Lady Forsaken Box Set (Books 1 - 5), page 56
Days had passed, and she hadn’t been called upon since Andrew had brought the flowers. Each day she attended a tea here and a dinner party there, all in hopes of gaining Lord Chastain’s attention once more, but he’d been mysteriously absent as of late. Her family’s contact in London had been working hard to procure invitations for the comte to all the finest homes with the most elite families.
Added to Chastain’s lack of attendance was the fact that people avoided both Lorelei and her parents. Lorelei was ignored by young women, and gentlemen only approached her father. They were doing a dreadful job of appearing inconspicuous.
The envelope in her pocket almost burned a hole in her morning dress. It hadn’t been meant for her, and keeping knowledge of its existence from her father would cause irreversible harm and distrust if it were ever discovered.
She slipped the letter, addressed to the comte, from her pocket for the tenth time in the last hour. Taking the thin piece of paper from the envelope, she unfolded it and glanced over the words. It was written in her native tongue to prevent the household staff from reading it, should it fall into the wrong hands.
* * *
Comte of Epernon,
* * *
I grow impatient with your lack of information and progress in a certain matter. If your efforts are not redoubled with all haste, do not think to return. As expected, assistance will be dispatched if you are unable to fulfill your obligations.
* * *
De Pez
* * *
A new hopelessness filled her. The threat was clear, and called her family to immediate action or face the consequences.
While the comte had advised his family of the necessity of their cooperation in this scheme to help De Pez in order to save themselves, Lorelei had little doubt that De Pez would gain far more than her family would once the plans were safely handed over. The comte and his wife were known sympathizers of Louis XVI, and thus must demonstrate their support for Napoleon if they wished to return to France. Anything short of that meant they would never be safe from those who would turn them over for the bounty that would surely be on their heads.
If she hadn’t intercepted the letter, she was certain her father would have never shared it with her. His years of protecting her from the volatility of his chosen life needed to end. Lorelei was as much a part of their present situation as the comte and comtesse, or had they forgotten about signing over their only child?
She wasn’t a pawn to be used but not entrusted with secrets.
She’d given up the hope—or at least the immediate hope—of a home and family, instead pledging herself to her parents. Did they realize the sacrifices she’d made with little thought to her own happiness?
All their lives stood in jeopardy—from both their past allegiance and newfound alliances.
What most frightened her was the question of whether they had chosen to side with De Pez and the wrong party.
She sat at her writing table, a clean sheet of parchment before her, and pondered her options.
She could hand the letter over to her father and face his wrath for opening his personal correspondence and then hiding it from him. Or, she could devise her own plan.
If Lorelei came forward and admitted her deceit, then she would have the added burdens of not only her father’s scorn, but also of appeasing De Pez. Very little thought went into her decision as she picked up the quill pen and dipped the pointed tip in the ebony ink to her right.
She hadn’t many options left to her.
She scrawled the words across the page in her well-practiced, elegant script.
Lorelei didn’t allow even a moment to consider her decision before dusting the paper with sand, folding the note, and ringing for Isabelle. The letter she’d penned hadn’t requested a reply—for she could never have awaited it patiently. All that was left to do was prepare for her evening…and find a way to escape the townhouse unnoticed.
Chapter 5
Lorelei wrung her hands as people moved past her. Many looked her way, but averted their gazes quickly. She knew how she appeared to them, and it was the thing she despised most about England. She was a female standing unchaperoned at Covent Garden. They undoubtedly mistook her for a lady of the night awaiting her benefactor.
She was awaiting someone—but she wasn’t a harlot, and he would never be her benefactor. She was actually nervous that he wouldn’t show up, or that he hadn’t received her missive at all.
It had been quite daring and forward of her to send word directly to his home, but time was not on their side, and she needed to assert her interest in him before it was too late. Or rather, establish that his interest in her was not unwanted. She had few other options with his recent absence from all social functions.
She only hoped that with Isabelle’s help, her presence at home went unnoticed and she could slip back inside without anyone aware. She would inform the comte about her outing on the morrow, and hopefully have good news for him. Then, perhaps the letter could be forgotten.
