it, directly in front of Ellie, his legs spread negligently in front of him. His erection pressed against his breeches, but he still had some control — there was still time for the questions he suddenly, urgently needed to ask.
“Tell me what your sins are.”
Ellie sat back on her heels, startled. “I beg your pardon?”
“Your sins. I said I would learn them. And I want to learn them now.”
“Now? You called me onto the carpet like a child, not a…?”
She couldn’t complete the sentence. “A concubine?” he supplied.
She nodded.
“Funny, that doesn’t seem to be a word you would hesitate over. But no, you’re not a child. And we will get to the concubine part of the evening in good time.”
She choked back a laugh, perhaps thinking that laughter wasn’t allowed by the letter of his demands. She was so far from tears as to make his revenge, if he still wanted it, seem permanently unattainable. He frowned and tried to focus. “Your sins, Ellie. Now.”
She met his gaze straight on. “You were the only sin that was deadly for me.”
“Still regretting you gave your maidenhead to a peasant? My only regret is I can’t take it again.”
“Do you want me to say I regret that I have but one maidenhead to give for your lordship? I’m sorry, but you broke that toy — you’ll have to take something else.”
He sipped his whisky to hide his sudden grin and contemplated the lines of her face. In this mood, she wouldn’t betray vulnerability. Her chin was too stubborn, her mouth too sultry, her eyes too guarded. She was the Virgin Queen again, cold and unattainable no matter what he said or what he forced her to do. But he knew how to break through the ice.
“Is there nothing else you wish to confess?” he asked.
If she lifted her chin any higher, she would snap her own neck. “Absolutely not.”
He tossed back the rest of his whisky, wiped his mouth with his sleeve just to annoy her, and set the glass behind him on the desk. Then he leaned back in his chair and crossed his hands behind his head. “Then you may begin, goddess. Worship me.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Her mouth went dry. She was trying so hard to stay unaffected, but she was already wet for him — not visibly aroused like he was, but her secret need was a pressing, demanding, living thing that would eat through her resolve long before Nick would let her leave the room.
Why did she want him so badly? There was no warmth in his eyes. His mouth was grim. The words that came from it were even more so. There was a time, years ago, when she would have crawled across any room to have him again. Now she had no desire to crawl — but he had swept into this house and demanded it, as though no time at all had passed between her failure and his revenge.
Ellie wet her lips. His eyes followed the darting of her tongue. His arms tensed as though his hands were turning into fists. She narrowed her eyes at that — at the way he had arranged all of this, as though to remind both of them who was at fault for their doomed love.
Suddenly, she was angry. If one room of her heart held regret, and if another held guilt, there was a third room that held fury. Fury at him for letting her go so easily. Fury that he had left and never looked back. Fury that he had left her alone to destroy herself.
It was all her fault…but it was his fault, too.
She stayed on her knees like a penitent approaching an altar, shifting her skirts out from underneath her so that she could move forward without falling on her face. He didn’t move at all, but his mouth fell open as though she’d finally, truly shocked him.
She didn’t smile. If he wanted a goddess, he would get one — a vengeful, remorseless goddess, but a goddess nonetheless.
She nudged his knees apart, sliding into the gap he created for her. She unbuttoned his jacket, then his waistcoat, and slid her hands up his chest. His skin rippled and his muscles shuddered under her touch. She untied his cravat next, undoing the knot that made him look respectable, and tossed the cloth away. Then she undid the drawstring of his shirt, letting it gap a bit at the neck. With his jacket open and his neck bare, he