Chapter Thirteen

 

 

GOOD LORD, SHE WAS going to an orgy.

Elizabeth bit her nail, apprehension twisting low in her stomach. Oblivious to her state, James sat opposite, all that was ease and unconcern as he stared out the window of the carriage. Willing him to turn, she wished he would give her some reassurance. A smile. An imperious raise of a brow. Anything. He, however, remained fixed on the scenery outside the carriage, leaving her with no recourse but to look out her own window.

She balled her hands in her lap. Why, why had she agreed to this? When James had made the suggestion, it had seemed wild and forbidden and so blasted exciting she couldn’t wait. But now that they were sitting in the carriage and they would arrive any minute, the reality of it gripped her tight.

The churning in her belly became impossible to ignore. What happened at an orgy? She couldn’t even begin to imagine. What if as soon as she cleared the door something occurred to shock the living daylights out of her, and she fainted and hit her head and bled all over the place and—?

Elizabeth, get a hold of yourself. What could possibly happen that would be that shocking? Obligingly, her brain provided such scenarios, and she cursed herself. Honestly, what she had just pictured was ridiculous. She didn’t even know if that were possible.

James had told her very little about the parameters of the event. While she wore a mask, who knew what strictures governed the anonymity of others? What if she recognised someone? She had no desire to learn the depravities of which her contemporaries were capable. Or, dear Lord, what if it were someone like Lady Cartwright?

A shudder racked her as she imagined the prudish woman in the throes of passion, on display to all and sundry. Ugh. And with that thought, a little piece of her just died.

What if she were expected to participate? Blood drained from her face, leaving her lightheaded and slightly nauseous. No, no, she couldn’t, besides, James wouldn’t allow it, not unless she wanted it—what if she wanted it?

Damnation, she should have asked James more questions. What was she thinking, going into something so unprepared? She always planned to a ridiculous degree. Even her brothel folly had been undertaken only after she’d conducted a rigorous examination of the merits of such a plan. She always had to know everything. Why then did she not know everything about this?

Raising a shaking hand to her forehead, she closed her eyes. She knew why. Of course she did. She could not bring herself to tell James of her qualms. Questioning him would highlight her fear and thus she had remained mute, foolishly entering the fray uninformed. James wouldn’t understand. How could he? No doubt he had done this a million times, and she could just picture the look on his face as he excused her from attendance at tonight’s endeavour.

Lowering her hand, she traced a pattern on the window. How unfair was she, to paint James with the same brush? Never had he reacted as her father always had, avoiding her questions or meeting them with a bewildered frown, as if wondering how he had fathered such an inquisitive child. James had never made her feel foolish for questioning even the most mundane of details, and she was wrong to think he would.

Why, then? Why now did she feel such apprehension? Long ago, she had resolved to be bold and daring. When had that resolve disappeared?

A distraction, that’s what she needed. A small smile began as she ran her gaze over James, still staring out the window. He was so delicious. His hair fell in a riotous tumble, no doubt ruthlessly disordered by his valet as the strands did not naturally fall in such wanton splendour. In fact, if left alone, his hair had a tendency to flop about his face, in direct contrast to the mien of a dissolute roué. At such moments, one could almost term his appearance boyish. That was, until he fixed his gaze upon you, and then, well, then there could be no mistaking him for a boy.

The slope of his brow flowed gracefully into a strong nose, and one would barely notice the faint scar on his cheekbone. He still wouldn’t tell her how he’d acquired it. One would never imagine the wickedness his mouth could engender, or the pleasure afforded when tracing the strong line of his jaw with lips and tongue.

The last few weeks they’d spent almost every night together. Of course, in consideration of gossips, much of that time had been after nightfall, and what glorious nights they had been.

As she’d known they would, her courses had arrived as usual, negating James’s unnecessary worry. Even though a child would have been disastrous, still she’d felt the familiar twinge at the proof she wasn’t pregnant. Stupid, really, but she couldn’t help it.

In any event, James had taken the news she wasn’t with child with the same degree of emotion he seemed to take everything else—that is to say, he had ostensibly reacted not at all. She had, however, seen the twitch of his hand at the news, and at his one small tell she had smiled to herself. It was rather sweet, really. The dear idiot thought he was protecting them both when clearly there was no need, even if he refused to believe it. Nevertheless, it cost her little to accede to his wish and the reward was him, however she wanted him.

