Chapter 8 #3
A flash of violet eyes. He had hurt her. "And yet, what have you demanded of me?" At his own flinch, she smiled bitterly. "It's all right, Rathbourne. I'm used to it."
Then she turned to look out of the window again.
And he suddenly felt quite ill and ashamed of himself.
"I'm sorry that you feel that way. I did not think of our agreement as such, no more than I thought myself a lesser man for bending to your will during the day.
I wanted you, and I feared the imbalance of submitting to your will with no recourse, which is why I demanded such a thing of you.
" His gaze lowered. "Perhaps it was wrong of me. "
There was an echoing moment of silence. When he looked up, Ianthe's eyes were wide, and she looked surprisingly young. "Well. Look at the pair of us, treating each other kindly. That was something I did not expect."
"Perhaps we have both made assumptions about each other?"
More silence. It was awkward, and she looked flushed and somewhat sweet.
"What is your relationship with the Prime?" He was beginning to suspect that he'd been very, very wrong in regards to everything he knew about her.
"Why?"
"So I can stop making assumptions about you, and perhaps because last night was rather.
.. intimate. I'm curious about you. You have the body of a courtesan, but in bed, you're somewhat.
.. Not shy. That's not the word I'm looking for.
Perhaps not quite certain of what I was doing to you at times or what my intentions were. You kept hesitating."
"Perhaps the word you're looking for is 'inexperienced'," Miss Martin said, puffing up like a peacock. "I do hope it wasn't boring to a man of your caliber."
"Certainly not boring. It was more than I'd ever hoped for," he replied, though he couldn't stop chewing over her words. "Inexperienced?"
She looked away. "Forget I said it."
"No. I want to know what you meant by it." A sudden thought struck him, a thought that made his stomach twist a little. "The Prime's not your lover, is he?"
"Well, I thought it might take you a little longer to discern the truth.
There goes your revenge, my lord. No, I'm not his mistress.
I never have been, and I never will be. That place is already taken.
Why do you think I was so certain Mrs. Ross had not stolen the relic?
Let us just say that her whereabouts that night were quite well-known and her alibi is foolproof. "
"But you love him?"
"Of course I love him. He is terribly dear to me." She seemed to enjoy his discomfiture.
Lucien's eyes narrowed. Miss Martin actually laughed, a soft, husky sound that he liked very much.
"Come here," he said.
"But it's not nighttime, my lord." Miss Martin blinked her eyelashes at him flirtatiously. "I don't have to do anything that you say. Quite the opposite."
Reaching forward, he hauled her into his arms. Miss Martin gave a startled squeal that died as he settled her in his lap. Her skirts fell around his thighs, and the snug curve of her bottom settled against his groin. Miss Martin sucked in a sharp breath.
"Why do you hold him so dearly?" he asked, toying with the buttons on her dress. It was buttoned all the way to her throat, where a fringe of lace brushed against her neck. Red suited her. It was a color made for dangerous women, though her admission of inexperience threw him a little.
"Why does the precise nature of my relationship with Drake concern you so much?" As he drove forward to press his lips against the soft skin beneath her jaw, her fingers pressed against his mouth, stilling him.
Lucien looked up, then sucked one of them into his mouth, circling it with his tongue.
Miss Martin's pupils were so very large, her lips parting breathily.
She might be unused to such displays, but she didn't dislike them.
White teeth sank into her lower lip. He wanted, very badly, to replace it with his own mouth.
And couldn't.
"It doesn't," he lied. Again those fingers denied him.
"Answer my question, and I'll answer yours."
That irritated him, for as much as he didn't particularly want to explore his own motivations in pursuing the answer, he did indeed want to know the truth.
Lucien nipped at her fingers. "Because I want you. Because I wanted to steal you away from him. Because I wanted to fuck him out of your mind. That's why I wanted to know what he is to you, especially now that you speak of him having another mistress."
"He was never in my mind."
"In your heart then." He started to undo the buttons at her throat.
"My lord," she protested in a whisper.
"It's not night. You have no obligation to let me please you, unless you wish to. And you owe me an answer."
