Nothing Denied (15 page)

Gareth swal owed, because the dreaded words were caught in his throat. “Apparently, the idea of carrying my sons was utterly distasteful to her. The terror on her face was evidence of her feelings. She clutched at her bel y and told me that no child of hers would ever come under my control.”

Again, he hesitated, almost physical y unable to continue. “Th–then she turned and threw herself down the main staircase.”

Beatrice made a strangled sound and lifted her fingers to cover her mouth. She stared at him, her bright blue eyes dark with horror.

“It–it is so high,” she final y whispered.

He nodded as nausea hit him in waves just as powerful as they had been that horrible night.

“She fel al the way down, head over heels, and hit the marble floor at the bottom with the worst crash I’ve ever heard. I rushed to her, but I could see she was dead before I even got to her. Her neck was broken and she was gone. And I, in the eyes of many, was a murderer.”

Although he did not want to, Gareth forced himself to look at Beatrice, to see her disgust and her fear as she, too, decided that he was a depraved kil er. But when he looked at her he found she was already staring at him, just as he had stared at her earlier. Her blue eyes focused on him with unrelenting attention, but he could not read her emotions, her response to what he had told her.

He shifted under her scrutiny, but made himself take i t . He had known she might be horrified when she learned the truth, he was ready for any reaction. Except the one she gave. Slowly, Beatrice moved toward him. She reached out and then her fingers curled around his wrist gently.

“Gareth,” she whispered. “I–I have never been good at offering comfort—”

He tugged away from her. “I don’t want your sympathy, damn it.”

“I don’t offer that!” she snapped as she grabbed for him again. “I hate to receive it, why would I insult you by giving it? No, I said
comfort
.”

Gareth’s brow wrinkled. “How can I have comfort?

My wife is dead and what I am kil ed her.”

“Stop it.” Beatrice’s grip on his hands grew tighter. “I cannot stand pity in any form, including the kind turned toward self. It changes nothing. You must know that you did
not
kil her.”

He shrugged. “I don’t know anything.”

“How can you not?” she asked in exasperation. “You did not push her, you didn’t even tel her to jump! She did those things of her own volition and for her own reasons.”

“Her own reasons were
me
,” Gareth insisted. “If she had not married me, if she hadn’t been so thoroughly disgusted by what I am, she never would have thrown herself down those stairs. Does it not fol ow, then, that marrying me kil ed her?”

“Of course not!” Beatrice barked and it was clear she felt she’d heard nothing so foolish before. “It just as easily fol ows that if she had tried to be what you desired, even a little, you two could have come to an understanding. By that logic, Laurel’s own inability to compromise is what brought her end. Whatever the cause, the fact is that you have locked yourself away for so long, Gareth. You have al owed the
ton
their whispers and cruelty…You have never once defended yourself.”

He nodded. “I didn’t want to make her memory more sordid than it already was. If those in her family and Society believed me the vil ain, then it fol owed that they see her as the victim. It was better than the alternative.”

She shook her head. “I don’t believe that. Lying to protect her memory, al the while tormenting yourself about what she did for two long years is not
better
. But either way—it is
enough
.”

Beatrice met his eyes and again he was taken aback by the unexpected softness in her stare. She truly wished to help him, comfort him, even though it wasn’t her nature to nurture. And yet it meant even more to him because it was something she
chose
to do.

“You have punished yourself and al owed others to punish you,” she whispered. “Let it be enough now, Gareth.”

“That is what Vincent says.”

She wrinkled her brow. “Vincent?”

“My best friend, Vincent, the Viscount Knighthil . He was the one visiting us when she took her life. He has long encouraged me to defend myself publicly.”

Beatrice put her hands on her hips. “Then I look forward to meeting him, for he sounds like a reasonable fel ow with sound advice.”

“You shal meet him,” Gareth said. “I want to send word for him to come here straightaway.”

She tilted her head. “Why?”

