20. St. Erth
Isipped my glass of port and tried to believe it was relaxing me.
I had changed my clothes for the night and was relaxing comfortably in my room. If I finished my glass of port, I could call my valet and he would immediately procure me another one. Or my snuff. Or a book of sea-travels, so I could reminisce about my life at sea.
But I felt restless.
I glared at the door.
Was it just that I was already bored in the country, away from London? No horse races, no card games, no boxing with Gentleman Jackson?
No, that wasn’t fucking it.
It was my own godsdamn wife.
I should have fucked her one more time before leaving her in that dungeon. If I’d had just one more time I could have left her there and gone to sleep.
But as it was, I felt need and desire sizzling up my spine, blood rushing to my cock as I remembered her little squeaks and how she had looked bent over the table in front of me.
Shit.
There was no way I was going to be able to sleep without having her one more time.
I gritted my teeth as I descended the steps to the dungeon again, forcing myself to move slowly.
But I had barely headed down when I heard her screams.
There was no reason whatsoever that my strides should lengthen just because Catherine was screaming. It would do her all the good in the world to have rats chew her dress. Maybe then she wouldn’t dare to play a trick like that on me again.
I seethed about her disobedience, but somehow my strides were long and I reached her quickly.
“Stop these hysterics!” I barked sharply as I put the key in the lock.
She flew at the door, rattling the bars as she shrieked unintelligibly.
When I opened the door she flew into my arms, but only to beat at my chest with her little fists.
I was already horny as fuck and this was only making it worse.
“Stop!” I ordered her, putting my hands on her slim little waist to shake her. “I told you this was your punishment.”
She took a huge breath. “You didn’t have to leave me with the dead bodies of everyone you murdered, you monster!”
“I? Murder someone and leave them in the basement of my own home?” I asked coldly. “What kind of a fool do you take me for? Show me what you mean.”
She was clutching my jacket so tightly and I could see in the light of my candle that she was pointing in the corner.
I stalked over, Catherine clinging to me in a manner that make my cock harder than ever in my breeches.
My light swept up.
“I’ll be damned,” I said. “It is a corpse.”
Catherine screamed again, but I turned with one hand and gripped her mouth to force her to stop. “Must have been from your grandfather’s time,” I said. “It stinks of Wendover. Lazy, half-ass, too arrogant to even cover up their own murders.”
“Why should I believe it isn’t yours?” she wailed.
I glared down at her. “You should know by now, Viscountess,” I said, “that I dispose of my bodies like a gentleman.”
Then I was grabbing her roughly by the collar and dragging her so quickly down the hallway again that her feet barely touched the ground.
I could have fucking made it if she hadn’t made a little sigh of relief, if I hadn’t been able to feel the goosebumps prickling on the back of her neck.
At the last cell in the row I turned and pressed her up against the bars, barely even able to control myself to lift her skirts before sinking my cock deep into her wetness.
The groan I let out was unbound, uncanny.
What had happened to me?
I could not physically stay away from my wife.
I could not stop taking her.
I could not sleep without her.
I could not live without her.