Thick lashes dragged over her violet eyes. Miss Martin looked both helpless and fascinated. Her hand splayed flat over his heart, holding him at bay. "Drake was the father I never had," she blurted. "You don't have to do this. He's not your competition."
That satisfied something inside of him that Lucien hadn't even known was bothered.
It also raised numerous questions about her.
"Your own father chairs the Vigilance Against Sorcery Committee.
" Grant Martin was a thorn in all of their sides, and a bastard to boot.
"Does that have anything to do with you? "
"Of course it does. My father thinks that I am filth.
He threw me out onto the streets when I was seventeen.
I had no one. Nothing. Only the clothes I wore and a future where I could earn my living on my back or as some rich man's mistress.
" Her laugh sounded brutal. "You will never understand what Drake did for me.
He'd felt my sorcery—the way I expressed it—and he came looking for me.
He offered me a life as my own woman and took me under his wing as his apprentice when nobody had ever given a damn about me, and when such a position was highly coveted.
Of course everyone in the Order thought I was his lover.
What other use could a man have for a young woman?
Why else would he help her? I love him for that.
I love him for showing me that men can be trusted.
That someone wanted to be my father, without trying to ever take anything from me.
You don't know what it is like to grow up knowing nothing but shame—"
A queer feeling twisted in his stomach, an echoing ache. Yes, actually, I do...
"—and then realizing that you do have worth.
That everything that you had despised about your own nature was something to be celebrated and accepted.
It was encouraged. Does that explain it all?
" Tears pricked at her eyes, but they were fiercely determined and very, very protective.
"I would do anything for Drake. Anything at all. "
The cut of it went deep, that the Prime could be a father figure to her, when he had never given a damn about a son of his own blood. It was an ugly feeling, for Lucien hadn't known he'd even craved such a thing.
"Yes, it explains it." It also explained her anger at the way he'd assumed such a thing too. Taking Miss Martin's hand from his chest, he set it on his lapel, then took her chin in his hand, his thumb resting against those pretty lips. "Why did you agree to this?"
"Because I wanted you," she whispered, her fleshy lower lip teasing his thumb.
"Perhaps I knew it would be like this between us?
Perhaps I just wanted... something to take my mind off everything.
When you touch me, sometimes it feels like I'm not alone.
And I don't think I could stand to be alone, not right now.
" A tear slid down her porcelain cheek. Cupping his face in both hands, Ianthe leaned forward and licked at his jaw.
His cock leapt against his trousers. Lucien bared his teeth in a snarl and tilted his head back, granting her access as he shoved both hands under her skirts.
He hadn't liked the thought that she'd done this with the idea of herself as his whore, or that she'd done this to protect the Prime, but desire.
.. the idea of her wanting him made something primal rear inside him.
Such soft skin... Warm, plump thighs... He went straight for the heat of her, slipping two fingers between the slit in her drawers, and grasped her hip with the other hand.
There was wetness there. Miss Martin gasped against his neck, her teeth sinking into his flesh as he rasped his thumb over her clit and buried his fingers to the hilt inside of her.
"Fuck my hand," he whispered, nuzzling his mouth against her throat.
There was a flash of uncertainty in her eyes; then she rocked her hips forward gently, filling herself with him.
"You were not a virgin," he said.
Miss Martin laughed her husky laugh, and her body tightened around his fingers in response. "Why are you so fascinated with me?"
I don't know. He met her gaze with a challenging one of his own. "Perhaps I just want to know how far I can push you."
Nipping at his fingers, she rocked forward again, a slow undulation, as though she was beginning to learn what he wanted and perhaps what she herself needed. "As far as you want to, my lord. I won't break."
It was an effective sidestep away from his question. "How many lovers have you had?"
Her dark gaze was oh, so knowing. "Two. The first was.
.. unexpected, but not undesired. I was lonely and curious.
I wanted to know what it felt like for someone to pretend to care for me for just one night, and then.
.. Well, he far exceeded my expectations.
The second was out of curiosity. It didn't last long, and it didn't end well.
Quite soured my opinion on the subject for a few years. "