Breathless (The House of Rohan 3)

“Miranda, my love,” his voice came through the darkness like a seductive snake. “Come join me and give your dear friend more room. ”

“I’m quite fine where I am. ”

“But I’m not. ” With luck Jane wouldn’t recognize the hint of steel in his voice. She wanted to continue the charade that this was a voluntary elopement for as long as possible, and refusing would be to call his bluff.

With an audible sigh she rose, just as the carriage hit a stone, tossing her against Lucien. He caught her easily, and even in the darkness she could see a glint of his smile. “That’s one of the many things I love about you, my darling. Your reluctance and your enthusiasm. ” He settled her onto the seat next to him, his arm around her shoulder, clamping her body against his, his heat pouring through her. “That’s right,” he whispered in her ear. And then, to her shock, he bit it, not hard, catching the lobe between his teeth lightly, and she jerked in reaction.

Thank God Jane couldn’t see what he’d done. “Miss Pagett, are you comfortable?” he asked, all solicitude, as he pulled the capacious fur throw over them.

“Yes, thank you,” Jane said sleepily. Jane was looking decidedly unwell, and Miranda had the uncharitable wish that Jane’s stomach would erupt, as well. Please, Jane, cast up your accounts all over his elegant Hessian boots.

Jane sniffled, coughing a little, but the ride was smooth enough to keep nausea at bay. She would be asleep in moments, Miranda thought, and that was all for the best.

Perhaps she could induce nausea on her own. She could think back to Christopher’s hands on her, the ugliness of his member, the pain of his penetration, the sheer awfulness of lying beneath his naked, hairy, sweating body as he pumped away at her.

But unbidden came the memory of Lucien’s erection, planted at the juncture of her thighs, and even through the layers of clothes he seemed substantially bigger than her erstwhile lover. Christopher had hurt her—Lucien would tear her apart. What in God’s name was she going to do?

“Stop twitching,” he murmured sleepily in the ear he’d just nipped. “We’ve got a long way to go, and I, for one, would like to pass some of it in sleep. ”

“What about Jane?” she fretted.

“She’s already asleep, and it’s clearly nothing more than a slight cold. I’ve sent word to her family that she’s accompanying you on a visit to a dear friend and will return in a few days. It should set their minds at ease, at least for a time. ”

“They’ll be terrified. Jane and I always had the capacity for getting into trouble. ”

“Then when the truth comes out they won’t be that surprised. ” He pressed her head against his shoulder, and while she wanted to pull away she knew he’d simply force her, and in truth it settled there quite comfortably. “Go to sleep, my angel. It will give you strength to fight me in the morning. ”

And with that sage advice, she did.

11

She dreamed, of course. Curled up beside her enemy, she dreamed of Christopher St. John, his handsome face with its weak chin and his ugly hands. He was chasing her through a forest, and she was naked, nothing but her hip-length hair as covering. And as she ran she tried to pick leaves to hide her nakedness, but they fell off, and she kept running, toward some mysterious safety in the distance. She could feel Christopher gaining on her, smell the ugly sweat-smell of his body, and she knew his thick hands were reaching out for her, catching her hair with a painful yank, and then suddenly she was free, hurtling forward against safety, a warm body with arms that enclosed her. He smelled of leather and spices and warm male skin that was a far cry from Christopher’s foul odor, and she looked up with love into Lucien’s scarred face.

Her eyes flew open in shock, wide-awake. He was asleep beside her, thankfully unaware of her insane dreams, and his arm was loose around her. She tried to edge away, certain he slept on, but his short, sharp “don’t” disabused her of that notion.

“I need to stretch,” she whispered. “And I want to check on Jane. ”

He moved his arm then, releasing her, but she had no illusions that it would be more than a brief respite.

Her eyes had grown accustomed to the darkness, and Jane was curled up on the opposite seat, a lump in the shadows. She reached over and touched her forehead, careful not to wake her. It was blessedly cool—she had no fever, despite her sniffles.

She glanced instinctively toward the door. She couldn’t leave Jane, and they were traveling too fast for her to attempt a leap to freedom. She sat back on the seat, reluctantly accepting her fate. For now.

“Why do you think I brought your friend along and didn’t send her straight back to town?” Lucien said in a soft voice that wouldn’t disturb Jane. “You can hardly try to escape as long as she’s with me. Indeed, I’m aware of the closeness of your two families. If you ran off and left her with me I suppose I could make do with her. It might serve as an adequate reven

ge. ”

“If you touch her I’ll cut off your hands,” Miranda said fiercely.

He laughed. “In truth, it’s you I want to touch, my precious. I’m simply a practical man who’ll make do what I have to in order to attain my ends. You have no idea just how ruthless I can be. I suggest you don’t force me to show you. ”

He wouldn’t be able to see the hatred on her face. Which was just as well. What did they say—revenge is a dish best served cold? If she let the heat of her rage take hold she’d be helpless. She needed to be cool and calculating if there was any chance of besting him.

No, she thought. Besting the Scorpion was unlikely. Holding her own, refusing to let him win, was a more reasonable goal.

Why had she dreamed of him as safety? Safety from Christopher St. John? What madness was that? Lucien’s kiss, his hands on her body, had brought back all sorts of memories of Christopher’s assault on her body, all of them unpleasant. She had survived that, and survived it well, left with nothing but an aversion to that intimate act between men and women, that thing she didn’t even like to name.

So why had Lucien won? Why had she twined her arms around his neck and kissed him back? Why had her body, that most intimate part betrayed her to his knowing hands?