She allowed herself a furtive glance up at him from beneath her enveloping hood. She could see the ruined spires of the abbey behind him, and for a moment they looked oddly like devil's horns. She blinked, then wanted to laugh. She was being ridiculously fanciful. Adrian Rohan was nothing but a man. A spoiled, wicked, far too pretty man, but human. By coming here she hadn't somehow managed to sell her soul to the devil.
Should she dare attempt to speak? If she could manage some kind of low-throated rumble of a voice. it might serve to further convince him she was a man.
There was no way he could suspect who she really was—the very proper Miss Spenser would hardly be cavorting with the Mad Monks of the Heavenly Host.
Not that she'd yet cavorted, and she had no intention of doing so. This had all been in the service of a very ill-judged curiosity. Really, couldn't her imagination have sufficed? And who would have thought she'd run into Adrian Rohan?
She had.
The truth came flooding in. She had known perfectly well he would be here, indulging his debauched appetites. She had come here to see him, watch him, if possible, from behind the safety of the disguise. She wanted to see him naked, flushed with desire, so she could capture that in her memory.
She supposed she wouldn't be happy seeing him direct that powerful licentiousness toward some other woman, and if Lina succeeded in bedding him she would walk away, go back to the house and try to forget.
It might even break the powerful hold Rohan had over her mind and her emotions. Because nothing else had managed to have any effect so far. Her longing for him was unbearably painful.
In truth, she looked at the beautiful, spoiled, self-indulgent man and saw a wounded, angry child. One who needed her.
She mocked herself silently. This man didn't need her at all; he needed the next willing body and open bottle and game of hazard. He had no use for someone like her, even though she knew she could be the making of him.
No, if Lina had taken him it would have all been over. Her cousin would have moved on, and Rohan would find other beauties to flirt and dance with, to bed. Nothing would change.
She'd been a fool and a half to come here.
She gave a faint tug on her hand, just to see how alert he was, but his fingers tightened immediately, not to the point of pain, but just short of it. She had the impression that he knew how to judge his strength perfectly, which made her even more uneasy. For him to have such intimate knowledge of pain he must have a fair amount of experience, and that was most definitely one thing she had no intention of witnessing, much less participating in. She should have suspected that would be part of his particular interest.
It was a good thing he hadn't realized the smaller, softer hand in his belonged to a female. In truth, her hands were probably larger than those of many shorter men, and she never used unguents or whitening agents on them, unlike many in the ton. At least that part of her anatomy wouldn't betray her, and that was the only part of her he was going to touch.
They were in a cul-de-sac. The earth had risen around them, leaving them in a landscaped depression, reinforced stone walls all around them, and only one door in the impenetrable fortress.
There was no escape, she realized with sudden panic, only back the way they came. She was certain he must have sensed the immediate tension in her body. His hand tightened on hers, and she knew there was no way to take him unawares.
Kicking him would be useless in bare feet. She could use her elbows, her knees; she could use her fingernails and teeth. She wasn't going to submit
She took a deep, calming breath. He was under any number of false assumptions. Once she explained he would let her go. She'd hoped to escape without having to say a word, but escape she would, whatever the price.
She hadn't moved, and he didn't try to rush her, seeming content to take his time in the cool night air. The bright moonlight was unkind—it lit the planes and hollows of his face, only accentuating his dangerous beauty, and for a moment she was back in her dreams where he held her, kissed her, stroked her body until she woke up alone, convulsing, her own hands between her legs.
The memory shamed her, even as it enticed her. But it was her own fantasy, as those hands, embarrassingly enough, had been her own hands fisted beneath her body as she rocked against them. His touch would be anathema.
Fear finally galvanized her. "I'm not what you think I am," she said in a low, gravelly voice in one last attempt to deceive him.
He looked amused, not surprised. "It speaks!" he said in a marveling tone. "And how do you know what I think you are? Believe me, child, I was under no illusion that you were truly a monk under a vow of silence. I'm pleased you've decided to talk—we can't negotiate until you're willing to parley. "
"Negotiate?" The word caught her. "What have we to negotiate?"
"Why, the terms of your surrender. " The fear was arcing through her now, threatening to overpower her. "I surrender" she said promptly. "Now let me go. "
"I'm afraid you don't understand the concept of surrender, my pet. There is no true surrender until I am thrusting inside you, finding my own completion and yours. There is no surrender until you take me into your mouth. There is no surrender until you beg me for my touch, my kiss, my cock. "
&nbs
p; Panic washed over her full force, and she tried to yank herself away. But his grip was too strong. Painful now, just a little bit.
"You don't understand," she said, breathless, her voice a notch higher in her panic. "I'm not a man. "
"You don't understand," he mimicked. "I never thought you were. I only like to fuck women. "
The deliberate crudeness of his language made her flinch. She knew that word, even if some of the others were unfamiliar. That had been the hardest word Meggie had taught her. That he would use it with her was shocking.