Vendors hawked fruit and sweetmeats to attending noblemen and their companions as women who’d soon perform sashayed through the crowd. They giggled when men whispered in their ears, curtseying to women who wished a word, and accepting all gifts of flowers and trinkets. This night—and place—belonged to them.
Blending in with the crowd should have been simple, yet she’d chosen a dress that would entice him, and, in turn, it attracted much unwanted attention. She’d selected a gown of the richest green, so deep one could mistake it for onyx. With her neck, ears, and wrists dripping in pearls, Lorelei was the envy of every woman who passed. Part of her wondered if the marquis would find her attire to his liking, then quickly dismissed the thought. The marquis was not why she was here.
She stood as still as possible, so as not to expose the daring slit up the side of her dress that reached clear to her mid-thigh and revealed her black stockings below, complete with bows just above her knees.
She sighed with relief when he finally approached, appearing from the crowd as if out of thin air. As he walked, she noticed his eyes wandering, touching on several provocatively dressed women.
“Lord Chastain.” She dropped a slight curtsey. When her eyes focused on his feet, she noted the high gleam of his boots and, as she straightened, took in his attire all the way to his carefully combed hair. He was one with expensive taste, and not a strand stood in defiance to that.
“Lady Lorelei.” He grasped her hand and brought it to his lips. She feared they created a spectacle when he held her fingers there for an untoward amount of time. His lips pressed to her chilled hand fell on the side of mush—nothing as firm as the marquis’ touch. Finally, he released her and smiled. “I am only recently returned to town, and I must say I was taken aback.”
“Why ever so, my lord?”
“It is only that you seemed to favor the marquis over myself.”
She wondered if he tested her. She’d danced with both men that evening, yet accepted a second from only Chastain. It was quite possible he knew of the marquis’ visit to her that next morning. They were friends, after all, and she expected they also shared confidences.
Her stomach turned at the thought of the marquis hearing of her very inappropriate invitation to Lord Chastain to meet her at Covent Gardens. The reputation of the outdoor playhouse was known far and wide for its hidden nooks and dark corners. Trysts often transpired under the aquiline noses of all, but with no one the wiser.
The Marquis of Drake was likely skilled in that particular area, and she could almost envision him removing his overcoat—and then her dress, his hands moving across her heated skin, even as the actors upon the stage spoke their lines.
“That is foolish. I could hardly take my eyes from you.” She pushed the erotic image from her mind and focused on Lord Chastain. His shoulders were not as broad, and his hair—while perfectly coiffed—lacked volume. His height was only just past her own, and she suspected the bottom of his boots were padded. She could not fool herself. He was a very handsome man, and was probably considered a great prize, yet he was short of something Drake had in abundance. That exact something eluded her. The men were very much the same: titled, wealthy, educated, and finely attired, so why she was drawn to one and not the other made little sense.
“I am pleased to hear that. Shall we?” Without waiting, he slipped her hand into his, drawing Lorelei to his side as they began to walk through the jovial crowd around them. “The evening is quite nice.”
“Yes, it is.” The last thing she wanted to discuss was the weather, it being mild or otherwise. “I hope I am not keeping you from a prior engagement out of town.”
He chuckled. “Not at all. Well, yes, actually you are, but how could I resist your invitation?” She didn’t know if he jested or was only trying to entertain her. Either way, his words irked her, though the same comment from the marquis would have drawn a smile.
They moved casually through the crowd with no direction. Lorelei felt him lead, but to where she didn’t know. Perhaps he had a private box from which they would watch the play.
“Please, do not leave me to wonder. To what do I owe the pleasure of your company this night?”
“A woman would be mad not to seek more time in your presence, my lord.”
When he smiled with satisfaction, she knew she’d given the perfect answer. Lord Chastain thought greatly of himself, and she’d known flattering him, stroking his ego, would ultimately draw him in. It was the first lesson her mother had taught her—and arguably, the most important she’d ever learn. Men sought admiration above all else, whether it was for their wealth—which normally had naught to do with them, but the many lords before them—or their prowess on horseback.
Lorelei considered what she hoped to gain from this evening. Hopefully, she would pique his interest enough to pursue her. Once they’d established their relationship, then it would not be looked upon unfavorably for her family to visit him at his home. A dinner party at his London home or a holiday at his country estate would enable her and her parents to find what they sought.