More than the physical, though, she found she simply wanted to be with him, so much so that her day felt incomplete if spent without him. It did not matter if they acted upon their passion, or if they did nothing more than converse. She simply needed to be near him, and she thought he might need to be near her.

The carriage shuddered to a halt and breath deserted her. Lungs screaming, she took great gulps of air, each more erratic than the last. Good lord, Elizabeth, stop it. She was bold and brave and daring. What could an orgy possibly contain to combat that?

James had already exited the carriage, holding out his hand to help her down. A strange paralysis froze her as she stared at the proffered appendage. His hand. It represented so much more than a steady grip.

“Elizabeth.” Still fighting to breathe, she met his gaze. A slight frown creased his brow. “Are you well?”

Breath finally coming easily, she nodded, her body strangely numb. His eyes never left hers. Gathering her courage, she took his hand in hers.

Cold air slapped her as she exited the carriage. Drawing her cloak about her, Elizabeth watched the carriage drive off and with it, her only means of escape. Turning her attention from the disappearing conveyance, she was surprised to recognise the district. The streets of Mayfair were different at night, the shadows lending a sinister air that was absent during daylight. An unassuming townhouse stood before them, far removed from the den of iniquity it supposedly was.

She pulled her cloak tighter as the wind tried to slip beneath her skin. “Orgies are held here?”

“Where did you think they were held?” James tucked her into his body and guided them up the front steps of the townhouse.

Tugging at the mask covering her features, she clutched James’s forearm, hoping her claw-like grip wasn’t doing him too much damage. “I don’t know. I just didn’t expect them in London.”

He shook his head, a small, rueful smile on his face as they were admitted into the town house. No mask disguised James’s features, as there was little point. The dissolute Earl of Malvern was almost a fixture at these events. Elizabeth shifted, a sliver of discomfort at the thought dampening her excitement.

The foyer appeared the same as any other. The faint strains of music and laughter drifted down the stairs at the head of the entrance hall, and weak light beckoned one to ascend. James led her past rooms with doors closed, past rooms with doors wide open, past—had that man been tied up? With that woman flogging him?

Dragging her heels, Elizabeth craned her neck to get a better look, but James never let go of her hand, never paused in his tread to accommodate the fascinating sights flashing by.

Apprehension was forgotten as curiosity consumed her. An orgy. She was at an actual orgy. Why had she been so apprehensive when there was so much to observe—What on earth was that couple doing?

“Is that two women over there?” They kissed passionately, absorbed in each other and seemingly oblivious to those observing them. How did they give each other pleasure? Was it with tongue and fingers, or did they employ those false penises James had described to her?

“Yes,” James said impatiently before ushering her on, his grip firm on her elbow. Why was he forcing her past each fascinating room? Surely the purpose of this was for her to experience what occurred at an orgy. The way he was pulling her along, they would be through the house and out the other side with nary an examination of anything at all.

But he couldn’t force her past this. James tried to move her along but she slipped free of his grasp, pushing the door wide.

The chandelier cleverly illuminated only the middle of the room. There was movement in the ring of shadow, but the darkness concealed detail, lending anonymity to those watching the performance before them.

As if on a stage made of light, three people writhed on a dais of midnight-blue silk, the luxurious fabric sliding with their bodies as they moved against each other. A woman moaned as one man suckled her breast, her hand in the hair of another, his face buried between her thighs. All three wore little, the woman solely clothed in a corset the same midnight-blue as the silk beneath her, the garment thrusting her breasts into prominence. One man wore the remnants of a shirt, also midnight-blue, while the other was completely naked, his skin pale and gleaming with sweat beneath the candlelight.

The woman arched her back, giving the man at her breast greater access even as she lifted her leg over the second man’s shoulder, exposing herself more fully to him. Her hand snaked between the first man’s thighs, grasping his cock and stroking it in time with his pulls at her breast. The man grunted his approval, his buttocks clenching in rhythm.

There was a screaming in Elizabeth’s chest, a lack of air. Breathe. She had to breathe, so as to keep watching the sight before her.

