Succumb to Me (8 page)

One whiff of doubt about her morals and she
would have wolves crawling out of the woodwork trying to give her a
slip on the shoulder.

The deep wine gown she wore was daring. At
the time she’d had it made, she had been protected by her father
and his wealth and had known that no matter how audacious, no one
would dare question her wearing it. That was no longer the case, of
course, and she was not entirely comfortable about her choice, but
her options were extremely limited. In any case, she was determined
to look her best, to taunt Logan, to tempt him with something he
could never have.

The square cut neckline enhanced her cleavage
and the burgundy velvet made her fair skin and pale, silvery hair
seem almost luminescent in contrast. She wore the mass of her hair
piled atop her head, with several long strands free to curl
enticingly down her bare neck. The necklace nestled just above the
valley of her breasts like a snake awaiting its prey.

She hoped Logan would not be able to take his
eyes off of it.

Her mother noticed the necklace, but
refrained from comment, merely casting Winter an inquiring, worried
look. Winter said nothing, neither to confirm or to ease her
mother’s fears. She hated to add to the lies she’d already told her
mother. Ignorance
was
bliss in
this matter.

She and her mother reached the ball
fashionably late, along with the multitude. Not surprisingly, Lord
Remington’s home was thronged with society, and, despite the cool
winter weather, the house was almost stiflingly hot with the press
of so many bodies inside.

Strains of music streamed through the air,
fighting the bustle and noise of the masses dancing and talking in
every inch of space. It was unusual to have such a grand ball at
this time of the year, and everyone was enjoying themselves
immensely. Hot house flowers in crystal vases decorated the tables
about the room, cloying the air with their sweet fragrance.

Lit with hundreds of candles to the
brilliance almost of daylight, the house was larger than she’d
remembered.

What insanity had led her to believe she
could search the entire house without being caught? God take her
for a fool.

“Isn’t this exciting, Winter?” Abigail
Stevens beamed at her daughter, enchanted by her surroundings and
the sense that all was right with her world.

Winter knew better but nodded in agreement.
The noise and heat of too many bodies was already making her head
spin, and she had not had the first dance or the first sip of wine.
She needed to breathe fresh air before she collapsed. She pressed a
cool hand to her cheek. “Mama, please forgive me, but I must take
some air.”

Her mother’s face fell. Winter didn’t want to
ruin the rare outing for her.

“Perhaps it was a mistake we came.”

“No, I only need a moment,” Winter assured
her. “Look, there comes Mrs. Moxley.” The stout matron waddled
toward them, beckoning them to approach.

Her mother still didn’t look certain leaving
her alone was a sound idea.

Winter smiled gently. “I have been to balls
before, Mama. I can handle myself alone for a few minutes. You
enjoy your talk with Mrs. Moxley, and I will find you later.”

Leaving them, Winter made her way through the
throng to a set of French doors, discovering it opened out onto an
empty balcony. Relieved that she wouldn’t have to share it, she
leaned on the railing, imagining she could almost see the river
from her vantage point. The brisk air cooled the flush of her
cheeks and fingered through her hair, loosening its binding
pins.

A sense of peace settled over her.

The doors opened behind her, releasing a
torrent of light before they closed once more and the curtains fell
back in place. Winter turned, expecting to see her mother.

“I thought you would not come,” Logan said,
his voice low, seductive as a purr ... and dangerous as a panther
on the prowl.

Her heart quickened its pace, thumping in her
chest. She strove to reign in her emotions. “I didn’t think I had a
choice—after receiving your summons.” She turned away from him,
striving for that icy composure he was constantly taunting her
with.

Logan watched her struggle to regain calm,
but then he had suspected from the first that she was not the ice
princess she would have the world believe.

He couldn’t help but be pleased to know that
no one, save him, had ever managed to shake her from her icy
composure.

She was breathtaking tonight. The dull glow
behind them limned her silvery hair with a pale gold, burnished her
flushed skin, the curve of her cheek. She was more enticing than
he’d remembered—her body that of a woman full grown. Around her
neck, she wore his gift, a mark of possession, his brand.

It pleased him endlessly that she had
acknowledged his victory by wearing it.

Desire flooded through Logan in a
debilitating tide at the images that conjured, of complete
possession, of her total surrender. The blood rushed into his
groin, his shaft growing hard with need, with the ache to impale
her virgin flesh and claim her completely.

He had not entertained such thoughts in
years. That he was willing to compromise his morals to possess her
caused him a fleeting pang of regret that he quickly suppressed.
Her innocence could not save her any more than it could save him.
He could not free himself from her until he had possessed her.

Logan moved closer, crowding into her, eager
to feel her unconscious response to his nearness. He stopped just
short of touching her, but less than a hand span separated them.
Her scent invaded his senses. He could almost feel the brush of her
body against his with each labored breath. It was delicious
torture. He welcomed it ... welcomed the risk of losing his hard
won control.

Heat leapt between them almost instantly,
awakened, and he nearly groaned with the wanting of her. He knew he
could take her right now with none the wiser, and she would welcome
his touch like the wanton he knew lay buried inside her. “Is it so
terrible to obey a man’s demands?”

Winter ignored the tremble of her body, the
heightened awareness of his heat, his unmistakable scent as he
leaned close. “I’ve walked that road before. It did not ... turn
out as I had hoped.” She swallowed painfully before continuing, “I
want to know what your intentions are, Lord Remington.”

“You would not wish to know my
intentions.”

“I do. My reputation is in jeopardy.”

“You suggest the fault is mine? You went to
Giovanni quite willingly.”

“It would not have happened had you not laid
your trap, my lord.”