“If someone is threatening you, I want a friend close by whom I can trust to help me protect you.” Gareth held her stare. “I defend my own.”

She shivered at the claim and he smothered a smile. He found he rather liked when she turned her fire and brimstone to the task of protecting him rather than pushing away anyone who dared come near. That kind of fierce protectiveness would make her a good wife, an excel ent mother…and a tremendous friend.

As if she sensed his thoughts, she blushed and took a step backward, distancing herself from him and from the intensity of this exchange. She folded her arms in front of her and held his stare.

“I am glad you told me about your late wife, Gareth,”

she said. “Now that I know, our entire situation makes more sense. But—”

He arched a brow, were there to be consequences for what he had confessed, even though she claimed understanding?

“But?” he asked.

She smoothed her gown reflexively. “This
thing
between us has nothing to do with her. I don’t want what we do and what we share to have anything to do with what came before.”

Gareth blinked. He hadn’t been expecting that statement, yet he could readily agree. The truth was, he had asked for this bargain with thoughts of Laurel’s refusal in his mind. But from the first moment he touched Beatrice, his late wife hadn’t entered his mind. The two women were whol y separate.

And he intended to keep it that way.

“You are right,” he said softly. “And I swear to you that my late wife does not and shal not ever enter the bedroom with us.”

Beatrice straightened her shoulders. “I am finished with games, Gareth. I have been waiting for you to show me exactly what you want from me and now I demand it.”

“You
demand it?” he said, humor fil ing him for the first time since he found Adam stalking her.

She nodded, but he sensed her nervousness when she swal owed hard. “Take me back to that special room you showed me the night of my arrival. But this time, I want you to truly give me everything you desire, take everything you need.”

He hesitated. Her demand was utter temptation, her offer of complete freedom to do as he wished a gift unlike any other.

“I am not certain you know what you are asking,” he said softly.

She held his gaze with no hesitation. “Perhaps not, but we are at a crossroads, Gareth. Decisions must be made, futures must be determined. And this is the only way we wil ever know if we are truly compatible.”

Gareth let his breath out in a whoosh. He had been Gareth let his breath out in a whoosh. He had been easing Beatrice into submission in the hopes that he could coax her. But he realized now, as he stared at her, with her bottom lip trembling and flushed skin, that he had been treating her like Laurel. Hoping for surrender rather than taking it. And fearing her reaction.

But Beatrice was not his late wife. She was stronger, more equipped to take what he desired, even if her nature fought it. Subtlety would never work. Beatrice wanted and needed a firm hand.

And he was more than happy to provide it. Now.

Chapter Eleven

B
eatrice stood in the dark, sensual pleasure room she had been dreaming about since her arrival at Gareth’s estate. Her heart throbbed as she watched him enter the chamber and close the door behind him. As he locked the door, fear tickled at her, but she shoved it aside.

This was what she needed to do. And after the events of today she knew without hesitation that Gareth would not hurt her.

She stared at him. He remained by the door, simply watching her. He seemed as hesitant as she felt, but now she understood why. He feared her reaction when he shed his gentlemanly façade and showed her the dominance he so craved. Laurel had done that to him. The wife he had protected to a fault even as she spurned him.

Empathy swel ed in Beatrice, but she forced it aside to pack it away with her fear.

Deeper feelings had no place in this room or with this man. She wanted the freedom he represented, nothing more. Surrender was the way to get it. There might be pleasure, but she could go no further. She already knew the consequences of developing an attachment.

“Remove your clothing,” Gareth said. His voice sounded different, more powerful, infinitely more seductive.

And yet she bristled, for his words were an order. Her natural reaction was to tel him to go to the devil and run as far as she could. Instead, she remained standing perfectly stil and stared at him.

He arched a brow. “In this room, Beatrice, you are my property. My slave in every way. Whatever I tel you, you must do or suffer the consequences, which I promise you are not enjoyable. I am your master here.”

“I have no power, then?” she whispered, uncertain if she could agree to such supplication, even for him. He shook his head. “My dear, in some ways you have
all
the power.”