“Do you like this scene?” James’s voice stoked her desire, built her lust. “Do you see what they are doing, how she is moaning as they lick at her?” His arm stole across her to pull her into him, his chest against her back. Delicately, his hand stroked her stomach, his touch burning through her clothing. “Do you imagine it’s you, Elizabeth, with two men servicing you, devoted to your pleasure, to making you come?”

Her teeth dug into the soft flesh of her lip as his words painted images of faceless men serving her, licking her, four hands, two mouths running over her body.

“Do you think you could keep them entertained, both of them?” Hand flat, he wedged her against his hips, his cock thick and hard against her. Growing heated, growing wet, she pushed back into him, her bottom rubbing his groin as she watched. As she wanted.

The man between the woman’s thighs abandoned his place, lying back on the silk and pulling the woman over him. His erection was massive, the head rosy and exposed. A gasp escaped Elizabeth at the sight of his cock, her tongue darting out to wet the centre of her upper lip. The rasp of teeth against tongue sent sensation rushing through her, pooling between her thighs.

James pushed inside her corset to cup her soft flesh, the hand on her abdomen pushing her into the rhythm of his hips. Push and retreat. Push and retreat. Lips skimmed her ear and sent shivers along her skin. Head lolling on his shoulder, will stolen, she waited for what he would do next.

“Watch as she takes him, as his cock disappears inside her. He’s too big for her, do you see? She grits her teeth, forcing herself down, but it’s not a grimace of displeasure, is it, Elizabeth? No, she’s imagining how deep he can reach inside her, how far he can go.”

Strong thighs braced either side of hers as James maintained that rhythm. Push, retreat. Push, retreat. The hand on her breast tightened. Heat swirled inside her, skin too tight and breath trapped as she watched the scene before her and imagined the one described by his words, until the two became inextricably entwined.

Before them, the man was now fully inside the woman. The second man, not content on the sidelines, moved before the woman, stroking her jaw as he presented his cock for her perusal. The woman smiled wickedly up at him, then took him deep into her mouth.

Oh God, in her mind it was she in the woman’s place, stuffed full to bursting, both her core and her mouth filled, being taken even as she took. It was she who was making them moan, making them sweat and James was with her, encouraging her, and he was both of them—no, it was just him, him and her and he was inside her, making her moan like that woman, and they lost themselves in each other.

The men, in tandem, thrust into the woman. Moans erupted from all three, gasps and pleas and they looked so desperate, as desperate as she. Shuddering, she tried to contain her reaction, to ignore her lust.

She couldn’t. She couldn’t block what James was doing to her, with his touch, his words, his body next to hers. Couldn’t take her eyes from the sight before her, from the writhing of three beautiful bodies. From the sight of their lust.

“Shall I take you somewhere, Elizabeth?” James’s voice raked through her, making her flush, making her tight, making her wet. “Shall I bend you over and fuck you, take you hard so you can imagine it’s you in there? Do you want to suck me, make me come in your mouth?”

His hand ground into her breast. Undulating against him, she wished their clothes vanished, nothing to stop the slide of their naked flesh. Nothing to stop him from being inside her.

“What do you want, Elizabeth?”

Desperate, she turned in his arms, pulling his head down to hers, kissing him hungrily, the image of the three burned into her mind. Strong hands gripped the small of her back, dragging her into him as close as they could get. He kissed her back as if he were as desperate as she, his lips and teeth and tongue biting her, laving her, loving her.

Tearing his mouth from hers, he searched the hall wildly. “Where’s a bloody room?” The voice that had been so seductive was now savage, violent. It meant little to her as she attacked his neck, savouring the slight taste of salt beneath her tongue.

“Malvern?”

James froze, his hand digging into her back. Elizabeth belatedly realised his tension, dragging her attention from his neck to blink at the man blocking the hallway.

A faint smile on his handsome face, the man stood indolently, as if he were greeting them in a drawing room and not with an orgy surrounding them. Like James, his features were not obscured by mask, his hazel eyes amused.

“Barton.” The coldness in James’s voice startled her. Taking a shuddering breath, Elizabeth swallowed her arousal, trying to make sense of the change in James.

The man—Barton—swept his gaze over her. The admiration lit in his eyes sent a tiny thrill of pleasure through her dazed senses. “And who is your lovely companion?”

