Chapter Ten
Unto the breach, as his English compatriots were so fond of saying. Damian hoped he wasn’t making a huge mistake by revealing this particular secret.
He had not been exactly lying when he said he was one of the wealthiest men in England. He held a great many vowels which, when added together with his own money, represented an enormous fortune. However, the chances of ever collecting on those mountains of debt were slender.
Indeed, he had no intention of attempting to collect on them. Or rather all of them. There was only one young man who would know the disgrace of ruin.
Yet it was hard to believe the recklessness of so many of his fellow peers. Did they even know how much they owed?
Unlike their debts to tailors and innkeepers and other tradesmen, the debts to him were considered debts of honour. Failure to pay a debt of honour had terrible consequences, should repayment be demanded and go unfulfilled. Dishonour was the thing most feared by any English gentleman.
Pamela’s dishonour would be of a different sort.
A twinge tightened his heart. It would be hard on her, but it would not change her life so very drastically. At least, not as she lived it now. It would bring dishonour to her family name, however.
She would never be permitted a place in society.
As they passed down the corridor on the first floor on the west wing, he lit the candles in the sconces beside each door. Her hand gripped his arm tightly. Clearly, she feared what he would reveal. Yet she trod boldly onwards.
Each chamber brought a different delight to his guests, as shown on the various pictures hung beside each door. It was through the last door that she would pass this evening. For some, the height of pleasure. And usually the most difficult to obtain except in the grubbiest of surroundings.
He turned the key in the lock and threw open the door beside the picture of a whip and spurs.
He held his candle aloft to pierce the gloom inside. ‘Wait there, or you might trip,’ he said quietly. ‘Let me light some lamps.’
‘Oh, my,’ she said, as light gradually filled the room and revealed all its glory. ‘It’s positively medieval.’
He tried to see it through her eyes. The whips and restraints hanging on the walls. The long bare marble table gleaming white. The metal bars of the triangular whipping post. The schoolroom birch twigs in varying widths and lengths neatly hanging from hooks. The velvet cushions strewn on the floor in one corner offering a place for comfort.
She turned slowly around, then walked here and there, touching the implements of pleasure-pain. There was an odd expression on her face. It was not one of shock or horror, but rather of curiosity.
She picked up one of the whips and looked at him. ‘They use these whips?’
His body hardened. He turned away from her. He had no wish to scare her off.
‘They?’
‘The men. They whip the women. I have never seen anyone come down looking beaten. They always look...’
‘Well pleasured.’
She wrinkled her nose. ‘The women like to be whipped?’
‘Some find it exciting, yes. And believe me, it is not always the man using the whip. More often than not it is the woman who has the upper hand, so to speak.’
English school boys and their birch canes. They loved to hate them.
She swallowed audibly. ‘I see.’
He spun around at the huskiness in her voice. If his body had responded before, now he was rock hard when he saw the heat in her gaze.
She wasn’t just curious or slightly intrigued. She was highly aroused.
In two strides he was at her side, gazing down into her eyes, gently cupping her face between his hands, feeling the flex of her jaw. ‘My dear Pamela,’ he murmured. ‘Have you had some thoughts of a similar nature? Daydreams, perhaps, that leave you hot and bothered?’
She blushed and looked down, as if ashamed.
‘It is all perfectly natural,’ he said. ‘These are adult games that hurt no one.’
‘Have you played such games?’ she asked, peeping up at him, her eyes wide.
He chuckled. ‘I have. Does that shock you?’
She shook her head. ‘I had no idea such things were considered so...commonplace.’
Something was troubling her. ‘Then you have heard of such things before?’ It seemed odd that a girl brought up in such a sheltered household would have come across such knowledge.
She glanced around the room and gave a little shiver. ‘Not really.’
She was no longer aroused, rather she was uncomfortable. The shadows in her grey eyes gave him pause.
Had something about this room brought back unhappy memories?
