Passion's Joy (27 page)

She was only vaguely aware of his weight leaving her to turn over before mercifully drawing her back into his arms against the long length of him. Mercifully, because she needed the feel of his arms around her, his body against hers as she needed her next breath. His hands lovingly

stroked her hair as his lips gently brushed against her forehead. Never had the warmth of his body been so consuming. The tenderness and vulnerability of their profound intimacy overwhelmed her; she never suffered a thought of saving herself from the questions he surely would be asking.

Ram tried to turn his thoughts from her long enough to answer the pressing question of why. Why she had deceived him with that lie; why she had given him this precious gift of her innocence. The obvious answer was blatant and plain. Innocence mattered not, for she might have had ten previous lovers and this one night would still have claimed her as his. He had deceived himself just as surely as she had.

He wanted desperately to believe she had done it because of the simple need brought by her love. This could not be the case though, for until tonight, she had naught the experience to know what that meant, to know love long enough to desire it.

No, her motivation came from elsewhere.

He could not for a moment entertain the thought that she had offered herself—like so many ladies before her—simply to put herself closer to either his title or fortune or both, in the futile hopes of soliciting his proposal. Even out of love, this was simply not in her character; such a motivation indeed seemed antithetical to her nature.

Yet she had deceived him and with the single intent of losing her innocence to him. Why?

What in the name of heaven or hell had made her come to him?

The contemplation of the next path he must choose could hardly be borne. He might have been able to let her go, had he not been forced to taste her love, but where the intensity of his desire had settled before, it now soared. Like an unquenchable thirst, it would have no limits in any near future. He might chain her to his bed for a month and still be hard with want of her.

Yet the idea of making her his mistress was so bitter, so patently unpalatable, it was as he said to Sean: It would be a good deal easier to put a bullet to her head than to destroy her like that. Destroy her not just by removing her from "polite" society into his bed. No, not just that. The women he took as his mistresses endured something that for Joy—and he knew this for a certainty

—would be a tragedy of a magnitude she could not survive, would not survive.

As the only future possible spread before him and he felt the force of a regret he had never before known, never had reason to know, the question of why became even larger and more important.

Feelings and feelings and feelings welled inside her. She was as lost to the shocking intimacy brought by the intensity of his lovemaking as she was to the wonder of it. Never had she been more vulnerable to anyone or anything, and when Ram kissed her lightly and rose, taking the warmth with him, it was a loss not to be endured.

He disappeared into the adjoining dressing room, and dreamily, still dazed, she gathered the bed sheet around herself and followed him in there. She stopped in the doorway and watched as he swung a black cotton robe over himself.

Ram turned to confront the unexpected sight of her standing there. The vision of her at that moment would haunt his mind for eternity: her startling loveliness, the naked beauty shrouded only in a sheet, her long unbound hair, tousled, cascading wildly over her shoulders, and more than anything the fragility, the plain unmasked love in her eyes, a love he could not allow himself to return, a love he'd see destroyed and now.

Panic instantly shattered the warmth of her emotions as she met his gaze but briefly before retreating behind closed lids. A hand reached out to her, and with a quick twist, he brought the bed sheet falling to the floor. Without a word, he held her arms to keep her still, then took the cloth in the basin of dressing water. She gasped and bit her lip with humiliation as she felt the cool moist cloth come between her legs and wipe her there.

He did not need to look at the stain on the cloth; his gaze bore intently into her and he asked, "Why Joy? Why?"

She stood for several moments mute and still, not knowing at all what to say. He waited a moment but realized he would not be talking long with her unclad beauty standing before him like an offering. With an exasperated growl, he abruptly released her and grabbed a shirt hanging in the clothes closet.

The cool silk slid over her bare skin. Needless to say, it did not quite fit, and Ram spent several moments rolling up the sleeves, still staring down at her as he waited for the explanation she obviously struggled to make. Then he lifted her into his arms and brought her back to the bed, leaving her there alone as he moved to the crystal brandy decanter setting on the table. He poured a healthy shot into a goblet, consuming it in one swallow. The goblet was set to the table with a loud clink and another poured. "Come on, Joy—talk to me."