“No one you know.” As if in protection, James’s arm tightened around her.

“What a shame.” Barton grinned, his open face and easy demeanour at odds with James’s lack of both.

Elizabeth smiled in return, ignoring the clamours of her body. Strange that this man knew James. Blond, mobile of feature, he seemed James’s opposite.

“Perhaps you could introduce me?” Barton’s gaze drifted over her and, of a sudden, the uncomplicated charm slid away.

Her smile died. Maybe this man wasn’t so different from James after all.

James had not taken his gaze from Barton’s. The faint smile on the other man’s face never wavered, but the intensity of challenge radiated from Barton all the same. What was between these two? That they knew one another was clear. Were they partners in iniquity? Was it only fate, or the whims of Mrs. Morcom, that had given her tutelage to James instead of this man?

Visceral reaction gripped her and, involuntarily, her hand tightened on James’s. He looked down at her, and she stifled a gasp at his stormy gaze. For a moment, it appeared as if he would refuse Barton’s request, but then his eyes shuttered and he released her from his embrace.

Not knowing what to make of James’s reaction, she tried to glean something from that impassive gaze. Nothing, no indication of how she should act, how she should proceed. He only stood there, silent and still.

Barton seemed to have no qualms with how to act, capturing her hand and bringing it to his lips. “It is a pleasure, my dear,” he murmured, his eyes on hers as he placed a delicate kiss on her palm.

His lips were soft against her skin. It was all she could register. Her thoughts tumbled over and around, so jumbled she couldn’t catch hold of them.

Barton pulled her toward him, raising one hand to cup her cheek, looming large in her vision as the muscles in her stomach seized. He was going to kiss her. He was going to kiss her and she didn’t know if she should stop him.

James wasn’t helping, standing with arms crossed and eyes blank. He stood there and offered no suggestion, nothing, and she didn’t know what she should do. How could he just stand there and allow Barton to touch her? Was it part of her tutelage? Was he making a point?

And still Barton loomed ever closer.

An errant thought occurred, over and above those of James and his non-reaction. What if her feelings for James were not anomalous? What if all she wanted was a man, any man? So when Barton placed his mouth gently against hers, she allowed it. To be sure.

His lips pressed lightly, asking for entrance rather than demanding. Opening her mouth to his, a pleasant tingle ran through her at his kiss, though he tasted strange. Mint and lemon and something she couldn’t place. All she knew was he was different.

His tongue toyed with hers as his hands curled around her ribcage. Warm, firm, his touch employed the right amount of pressure. As he ran his mouth down her neck, she noted the slight touch of his tongue at odd moments as he progressed to her chest, erratic enough that she couldn’t predict when it would fall. The move was most ingenious and was no doubt designed to stir lust effectively. His lips then feathered over the skin revealed by her bodice, his thumbs lazily sweeping the curve of her breast.

Barton’s touch was skilful, and if given further opportunity, she was sure he could arouse a warm passion, leading to an undoubtedly satisfactory pleasure, but he wasn’t James. Barton would never make her burn.

Tugging his head up, she set her mouth against his, to make certain. Again, Barton’s kiss was pleasant, and his delicate exploration of her mouth should stoke her arousal. Barton was just as delicate in ending the kiss. The taste of mint sat upon her tongue, the flavour of it discordant as Barton pressed a kiss to her collarbone, his hand plumping the flesh of her breast.

And she felt nothing.

Relief ran bright and sharp. Confirmation had never felt so sweet. About to push Barton from her, she glanced at James.

And froze.

James stood, his hands biting into his biceps as his cold glare bore into them.

Barton chose that moment to nestle deeper into her cleavage. James’s stare became colder, until it appeared he was made of ice. Brow creased, she placed her hands on Barton’s shoulders, intending to push him from her.

James’s glare became, if possible, colder.

Suddenly, she realised what her move must have looked like. It must have looked…he must have thought she meant to pull Barton closer. He must think that she was enjoying Barton’s kiss.

Elation ran through her. Could it be…was James jealous?

Immediately she set about to prove her theory correct. Cupping the back of Barton’s head, she ran her fingers through his hair, surreptitiously watching James. His expression darkened.