‘Come. This is a great deal for you to take in. Let me escort you to your chamber. We can discuss it again another time, if you wish.’
She seemed to relax a little.
Puzzled by her reactions, so very at odds with each other, he took her hand and led her from the room, locking it behind him.
He placed her hand on his arm and felt it tremble. He wished he could understand what was going on in her mind.
The further they walked from the chamber, the more relaxed she seemed.
Was it possible that somebody in her past had whipped her and taken pleasure in it? He tensed. Only with effort was he able to calm his rising ire.
When they reached her new suite of rooms, a few doors down from his own, she stood back as he opened the door for her and gestured her to enter. ‘Would you care for a brandy?’ she asked. ‘I took the liberty of filling a decanter for myself, I hope you don’t mind.’
Not one decanter, he noted, but three with differing contents and some glasses neatly set about them on the silver tray on the desk.
‘I am glad you did. It is no more than Pip or I would do.’
She poured him a glass of brandy and indicated he should sit beside her on the sofa near the fire. ‘Thank you for showing me that room, this evening.’
‘Well, now you know the last of my secrets.’
She gave him a sideways glance. ‘I think perhaps not.’
He stilled. ‘What do you mean?’
She smiled slightly. ‘I suspect there is much about you that I do not know. Just as there is much about me that you do not know.’
‘What else can there be to know? You are an excellent cook. You have a fondness for animals, dogs anyway, and you are a very intelligent woman.’
She turned slightly to face him, looking doubtful. ‘You think I am intelligent?’
‘Indubitably. Indeed, far more so than many of my male acquaintances.’
‘You are very kind. But I think if you really knew me, you would think I am foolish in the extreme.’ She gazed down into her glass for a moment and then tossed back the remains of her drink and set the glass aside.
Regret filled her face.
He took her hand. ‘What troubles you? If you do not like the games rooms, then we will do away with them.’
‘Oh, no. It is not that.’
‘Then what?’
Pink stained her cheeks. ‘It was my reaction to what I saw, if I must be truthful. I felt remarkably...’ She shook her head as if unable to describe what she felt. ‘You must think me...naive.’
He had the feeling that was not the word she had been about to use. Intriguing, indeed. He brought her small hand to his lips and kissed it lightly. ‘You do yourself an injustice. Your lack of experience is only to be expected.’
She gave a bitter-sounding laugh.
He frowned ‘Has some man taken advantage of you?’
A faint sigh left her lips. ‘If that were true, I would feel less stupid.’ She shook her head. ‘I was engaged to a very nice young man. A soldier. We planned to marry as soon as he received his promotion. Both of our families were happy about the match. Indeed, it had been planned between them since we were children. So I was not as circumspect as I should have been. We were going to be wed, after all.’
Unexpected anger surged through him. ‘He did not marry you?’
Her hand convulsed in his. ‘He could not. You see, there was an accident during an exercise. A gun carriage broke free. It killed him instantly.’
‘Oh, my dear. I am so sorry.’
‘He was such a nice boy. Very sweet. Much too good for me.’
He frowned at the sadness in her voice. ‘Why would you say such a thing?’
‘My father would have been so disappointed in me.’
Her father had no right to be disappointed in anyone.
‘So that is why you hired yourself out as a cook.’
‘When Mother married again, she decided the only way to be comfortable again was for me to make a good match. She and her new husband had already picked out a groom. How could I tell her? I felt so ashamed.’
So, Pamela Lamb, was no innocent maid after all. Her journey to ruin had started long before Damian came along. She had simply managed to keep it a secret.
Now he would bring it to its natural conclusion. A twinge of guilt twisted in his gut. A feeling of pity hollowed his gut. He could, if he wished, set her free of the trap he had wrought. Let her walk away. He would still have his revenge on the other family.
Yet it was her father who had been the ringleader of the plot to defraud his father of his fortune, he who had turned his back on his father’s pleas for help. Now her mother lived at the apex of society, queening it over lesser mortals, while his mother lay in a pauper’s grave.
