Angel in Scarlet: A Bound and Determined Novel (7 page)

Something was wrong. Something was very wrong.

“I think she has questions, Colton,” Granderson said, dropping her chin. “Did you tell her about me? I hope you at least assured her that I am very good at keeping secrets.”

“Now, what would have been the fun in that?”

“But—”

“Don’t worry, our sweet little lamb has made it very clear that she’s up for anything. Haven’t you, my dear Angela?”

Stay calm. She needed to stay calm even if she wanted to flee. He couldn’t mean what it sounded like, could he? And if he did?

Was she prepared to leave, to end this game? How far was she willing to pretend?

She’d never even imagined this scenario.

Too many questions.

She turned her face to Colton, trying to read in his face what was happening. His eyes seemed almost lifeless. He was hiding from her—of that she was sure.

She swallowed, considering.

“I think she still does not quite understand what we want,” Granderson said. “Perhaps you should explain.”

Colton lifted a finger and beckoned to her. She walked to him, trying hard not to betray just how nervous she was. He reached out and stroked a cheek; his gesture was not that different from Granderson’s, but its effect was dramatically different. Despite everything, somehow he represented safety. Her whole body wanted to relax into him.

What was so different about him? Why did she feel this way? Focusing on this question, she tried to ignore all the others, tried to ignore what was happening. She knew that she should be horrified. Hell, she
was
horrified. But there was something about Colton that made her believe he would never hurt her—even after he
had
hurt her, even now when everything in her screamed to run.

She indulged in that momentary sense of safety, leaning into his touch, relishing the feel of his thumb brushing over her cheek.

His thumb moved up and down. “I sometimes like to share my treats. I’ve been that way since I was a child. Whenever I was given a toy or a sweet, I enjoyed it much more if someone else enjoyed it with me.”

The gentleness of his touch was in great contrast to his words and tone. His touch said,
I care, I cherish, I protect.
His words said anything but.

God, did he want what she thought he did?

Why had Ruby not warned her?

Ruby had given her plenty of warnings, though. Perhaps she had tried to warn Angela but she had been too naïve to understand.

She pulled her face back. “I am still not sure I understand.” She whispered the words. It was necessary that she understand exactly what he was suggesting before she made up her mind.

He tilted her chin slightly, so that she looked up at him. “I want you to let Granderson touch you while I watch. It will not be so different from what you did the other night, except that he will be the one touching you.”

This seemed quite different to her.

“I am sure you will enjoy it,” Colton continued. “He is quite talented.”

No. She shook her head. She might have wanted him to think she would do anything for him. She might have needed him to think that, but nothing was worth this.

Nothing.

Colton moved his hand forward, held her chin tight. “Do you want to leave? I will not force you to do anything.”

He wanted her to leave. Sudden certainty filled her.

Why? What game did he play?

Questions. So many questions.

And then the answer. He didn’t want her. He still did not want her.

This was all one more way to get her to leave him alone.

But she would not let him make her feel worthless again.

She would not make it so easy.

She must be confident, must believe in her goals.

She had a plan. She would not be the one to back down. She would think of this as one more dare, one more obstacle to get what she wanted.

Steel determination filled her.

She tilted her chin up, pulling it from Colton’s hand. “Why would I want to leave? I have promised to do what you wish. I admit that this”—she glanced at Granderson—“was not what I had expected, but I can be flexible. I came to you to learn. I will accept this as one more piece of my education.” Her hand rose to the pins she had used to close her bodice, pulling one loose. “Would you like me to show you my breasts again?”

Twisting the pin in her hand, she pricked her palm, using the pain to clear her head, to keep her from showing just how shaken she actually was.

Colton turned to Granderson, lifting a brow in question.

Why did she feel she was missing an entire conversation that was going on between them?

Granderson appraised her again, his eyes returning to the swell of bosom above the edge of her dress. “I’ve always preferred to do the disrobing myself. It adds to the anticipation.” He took a step toward her. “You don’t look comfortable, my dear. Perhaps you would like to sit.”

Sit. She glanced toward the chairs that she and Colton had previously sat in, but Granderson nodded behind her.

She glanced over her shoulder.

The bed.

How had she missed the bed? It was huge. More than huge. Monstrous. Dark-wood posts against a dark-red coverlet, the white of the linen visible at the head. It was amazing that she had noticed anything else with that in the room—although she hadn’t really noticed anything besides Colton. Whenever he was in the room he seemed to draw her gaze.

She looked at him now, saw his eyes move between her and the bed.

He wanted her to sit on the bed. At least, she hoped he meant sit. It was so hard to tell. There seemed to be so many different levels of communication going on between the two men.

She glanced to Colton again. He nodded.

