Unlocked (Turner 1.5)

He was scarcely capable of thinking at all.

“Well,” he said, “I can tell you what I want you to do. I want you to kiss me.”

Her pupils dilated.

“I want you to run your hands under my shirt. I want you over me. I want to taste you, and I definitely want to be inside of you.”

“Do you?” Her voice shook.

“If I’m to list the things I want, I want to own your quiet possession,” he continued, “and drive the wariness from your eyes.”

She swayed just a little at those words.

“But you didn’t ask me what I wanted. You asked what I thought you would do.”

“And what do you think I will do? Do you think I will kiss you? Touch you?”

He smiled at her. “No. I didn’t really think you had planned to lose your virginity to me over a wine spill. I think you are planning to walk out that door, leaving me tied to my own bed.”

Her eyes widened and she took a step back. “If you knew, then why did you agree?”

He couldn’t even shrug properly. “You wanted me vulnerable. I suppose I owed you that much.”

“No.” She shook her head violently. “No. You can’t trick me into this. I know how you are. You’ll pretend to be kind. All the while, you’ll coax me into exposing myself, and once I do—”

“And what if I don’t?”

She didn’t hear him, though. She paced away, and then turned back to him, her cheeks flushed once more. “It is not going to be easy for you, not any longer. I am done being the butt of your jokes.” She glared at him.

“That much,” he said quietly, “I can safely promise you.”

“I don’t know why I ever feared you.” She gave him a wintry smile. “You always were a bit slow around me. And…you always did watch my bosom. If I had realized you were so easily led years ago…” She shook her head. “But never mind that.” She took the last steps to the door and then opened it. “Good night,” she said.

The door shut behind her.

Evan inhaled night air and pulled at his arms. There was barely any give in the rope. He was burning from head to toe. But it was not just the fire of want that he felt inside him.

He turned his hands in his bonds, feeling the fibers rub against the naked skin of his wrists. He didn’t bother to try to break free. The rope he used could hold more than two thousand pounds; he’d always insisted on good gear. For all that he wanted to swear in sheer frustrated lust, he felt a grudging smile play over his lips.

Damn, but she was good. He hadn’t actually supposed she could tie a knot—but she’d surprised him. She had always surprised him.

Ten years ago, during that awful first Season of hers…

But remembering what he’d done was enough to rob him of all enjoyment of the evening. That thought was less comfortable than the ropes that bound him. Still, he twisted his left hand about and got to work.

Chapter Five

Elaine eased open the door to their small upstairs sitting room once more.

The lights had been doused and nothing but navy-blue shadows awaited her. Her mother must have gone to bed and sent Mary away. Elaine sighed and fumbled with her gown in the darkness. Mary had already loosened it; she needed only to push it over her petticoats before it slid to the floor in an ignominious heap. And what did it matter if the silk crumpled, stained as it was?

She attacked the more delicate matter of her corset, twisting so as to undo complicated laces in the dark. And then a figure near the window straightened.

“Elaine?”

“Mama.” Elaine paused, uncertain of her reception.

“Oh, Elaine.” Her mother moved closer, reaching out. Their fingertips met in the darkness, and then her mother pulled her close. She could feel her mother’s heartbeat, the desperate tide of her breathing.

Any other parent would have demanded to know where she had been. Her mother was just glad to have her back—with no uncomfortable questions about what she’d been doing in that state of dishabille.

And thank God that she didn’t have to answer queries as to her whereabouts. With her mother’s arms around her, she could remember what she’d let herself forget these last hours: that even though her mother would never comprehend the complexities of society, it brought her grief to know her daughter was unhappy. Her mother stroked her back, and in return, Elaine held her tightly. She wasn’t sure who was comforting whom. She didn’t know whose pain it was anymore.

“I never knew,” her mother murmured into her ear. “I’m sorry. I don’t understand when people laugh. I always thought they laughed because they were happy.” She spoke in rueful bafflement.

“There, there,” Elaine heard herself say.