“I do, so thank you for forgoing your plans.” She glanced up at him coyly from beneath lowered lids. She’d employed the look numerous times, yet it was a bit harder to pull off when the man beside her did not tower above her as so many others did. “Do you have a box we might sit within and talk?”
“Ah, yes, talk is exactly what I have in mind,” he whispered. “This way.”
He increased their pace and she noticed the crowd start to thin as they moved to a low-lit area of the gardens. The torches, which sat high above the path, became fewer, their scant pools of light leaving more dark nooks the farther they got from others. The chatter of people receded, and giggling mixed with heavy breathing could be heard from the darker areas just off the path. She could barely hear the soft music from the orchestra any longer.
Lorelei looked about nervously. It was too late to turn back now—to cry off would certainly leave a bad taste in Lord Chastain’s mouth and he’d most definitely never call on her again, let alone allow her into his home.
“Where are we going?” she asked. “I am sure we have passed all the boxes with premium views of the performance.”
“It is not much farther, I promise.”
The number of lamps in the outdoor garden dwindled the farther they got from the crowds, as did the maintained path they’d followed. The greenery lining the trail began to encroach on her walking space, snagging on her dress. The needles from the plants embedded in her silk skirts as she brushed past, urged ever on by Lord Chastain. Before long, her fine slippers became moist with the dew covering the ground. The moon overhead could barely be seen due to the towering trees looming above.
Chastain’s hand tightened on her arm and he pulled her to a stop. She snapped around to face him, but his unyielding grip didn’t lessen.
“Ouch.” He’d hurt her, yet she only let the one word slip past her lips before forcing a carefree laugh. “My lord, wherever have you taken me?”
If he noticed the trepidation in her question, he showed no sign of it. “Oh, I assumed we could use a few minutes alone to get to know one another.”
Lorelei couldn’t make out the expression on his face in the dim light, and feared she wouldn’t enjoy what she saw if she could.
Chastain pressed his body harshly into hers, his rigid stance forcing her to bend slightly back. The only thing keeping her upright was his hold on her arm, sure to leave a nasty bruise.
She was thankful for the darkness so he could not see the fear in her eyes, though many said you could smell terror upon a person.
“It would be lovely to learn more about you and your interests.” She refused to show her fear. “But this is hardly a suitable place to talk about our families and hobbies.”
His hand released her, and she stumbled backwards, attempting to gain her balance. “Luckily for you, I have no family to discuss. Now, my hobbies…” Before she could move any farther back, his arms snaked around her and pulled her close. He ground his hips into hers, his erection evident through his fine evening garb. His hands moved lower and took firm hold of her derriere. “I would much prefer to show you.”
Lorelei stilled herself, knowing as a gentleman of the ton his manners could not be so lacking as to take this situation much further. Angering him would only make her task harder to accomplish.
His hands squeezed ever more insistently on her backside, creating marks she knew would match the one on her arm.
“Kiss me, ma cherie,” he said, mimicking her native tongue as he pressed himself against her, likely ruining the fine silk of her gown. “Come now. We both know you little French courtesans enjoy your romps as much as us English lords.”
She wanted to scream, to lash out at him, to run. Yet she begged herself to remain calm—to think of her ultimate duty to her family’s safety.
Instead of bashing him over the head, she forced a smile to her lips and her eyes to lower in subservience. “My lord, your words are the height of impropriety. Is all you demand a kiss?”
“Of course, my lady.” He reverted to formalities, but the rigid length of his body didn’t yield. “A kiss and my night will be complete.”
A simple kiss. She had kissed several men in her short time out of the schoolroom, but those men hadn’t forced themselves on her. Lord Chastain saw her as a debutante—and an innocent, yet he still pressed his advantage.
Chastain leaned in toward her, and she slammed her eyes shut, needing to get this over with, satisfy him for a time so she could depart. His breath fanned across her face as he came close. It was only then that she noticed the smell of liquor on him. His breath and clothes reeked of it. She’d been so focused on attaining what she sought that she hadn’t noticed his intemperance.
No longer could she count on him to act the respectful gentleman.
At long last, his lips landed cruelly against her tightly closed ones. His mouth moved and his tongue sought to force her lips apart.