Her legs felt like tree branches, solid and heavy, as she walked to the bed and sat down on the end. It was a high bed, and she had to climb a little, leaving her feet hanging. Was there anything designed to reduce one to childhood like one’s feet not touching the floor?

She did her best to focus on nothing but Colton. If this was what she needed to do to play their game, she would manage. She could do this. She could.

She pulled a measured breath in, let it out.

Colton had said “touching.” Granderson was going to touch her, only touch her. That could not be so bad.

Did she need to pretend to enjoy it? Was that necessary for her to win? And was winning worth the price? She wasn’t sure, but she knew she could not back down. She never backed down.

Granderson walked from her field of sight, coming around behind her.

Look at Colton’s eyes. Look only at Colton’s eyes.

She felt the bed shift behind her, Granderson’s weight pressing down one side.

Don’t look. Breathe. Concentrate on Colton, on his dark-green eyes.
They shone like bottle glass in the flickering light. She used to get lost in those eyes. Perhaps she could again?

Granderson settled behind her, not touching but nearly. She could feel his breath on her neck.

No, she was not getting lost in those eyes. Every shift of the bed filled her with awareness of what was happening.

“She’s nervous. I always love it when they’re nervous but willing,” Granderson said, his breath rustling her curls.

Colton turned from her, losing her gaze, and moved to the chairs by the fireplace. “I know exactly what you mean—that pulse in the neck, the shallow breaths, the wide eyes, the edge of fear but far from terror. The great power of the unknown.” There was a strange quality to his voice, something she had never heard before. Without looking back at her, he lifted a chair with absolute ease and carried it nearer to the bed, setting it down about four feet away. He took a seat, legs splayed, back upright, a king upon a throne—but an uncomfortable king. He lacked the sense of ease that always accompanied him.

He let his eyes wander over her, starting at the small dangling slippers and working his way up past slender legs under full skirts, small waist, not-so-small bosom. He paused there, as Granderson had, and smiled—but not his normal smile; this one seemed strained. His gaze moved up to her face, the smile fading as he looked into her eyes.

Again she sensed that he wanted her to give up, to demur, to leave.

This really was all about making her fail. She didn’t know if she wanted to cry or to scream.

And yet she could see the desire in his gaze, feel the power of his want. He did want her.

He might not want to want her, but he did.

A small surge of comfort and power came to her. Colton wanted her.

She might yet still win this game. She only needed to be strong.

Granderson shifted behind her. She felt his touch on one shoulder as he brushed away her escaped hair, leaving her pale skin bare. He leaned forward. She felt his—his lips upon her. The lightest of kisses on the slope where neck met shoulder. Another. A nuzzle. His tongue licked her, hot and damp. He buried his face in the nook of her neck, laving and licking.

It was not bad.

It might not fire her blood, but it was not bad.

He nipped her. She jumped.

That was not so good.

Granderson’s hands came about her, cupping her breasts.

She jerked.

Granderson’s fingers came together to pull at her breast. Angela stiffened further, her eyes wide and nervous. There was no mistaking that.

He had seen flashes of desire as he watched her, but none seemed related to Granderson’s touches.

Angela did not want this—yet she was not leaving, not protesting.

He could not mistake that.

She was doing this for him.

She might take some small pleasure in it—he had not mistaken those flashes—but this was quite different than at the ball. The other night her every quiver, her every movement and glance, told him how much she was enjoying what happened, enjoying the danger—enjoying the display. She had been every bit as excited as he was. When she’d bared her breasts to him, when she’d touched herself, made those soft sounds of pleasure, she had wanted more—much more.

This was different.

There might be some physical reaction, but deep down she seemed untouched, watching and observing as much as he.

Granderson slipped his hands up to the top of her dress and then inside, cupping those delicious breasts beneath her bodice.

And he didn’t like it. He, Matthew, Lord Colton, did not like seeing another man touch his woman.

He almost shook his head at the thought. It might not have been his normal indulgence, but he’d always enjoyed watching another man touch a woman, prepare her. He normally liked to do the fucking himself, but there was something about seeing another man’s desire for what was his that had always left him hard and throbbing.

With Angela, that was not the case. He wanted it to be his hands upon her, his mouth, his tongue. He wanted to feel her every reaction, to know that it was he who caused it.

He could not deny that there was some slight pleasure in watching Granderson touch her, but with every move further, he wanted to push two back. He liked knowing that Granderson found her desirable, but this—this was more maddening than it was pleasurable.

Granderson squeezed her tight, and Colton could see that she found no pleasure.

Her eyes clung to him, refusing to back down. She would do this for him. If he found pleasure, she would be content.

Granderson moved his thumbs to the edge of the bodice again, pulling it down inch by slow inch. He rose behind Angela, a thigh braced on either side, his hips pressed forward, grinding against her.