“I don’t understand.” She wrinkled her brow.

“You can stop me at any time with just a word. You choose it, and if you say it, I must withdraw immediately, no matter how impassioned I am. Even if I am in the midst of taking you, it ends.”

Beatrice’s eyes widened. Here was a new twist to this idea of submission that she hadn’t realized existed. What he said
did
give her ultimate power, for she had seen how involved and aroused he could become. That meant at any moment, she could withhold his pleasure from him.

With a word of her choosing. She thrust her shoulders back as he smiled at her.

“Tel me the word.”

She arched her own brow. “Wicked.”

He laughed, at first a chuckle and then a ful bel y laugh. She had never seem him as open and relaxed as this and she was mesmerized at the sight. Good God, but he was more handsome than she had thought. His laughter was almost as pleasurable as his heated touch.

“Only
you
would make
wicked
the word to say to stop me,” he said as his laughter subsided. “But that is your choice and I shal abide by it. If at any time you say the word wicked, I wil cease my activities immediately and you wil be free to walk away from me. But anything else you say shal not stop me. Even if you tel me no.”

She nodded.

“Now, strip your clothing off.”

She tensed and was highly tempted to snap out the word “wicked” and stomp away, but she refrained. She word “wicked” and stomp away, but she refrained. She had asked him to bring her here and to do this. She had berated his late wife for her refusal. It seemed her best course of action was simply to try it.

She lifted her hands to the neckline of her gown and found the first button. As she slipped it free, Gareth moved closer, his dark eyes flickering in the firelight.

“Slower, Beatrice,” he breathed.

She shivered as his finger came out to trace her cheek, but she did as he asked and moved to the second button. Keeping her gaze locked with his, she freed it and tugged gently to al ow the fabric to part and grant him a smal glimpse of her skin beneath. He smiled and the expression was so feral and possessive that her thighs clenched around the moisture flooding her sheath.

“Again,” he ordered, flicking a finger toward the next button. She freed it and the next, opening her bodice ful y.

“Let me see your breasts,” he whispered, his voice rough as sand. “Offer them to me.”

She blushed at the frank demand, and again the word
wicked
flashed through her mind. She ignored it and shimmied the gown down her arms and her chemise. She bared her breasts and gently cupped them, lifting them from below as an offering to him.

“Pretty.” He never removed his stare from the aroused peaks. “Now touch yourself. Show me your arousal.”

A little whimper escaped her lips and she blushed because the sound was part denial, but equal part pleasure. It was twisted how much she liked the way he looked at her, spoke to her.

“Beatrice, I want you to answer when I tel you to do these things,” he said, his pupils dilating with desire as she pinched her sensitive nipples gently. “I want you to hear yourself say yes to me.”

“Y–yes,” she stammered.

He shook his head. “With respect.”

She narrowed her eyes, but continued to tug her nipples regardless of her outrage. “Yes,
my
lord.”

His eyes fluttered shut. “Oh, I like that. Better even than
master
. That’s how I want you to say it from now on.”

She nodded, somehow mesmerized by the pleasure he took in what she was doing. He was giving the orders, but somehow she stil had him in hand because he
needed
this from her. It was her gift, one she gave even as he took it.

“Yes,
my
lord,” she whispered and was shocked how seductive her voice suddenly sounded.

“Remove the rest of the dress,” he said softly. “Show me your body, because it makes me mad with wanting.

”

She flushed, taken aback by the compliment. How foolish and girlish it was to like that he wanted to see her body, yet warmth spread through her and settled in a steady throb between her thighs.

She pushed the dress down her body, along with her chemise. She had removed her slippers when she came into the room, so she was left in only her stockings. He growled out a low sound of pleasure.

“I’m going to buy you such beautiful, shocking underthings, Beatrice,” he promised. “Shameless things to wear under proper gowns. And when you wear them, you
will
think of me and al the things I’l do to you. Do you understand?”