Bound by Bliss (Bound and Determined #2)(4)
“Your brother would never do that. He knows you don’t like Dull-Don.”
“Don’t call him that.” The words were out before she could pull them back. Why could she not clear him from her mind? Why did he linger there, a tall, hard figure of a man, wide muscled shoulders and narrow hips, with high proud cheekbones and those eyes, eyes that seemed to follow her always. Shaking the thought away, without betraying a moment of emotion, she paused. Why was she defending the man? It was true that she didn’t like him, not anymore. He always made her feel uncomfortable, like butterflies were brushing her with their wings—all over.
“It’s your name for him,” Angela replied, defensive.
“Yes, but that was years ago. I should never have told you,” Bliss said, tapping her foot nervously. If only the man really was dull. She’d worked hard to persuade herself that he was, to forget what she’d seen, to forget the images that still came to her in the late hours of the night, the images that filled her with pain—and with something else, something she tried so hard to ignore, to put aside. It was far better to pretend that Duldon was dull, to pretend that was why she disliked him.
“You had to tell me.” The tiniest hint of a smile lifted Angela’s cheeks. “You had to explain that you gave everyone nicknames after you called me Angel.”
The story was an old one, but brought a hint of warmth to Bliss’s chilled heart. “Yes, but you still shouldn’t call him that here. What if someone heard?”
“What do you care? You love a bit of scandal. And besides, it suits him so well. He is such a dull, dull don.”
If only Angela were correct and that the name suited him far better than it did. Perhaps she could still persuade herself that it did. She considered the matter. He might be attractive, perhaps too attractive, but all he truly cared about was his estates and his own amusement. She knew just how much he liked his own amusements—she’d seen far too much of him and his amusements. Her stomach twisted with past memory. She must remember that the man no longer had a caring bone in his entire body. He didn’t care for her any longer, if he had then he would never have…But she wasn’t going to think of that. He might once have been the most exciting man she knew, but she’d been a child then. Now she knew better. If she worked hard enough maybe she could even consider him a bore, a dull don. That would be safe, and deep in her heart she longed for safety.
A shiver took her at the thought. Even thinking about the man made her uncomfortable. She’d like to blame it on Swanston’s marriage plans, but she knew better. Ever since she’d left childhood behind, her stomach had tensed when Duldon was around, tiny flickers of awareness leaving her most uncomfortable. That had been true even before…
How could her brother even think that marriage between them would be suitable?
—
Stephan Andrew James Perth, Lord Duldon, rolled on his side as the clock on St. Michael’s tower sounded the hour, the sheets tangling about his waist. He counted the toll as he ran a finger down one of the fine red welts marking the woman’s bare back. Eleven bells.
A slow sigh escaped between his teeth. Normally such a night’s work would have left him satisfied, but tonight he felt strangely empty, incomplete.
The woman rolled her hips, inviting further play. Almost perfunctorily he raised a hand and gave her a hard swat. Her ass stretched back as a happy moan sounded. Blast. He knew every move to make, but lacked any actual desire. It had been this way for far too many days—weeks or months if he was honest.
The woman turned toward him, heavy breasts falling forward, nipples still swollen from the evening’s play, inviting his touch. A slight smile curved her lips beneath the silken mask she wore. “And how may this humble servant serve you further, master?” Her eyes dropped to where the thick linen of the sheet still draped about his waist.
Her tongue darted out, wetting already moist lips.
Eleven.
Eleven bells.
Shit. He was late.
He’d promised his aunt he’d attend the Evanstons’ soiree. And his aunt, Lady Perse, was not one to be disappointed—plus there was always the possibility that Bliss would be there. He pushed the thought from his mind. He’d thought of her far too frequently these last months, fantasized about her far too often. His cock began to swell at even the slightest thought. Blast. Bliss was going to be his wife, not his mistress. Now, if only the unruly beast would remember that fact and not rear his ugly head at every thought of sweet Bliss.
Without a word, he swung from the bed and reached for his trousers. If he hurried he would make it before the call to dinner. Luckily Lady Evanston believed in a late dinner. Lady Perse would understand. A gentleman could not be expected to arrive early.
“You’re leaving now?” The woman did not sound happy, not at all.
“I am sorry. I must.” He laid a careless kiss upon her rounded shoulder.
She pushed herself up, her breasts almost slapping his chest. “Don’t you want to punish me more? I’ve been a very bad maid. I haven’t completed my tasks.” Her hand reached for the trousers he had just fastened.
He pushed her hand away. Couldn’t they ever be original? He knew it was all a game; his partner was no more a servant than a lion was a house cat, but some days he tired of all the pretense, wanted something real, something true.