She finally found the words she sought and said quietly, "It doesn't matter now. I have done it; it is over. The reason no longer exists."

Ram only chuckled. "Not good enough. Not nearly good enough!" "Oh, Ram," she said emotionally, "Sean said you might be angry—" "Sean?" he questioned. "What the hell does Sean have to do with it?"

She nervously twisted her hands, still unable to look up, imagining she'd find his amusement. The thought broke her heart. "Sean bid me to ... to come here tonight."

She didn't know what to make of his long silence, the intensity of his stare until he chuckled. "Seanessy, of course!" His mean laughter felt like a sudden northern snow. "I might have guessed. I should have guessed from the start." He sat down in a chair, assuming a casual pose as he poured another brandy. "So sweetheart, just how did my good friend convince you to do this, hmmm? There must have been more than 'Joy, why not go to Ram tonight, lie about your innocence and get ah, bedded good and proper?’"

His sarcasm sounded loud, springing from his anger. Just how angry, she couldn't know. She met his gaze again, unable to fathom the depth of emotion there. "Yes," she said in a whisper. “There was more."

"Well, I'm waiting."

"He made me a proposition I could not turn from." "No doubt. And just what exactly was it?"

"Oh Ram." She felt suddenly afraid. "It doesn't matter now; it's over. Please—"

Ram rose, and before she could finish, he swept down upon her, taking her chin in his hand to demand, "What did you trade your virtue for?"

"For freedom. The freedom of six people I will choose at the marketplace on the morrow."

Of all the things he might have imagined, this was not one. Hearing it held him for a moment transfixed with incredulity and disbelief. The bargain seemed at once as absurd as it was poetic. The idea encompassed the whole of her nature, everything from her naive innocence to her ludicrous benevolence and idealism. The girl who loved freedom. He could only wonder that he hadn't guessed the whole ridiculous thing the first moment he laid eyes on her sitting in his bed.

He left her suddenly. Chuckling again, he shook his head as he poured another drink. "Seanessy, I'm going to kill you ..."

His amusement tore swiftly at her heart, though it hid the real threat of his growing fury until the moment he addressed her, raising the crystal goblet to her as though for a toast. "Well,

here's to you, Joy, and to your first indoctrination into whoring. What you lack in experience, you more than make up for in enthusiasm."

The words hit her like a hard slap in the face and her hand flew to her mouth with a small, pained gasp. There was a mistake; he didn't say that, he couldn't say that—

"Don't look so shocked, sweetheart. You do know that that's what Sean made you—my whore?"

She paled visibly, still not quite understanding. Her gaze jerked around her, searching for one thing, anything to settle on, until she spotted the neat pile of her clothes. She rose from the bed like a sleepwalker, panic and alarm quickly overriding her shock. "I... I better leave now—"

"Leave?" he questioned as he rose, moving to stop her. She clutched the pile of clothes tight against her person, backing into the wall as he approached. "Oh no, Joy. You're not leaving. Let's see, Sean will have paid you approximately, oh I guess something over 6000 of your American dollars." A brow lifted. "Quite a sum. Though needless to say I don't keep track of such things; I think the most I've ever paid for the pleasure was a couple of hundred dollars or so, and while I don't remember the lady, I do seem to recall she lasted nearly a week."

She felt a rush of fear as he stopped in front of her, staring down. His huge frame towered over her, threatening to engulf her with his great strength. Never had she been more his prisoner than at that moment. Calmly taking the pile of clothes from her, he dropped them unceremoniously to the floor. "So I can at least assume you're paid for the night," he said in a frightening whisper. "And I assure you, I'm not through yet."

Like a trapped animal, she backed hard into the wall, shaking her head. He only chuckled, and staring at the beauty silhouetted in the ridiculously large shirt, his hand moved over the delicate lines of her face and down her neck to the buttons there.

"No, Ram, please—"

"I don't think you understand. You're not paid to like it. Though," he added cruelly, "the best whores do."

