Ruthless (The House of Rohan 1)

His drawling words were silenced by her mouth against his. It was the first kiss she’d initiated, and it was clumsy, endearingly so, her soft lips against his, not quite on the mark. His cock jerked in her hand and she jumped away from him, startled. “Now go away,” she said. “You promised. ”

He smiled thinly. “I wasn’t aware that it was exactly a promise, but that’s enough for now. Perhaps next time you’ll tell me the truth about your deflowering. ”

She met his limpid gaze defiantly. “And why should I?”

“Because I want to know. And I always get what I want, my sweet. ” He leaned over and brushed a gentle kiss against her mouth, clinging for a moment, then removed her hand from between his legs and rose. “À bientôt. We’ll continue this on the morrow. ”

She stared up at him, and her lowered eyelids hid her expression. “Perhaps tomorrow your conscience or your sanity will have returned and you will arrange for me to join my sister. ”

“My conscience has been lost to the fires of hell for lo these many years. ”

“And your sanity?”

“I am,” he said, “quite mad about you, poppet. And I doubt anything will change that until I finally have you. But you needn’t worry I’ll force anything. The chase is as delicious as the capture. ”

He set her hand down, oh so gently, and strolled to the door, unlocking it and pocketing the key. “Good night, my dear. ”

She had been reading when he first disturbed her. She threw her book at him, a charming display of temper. He blew her a kiss, and disappeared into the hallway, a smile still lingering on his usually cool face.

20

Francis Rohan mounted the dais in the grand ballroom, slowly, surveying his assembled guests. He could recognize most of them. There were a number of new members to be welcomed into their hallowed halls, and he’d long ago lost interest in vetting them. Rolande was in charge of such things, and the newcomers were lined up, dressed like monks, with the ropes around their waists tied to each other. They alternated male and female, conveniently, though he doubted it would remain that way for long. He would sit in his chair and try to keep from drumming his fingers beneath the flowing lace cuffs, and watch while they went through their silly rituals, drinking from the sacred cup, a tacky piece of glass that was shaped like a phallus. He wasn’t quite sure what Rolande had planned next and he didn’t particularly care, as long as he wasn’t required to watch. He would stay long enough for his guests to scatter to their various pastimes and then he would visit his unwilling guest for more interesting sport.

There was only one thing that caught his attention. Marcus Harriman, Baron Tolliver, appeared to be missing. He was supposed to be one of the new members. Apparently he’d been a guest out at Château de Giverney during their last festivities, and acquitted himself well. And yet he’d suddenly chosen not to partake of the legendary pleasures of the Spring Revels? It didn’t fit with what Rolande had said.

Still, he wasn’t going to worry. Elinor had only met him once, and there’d been no offer of help forthcoming. If he felt any responsibility as head of the decimated Harriman family he appeared to have forgotten it, or doubtless he would have demanded that Elinor remove herself from his lustful clutches.

Except that Lord Tolliver had just as much interest in lust as he had. Perhaps more. All Rohan’s lustful feelings went in one direction and one alone. According to reports, Tolliver was more generous.

All this—frolicking, hadn’t Elinor called it?—would be going on for two weeks. The thought wearied him. At least he wouldn’t have to make an appearance more than once a day, to proclaim the motto and begin the Revels. He did so now, rising, his cloth-of-gold coat magnificent in the candlelight.

“Fais ce que tu voudras,” he pronounced the ancient words. “Do what thou wilt. ” The resounding cheer made the candles waver, and he smiled faintly.

And then he turned around and left, as the adjoining doors were opened, and the festivities began.

Charles Reading was in the library, sitting cross-wise on one of the leather chairs, his booted foot swinging, a glass of claret in his hand. “You didn’t stay?” he inquired idly.

“As you see. You didn’t attend?”

“As you see,” Reading replied evenly. “Are we getting old, Francis?”

“My boy, you’re a child compared to me,” he protested.

“Oh, give o’er, Francis!” he said in a lazy voice. “I’m eight years younger—scarcely a child. I wonder why you like to fancy yourself older and wiser than anyone else. His grace the Duke of Leicester is in attendance tonight, and I believe the old gentleman turned eighty. ”

“I gather his main pleasure at that advanced age is to simply watch,” Francis said, pouring himself a glass.

“Nothing wrong with that. ”

“Then why aren’t you there, watching? It might keep your mind off other things. ”

Charles sent him a dangerous look. “Other things such as what?”

“Such as your pathetic affection for Elinor’s sister. ”

“Elinor, is it? I hadn’t realized the two of you had become so…intimate,” he said with just the touch of a sneer.

Rohan refused to be offended. “I’m enjoy