Page 37 of The Wrong Bride
She looked up at him in surprise, then took an educated guess. “Agnes?”
He studied her too long before looking away. “It doesn’t matter, does it? Did ye have someone else?”
She wanted to lie to him, hoping to hurt him as he’d hurt her. But she felt too wounded, too raw, to be convincing. “No.”
“Perhaps your family kept ye away from suitable men because of the contract?”
“And not tell me? I mean, tell Cat? That makes no sense. No, I was more important to them for Bronwyn’s sake.”
He touched the braid that had tumbled over her shoulder and gave it a wiggle. “How old is she?”
“Twenty. She is a true innocent, so naïve about the pitfalls of life.”
“And ye’re so very worldly?”
She sensed laughter beneath his calm surface, but he didn’t release it, and she reluctantly appreciated that. “I didn’t say that. But if you’d have done to her what you did to me, she’d have stayed in a perpetual swoon.”
“Instead of fighting back and trying to escape? Maybe I’d prefer that.”
But there was admiration for her in his tone, and it made Riona uncomfortable. She was always uncomfortable, forced to be on alert, to be wary. She didn’t remember what it was like to feel content and happy.
Perhaps because she’d never truly known such a state.
“Ye look sad,” he whispered.
He dropped his head and pressed a gentle kiss to her temple. And just like that, her sadness was drowned in a sea of conflicting emotions, passion and need and desperation.
His face was just above hers and he only breathed the words, “I want ye to be happy.”
He pressed another kiss, this time to her forehead, to her cheek, to her chin. Her hands might as well have been tied, for how little she could move them. And if she did move them, it would only be to put her hands in his dark hair, pull the leather tie free and let his wavy hair fall about his face.
He stopped when his lips were just over hers, their panting breaths mingled. The moment extended on and on, exquisite torture that she made worse by lifting her head and kissing him. With a groan, he slanted his open mouth against hers, forcing her lips apart, and then his tongue began a delicious exploration she’d never imagined. She was pressed back into the pillows by his body half over hers. He cupped her face in his hands and kissed her deeply, wildly, drawing a moan from her that he answered with his own. He tasted faintly of whisky, as if he’d needed something to bolster himself before confronting her. She knew that probably wasn’t true, but it gave her a wild thrill regardless, as did thehard pressure of him against her hip. Riona might be an innocent, but Cat had whispered details of lovemaking that she’d gleaned from friends.
Riona’s hands crept up to his powerful shoulders and then into his hair. She arched into his chest, feeling the pressure against her aching breasts. She wanted him to touch them—
And she realized that could push him past restraint. He’d tied the ropes—he could untie them, and who would ever know?
She twisted her head to the side, her voice a rasp as she said, “We must stop.”
He didn’t answer, just buried his face against her neck, kissing and licking as he made his way down to the edge of her dressing gown. When his hand slid up her rib cage, she caught it with her own.
“Please, Hugh, stop.”
Hearing his Christian name seemed to bring him back to awareness. He lifted his head slowly and looked at her with heavy-lidded eyes. His mouth was still moist with their kiss, and she had an irrational desire to lick him there. She was trembling at the restraint, yet she continued to hold his hand tightly until he pulled away.
He lifted his body off hers, rolled onto his back at her side, then flung his forearm over his eyes, his chest rising and falling like the bellows in a smithy. They said nothing for long minutes in the shadowy darkness. The bed wasn’t big enough to keep themapart, and his arm still touched the length of hers. To escape, she’d have to crowd into the wall. With a sigh, she knew she wasn’t going to do that.
She debated what to say, how to tell him that this should never happen again, how to make him believe that he wasn’t always right.
And then he snored.
It was her turn to throw an arm over her eyes and groan. But she couldn’t sleep, not with thoughts dancing in her head. She had to get away from here before things went any farther. She wondered if her uncle had even bothered to inform her parents that she was gone. What had he toldCatabout Riona’s absence? Besides her sister, her cousin was the only one who truly loved her, who didn’t want anything from her. She must be frantic and terrified. Perhaps the earl had created an elaborate lie about how Riona had left of her own free will . . .
Oh, she had to stop this wild imagining. She had a plan in place, and now she knew that Dermot was the one to approach with her secrets. But how? He might not trust Hugh, but he certainly wouldn’t trust a Duff. If she went to him now, he’d feel no compulsion to help her. She would try to become friendly with him, so that he’d relax around her and believe her when she finally spoke of her need for his help. If they approached Hugh together, perhaps Hugh would at last be convinced that she was telling him the truth.
Hugh rolled over and slung an arm around her waist, his face pressed into her hair. She couldn’t escape, not with her legs tied, and she wasn’t about to wake him up and risk another seduction . . .
A seduction to which she was growing more and more susceptible.