And then her breasts were bare, just as they had been in the garden, the nipples tight and rosy, turning redder by the moment, the flesh pale and creamy, begging to be touched—but touched by him, not Granderson.

Her eyes widened. She was not happy—and yet still she did not refuse.

When Granderson took her nipples between thumb and forefinger, pressing tight and then releasing, stretching them out, making them swell and beg, Angela only pressed her lips together.

Her eyes were still on him. He saw tears form there but not fall.

And through it all he saw her determination. She would not cry.

Not now. Not ever.

Colton knew he should ask if she wanted to stop, but he also knew she would refuse. She had made her bed, in a most literal sense, and now she would lie in it. For whatever reason she would not back out.

And he could not bear it.

“Stop.” He bit the word out.

Granderson pulled his hands away. Her bodice slid back up, mostly covering her.

She did not move, only stayed there, looking at him, those unshed tears still pooling in her eyes.

Granderson slid off the bed and stood. The man still appeared immaculate, barely a wrinkle, not a hair out of place. Only a slight pink swelling of the lips betrayed that he was not about to leave for an evening in Town. He brushed the legs of his trousers, removing imaginary lint. “Perhaps I should be going.” He did not say it as a question, but Colton heard the inquiry.

“Perhaps you should.”
And if you would take Angela with you and show her the way out, that would be wonderful.
That is what he would say if he were sensible, but clearly he lacked all sense of reason. He could not allow her to leave in this state. He had done this and he must fix it. “I believe Marie is working tonight. Tell Ruby to charge her to my account. I am sure she can supply what you need.”

“That is completely not necessary, but I will take you up on it nonetheless.” And then with a nod Granderson was gone.

Angela said nothing, but her eyes slipped closed, and a single tear finally wound its way down her cheek.

“Why?” she asked, her voice catching on the single word.

“Why?” he repeated back, his voice low and intimate.

She opened her eyes. How could she explain the million things she meant by that single question? She would start with one.

“Why did you stop?”

“Because you were not enjoying yourself.” He looked away as he said it.

As simple as that, and yet it did not ring quite true. Still, it was far easier to concentrate on him than to examine why she had not fled, why she was still here. “What does that matter? I made it clear that this was about what you wanted, not what I wanted. I only seek to make you happy, to give you pleasure.”

He rose from the chair and stood by the mantel, staring up at the painting above it, a tranquil landscape that seemed an odd choice for a brothel. “Well, I found I was not happy. And you are not convincing. You would not be here if you were not seeking something for yourself.”

“Did I not please you?”

“You did as I requested. I cannot deny that.” His voice was little more than a low growl. He did not want to have this conversation. Perhaps his feelings did not bear examination either.

Well, she didn’t care. “And why Lord Granderson?”

“As I told you, sometimes I like to watch.”

“It is not that simple. You wanted to push me further than I would go. I don’t quite know how I know, but I do know that.” She said it as a fact, but in her mind it was all question.

“Yes.” He said nothing else.

“Why?”

He didn’t answer but stayed staring up at the painting, as if entranced by its soft greens and browns.

“Why?” she asked again, unable to let it rest. “Why did you want me to leave?”

“I do not trust this game you wish to play,” he said, turning back to her.

“It is not that simple. That may be part of it, but if it were that simple you would just have said no to me at the start. Why did you invite me to come and then try to force me to stop?”

“Did you give me a choice? Surely you see how foolish this scheme is.”

She was losing track of what the scheme actually was.
Vengeance?
That had been the plan, but in this moment she felt she was fighting for more than that.

“Yes, I fully understand the risks I take. I know all the reasons why I should not do this, and yet I cannot help myself. What I don’t understand is why you are doing it if you do not really want me. You asked me for honesty; now give me the same.”

“I want you to give this idea up. It is not right. You are either seeking to ruin yourself or to force me to marriage, and neither is acceptable.”

“Then you could just have said no. There was no need for this elaborate façade.” She gestured about the room. She did not understand him, not at all.

“You said you might go to another man.”

“I don’t know that I would have. This has always been about you.”

He drew in a sudden deep breath. Was there some easing in his shoulders?

He started to turn and then stopped. “Then I am back to not understanding what it is you want, why you are doing this.”

How could she explain when she did not know the answer herself? She knew what she had told Ruby, what she had told herself, but none of that was the true explanation for why she had sat upon this bed and let another man touch her while Colton watched. It was too much to think about when her nerves were still on edge and her body knew not if it felt desire or fear.

He leaned toward her. “If you will not answer, I can only think that you must have some secret plan. Why else come here? I know you were upset when I did not wish our relationship to continue, when I dismissed it.”

“I cannot deny that, but I do not understand why that has led to this degree of distrust.” She met his gaze and held it.

“What you do makes no sense. Young ladies do not act in this manner. I can think of no explanation except that you want marriage.”

