Page 23 of The Lady's Guide to Well-Endowed Dukes
She could have made more of a scene, but she’d let him haul her up and frogmarch her out of the cathedral and across the square, back to where Oona and Margaret were waiting. She’d had no choice but to pretend all was well, though they could hardly fail to notice the frosty silence between her and Rockley.
As soon as they’d boarded, she’d pleaded a headache and retired to her cabin. The way she was feeling right now, she’d no desire to re-emerge; certainly, she didn’t want to see that beast of a man ever again.
She knew his kind only too well, thinking they were better than everyone else.
She scrubbed at her arms with the soap, then embedded her nails in the slab, indulging a fleeting fantasy of holding His Grace under the water, while pushing the soap into his mouth.
What she wanted was a drink—but she’d been in such a hurry to get Antoinette out of the room and herself in the hot water, she’d forgotten to bring the brandy through. She needed something to take the edge off this prickly mood.
Stepping out, she slipped on her silk dressing gown and tied it loosely. There was no point in drying herself. She’d simply grab the bottle and return to wallow.
However, she was only halfway across the room when there was a tap at the door. She stood very still. As much as she loved her godmothers, if one of them had come plying a preparation for her supposed sore head, she’d no intention of letting them in. Better for them to think her asleep. Only a few seconds passed before a louder knock came. She waited, and the rap on the door interrupted a third time, even more persistently.
Blast!
She was fed up standing like a ninny, with her hair dripping. This was her cabin and she deserved some peace. Margaret had been most worried about her when they’d returned to the ship, and it was no doubt she who’d come to see how Estela was feeling.
She’d quickly reassure her, while letting her know she’d be taking supper in her room. Going to the door, she clicked open the lock.
No sooner had she done so than it pushed open, revealing neither Margaret nor Oona. Instead, the glowering form of Lord Rockley towered above her.
She went to slam the door, but he was too fast, jamming his foot there. Before she knew it, he’d stepped inside.
His expression—usually so impassive—betrayed barely contained rage. He leaned back against the door, saying nothing, while his eyes glinted dangerously.
Her hair had dampened the front of her robe, making the thin silk cling, so that nothing was concealed of her shape. She itched to fold her arms, to hide herself from him, but she’d be damned if she’d let him see he was unnerving her.
Somehow, she managed to hold her voice steady. “Get out.”
“I don’t think so.” The lock clicked shut behind him. “You’ve been desperate to see what’s in my trousers since the first moment we met; or should I say, you’re simply desperate?”
“Bastard!” Estela hissed low between her teeth. “What I do is none of your business. Because you deny yourself, you think I should too? I happen to enjoy sex, and I intend on having as much of it as I like.”
“So I saw. You’re used to taking what you want, aren’t you, without thinking of the consequences.” He shrugged off his jacket. “Well, two can play. You want sexual satisfaction, and I’m here to give it to you.” His waistcoat followed the jacket to the floor.
“You wouldn’t dare!” Estela’s mouth was dry. Much as she liked rough play, she wasn’t prepared to be taken against her will. Besides which, if Rockley were as large as he indicated, there would be more pain than pleasure in a forced coupling.
“You’ll find out soon enough.” He loosened his tie, dispensing with it before unbuttoning the top of his shirt.
With the shedding of each garment, he’d taken a step closer, which she’d countered by inching back herself. Nevertheless, he was close enough that Estela could smell the perspiration on his body.
If she’d made for the bathroom as soon as he’d entered, she’d have had a chance to lock herself there, but that time was past. He could push her to the floor in a moment.
No. She wasn’t going to run.
He thought he could intimidate her, but she was going to prove him wrong. “You think you know what I want? Let’s see you try.”
Something shifted in his eyes. In a heartbeat, his hands were upon her waist, and he was throwing her back towards the bed.
She gave a small shriek as she hit the mattress. There was barely time to catch her breath before he was upon her, hauling her up towards the pillows. With one leg, he pinned her hips. Then he was drawing out the sash from her dressing gown. Too late, she realized what he was about. Dragging her hands above her head, he tied them together.
“I didn’t agree to this,” she gasped as he looped the sash to the headboard, pulling the restraint tighter.
“You told me to give you what you want.” His expression was smug now, looking down at her helplessness. “Perhaps I know what that is better than you think.”
Her dressing gown had fallen partially open, and he didn’t hesitate in twitching the silk aside, baring her completely. Sitting on the edge of the bed, Lord Rockley let his gaze roam. “One might almost think you were expecting me.” Unashamedly, his gaze raked her nakedness, still damp from the bath and flushed pink.
It was thrilling and infuriating.