When she resisted, his hand released her derriere, moved up her side to her neck, and finally took hold of her chin. His finger clamped down and held her face still.
A whimper escaped her.
“Oh, I knew you would enjoy my touch.” The words were whispered against her neck as his mouth attacked more than caressed the tender flesh there. “Do not fight this, my dear—or go ahead, it will only make this moment that much more memorable.”
“Please…” she begged.
His lips crushed hers once more, and his fingers released her face.
A little of the tension left her. She could handle this brutal kiss.
That thought was barely out before her dress was suddenly being pulled up. Cool night air brushed her legs, covered in only sheer stockings and muddied slippers.
Panic set in once more.
She pushed against his chest, hoping he would realize his untoward behavior was not appreciated.
Instead, his arm once again wrapped around her waist to hold her close as his other hand grabbed at her breasts.
She struggled against his lecherous advances in an attempt to free herself.
When she heard material rip, she stopped struggling as her mind sought to comprehend what was happening.
“Come now, my little putain. I promise you’ll enjoy this more than any you’ve had before.”
“What…” He thought her a whore, a common chit with no reservations. “No—”
“It is too late now. You will see what teasing gets a girl like you.” His words were cold as ice, and his eyes matched.
With little effort, he took her feet from beneath her and she landed in a small grassy nook a few feet from the seldom-used path they’d come down. He landed solidly on top of her, knocking the wind from her lungs in their fall. She’d terribly underestimated his strength and the muscle beneath his evening attire.
She pushed against him, tried to free herself, to kick at him, but her legs were twisted in her gown. He was all over her, tearing at the bodice of her dress. She felt her necklace snap from her neck and pearls burst everywhere, hitting her face, exposed chest, and arms.
“No.” Her voice pierced the air. The thin thread of the word held no substance, even to her own ears. She did not want this… She hadn’t asked for this.
The moments passed like a lifetime as she blocked out the reality of what was happening to her.
She ceased to fight, knowing his strength far surpassed hers.
Instead, she sobbed. Whether she wept loudly or her violated moans never left her throat, Lorelei didn’t know.
“I do say,” a male voice could be heard only steps away. “One should learn to be more discreet with their trysts. What say you, John?”
Another man laughed before he spoke. “It is as if all of London is without manners of late.”
Chastain haphazardly rolled off her with a small grunt, alerted to the presence of others.
Added to Chastain’s lack of attendance was the fact that people avoided both Lorelei and her parents. Lorelei was ignored by young women, and gentlemen only approached her father. They were doing a dreadful job of appearing inconspicuous.
The envelope in her pocket almost burned a hole in her morning dress. It hadn’t been meant for her, and keeping knowledge of its existence from her father would cause irreversible harm and distrust if it were ever discovered.
She slipped the letter, addressed to the comte, from her pocket for the tenth time in the last hour. Taking the thin piece of paper from the envelope, she unfolded it and glanced over the words. It was written in her native tongue to prevent the household staff from reading it, should it fall into the wrong hands.
* * *
Comte of Epernon,
* * *
I grow impatient with your lack of information and progress in a certain matter. If your efforts are not redoubled with all haste, do not think to return. As expected, assistance will be dispatched if you are unable to fulfill your obligations.
* * *
De Pez
* * *
A new hopelessness filled her. The threat was clear, and called her family to immediate action or face the consequences.
While the comte had advised his family of the necessity of their cooperation in this scheme to help De Pez in order to save themselves, Lorelei had little doubt that De Pez would gain far more than her family would once the plans were safely handed over. The comte and his wife were known sympathizers of Louis XVI, and thus must demonstrate their support for Napoleon if they wished to return to France. Anything short of that meant they would never be safe from those who would turn them over for the bounty that would surely be on their heads.
If she hadn’t intercepted the letter, she was certain her father would have never shared it with her. His years of protecting her from the volatility of his chosen life needed to end. Lorelei was as much a part of their present situation as the comte and comtesse, or had they forgotten about signing over their only child?
She wasn’t a pawn to be used but not entrusted with secrets.
She’d given up the hope—or at least the immediate hope—of a home and family, instead pledging herself to her parents. Did they realize the sacrifices she’d made with little thought to her own happiness?
All their lives stood in jeopardy—from both their past allegiance and newfound alliances.