Directing Barton to her nipple, she waited for James’s reaction with bated breath, heady with the knowledge that he might be possessive of her. Barton cooperated delightfully, his hands plumping her breasts for the touch of his mouth. Affecting a facsimile of passion, she watched James through her lashes, stoking his ire by pressing herself into Barton’s caress.

Dear Lord. Menace emanated from James, his body braced as if violence was barely controlled. Excitement shivered through her as she goaded him further, arching herself into Barton, her heart quickening as James’s eyes glittered, as he grew more and more agitated, more jealous. Blood beat loudly in her ears and still she provoked him, pushed him, did all she could to incite him to break.

And break he did. With a harsh curse, James tore her from Barton, his hand tight about her wrist as he dragged her away. Stumbling along behind him, she struggled to keep pace, excitement flooding her veins, lust making her clumsy.

James shoved her inside an unoccupied room, locking it behind them. She turned to face him, her breath coming in great heaves as she watched the coldness in him become fire. He stalked toward her, forcing her back, and she couldn’t contain her excitement, the heady emotion welling inside her uncontrollably as she felt the edge of a desk bite into her thighs.

“Did you enjoy that?” His words almost soundless, he crowded her so she was forced to sit, his arms braced on either side.

Lord, he loomed over her, so much bigger than she. For all his menace, though, she didn’t feel fear. Oh no, what she felt was so very far from fear. Cocking her head, she considered her options. She could defuse the situation. Calm him. Reassure him. All she had to do was say no.

Slowly, deliberately, she nodded.

He growled. He actually growled. “Enjoyed it, did you?” Shoving her skirts up, he wrenched her legs open, wedging himself against her. “Would you have enjoyed fucking him?”

She knew she shouldn’t push him further. His eyes glittered down at her, feral and out of control. She knew, and yet she couldn’t stop the wicked smile, the false confirmation of every accusation.

Roughly, he pushed her against the desk. The wood hard at her back, she lay spread before him, her breasts cutting into her corset with every ragged breath.

“I wouldn’t have allowed it.” Pulling her legs around him, he shoved his hips against her. “I wouldn’t have allowed him to have you.” He tore at his trousers, wrenching them open. She groaned at the feel of him, hard and heavy with wanting. “I wouldn’t have allowed it, Elizabeth,” he ground out as he drove himself inside her.

She screamed, the wetness of her arousal making his entry easy. Books thudded to the floor as he pounded into her and her hands scrambled along the surface, seeking purchase as he jostled her against the desk, as he shoved deep inside her, again and again and again.

“You’re mine,” he grunted, his heavy thrusts punctuating his words. “Mine, do you hear me?”

She tried to nod, her voice stolen otherwise she would scream her assent, confirm it again and again. She was his. She was his, just as he was hers.

Arching, she pushed herself into each thrust, the violence of his possession intoxicating. He wanted her so badly he wasn’t bothering with preliminaries, he was just slamming into her, fucking her, hard and deep and with such raw power she could feel it building. It was rushing toward her, coming so close and then it broke, violent and shattering and beautiful. She heard him curse as he released inside her, his hips jammed against her, his hands biting into her hips as he held her in place for his pleasure.

Finally, he moved, pulling away from her and smoothing her skirts into place with care. Reaction still hammered at her, her breath still out of control. She lifted a hand to him, but he slipped away and her hand fell to her chest, any movement too much. A silly smile flirting over her lips, she could do nothing but lie there, stupid and happy. Good Lord, and she had been worried about tonight? They should attend an orgy every night, and twice on Sundays.

After much debate to convince herself she did have the energy, she struggled upright, her bones languid and uncooperative in the face of such stunning pleasure. Bracing herself, she looked about for James.

Far on the other side of the room he sat with his head in his hands, his posture tense. He looked…wrong. Unease wound through her and she hopped off the desk, her legs wobbling as she crossed to him.

“James?” Kneeling, she took his hands in her own. His hands were so cold.

He raised his head and he said nothing. Concern for him chased away any lingering pleasure.

“James, what is it?” Her voice wavered as fear grew. Dear Lord, what was wrong?

“Did I hurt you?” Face impossibly still, his words implied a lack of care that their content decried.

