Secrets of Sin (11 page)

His hands clamped around her waist, holding her captive. He fought hard against his rising need for completion now, wanting what he had waited so long to have to never end. Whether having stayed away so long made him the wisest or most foolish of men he had no idea. The erotic surge of desire rushed through him, pooling, then building to become fiercer than anything he’d ever experienced before, a riptide of ecstasy coursing through him and numbing his mind.

Reinier’s thrusts intensified, got wild and abandoned, until he was pumping savagely, undulating his hips against her backside as they both cried out with each stroke.

Through the thick haze of lust covering his mind, he heard her pleading, “Please…please…I must…I can’t…”

“Oh, but you will,” he ground out, his voice thick with pleasure. “Not yet, Lily. Not yet.”

“Monsieur, monsieur, monsieur,” she repeated, breathless. Her litany sounded like a prayer, like a promise of surrender, and he couldn’t stop the wave from cresting. His consciousness began to fall apart under the fire they both nourished. “Yes, Lily, come for me now.”

Her scalding core spasmed around him and his own intense excitement grew like a torrent. He pumped inside her, pushing away sanity, pushing aside his control. Quickly, he pulled away to spray his seed against her perfectly rounded globes. He exploded, violent and intense, with a hoarse cry.

When he found his way out of the haze of his climax, he realized he’d leaned forward and wrapped his arms around her, kissing the back of her neck. Her breathing was little more than shallow, rapid gasps; his was no more than hard and heavy gulps of air.

Their union had been perfect. She was perfect, so much so that he felt his eyes flood with tears he quickly blinked away.

God help him.

How arrogant he’d been to believe himself immune.

She was a siren and he was a complete fool. Still.

J
ust after sunset Emiline sat on the rose silk-padded stool by her dressing table. Her fingers played with the edge of her silk robe that matched the stool’s color while she watched her mother’s hammered brass and claw-footed tub being filled. Absently, she replayed their day in her head again and again.

When she and Reinier had returned to the house, he was as distant as ever. But before she could say anything, he suggested she take dinner up in her rooms and rest. At least he’d made it a suggestion and not an order.

At first she’d been relieved. Now she wasn’t so sure anymore.

All she’d been able to do ever since entering her rooms was think. Emiline was slowly coming to the realization that they would have ended up exactly where they had, no matter what either of them might have tried to do differently.

Well, maybe not in the tack room of the stables but together in some passionate way nonetheless.

There was something that seemed beyond their control; something that, for Emiline at least, drew her to him despite herself.

It had always been like that with the two of them, though. There had always been this fascination, this allure between them. At least she had always felt that way. Reinier had shown her a side of passion she’d have never believed existed outside her deepest, darkest dreams.

He had bewitched her once again, but this time it was only her body, not her mind. It was only a bargain and one she fully intended to go through with. If Reinier Barhydt had shown her anything by his example in the past four years, it was that one’s body and heart could operate completely independently.

“Almost ready, miss.” Justine’s familiar voice sent her thoughts fleeing like the chambermaids now scurrying to leave the room.

Emiline stood automatically so Justine could help her remove her robe.

“Lord!”

At Justine’s sharp gasp, Emiline turned to look over her shoulder, catching her own reflection in the full-length, filigreed dressing mirror. She was transfixed by the sight. Her skin seemed to glow, especially where faint and fading pink marks still decorated her skin from the backs of the thighs up to the small of her back. When her gaze travelled up even farther, she caught a look in her own eyes she couldn’t quite recognize. Her reflected expression seemed…proud.

Emiline was horrified by her own reaction. What had she become to feel proud of something that should be shameful?

“What has he done! Child, how could you!”

Justine’s words broke the mirror’s spell, and Emiline rushed to hide the marks by lowering herself into the steaming, welcoming water.

Averting her eyes, Emiline felt very much like a little girl again. Even a slight blush of shame crept up her neck. “Please don’t scold. I’ve chided myself quite enough already.”

A sad, almost weary sigh came from Justine. “I’ll go and get some aloe and marigold for your bath. I had heard rumors about him, but I never thought…”

“Heard? Heard what, Justine?”

She rushed out before Emiline could say anything else, but as soon as she returned, Emiline coaxed, “Justine, you must tell me.”

The maid kept silent, adding herbs and oils to the bath. Shaking her head while biting her wrinkled lower lip, she turned and busied herself, and by the clatter of the china soap dish, Emiline knew she still wasn’t happy with her.

Emiline gripped the maid’s hand. “Justine?”