No. Pity had no place in his heart. He had vowed at his father’s grave to take revenge on those who had caused his mother’s death if he ever had the chance.
He would not turn away from his sworn duty because of a pretty face, a sweet smile and delicious kisses.
Pamela could not believe she was telling Damian her innermost secret. Perhaps it was because she had been unable to tell anyone else all these years.
Despite that he did not seem particularly shocked, he must now think her the worst sort of woman. The sort of woman who had so little respect for herself that she would lay with a man to sate her desires, without any thought of the consequences, for herself or her family.
A selfish, pleasure-seeking wanton.
The trouble was, he would be right.
Her heart squeezed. Misery rose in her throat in a hot prickling sensation. Why could she not follow the rules of her upbringing and behave like a lady?
These past few weeks she had begun to feel at home. As if she had found the place she belonged, where she was respected and valued. Now he would never look at her the same way again.
She wished she hadn’t spoken.
Damian gazed down at her, his expression dark, his eyes unreadable.
She swallowed. Would he now demand she leave?
‘I am sure you were not the first engaged couple to anticipate their wedding vows,’ he said. ‘You were both young. You had no reason to expect that you would not marry.’
The kindness in his voice had emotion welling in her throat, hot and burning. She swallowed down the lump and forced a smile. ‘It is kind of you to say so.’
He tipped up her chin and fleetingly kissed her lips. ‘You are quite lovely, Pamela. Any man would be tempted.’
Her heart picked up speed. It wasn’t the first time he had looked at her with such intensity. Usually, right before they kissed. The attraction between them had been obvious from the start, no matter how they had tried to ignore or deny it.
Since coming to this house, she had realised how lonely she had been in her quest for independence. When Damian was at Rake Hall, she did not feel alone. She felt at home.
When he left, she did not stop thinking about him. Wondering what he was doing, who he was with. Though she tried to pretend she did not care, the thought that he might be with a woman hurt terribly.
‘Are you tempted, Damian?’ she asked, emboldened by the heat in his gaze and by her own rising passion.
‘Constantly,’ he said, his voice a little rough.
‘And yet you resist.’
‘It is not honourable for a gentleman to importune a servant.’
‘I am no longer a servant. We are partners. Equals. Perhaps we should stop dancing around each other and enjoy each other instead.’
Oh. Had she really said what had been in her mind for so long? It seemed where he was concerned she had no control at all.
A shadow passed through his gaze. As if he found her words disturbing.
‘You think I am too bold.’ She shook her head. ‘There I go. Making the same mistakes again, as I did with Alan.’
‘Your fiancé?’
‘Yes.’
‘Your boldness is captivating, my dear. But for all that, you are a lady—’
She pressed a finger to his lips. ‘No. I can never again make such a claim. And to be honest, I have felt so alone with my secret. And now I have burdened you, too.’
‘Alone and lonely.’ He spoke as if he understood the feeling. ‘You miss the companionship of a friend and a lover. Someone with whom you can share your innermost thoughts.’
‘You do understand. Do you have such a person in your life?’
She winced and wished she could call back the words. If he answered yes, she was not sure what she would do. Probably cry.
‘I have not known such companionship. As yet, I have been too busy to think of such things.’
‘You have Monsieur Philippe.’
‘Yes. I have my friend, Pip. He is the very best of fellows.’ He gave her a look of deep sympathy. ‘But you have no such friend in your life.’
She shook her head. ‘We lived very quiet lives at the vicarage, before my father died. You might say my father was my best friend. We spent a great deal of time together. He died not long before Alan. And then my life changed completely.’
‘Your stepfather is an earl, I understand.’
‘How did you know that?’
‘I made discreet enquiries once I realised you were not the common-or-garden cook I had expected. You use your own name. It was easy to discover your true identity.’
‘Will you tell my family I am here?’