What most frightened her was the question of whether they had chosen to side with De Pez and the wrong party.
She sat at her writing table, a clean sheet of parchment before her, and pondered her options.
She could hand the letter over to her father and face his wrath for opening his personal correspondence and then hiding it from him. Or, she could devise her own plan.
If Lorelei came forward and admitted her deceit, then she would have the added burdens of not only her father’s scorn, but also of appeasing De Pez. Very little thought went into her decision as she picked up the quill pen and dipped the pointed tip in the ebony ink to her right.
She hadn’t many options left to her.
She scrawled the words across the page in her well-practiced, elegant script.
Lorelei didn’t allow even a moment to consider her decision before dusting the paper with sand, folding the note, and ringing for Isabelle. The letter she’d penned hadn’t requested a reply—for she could never have awaited it patiently. All that was left to do was prepare for her evening…and find a way to escape the townhouse unnoticed.
Chapter 5
Lorelei wrung her hands as people moved past her. Many looked her way, but averted their gazes quickly. She knew how she appeared to them, and it was the thing she despised most about England. She was a female standing unchaperoned at Covent Garden. They undoubtedly mistook her for a lady of the night awaiting her benefactor.
She was awaiting someone—but she wasn’t a harlot, and he would never be her benefactor. She was actually nervous that he wouldn’t show up, or that he hadn’t received her missive at all.
It had been quite daring and forward of her to send word directly to his home, but time was not on their side, and she needed to assert her interest in him before it was too late. Or rather, establish that his interest in her was not unwanted. She had few other options with his recent absence from all social functions.
She only hoped that with Isabelle’s help, her presence at home went unnoticed and she could slip back inside without anyone aware. She would inform the comte about her outing on the morrow, and hopefully have good news for him. Then, perhaps the letter could be forgotten.
Vendors hawked fruit and sweetmeats to attending noblemen and their companions as women who’d soon perform sashayed through the crowd. They giggled when men whispered in their ears, curtseying to women who wished a word, and accepting all gifts of flowers and trinkets. This night—and place—belonged to them.
Blending in with the crowd should have been simple, yet she’d chosen a dress that would entice him, and, in turn, it attracted much unwanted attention. She’d selected a gown of the richest green, so deep one could mistake it for onyx. With her neck, ears, and wrists dripping in pearls, Lorelei was the envy of every woman who passed. Part of her wondered if the marquis would find her attire to his liking, then quickly dismissed the thought. The marquis was not why she was here.
She stood as still as possible, so as not to expose the daring slit up the side of her dress that reached clear to her mid-thigh and revealed her black stockings below, complete with bows just above her knees.
She sighed with relief when he finally approached, appearing from the crowd as if out of thin air. As he walked, she noticed his eyes wandering, touching on several provocatively dressed women.
“Lord Chastain.” She dropped a slight curtsey. When her eyes focused on his feet, she noted the high gleam of his boots and, as she straightened, took in his attire all the way to his carefully combed hair. He was one with expensive taste, and not a strand stood in defiance to that.
“Lady Lorelei.” He grasped her hand and brought it to his lips. She feared they created a spectacle when he held her fingers there for an untoward amount of time. His lips pressed to her chilled hand fell on the side of mush—nothing as firm as the marquis’ touch. Finally, he released her and smiled. “I am only recently returned to town, and I must say I was taken aback.”
“Why ever so, my lord?”
“It is only that you seemed to favor the marquis over myself.”
She wondered if he tested her. She’d danced with both men that evening, yet accepted a second from only Chastain. It was quite possible he knew of the marquis’ visit to her that next morning. They were friends, after all, and she expected they also shared confidences.
Her stomach turned at the thought of the marquis hearing of her very inappropriate invitation to Lord Chastain to meet her at Covent Gardens. The reputation of the outdoor playhouse was known far and wide for its hidden nooks and dark corners. Trysts often transpired under the aquiline noses of all, but with no one the wiser.
The Marquis of Drake was likely skilled in that particular area, and she could almost envision him removing his overcoat—and then her dress, his hands moving across her heated skin, even as the actors upon the stage spoke their lines.