The lady’s maid pulled her hand away and stepped back, folding her arms over her ample chest. “And why should I? Not that it will matter. It’s too late now that you’ve let that man back in this house and let him do God knows what to you.”

Pressing her lips together, Emiline looked down. Of course, Justine wouldn’t know about the bargain, nor did she need to, and she didn’t need to know about the details. The outcome was the only thing that counted.

With a determined upward glance, Emiline spoke low, her voice insistent and unwavering, “Justine, you have known me all my life. Long enough to know I am not a green, gullible girl any longer. I have my reasons. If there is anything you know and think I need to know, tell me now.” Just in time, she added another, relatively unnecessary but nevertheless polite, “Please.”

Justine’s expression softened and, unfolding her arms, she reached for a bucket of warm water to dampen Emiline’s hair. “It’s just that I have this cousin,” she began quietly while kneeling down by the bathtub. “She lives quite scandalously. She has a fancy house in St. George’s, paid for by a ‘benefactor,’ you see.”

Emiline could see her roll her eyes and in response snorted dutifully, but secretly; the thought that Reinier might be that benefactor—or anyone else’s benefactor—made her stomach roll to her throat. Swallowing hard, she remained silent and only leaned her head back, waiting for Justine to continue. Emiline knew if she interrupted her now, it would be even harder to get every bit of information out of the maid.

“And…well, she writes to me about the most outrageous things. They make me blush something horrible. Oh, the kinds of things she writes!”

Justine giggled and Emiline tried to show patience, but it was difficult. If she would kindly tell her all that might have to do with something she’d heard about Reinier now, Emiline would be grateful, indeed.

“Oh, where was I?” Justine gasped for air and got up to get some more warm water, all the while fanning her glowing cheeks with one hand.

“You were about to tell me what all this has to do with Reinier, I believe.”

Justine gave her a mocking curtsy as an apology and began to wash Emiline’s hair. “I had thought they were only rumors, and you know with rumors you never know…”

Emiline loved Justine, but she was always prone to digressing and losing the thread of what she’d meant to say in the first place. That trait of hers could be a bit tiresome.

Justine’s hands stopped unexpectedly in midmotion and after having taken another deep breath, she blurted out, “Did—did he hurt you?”

“No!” Emiline burst out, but instantly regretted her initial reaction. “I don’t know,” she sighed, crossing her arms over her chest. “Don’t ask me about it again. Just tell me what you know.”

Justine clucked at that; the noise coming from her mouth had a peculiar, pitying ring to it. Or maybe Emiline had just imagined it. Sometimes Justine’s impertinence and the fact that she continued to try and mother Emiline now that she was fully grown—and in charge even—could be rather trying at times.

“Well,” the maid continued and leaned closer so that she could impart with what she knew by only whispering in Emiline’s ear. “Once she wrote of how…of how…well, the captains of the Barhydt-O’Driscoll Shipping Company were known for liking to entertain ladies…together…in certain…particular…well, disciplined sorta ways, so the girls say.” She tugged at Emiline’s hair a bit too roughly and Emiline winced a little.

“Oh, but not that they minded,” Justine added with an indignant snort, making quick work of rinsing the soap from Emiline’s hair. “In fact, this friend of my cousin’s, the one who had confided in her, was lamenting greatly that neither one ever seemed to entertain anyone more than once, even though everyone always wanted them to.” Pausing there, she leaned forward and her head came into Emiline’s view again. Justine pinned her down with her glare and repeated with meaningful emphasis, “Always.”

Emiline grimaced. Now that the secret was out, the maid sighed with relief. Obviously, a burden had been lifted off her shoulders. Emiline, on the other hand, wasn’t sure at all what in the world she was supposed to make of it.

Had Justine meant to imply that Emiline was like all the others for Reinier? Had she just hinted at the possibility that after Reinier used her he’d leave and wouldn’t be back again?

That was the sole purpose of the whole bargain, wasn’t it? Three days of dancing to his tune for the rest of her life in independence. Knowing what she did now, that was wonderful news, wasn’t it?

“Thank you for telling me, Justine. Go on and get your rest for the night.” Her maid gave her a hesitant look but with a quick nod left the room.

After the door closed and Emiline was alone, she sank deeper into the water, trying to concentrate on how relaxing and soothing to her body it was. But the turmoil in her mind kept intruding.

So there were others. Many others from what Justine had said. Of course, Emiline had known that. She’d heard enough bits and pieces of rumors over the years to know that. She was sort of cut off from the world here on her island, but surely not deaf, dumb, and blind to what was going on around her.

Something scorched her chest from the inside out, something slightly bitter that also dulled her at the same time. Emiline decided what she felt burning through her wasn’t jealousy. She was sure that it couldn’t be.

