his eyes. “I have been considering doing so with all your impatient squirming. But if I may be honest, I have no real desire to release you.” His mouth tipped wolfishly as he lowered his face over hers. “You feel ever so exquisite in my arms, sweet Rayna.”
A blush bloomed on her cheeks for reasons Rayna would never be able to explain, and it grated on her nerves that he’d managed to elicit such a response from her. It had to be as a result of the situation, so damn baffling that it’d rewired her emotions into all the wrong sockets.
That would explain the soft fluttering just above her sex too.
With the way his grin widened in smug satisfaction, she knew he’d noticed her pinkened skin, which churned her embarrassment into gnawing frustration.
“I must admit, though, while I am pleased that you are now here,” he continued, “I am very curious to know what brought you to my holding cell. Did someone send you here?”
She lifted her chin stubbornly. “Let me go, and I’ll explain.”
One of his brows quirked with feigned consideration. “You make a tempting offer. But I would prefer to listen to your answer while still holding you.”
A low snarl formed at the base of her throat, but she shoved it back into the fragile cage that housed her temper and let out a slow, silent exhale.
Be nice, Rayna. He’s a Study, and he’s been locked up for two weeks, remember?
Yeah, well, he nearly fucking killed me so…
“I haven’t completely recovered from what just happened, Lord Norland,” she said firmly in a bid to rekindle his earlier remorse. “I need to sit down.”
His smile dampened. “I understand.”
Finally.
Or not.
Because Lord Norland released her from his clutches, but he didn’t actually let go of her.
Instead, the horny fucking bastard tucked one fat arm under her arse and lifted her off the floor like some circus muscle man showing off his brawn.
Rayna squeaked and jerked into his thick frame, her hands instinctively fisting his linen shirt over his shoulders as she seesawed on the seat of his forearm.
“Easy there,” he said with a faint chuckle, spreading a large hand between her shoulder blades and nudging her even closer until there was barely an inch between their faces.
The delight that deepened the shades of yellow in his amber-ringed eyes set off a bomb in Rayna’s pulse, but this time she couldn’t quite contain her outrage.