“That is foolish. I could hardly take my eyes from you.” She pushed the erotic image from her mind and focused on Lord Chastain. His shoulders were not as broad, and his hair—while perfectly coiffed—lacked volume. His height was only just past her own, and she suspected the bottom of his boots were padded. She could not fool herself. He was a very handsome man, and was probably considered a great prize, yet he was short of something Drake had in abundance. That exact something eluded her. The men were very much the same: titled, wealthy, educated, and finely attired, so why she was drawn to one and not the other made little sense.
“I am pleased to hear that. Shall we?” Without waiting, he slipped her hand into his, drawing Lorelei to his side as they began to walk through the jovial crowd around them. “The evening is quite nice.”
“Yes, it is.” The last thing she wanted to discuss was the weather, it being mild or otherwise. “I hope I am not keeping you from a prior engagement out of town.”
He chuckled. “Not at all. Well, yes, actually you are, but how could I resist your invitation?” She didn’t know if he jested or was only trying to entertain her. Either way, his words irked her, though the same comment from the marquis would have drawn a smile.
They moved casually through the crowd with no direction. Lorelei felt him lead, but to where she didn’t know. Perhaps he had a private box from which they would watch the play.
“Please, do not leave me to wonder. To what do I owe the pleasure of your company this night?”
“A woman would be mad not to seek more time in your presence, my lord.”
When he smiled with satisfaction, she knew she’d given the perfect answer. Lord Chastain thought greatly of himself, and she’d known flattering him, stroking his ego, would ultimately draw him in. It was the first lesson her mother had taught her—and arguably, the most important she’d ever learn. Men sought admiration above all else, whether it was for their wealth—which normally had naught to do with them, but the many lords before them—or their prowess on horseback.
Lorelei considered what she hoped to gain from this evening. Hopefully, she would pique his interest enough to pursue her. Once they’d established their relationship, then it would not be looked upon unfavorably for her family to visit him at his home. A dinner party at his London home or a holiday at his country estate would enable her and her parents to find what they sought.
“I do, so thank you for forgoing your plans.” She glanced up at him coyly from beneath lowered lids. She’d employed the look numerous times, yet it was a bit harder to pull off when the man beside her did not tower above her as so many others did. “Do you have a box we might sit within and talk?”
“Ah, yes, talk is exactly what I have in mind,” he whispered. “This way.”
He increased their pace and she noticed the crowd start to thin as they moved to a low-lit area of the gardens. The torches, which sat high above the path, became fewer, their scant pools of light leaving more dark nooks the farther they got from others. The chatter of people receded, and giggling mixed with heavy breathing could be heard from the darker areas just off the path. She could barely hear the soft music from the orchestra any longer.
Lorelei looked about nervously. It was too late to turn back now—to cry off would certainly leave a bad taste in Lord Chastain’s mouth and he’d most definitely never call on her again, let alone allow her into his home.
“Where are we going?” she asked. “I am sure we have passed all the boxes with premium views of the performance.”
“It is not much farther, I promise.”
The number of lamps in the outdoor garden dwindled the farther they got from the crowds, as did the maintained path they’d followed. The greenery lining the trail began to encroach on her walking space, snagging on her dress. The needles from the plants embedded in her silk skirts as she brushed past, urged ever on by Lord Chastain. Before long, her fine slippers became moist with the dew covering the ground. The moon overhead could barely be seen due to the towering trees looming above.
Chastain’s hand tightened on her arm and he pulled her to a stop. She snapped around to face him, but his unyielding grip didn’t lessen.
“Ouch.” He’d hurt her, yet she only let the one word slip past her lips before forcing a carefree laugh. “My lord, wherever have you taken me?”
If he noticed the trepidation in her question, he showed no sign of it. “Oh, I assumed we could use a few minutes alone to get to know one another.”
Lorelei couldn’t make out the expression on his face in the dim light, and feared she wouldn’t enjoy what she saw if she could.
Chastain pressed his body harshly into hers, his rigid stance forcing her to bend slightly back. The only thing keeping her upright was his hold on her arm, sure to leave a nasty bruise.
She was thankful for the darkness so he could not see the fear in her eyes, though many said you could smell terror upon a person.
“It would be lovely to learn more about you and your interests.” She refused to show her fear. “But this is hardly a suitable place to talk about our families and hobbies.”