“I know there are some things I don’t understand. Maybe, if it hadn’t been for me, you would have been the belle of the Season. Although—” Elaine could almost hear her frown “—I still do not understand why you are not. Are you sure you are not?”

“If it hadn’t been for you, I would have given up years ago.”

“I won’t give my lecture tomorrow.”

Elaine swallowed and thought of what might await her on the morning. Not so far away, Lord Westfeld was tied to his bed. She’d left him there. She still didn’t understand what had happened between them. She’d thought him so arrogant, so sure of himself and his own golden attraction. She had thought him so confident that he could despoil her, if only she gave him a little trust.

She had meant to teach him a little lesson.

But he’d made even her revenge feel flat. It wasn’t just that he was handsome. It wasn’t just that once he’d shed his jacket, the muscles of his arms were visible through his shirt. She could easily imagine him as a mountaineer, holding onto a bit of rock and pulling himself up with one hand. But as strong as he looked, when he had been tied up before her, she’d felt full-blown want. She could have touched him anywhere, done anything to him—and he couldn’t hurt her back. A dangerous thought.

An illusion, too. He’d never made her fear any physical danger—not even tonight. No, the danger in him was precisely the opposite: that he made her want to trust him, want to believe in him. But he was her enemy. And when tomorrow came, he would be angry and more implacable than ever.

On the morrow, her mother was supposed to deliver a lecture on comets. What would he do about that?

“We can leave,” her mother said. “It would just be a day early.”

She could flee.

But no. Elaine took a deep breath and set her hands on her mother’s shoulders. “We’ll stay. You will face them all, and you will tell them about your comet. I shall applaud you in all sincerity.” If nobody else clapped, she would cheer loud enough for everyone. What was the worst that could happen?

Westfeld could ruin her if he told anyone she’d been in his chambers alone. But at this moment, the thought of being cast out of polite society seemed more blessing than curse.

Her mother’s arm tightened about her. “If you want me to do it,” she said, “then I shan’t care about anything else.” And so for the second time that evening, Elaine was kissed—this time, just the dry touch of her mother’s lips against her forehead, sweet and without complication.

It was amazing how different the world looked to Elaine when she stopped dreading the future. She didn’t have to pretend to join the

ladies at breakfast—although the conversation she overheard was sadly devoid of gossip about a certain earl being found tied to his bedposts. She went walking with her mother in the morning; in the afternoon she helped her prepare for her lecture. When evening came around, she sat in the front row.

The chairs had been set up in the ballroom, but tonight Elaine had no desire to contemplate the walls. Instead, she took pleasure in hearing the brilliant Lady Stockhurst speak. Everyone else might giggle at the light that came into her mother’s eyes, or the excited way she jumped from topic to topic. But Elaine drank in the sight.

Still, she was all too aware of Westfeld, sitting a few chairs behind her. He was close enough that she could imagine the heat wafting from his body, could almost feel the echo of his kiss on her mouth. She’d given herself leave not to care if he insulted her. But aside from sketching her a tiny bow from across the room, he’d not made the slightest attempt to seek his revenge. That seeming benevolence made her nervous. After last night, his vengeance would come. It had to.

And sure enough, when her mother had come to a breathless halt, and she asked if there were any questions, he was the one who stood.

He could not hurt Elaine. But if he hurt her mother, she would claw his eyes out in front of the entire crowd.

“Lady Stockhurst,” he said, and Elaine cringed—the respect in his voice must have been false. “In your calculations of the periodicity of the orbit, you assumed it was purely elliptical. What effect does the gravitational pull of the larger planets have on your calculation?”

Was that an insult? Did it hurt? Elaine held her breath and frowned.

But a sunny smile burst over her mother’s face. “What an excellent question! I have been calculating second-order perturbations since February, and…”

And she was off, bubbling over with excitement and mathematics that Elaine scarcely comprehended.

Westfeld simply watched. He was still standing; instead of exchanging looks with his cousin, he nodded as she spoke. His civility made Elaine feel uncomfortable. What was he planning?