Page 62 of The Devil in Her Bed
“What?” She stared at him, aghast.
He stepped closer. “If I desired you, what’s to stop me from taking you right now? Do you think these people would lift a finger? Any of them?”
She searched the crowd, noting that some of them pretended not to watch them while others were actively eavesdropping.
Sliding her fingers into her robes, she found the leather straps beneath which she’d sheathed a knife against her arm. “I would,” she said in a hard voice. “Iwould stop you.”
His eyes flared. “I know. That’s why you are here.”
“Is that so?” she scoffed, again trying to seem unaffected, doing her utmost not to be alarmed to notice that the stags in white robes had lurked closer.
“I wonder.” Kenway moved behind her, causing herbreath to catch in her throat. “I wonder if you are worthy of the name you claim.”
“I will prove to you, before this is over, that I will take exactly what I deserve.” From him, she’d take everything. She swore it.
“You’ve already taken so much, Countess. You’ve quite the craven reputation…”
She thought of Chandler then. Of the fact that he shamed her for her lovers. A pang of sadness sliced through the fear. What a disappointment they were to each other.
Kenway leaned down to whisper in her ear as he gestured widely to the council. “Desire drives you, Francesca, just as it does all of us.”
“You have noideawhat drives me,” she retorted.
“Oh, I have some idea.” He beckoned the men in white robes even closer. “I invited temptation here for you tonight. To show you what life might be like. Even as a wife of mine, you would be allowed all kinds of freedoms.”
“Allowed?” she echoed archly.
“Encouraged,” he amended. “You’ll be encouraged to take what you want, to indulge, to share it with me. You’ll be part of a movement. Of a shift in society so extraordinary, the world will never be the same.”
Christ, he wasn’t just evil, he was a lunatic. They all were.
“I am not inclined to… indulge… publicly.”
“And so you shan’t,” he cajoled. “After this one display of devotion.”
She swallowed. Hard. “Display? What sort of display?”
“Consider, Countess, how animals live. You are quite the equestrian, I’m told. You know horses?”
“Some,” she hedged.
“Does a stallion care about pedigree when he mounts a mare? Does he ask her permission? Do they care who is watching as they rut?”
A horror utter and complete rose within her as Francesca mutely considered her options.
“Do most creatures care about modesty, physical or social? Do they care about the feelings of their prey? Does an eagle feel guilt for the adorable squirrel who is his meal? Does the lion not drive away his offspring to make certain his kingdom is never questioned?”
She fought to remain calm. To not bolt. “S-some would argue we as higher-minded individuals have evolved beyond such base instincts.”
“Some would.” The men in white robes broke from the crowd and approached the dais. A herd of stags. “And others would say that we are merely the apex predators. That we are capable of such feats. Such unsurpassable godlike feats if we were not tethered by the mythos of the past and those who would keep us on our knees.”
“The monarchy, you mean?”
He inclined his head. “The monarchy. Or republics. The church. Every prophet, warlord, and prostitute who demanded someone bow down before them. To kneel.”
He moved back into her line of vision, the stags making a half circle around her. “When is the last time you knelt to anyone?”
Never was when, and she wasn’t about to start now.