“What? No, of course you didn’t.” Panic welled inside her. “Lord Malvern,” she stated formally, hiding her fear behind his title and a firm voice. “You will tell me what is wrong.”

His eyes flickered. “I’m sorry.” The words pushed past his clenched jaw, abrupt and cold.

“Sorry? What for?” Panic blossomed, consumed.

Muscle ticking in his jaw, he stared past her. “That.”

She followed his gaze, her brow creasing when she realised he was staring at the desk. “For what?”

“For—” His voice broke and his throat moved convulsively. “For behaving the animal. I apologise.”

The desk. Their lovemaking. “That is what has upset you?”

He inclined his head. And still he refused to look at her.

Reassurance. This she knew. “James.” Linking her fingers with his, she gave a gentle tug. “James, that was the most incredible experience of my life.”

Finally he looked at her. “What?”

“Believe me, James.” Remembered pleasure thickened her blood, finding expression in a deepened voice. “You have nothing to apologise for.”

His fingers slipped beneath the edge of her mask. She remained still, allowing him to remove the cloth. Gently, his fingers read the truth of her words through the arch of her brow, the slope of her cheek.

She kept her gaze level upon him. Reassurance. This she knew.

The icy calm cracked. “Did you come?”

“Yes.”

His hand cupped her cheek, his thumb caressing the line of her jaw. Still she kept her gaze upon him. Gathering her to him, he held her, his legs hugging her body as his arms tightened. Warm lips hesitantly touched hers and the kiss felt like relief, like thanks.

Moments passed. She didn’t know how many. Finally, he pulled back and retied her mask about her face, that delicious half-smile that always made her want to trace his lips with her tongue playing about his mouth. “Is there anything more you wish to see, or shall we discover what depraved delights I can offer you at home?”

Leaping to her feet, she bowed with flourish, laughing as he hurried her through the door. Following James through the house, her hand held tight in his, she ignored all save him. Now, his determination to rush held purpose. Now, nothing the rooms may have held could come close to what James offered. She picked up her pace, anticipation thrumming steadily through her veins.

“You bitch.”

At first, Elizabeth didn’t realise the words were directed at her. She was disabused of this notion rather quickly when the woman who had uttered them with such venom drew back her hand and struck Elizabeth across the face.

Confusion painted the room in garish colour. Her cheek stung as if separate from her as she registered a swirl of skirts, an angry face. She dropped James’s hand. Raising her palm, she encountered the edge of her mask. Oh, yes, that’s right. She was wearing a mask. The fabric, though, that had done little to protect her from the woman’s wrath. She fingered her burning cheek, the echo of the slap reverberating on her flesh.

The woman stood boldly in front of her, her brow arched imperially. All were gazing upon her, upon her and Elizabeth, a throng of half-dressed people eagerly observing this new display of scandal.

Nothing made sense. It felt as if a nightmare, humiliation and debasement in a too public forum, a sea of unknown faces gaping at her. It must be a nightmare. This couldn’t be happening.

“Madam.” James’s voice, cold and brutal. Yes, James was here, wasn’t he? He stood before her now, between her and the woman. His coat was wrinkled. Had she done that?

A spark of triumph burned in the woman’s eyes. “Why, Malvern, I had no notion you would be in attendance this evening. Come, my dear, are you enjoying yourself?”

So they knew each other, James and this woman. A dull pain started in Elizabeth’s chest, burning in concert with the burn in her cheek.

“What do you think you are about?” Simultaneously, his voice demanded and derided. She wondered vaguely how he did it. “You do yourself no credit with this vulgar display.”

The woman smiled thinly. “I do myself no credit? I? I think not, my love. No, you will be the one they will speak of on the morrow.” Bitterness coated her words. “None shall remember me.”

“Why should they remember the histrionics of a woman with no sense?” James’s cold voice was cruel. Had she ever heard James be cruel? “You have accosted a lady with malice and no cause.”

“A lady? This chit? Do not make me laugh, Malvern.” The woman’s gaze raked Elizabeth. “See how he treats us, sister. He will leave you with nothing as well.”

A nightmare. It had to be.

Abruptly, the woman paled. Elizabeth couldn’t understand why. The woman, she looked afraid.