He shrugged. ‘Not unless you desire it.’
‘No. I do not.’
‘Very well.’
Relief flooded through her. She gazed up at him. ‘Thank you. You are a good man.’
His laugh had a sharp edge to it. ‘Hardly.’
She turned fully to face him and, in a moment of longing and gratitude, kissed him full on the lips.
For a moment, like before, he hesitated, then he returned her kiss with passion.
Her heart sang. Her body trembled with desire. Instinct said there was no going back this time. And she was glad.
His kiss deepened. His tongue danced with hers. His breathing and hers mingled loud in her ears.
This was what she had missed. The excitement of body and heart and soul. The passion. The desire.
Longing filled her.
He groaned low in his throat, drawing back a fraction, gazing down into her face. ‘Are you sure you want this?’
How could he even find the mental capacity to ask?
‘Yes,’ she managed to whisper. ‘I want you.’
Very badly.
‘Then you shall have me.’
The words sent a sharp pull at her core. She moaned her pleasure at the long-forgotten sensation.
He kissed her again at length, until her bones felt liquid and her mind dizzied. She was aware of his hands wandering her body in pleasurable strokes and caresses, slowly sliding under her skirts to caress her calves and her knees.
He rose up on one knee, bending over her, gazing into her eyes.
She reached up and pulled at the knot of his cravat, pulling the ends free of his waistcoat and then unwinding it from around his lovely strong throat.
He smiled as she began undoing his waistcoat buttons. ‘I think this sofa is too small for the both of us, my darling.’
My darling.
What a chord of desire those words strummed through her body.
He pulled her to her feet, swept her up in his arms with ease and carried her into the bedroom.
The strength of him made her marvel.
She felt feminine and soft and yet strong enough to conquer the world, since he was her world.
Her insides tightened and pulsed with excitement. And the deepest desire she had ever known overwhelmed her.
When he set her on her feet, her knees buckled and he held her while she gathered herself together.
‘Turn around, my sweet,’ he said. She leaned on the bed while he undid the laces of her gown, then stepped out of it when it fell to the floor. Such a practical garment, not a flounce or a ribbon to be seen. And her chemise was plain cotton, not lace, but he seemed not to notice when he divested her of her stays and spun her back around.
He cupped her face in his hands. ‘You are so lovely.’
She relaxed. ‘You also.’
‘Lovely?’ He laughed. ‘I do not think so.’ He toed off his shoes.
‘I will judge.’ She helped him pull his shirt over his head. His shoulders were broad, his chest wide, and she ran the tips of her fingers through the triangle of dark curls before kneeling to peel off his stockings.
His fingers busied themselves in her hair, pulling pins until her hair fell down around her shoulders. He brought her to her feet and lifted her on to the bed.
He stroked her hair, spreading it out on the pillow. ‘How soft,’ he said, his eyes full of appreciation.
He climbed up on the bed alongside her.
He stroked her cheek and kissed her lips, tenderly at first, but when she slid her arms around his neck and kissed him back, hard and furiously, pressing her breasts against his chest, feeling his hardness against her thigh, he moved over her, parting her thighs and stroking her mons and the little tiny nub within its folds.
Pure bliss. Darkness and waves of pleasure overwhelmed her.
Damian watched le petit mort overtake her with a sense of astonished wonder. He had not realised she was so close to the edge.
Carefully he eased his shaft inside her, riding the last waves of her orgasm as her tight passage spasmed around his engorged flesh.
He had never been with a woman so incredibly quickly aroused. Even as her orgasm began to wane, he moved slowly inside her, taking one tight nipple between his lips and suckling gently.
A sound of appreciation came from low in her throat and her hips moved in counter-change to his movements, grinding her sweet soft flesh against the hard bone of his pelvis.
He played with her other nipple with the fingers of his other hand, alternating from one to the other, before moving to her throat, kissing and licking and nipping until he sensed her passion rise again.