“I have still never said I wish to marry you.”

“And yet when I ask you again what you want, you have no other answer.”

“I have already said that I wish to please you, that I want to have you teach me about desire. Can it not be that simple?” Could he not let this go or leave it until another time?

“So you do not want marriage? Do you dare answer with the truth?”

“I do not know what I want, beyond that I want this.” She gestured about the room.

“I find that hard to believe. You clearly did not want this.” His voice had picked up a harsh edge.

“Nevertheless, it is the truth. I may not have wanted Granderson, but I do want you.” And she was afraid that it might actually be the truth. “If you want full honesty, I cannot say I do not want marriage. I am a lady of three and twenty, well brought up and of decent expectations. My whole life has been geared to finding the right man to marry. I do not know how to change that. It is part of who I am. It was built into me. But I no longer wish to marry you. That I do know.” At least she was almost sure that was true.

“You certainly wanted to marry me a few months ago when you looked up at me with wide eyes, awaiting my proposal.”

“I do not know that that is fair—and I was not trying to force you.”

“I think it is fair.”

There was little she could say to that. She had been waiting for him to ask for her hand, had been sure that was what it was all leading to. It would be silly to pretend otherwise now. Her head ached and she raised a hand to her brow. “I will not deny that I hoped you would ask me, that I expected you to ask me.”

“And then I sent you away, while you looked at me like a sad puppy.”

“Yes,” she replied, although she did not like being compared to any type of dog, even a small and cute one.

“And yet you say do not wish to marry me now?”

“Yes.” She straightened her shoulders, sat more upright on the bed, wishing once again that her feet touched the floor. She wanted to stand and pace about, but there was no way to do it that would not make her look like a young child getting up in the morning.

“What has changed? How can I believe that suddenly your mind has swayed?” He sounded genuinely curious.

“I suppose I have changed. I do not find pleasure in not being wanted.”

“We have established that I do want you.”

“But not as a wife.”

“No, not as a wife.”

“I almost feel I should ask why again, but I trust you would not answer.” She could not believe she was prolonging this circular discussion.

“We are not suited,” he said, surprising her.

“I thought we were well suited.”

“That is because neither of us was acting ourselves. I was the young lord in search of an eligible bride, and you by the end were a sweet, pure young thing with hardly a spark of life about you. You say you want to do what I wish now, but perhaps that was the problem then. I would say it was raining and you would look out at the brilliant blue sky and agree. I was bored to death. And when I tried to kiss you, you would act as if I’d rubbed a cold fish upon my lips—or perhaps it was on your lips. You acted chilly enough.”

That was not very flattering, not very flattering at all. And there was a reason that she had changed near the end, had become so dull, so lacking in desire. How could he expect her to stay the same when he had a mistress? Well, he did not know that she knew—and he never would. But if she had changed, it was because of him. She had been protecting her emotions. And now she needed to put those away. “I was only trying to be pleasant, to act as a proper lady should.”

“Do you know why I first noticed you?”

“I rather thought you liked my dress and my appearance.”

“I admit that your looks do not hurt, although I am not sure I could describe a single dress you have worn—other than the red one the other night. No, I liked you because you were nice to Miss Sarah Swilp in a moment when no one else was. She had come into the room, most distressed, and you went over to see if you could help.”

“Anyone would have—although I do not remember the instance. It was only common kindness.”

“No, not anyone would have. You were in a room of other young ladies, and not one of them made a move. They stared at her with something akin to distaste. And you saw their looks and did not care. You went over to her and spoke gently. You didn’t care that others questioned your actions. I liked that. I liked that you would do what was right no matter what others thought.”

“Oh.” She truly didn’t remember, but it did sound like something she would have done. “I admit I’ve never cared much for what others thought of me, except for my family. I do try to mostly do what is expected. It makes life easier and I certainly would never wish to cause disgrace or be shunned, but who cares about a little gossip?”

“It was quite refreshing. I took it to mean you were different from the others, but then once we started to spend time together, and once we had shared a kiss, you became remarkably similar. All you wanted was to discuss bonnets and the weather and to pretend interest in my horses. You did not seem at all like the girl I had first known. If I mentioned anything related to politics, you acted as if I were talking Russian.”

Well, she actually did speak a little Russian, courtesy of an uncle in the diplomatic corps, but this hardly seemed the moment to mention that. Perhaps she should explain why she had changed, tell him what she had seen, tell him how deeply she had been wounded. If ever there was a moment for honesty, this was it.

And yet she couldn’t. Her mouth would not form the words, would not allow that degree of vulnerability. If she stuck with her plan, there would be far less chance she could be hurt again. “I was only acting as I have been instructed since birth. Men do not want wives who are too studious. No girl wants to be called a bluestocking.”