Then James spoke, and the reason for the woman’s fear was apparent. “You, madam, will not address her in such a fashion. Apologise and remove yourself. You will regret it otherwise.”

The woman no longer looked so confident. Indeed, she looked as if she could not speak, her mouth gaping unattractively. And still the lurid fascination from the crowd.

No longer could she stay here.

The realization forced a reaction, and so Elizabeth turned and walked away. She pretended this sort of thing happened to her daily and really, there was nothing of interest about it, nothing at all.

The crowd parted before her. She kept her head high. She even managed to smile.

The fiction lasted as long as it took her to find an unoccupied room. Somehow, James had quit of the woman, shutting the door quietly behind them. He stood with his back to it, stood in his perfection and his impassivity, and she could only stare at him, lost in a nightmare that could not be.

“She hit me,” she said.

He leaned against the door. “I’m sorry.”

“But she hit me,” she repeated. How strange, the sound of her voice.

James had found something of extreme interest on the floor. He said nothing.

“Why would she hit me?” Elizabeth lifted her hand to her cheek. Why did it still burn so? It had not been a hard slap. The sensation should have faded.

He pushed away from the door with what could be termed agitation. “It seems she believes you have replaced her.”

“Oh.” So she had been correct. James did know that woman. She rubbed her cheek, her fingers encountering the mask yet again. She was glad for it now. “Have I?”

Again, he wouldn’t meet her gaze. “She seems to have taken umbrage to the severing of our…ties.” He seemed disconcerted by her lack of response, clearing his throat before continuing. “I would not be surprised if that had all been for show. Of a certainty, her reputation would have to be maintained in some manner.”

“By hitting me? In front of those all those people?” She was not going to cry. She was not going to—

Tears spilled, despite all her objections. And still her cheek burned. “Why didn’t she hit you? You were the one she was fucking.”

His damnable calm remained in place. “It appears you are upset.”

“Really? What gave you that idea?” She dashed at her eyes. Breathe…she needed to breathe. Slow, measured. Calm, Elizabeth. “So...can I expect to get slapped again?”

Wariness etched deeply into his face. The display of emotion would have been astounding under other circumstances. “Maybe.”

Incredulity rose at his response, screaming to escape. She could expect to again face down a roomful of gleeful watchers, each eagerly observing the humiliation taking place. And all because of James, who stood there with no defence and no apology.

Then reality hit her, with force stronger than that unknown woman’s slap. This was the exact reason he had been chosen for her. For his prowess, for his knowledge…how did she think he had obtained that knowledge?

A hole yawned inside her. She could expect to encounter a paramour of his wherever she turned, and she had no one to blame for it but herself. She knew what he was, but never before had it been real.

With great care, she said, “Please tell any others who you might sport with to keep away from me. I would not appreciate a recurrence of this.”

How remote and untouchable he appeared now. “I cannot control the actions of others.”

“You will do your best to do so.”

Silence fell. Distant reveals sounded, muffled by the walls. Someone shrieked and laughter trailed, but there was only silence in this room.

“Elizabeth.” Why did James have to say her name like that? As if he loved every syllable. He came to her, placed warm hands on her shoulders and her will, damnably weak thing that it was, crumbled. “I would take back these last few moments if I could. More than like, it will happen again, but know that none shall ever be allowed to offend you.”

The words vibrated intent. It might be attempted by another, at another time, another place, but he would not allow what had occurred tonight to happen again. He would stop it. His eyes, steel and promise, never wavered.

Suddenly, the nightmare was real. Horribly, overwhelmingly real. She ripped the mask from her face. “In front of all those people, James.” Broken. Her voice was so broken.

“I know.” He pulled her into his embrace. “I’m sorry.”

Lips whispered over her temple, formed soft words to offer comfort. Emotion stormed within her and he held her throughout, his mouth smoothing away her tears.

Finally, it had to end. Taking a shuddering breath, she pulled the mantle of strength about her and managed a watery smile. “You were saying something about taking me home?”

Wiping her cheek with his thumb, he erased the last of the moisture from her skin. “You are amazing.”

“Am I?” His gaze, fierce and admiring, made her believe in things she should not. “Do you want to show me how amazing I am?”

He smiled, that half-smile of his. “Always.”