too, was locked from the inside. How had he managed to get in, to materialize through locked doors?
It didn’t matter—he wasn’t going to do it again. She dragged one chair and shoved it under the door handle, then took another chair and tucked it under the other. No one would get past her barricade. She went to the windows. The heavy snow had almost stopped, with only gentle flakes still drifting down, and she could see the rooftops of the building quite well. If need be she could go out that way. She wasn’t going to stay trapped in this room if he chose to disturb her again…
But she was fooling herself. She had nothing to run from. As long as she agreed to his rules Lydia would be safe and she herself would simply suffer the annoyance of his company. Not the insult of his physical attentions.
So why did it feel as if his lack of interest was the true insult? Where did she get these sudden silly ideas, that she might be desired, wanted?
She’d gotten them from him. Part of the games he played, the games she would have to endure for the next six weeks if she remembered her liturgical calendar correctly. But nowhere in his rules did it say she couldn’t fight back. He could play his games all he wanted—that didn’t mean he was going to win.
She limped back to bed, taking a look at the bandages on her feet before she blew out the candle. No fresh blood seeping through—they really were improving. Before long she’d be able to walk. To run. To dance rings around Francis Rohan, who foolishly thought he’d have everything his way. She wouldn’t let him win. She would ensure that he sent Lydia away to the country where she’d be safe, and then she’d start in on him.
She could make his life so miserable he’d be begging to send her away.
Two hours later Francis Rohan lay naked and stretched across his current lover’s equally naked body. Juliette had always been inventive, and he’d found himself particularly inspired tonight. It was a great shame that he was imagining Elinor Harriman’s body naked beneath, above, in front of his, but Juliette wouldn’t mind as long as he gave her the mind-numbing pleasure she demanded. Indeed, even dear Juliette was worn out this evening, taken to her limit and beyond, until she had to beg him to stop.
It was troublesome, this fascination with his reluctant houseguest. A great deal too bad that it was bordering on obsession. His friends, if he could call them that, would be astonished.
He knew his reasons were simple. He was denying himself, when he usually took what he wanted like the rakehell he was. Normally Miss Harriman would be seduced and forgotten by now. But something had stayed his hand. Perhaps it was her calm, pragmatic air, or the curiously vulnerable streak that broke forth occasionally. There was no denying that he was enjoying himself, enjoying the wanting, enjoying spending that need on others while the ultimate prize awaited. Unless he came to his senses before he actually managed to bed her.
He had no idea whether that was going to happen or not. He’d never gone through anything like this, so he had nothing to compare it with. All he knew was he hadn’t felt more alive in years, perhaps decades. He couldn’t remember.
He slipped out of bed, away from Juliette, and frowned for a moment. He was totally unacquainted with guilt or regret—they were the emotions of fools. Nevertheless, as pleasantly exhausted as he was, there was the oddest sense that he’d done something wrong.
Nonsense. Do what thou wilt. He’d wanted a female, quite badly, and Juliette was more than available. Life was too short to stint on pleasures, and if Elinor Harriman started interfering then he’d simply have to ship her back to England where she belonged. He wasn’t about to let anyone or anything interfere with who and what he was.
Juliette stirred, whimpering slightly as she moved, and she could thank him for that. Would he really consider making Elinor submit to the deliciously perverse things he sometimes fancied? Perhaps he wanted to make love to her chastely, like a careful bridegroom.
He was nobody’s bridegroom. He’d have her on her knees in front of him, taking him in her mouth. He’d have her every way he could, and then think of new ways to try it. The Heavenly Host was keeping a chapbook of