He rose up on his hands to look down into her face, her lips full from his kisses, her eyes heavy lidded and soft.
Her hands came up to roam across his chest in small circles, her fingers gently tweaking his nipples every now and then.
She grabbed his shoulders and pulled herself up to kiss his lips.
As she fell back, he followed her down, delving into her delicious mouth with his tongue, pressing her slender lithe body into the mattress with his weight.
Her legs came up around his waist, opening her hot slick passage to better accommodate his hard shaft, and his mind went blank, aware only of pleasure and the pain of waiting for her to be ready again. It was the purest, most delicious torture.
And then he felt her tighten around him. She made a sound of encouragement and he thrust harder and faster and finally she let go and fell apart.
Pleasured nigh unto death, he followed her into the abyss.
At some point during the night, Pamela had snuggled into Damian’s arms. Awaking with the sensation of someone spooned within the curve of his body, one small pert breast filling his palm, the soft fullness of her bum against his groin, was delightfully surprising.
They fit together as if they were made for each other. Only the sound of her gentle breathing disturbed the quiet.
Damian rarely slept beside his bedmates. As a youth, his amorous adventures had been quick stolen moments with ladies of the opera while avoiding the attentions of the local gendarmerie.
More recently, he had enjoyed the company of a couple of wealthy widows who’d been only too pleased to embrace his fleeting attentions while maintaining their independence.
He had avoided any and all lures thrown out by matchmaking mamas who had seen him as fresh meat on the marriage mart upon his arrival in town.
Pamela sighed and stirred in her sleep.
Damian held perfectly still, for some reason wishing to maintain the feeling of oneness for a moment.
Even as the thought occurred to him, he shook off the odd longing and eased his arm from beneath her body and slipped out of the bed.
She stirred again.
He pulled the covers up over her bare shoulder, leaned over her and brushed her cheek with his lips. Her mouth seemed to curve in a smile.
She really was quite lovely.
And the fact that she had not been an innocent maiden made his task all the easier.
Calming maidenly fears had been one of the few things with which he had little or no experience. He had found the thought daunting.
Instead, he had discovered she was a deliciously sensual woman, who had given him one of the most pleasurable nights of his life.
He pulled his shirt on over his head and gazed down at her. With her hair burnished by the morning light spread across the pillow and her face in sweet repose she looked as sweet and innocent as an angel.
Perhaps he should forget about ruining her and her family and simply enjoy their relationship, here in the quiet of the countryside away from prying eyes.
Without doubt, if he continued the course he had chosen, their affair would end instantly and on a very sour note.
He shook his head at his foolishness. His weakness. He should know better than anyone that appearances were deceiving. Pamela was no innocent miss. And her family had played a major part in the ruination of all he had held dear.
The grand crescendo to his revenge was all arranged. The stage set and the play to open three weeks from today at his first society ball in his newly furbished London town house.
The invitations had gone out and the replies were flooding in.
No stopping things now.
Nor did he have the right. For the last ten years of his life his every waking moment had been building towards this end. To stop now not only would be a betrayal of the promise he had made to his parents, but would surely mean he had lost every last shred of his honour by being too cowardly to take action, because he feared being hurt by the consequences. Again.
The recollection of his cowardice all those years ago left a bitter taste in his mouth.
He would never forgive himself.
Damian had watched as his father opened the letter from Vicar Lamb. Watched his hope turn to despair and then rage. The letter had rejected all claims of culpability, denied any knowledge of the scheme that had brought in thousands of pounds and expressed false regret at being without the financial wherewithal to help. Sick at heart, Damian’s father had tossed the letter on the fire, but Damian remembered every word.
Not long after that, his dear sweet gentle mother had become ill and when she died Damian had sworn to avenge her death. It had taken him years to reach this point.
The satisfaction of achieving his goal would make the years of struggle worthwhile.
As he had intended, he finished dressing in his room and headed for Town.