An English Lord's Love Affair

Chapter 12.4.2. An Unspeakable Situation

   In the dark, on his own turf, Benedic held all the cards and surely would not hesitate to play them. She was in his power, in his closet now, so to speak. He could do as he wished with her. He could keep her in this secret place for days, and no one would guess where she had gone. The possibilities tantalized her. What would he decide to do? His expert kiss had left her aching deep inside and disoriented. Her pulses throbbed through her entire body.

   She was not anywhere near as frightened as a proper young lady should be in such an unspeakable situation. She braced herself against the wall, her belly muscles tightening in reaction in reaction to the feel of him. "Are we going to stand here mauling each other in the dark?" she whispered. "You could at least bring me a chair." Before she slid to his feet.

   "You're not criticizing my hospitality, are you?"

   "This is a horrid place to hide. What if I am?"

   He twirled one of her glossy back curls around his forefinger. "I should have to punish you if you were."

   "Hmm. Punish me?"

   "Oh, yes." He tugged lightly on a lock of her hair. "There are a few serviceable manacles on the wall in the cellar. A little rusty, perhaps, and certainly not as attractive as the diamonds and gold filigree that usually adorn your delicate wrists."

   Manacles. In the cellar. The rogue was threatening to chain her to the wall of all things. That was the the thanks she received for aiding him. And what, she wondered, would he do when he got her in chains? Charlotte blushed at the erotic images that flitted through her mind, the thought of being restrained and helpless for his enjoyment, in bondage to him.

   "Stuff it, Strathmere," she said crossly. "I should hit you if I could see you properly."

   "I am right here, Charlotte. I could hardly be any closer."

   And it was true. The heat of his body stole into hers. The hard pounding of his heart seemed to echo hers.

   "Can't you feel me?" he asked, his fingertip tracing the angle of her jaw, the tender rim of her left ear.

   "Every inch." Her voice held a breathless quality that he could hardly miss. What had Shakespeare said about the prince of darkness being a gentleman? "The priests didn't put people in manacles, did they?"

   "No," he replied cheerfully. "But the smugglers who followed them two centuries after did. I shall not show you the skeleton I found in chains during my first days of hiding."

   "Thank you so awfully much."

   He laughed, his warm breath on her shoulder leaving shivers in its wake. "The poor devil wears a placard around its neck which reads 'Release me at your peril.'"

   "Meaning what?" Charlotte asked, suddenly grateful that she was in the protective reach of Benedic's arms.

   "I have no idea."

   "Perhaps it means his spirit will be unleashed to wreak revenge on his captors," she said quietly. "Perhaps he's even one of your ancestors."

   "I doubt it. Baron Bones seems to have been more an enemy of whoever commanded the dungeon at the time."

   "Well, you and the baron might be kindred spirits, if not blood relations."

   He smiled at her. "Possibly. Should I release him?"

   "Only at your peril, and please, not while I'm present." She paused. "What happens to me now?" she whispered, the words plaintive in the entombing space.

   His disembodied voice vibrated with a devilish amusement that made her wish to slap him. "What do you want to happen, Charlotte? I'll be as obliging a host as you desire."

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