“It would not have happened if you were, in
truth, the virtuous woman you present to the world.” He paused a
moment, then said. “Do you not think formalities between us
somewhat absurd, under the circumstances? You must call me Logan.
Surely we have passed a stage where some familiarity is called
for?”

Winter shook her head. “No. I will
concede no more than I must. I do not
wish
to know you, now or ever.”

Anger flashed through him, dousing his desire
like ice water thrown into his face. She wielded her icy composure
with the deadly precision of a blade, giving no thought to the
consequences of her actions.

Any doubts that Logan had harbored regarding
the advisability of continuing as he’d begun vanished. She had not
changed. He had wanted her heart—still did—but he acknowledged a
doubt that she had a heart to possess. If he could have nothing but
possession of her body, so be it. He would have that much, at
least. He would melt the ice she wore like armor, knew, despite her
protests, that she was not impervious to him.

“You will know me all too well before I am
through with you.” He withdrew from her and went to the doors, his
anger barely contained. “I expect you to come to my study within
the next ten minutes. If you do not, you will forfeit your chance
at regaining the painting you so desperately want.”

* * * *

A servant showed Winter how to gain discreet
entrance to Lord Remington’s private study. Tentatively, she
knocked lightly on the door and entered with a cautious step when
he bade her come in.

Her gaze was drawn to him immediately upon
her entrance, his presence commanding her attention as no man ever
should. He arched one dark brow wickedly, pleased and oh so smug
that she’d heeded his command.

He did not bother to rise, but continued
lounging casually, insolently behind his desk in an ornately carved
chair that his massive size dominated, the breadth of his shoulders
dwarfing the delicate workmanship. He’d carelessly loosed his hair
from its ribbon, and the inky locks hung about his shoulders,
lending him the appearance of a gentleman pirate. Dangerous. Wild.
Untamed and unpredictable.

Despite his pose of indolence, his eyes
gleamed with the watchfulness of a predator, noting, she was
certain, her every nervous movement as she stepped into the room
and shut the door behind her. It was almost as though he could
sense her carefully concealed nervousness, or read her thoughts and
knew it was a fear of a different sort that compelled her wariness.
Never had she flirted with danger as she did now. Her amateurish
attempts at thievery could not compare to the hazard of a private
meeting with him in the midst of a party. She was so close to
discovery ... to ruination.

She hesitated a moment when she had closed
the door, and finally leaned back against it, unwilling to risk the
possible consequences of approaching nearer to him.

Reluctantly, her gaze was drawn to the wall
above him by a glimpse of bare flesh. On the heavily wainscoted
walls hung the bane of her existence, framed in dark cherry wood.
Her naked depiction was in plain view of anyone who entered his
domain, and she knew he’d done it purposefully to throw her into
turmoil.

He’d succeeded gloriously.

She felt both sick and faint as the blood
rushed away from her head, but she could not seem to tear her gaze
from it.

Not for the first time, she wondered why he’d
done it. He was wealthy and titled. He could have any woman of his
choosing. Why had he settled on her to torment?

Her behavior had been inexcusable, but he
could have had his revenge years ago. He’d done nothing then. Why
had he suddenly decided to now?

“Have you grown suddenly timid? Or, are you
afraid of me?” he asked, sipping on a glass of whiskey. Shards of
ice tinkled against the glass as he swirled it in his hand.

Winter dragged her gaze from the painting and
looked at him.

He was smiling, she saw, toying with her. As
if he had only waited for her full attention, he allowed his gaze
to move over her body in a way that was familiar, as suggestive as
a caress, near tangible with potency.

His presumption stiffened Winter’s spine. How
dare he look at her that way, as if he owned her and was assessing
his property! She thought angrily. Pushing away from the door, she
moved to stand on the opposite side of the desk from him. “No, I do
not,” she said quietly, her voice cold with anger.

His brows rose, his gaze hardening to a more
predatory gleam. “A wiser woman would,” he said just as quietly.
Standing, he rounded the desk, moving far closer than the
boundaries of polite society allowed, until he towered over her,
their bodies almost touching.

Winter held her ground, unwilling to retreat
from his approach and allow him to think, know, that her bravado
was nothing more than a facade. She was certain his intention was
to intimidate her, and it was working, but she refused to allow him
the satisfaction of knowing he’d succeeded. Tilting her face up,
she met his bold stare with a cold glare of defiance.

A slow smile curled his lips, that half smile
that annoyed her as much as it made her insides quiver. He seemed
to enjoy making her squirm at every opportunity. “You wish to have
that painting?” Logan asked almost casually, as if he was asking
her nothing more sinister than the state of the weather. But she
saw the sharp, watchful gleam in his eyes, knew he would detect the
most minute sign that he had pierced her shell.

“You know I do.” She glanced at it over his
shoulder, wishing a simple look could set it ablaze and end her
torment.

He sat back on the desk, swinging one leg.
“The question is, how much is such a masterpiece worth to you? What
payment could you give me?”

Hope leapt in her veins when Logan mentioned
a possibility of settlement, but Winter felt those hopes sink
almost as quickly. She knew, just by the look in his eyes, that he
would demand something exorbitant, some price she could never
pay.

Perhaps all he really wanted to do was make
her grovel, to shame and degrade her as she had shamed him. Very
likely, he would not accept any offer she made, but she realized
she had to try, if only to spare her mother from sharing in her
downfall. She would simply have to find a way to pay his price,
whatever it might be. She licked her lips, took a deep breath and
tried. “I have little to pay with, not nearly enough, I’m sure, to
compensate you. But … is there naught more than gold you wish for?
Perhaps some service—”