His hand released her, and she stumbled backwards, attempting to gain her balance. “Luckily for you, I have no family to discuss. Now, my hobbies…” Before she could move any farther back, his arms snaked around her and pulled her close. He ground his hips into hers, his erection evident through his fine evening garb. His hands moved lower and took firm hold of her derriere. “I would much prefer to show you.”
Lorelei stilled herself, knowing as a gentleman of the ton his manners could not be so lacking as to take this situation much further. Angering him would only make her task harder to accomplish.
His hands squeezed ever more insistently on her backside, creating marks she knew would match the one on her arm.
“Kiss me, ma cherie,” he said, mimicking her native tongue as he pressed himself against her, likely ruining the fine silk of her gown. “Come now. We both know you little French courtesans enjoy your romps as much as us English lords.”
She wanted to scream, to lash out at him, to run. Yet she begged herself to remain calm—to think of her ultimate duty to her family’s safety.
Instead of bashing him over the head, she forced a smile to her lips and her eyes to lower in subservience. “My lord, your words are the height of impropriety. Is all you demand a kiss?”
“Of course, my lady.” He reverted to formalities, but the rigid length of his body didn’t yield. “A kiss and my night will be complete.”
A simple kiss. She had kissed several men in her short time out of the schoolroom, but those men hadn’t forced themselves on her. Lord Chastain saw her as a debutante—and an innocent, yet he still pressed his advantage.
Chastain leaned in toward her, and she slammed her eyes shut, needing to get this over with, satisfy him for a time so she could depart. His breath fanned across her face as he came close. It was only then that she noticed the smell of liquor on him. His breath and clothes reeked of it. She’d been so focused on attaining what she sought that she hadn’t noticed his intemperance.
No longer could she count on him to act the respectful gentleman.
At long last, his lips landed cruelly against her tightly closed ones. His mouth moved and his tongue sought to force her lips apart.
When she resisted, his hand released her derriere, moved up her side to her neck, and finally took hold of her chin. His finger clamped down and held her face still.
A whimper escaped her.
“Oh, I knew you would enjoy my touch.” The words were whispered against her neck as his mouth attacked more than caressed the tender flesh there. “Do not fight this, my dear—or go ahead, it will only make this moment that much more memorable.”
“Please…” she begged.
His lips crushed hers once more, and his fingers released her face.
A little of the tension left her. She could handle this brutal kiss.
That thought was barely out before her dress was suddenly being pulled up. Cool night air brushed her legs, covered in only sheer stockings and muddied slippers.
Panic set in once more.
She pushed against his chest, hoping he would realize his untoward behavior was not appreciated.
Instead, his arm once again wrapped around her waist to hold her close as his other hand grabbed at her breasts.
She struggled against his lecherous advances in an attempt to free herself.
When she heard material rip, she stopped struggling as her mind sought to comprehend what was happening.
“Come now, my little putain. I promise you’ll enjoy this more than any you’ve had before.”
“What…” He thought her a whore, a common chit with no reservations. “No—”
“It is too late now. You will see what teasing gets a girl like you.” His words were cold as ice, and his eyes matched.
With little effort, he took her feet from beneath her and she landed in a small grassy nook a few feet from the seldom-used path they’d come down. He landed solidly on top of her, knocking the wind from her lungs in their fall. She’d terribly underestimated his strength and the muscle beneath his evening attire.
She pushed against him, tried to free herself, to kick at him, but her legs were twisted in her gown. He was all over her, tearing at the bodice of her dress. She felt her necklace snap from her neck and pearls burst everywhere, hitting her face, exposed chest, and arms.
“No.” Her voice pierced the air. The thin thread of the word held no substance, even to her own ears. She did not want this… She hadn’t asked for this.
The moments passed like a lifetime as she blocked out the reality of what was happening to her.
She ceased to fight, knowing his strength far surpassed hers.
Instead, she sobbed. Whether she wept loudly or her violated moans never left her throat, Lorelei didn’t know.
“I do say,” a male voice could be heard only steps away. “One should learn to be more discreet with their trysts. What say you, John?”
Another man laughed before he spoke. “It is as if all of London is without manners of late.”
Chastain haphazardly rolled off her with a small grunt, alerted to the presence of others.