She didn’t care that their bargain was similar to what he’d done with others. Of course not. On the contrary, the fact that this was similar, and as Justine had said, it was never the same woman twice gave her confidence that in a relatively short amount of time she’d have what she wanted to begin with.

Yet…something inside her couldn’t help wanting it to be different.

But it was. This was different. She was sure of it. She wasn’t meekly letting him do as he wished with her like, she assumed, the others had. She was a much worthier opponent. She was holding up her end of the bargain, and truth be told, despite Justine’s disapproval, she was beginning to enjoy her part.

Emiline sank all the way in, up to her chin, watching the ripples her breath made on the surface of the water.

The captains of the Barhydt-O’Driscoll Shipping Company, Justine had said. Together they had a certain way, and neither one saw the same lady again. Emiline guessed not much had changed in that regard then.

But that meant she was right and this was different than with the others. Reinier had come alone.

Connor O’Driscoll. A good deal of her initial pain and anger after Reinier had left went toward the Irishman. She had been jealous then. Not of other women, but of Connor. She’d always wondered about them. Wondered in those lonely nights when she still let herself cry what Connor had that she didn’t. While her husband increasingly pulled away from her influence, Connor still held his ear. At the same time he refused to come home, he still met the Irishman in port whenever he got a chance. At first she’d been sure if not for Connor, Reinier would have stayed. She’d been confident that it had been all the Irishman’s fault.

But now she understood that Reinier was very much his own man. If there were other women, if he spent his free time with Connor, it was his own doing.

Still, Emiline couldn’t help the spare traces of resentment that lingered.

Taking a deep breath, she plunged under the now cooling water, then quickly emerged until she was sitting high enough in the tub to rest her arms along the edge.

So what was she to do about all of it? If she was perfectly honest with herself, she’d say she wanted to continue what they’d started regardless of Justine’s revelations and everything else.

Emiline shook her head at herself while picking up the sea sponge and French-milled soap from the stool beside the tub.

How good she’d become at rationalizing almost anything. The real truth was she’d enjoyed it. She wanted to continue simply because she wanted it—wanted Reinier.

She just couldn’t let that interfere with the fact that she still wanted to divorce him.

He was a blithering idiot. For the second night in a row Reinier found himself pacing the study—her study—with restless energy.

Or rather almost like a lunatic. He surely felt that way.

Oh, he was angry. He was so angry with her for…well, for being her. Beautiful, strong, alluring, addictive, and someone who did what she did not because she loved him but because she didn’t want him.

She was nothing but a contradiction. Everything here was nothing but a contradiction. It all seemed nice and easy, gentle and sweet, when, in fact, nothing was.

More pacing brought him close to the secretary. That blasted secretary that seemed so unobtrusive, but on looking closer, one would find those damned papers.

Reiner resumed his pacing. Ruddy hell, even the night was a contradiction. Outside the window the crickets sang soft songs that floated on the gentle breeze coming in from the sea while inside the house the mantel clock in the dining room ticked away its mocking countdown of his time here. The pitiless flying by of the moments he was still supposed to stay here.

What in God’s name had made him come here?

Reinier was angry. He was angry at her, true, but he was even angrier at himself. He was weak. A pitiful weakling to having reacted as he had, so emotional like that—like Emiline was something so new and so sweet and…

He should leave. Now.

Why didn’t he leave? What was making him stay?

It couldn’t be pride; with his barely suppressed tears in the tack room, he had none. Or almost none.

He knew he should have talked with her about what had happened. Not what had happened at the end, but before that. He shouldn’t have left her to struggle through it alone. In fact, he’d planned to talk to her, but he’d only had a tiny shred of pride left and he hadn’t wanted to lose it completely, especially not in front of her.

Capital! He was trapped. Again.

As noble, or rather questionable, as his motives had been in the beginning, the reasons for any of this had evaporated into thin air. He couldn’t go through with it. He couldn’t hold up his end of the bargain. Not if it…well, the price was too high.

He wasn’t like her. She was ruthless and unfeeling. He’d known that, and yet he’d come back.

Frustrated with pacing, Reinier sat down behind the secretary, deftly picked the lock, and pulled out the divorce papers again. He stared at them for a long time, hardly seeing them. He didn’t blink. It was only when his eyes started to burn that he came out of his gloomy thoughts.

Yes, he’d sign them now. Sign them and get it over with.

Fumbling in the low light of one taper, he looked for an inkwell. When he found it, his resolve had strengthened. Now all he needed was a quill. Where had she hidden those bloody quills?