ALASTAIR COULD SEE her quiver. She looked exceptionally lovely tonight. The gown suited her. The décolletage did not dip particularly low; still, her breasts swelled nicely above it. He felt a wave of jealousy as he considered that it might have been Winston who had inspired her to appear this alluring.
He continued to seek in her countenance evidence of the extent of her grief, but she appeared, at present, to weather the devastating blow that Winston had dealt her with poise.
“She appeared a little downtrodden,” Madame Follet had said when he had pressed the hostess for any insights Millie might have confided to her, “but far from despondent.”
“Millie is too practical for melancholy,” Alastair had replied, feeling some measure of assurance. Though he knew he had spared Millie a life of misery with Winston, he could not bear the sorrow he must have caused her.
“If she was taken with this Mr. Winston, I would have expected her to be much more disconsolate.”
“Perhaps the shock of it has not dissipated.”
“Or perhaps she does not love this man as much as you think.”
He would have liked that to be the case, but why else would Millie have risked her reputation and disappointed her family?
As he stared at Millie, he was determined to drive out all thoughts of Winston.
"I will agree to no such thing," Millie declared.
"You broke a promise."
"You may exact another consequence, such as the revocation of my dowry."
"That has already been done," he said more harshly than he intended, but he was cross with her, despite his sadness for the wounds she had suffered both to her pride and her heart. Nonetheless, he would rather she had not sought to comfort her grief by coming to Follet to fuck another man. Bloody hell. Who would this woman not lift her skirts to?
And yet, he had to admire this similarity between them. He would have done no less had he been in her situation.
"You agreed not to return to Château Follet within the context of certain circumstances,” he reminded her. “You will therefore uphold the arrangement under which you made the promise."
“I am expecting Monsieur Follet.”
“He is engaged with another now.”
Distress flared in her eyes. Trembling, she backed away from him as he advanced toward her. He had a dual purpose in what he did. He wanted her never to break a promise with him again, and her apprehension would take her mind off her broken heart. Removing his coat, he tossed it aside. He uncuffed his sleeves and rolled them up to his elbows.
Coming upon an armchair, she stepped behind it, though it would offer her little protection. When he reached for her, she slid from behind the chair toward the doors, but he caught her easily enough. Stumbling, she would have fallen to the ground if not for his grasp about her arm. She struggled to free herself and clawed him with her free arm. He dragged her over to the sideboard, where various restraints were kept. When she had regained her footing, she yanked harder. Grabbing the set of iron cuffs attached together by a short chain, he opened a shackle and cuffed it about her wrist, sending her into a panic. She kicked him while he secured a small padlock to the shackle.
“Alastair!” she cried.
“Behave yourself, and I may take mercy upon you.”
She considered her options briefly, then opted to attempt escape.
He whipped her against the sideboard, pinning her in place with his body; pulled her other arm in front of her, and clamped the remaining shackle to her wrist. Adding a second padlock, he now had both wrists locked into the cuffs. She continued to struggle, her motions causing her arse to grind against his pelvis. Heat flared through him, pounding in his head.
“Alastair!” she protested again.
The sound of his name only fueled his ardor. Grabbing the chain between the shackles, he tugged her toward the rope-and-pulley system in the center of the room. She resisted by digging in her heels but only succeeded in stumbling and falling on her rump. He hauled her a few steps farther, and, hooking the tackle to the chain, was able to draw her to her feet by pulling on a rope.
“Stop!” she pleaded with equal parts indignation and desperation.
When he had her on her toes, he tied the end of the rope to a shackle mount on the ground.
“Alastair!
He seized her jaw. “Is this not what you sought in coming here?”
“Not with you,” she managed to utter despite his grip upon her.
The blood drained from him. No. She had expected Laroutte, or would have had some other fucker. Devon if he were here.
But he would not let any other man have her. She belonged to him.
“You will have me all the same,” he told her, no longer attempting to stay his anger.
“You’re the most abominable man ever!” she cried when he had released her jaw. “If you have revoked my dowry, you have no standing to interfere in my affairs.”
“You invited my interference first.”
“Which has become the greatest regret of my life!”
“Has it?” He stood so that their bodies touched. He cupped a breast through her gown and stays. Leaning his mouth toward her ear, he whispered, “Your body might disagree.”
Her breath grew uneven, and it seemed a moan would pass her lips. Instead, she kicked at him, but doing so placed the weight of her upon her arms. Grimacing when the bones in her hands pressed into the shackles, she quickly returned to the tips of her toes. He went back to the sideboard.
“I will tell Lady Katherine,” she threatened.
“And you think I am daunted by this?”
“Madame Follet then. She may throw you out.”
Tired of her protests, he selected a gag—one that had the appearance of a metal spider.
“She may, but I am willing to risk it.”
When he returned to her, he saw the sparkle of fear in her eyes.
“Al—Alastair, this is madness!”
“I had not given you permission to use my name.”
She paled.
“Do you require your safety word?” he asked.
“Wh…?”
When she made no further answer, he pulled down her jaw and slid the circular part of the gag into her mouth. He had given her the opportunity to use her safety word, and she had not chosen to use it.
After fixing the gag to her, he stepped back to admire how the mouthpiece stretched her lips, forcing the orifice open in a most wanton and inviting fashion.
“When I am through with you, you’ll not think to break a promise to me ever again.”