She cried out at this, and desperate, she was suddenly fighting him. Her fist flew to his face, but he allowed her only a brief moment of struggle before catching her small hands in his, forcing her head back and her lips open to him. In that moment a silent scream rose in her body, protesting what she had started, protesting what would not be pleasant and what she was powerless to stop.

Entrapped tightly in his arms, his kiss hungrily devoured her, purposely giving as much pleasure as pain, and she became limp, weak-kneed and senseless. A savage passion radiated from him.

His mouth left hers, but kept dangerously close as she drew a gasping breath. As he released her arms to remove her shirt, freedom gave rise to survival. She darted quickly away in a surge of defense, out of his reach.

"Nooo ... please!—" She stumbled back, but fear threw her off balance and caused her to fall on her hands and knees. Instantly he was there, lifting her from the ground, keeping her backside against him and stopping her flinging arms. "No." She squirmed. "Don't do this to me—"

"Fight me all you want, Joy Claret." He lifted her hair from the sweep of her neck and pressed moist lips there. Chills raced along her spine, and then with his lips on her neck, his hand ripped open the buttons of his shirt. She was crying, the helpless desperate tears spilled down her cheeks as his one arm kept her powerless and his other hand gently, methodically began massaging her breasts to swollen peaks. A fire spread in her loins; she could not stop it—she could not stop him. His hand wandered over her, finally circling her belly, moving lower and lower until she cried out with unwilling, joyless anticipation. He chuckled meanly and the humiliation of it burst in on her. She cried again, squirming in rage, digging her nails into his arm and clamping her legs tightly together, but only to hear another chuckle, a half growl. The force of his body, the threat she squirmed against, his very passion, rose, soared, permitting no struggle. His leg forced hers apart as his hand slipped between her legs with a touch like fire, causing her to cry, tremble, moisten.

He lifted her to the bed, allowing her no choice of position, though she tried desperately to twist around to face him. He held her hips firm, and she closed her eyes, biting her lip till she tasted blood as his hand parted her again, lifting her higher. She felt the length of him slowly caress her sex, opening her for a hard thrust into her.

His huge body pounded into her, forcing her to tighten with each hard thrust, the tension building and building despite the act of violence. And while each movement carried her ever closer and closer, she was praying for an end that finally came. She stiffened and jolted, the tension exploding inside her, washing those ripples of intense pleasure over her, waves that left neither feeling nor strength in their path. His hands tightened around her, holding her to him for his last hard thrust, and his violence exploded with unexpected force.

Mercifully it was over.

She lay there crying softly, too shaken to notice anything, too shaken to see the emotion blazing in his gaze as he stared down at her, forcing himself to say the last words that would indeed end it all. "The next time I want a whore in my bed, Joy Claret, I'll select her myself." He gently wiped a tear from her flushed face. "And you would be well-advised not to be here when I return."

Rowdy, filled with a heightened state of anticipation, over a hundred men waited at the Red Barn for the promised match between Ram and Sean. No one minded the long wait into the early morning hours, and the ever-increasing size of the bets rose in direct proportion to the liberal amount of spirits flowing in the place. Ram now understood Sean's message: Sean would be waiting at the Red Barn, and there would be no match fights, save one.

Ram tied Rake up, and with no shirt or boots, nothing but fury fueling him, he started running. Running as hard and as fast as the power in his legs could carry him, and though a fresh mount would surely have done better, he forced himself to run in the futile hope that it would vent some of his strength and fury, simply because this—as bad as it was—did not warrant Sean's ultimate end.

Sean waited in fine high spirits, teased by the anticipatory excitement filling the air, wondering, knowing the monster he would be meeting would be bad but not knowing just how bad. When the doors finally burst open and his lordship appeared in all the magnificence of his fury, the clear visible answer to his question brought him to his feet. The noise rose with a loud, long cheer, and a corridor of bodies instantly formed, leading Ram directly to Seanessy.

Ram's each step forward created suspense. As Seanessy's gaze locked with Ram's, they exchanged a silent solicitous greeting. Sean saw it in full. The monster was a good deal more than he had either expected or imagined; he would not like be standing past the half hour mark.