My Favorite Marquess. Alexandra BassettЧитать онлайн книгу.
some fiend had sneaked a tin drum in there and was beating it ceaselessly. The inside of her mouth felt like cotton wool, and her stomach rumbled with ominous threats. Her misery exceeded anything in her previous experience; she suspected it might have surpassed anything in the history of mankind, as well.
And yet to reach this hellish state of being she had the sensation of having swum out of a deep, pleasurable sleep. In her dreams she had been so happy, so mindless of care. Percy had been making love to her.
Her wince of pain became a puzzled frown. That couldn’t actually have been Percy in her dream, could it? Percy’s lovemaking had never been so passionate. Her husband had never left her breathless and panting. She had never moaned in ecstasy at his touch.
Unable to make sense of it all, she clutched a hand to her throbbing temple. Maybe she had contracted the influenza? The dream could have been a result of fever. She certainly ached all over. It felt as if she were resting in a bed of rocks.
Attempting not to upset the delicate equilibrium of aches and pains that was her unfortunate present state of being, she shifted.
Her eyes flew wide open. She was lying on rock—and that realization caused her plight to roar back into her memory. Robert the Brute! She must still be in the cave with him. Odd that she couldn’t recall falling asleep…or too much else, for that matter. The last she remembered was drinking some of his brandy. What could have happened after that?
His hateful voice boomed out through the darkness. “Good—you’re awake!”
She shook her head, trying to clear it, but only succeeded in agitating the demon with the drum. She felt as if she were weaving, even lying down.
The candle was just a dying glow from a nub of wax, but she had no trouble making out her captor’s mocking grin. Or his eyes shining through his mask. He probably slept in the thing! “I was beginning to think I’d have to kiss you awake, Highness.”
Kiss me?
Something about that phrase made her bolt up to sitting. A fatal mistake. Her head roared in protest. Then, as the blanket fell off her shoulders, exposing her bare breasts to the ruffian, she nearly swooned with mortification. How had her shift come undone?
She gazed in panic about the cave. That dream. It had just been a dream, hadn’t it?
“How long have we been here?” she asked frantically. And how, exactly, did we pass the time? That last question she left unspoken.
“A sight longer than I intended,” he said, sneering. “’Course, I could nae have known you would suck my brandy jug dry and fall into a stupor now, could I?”
“I’ve never been drunk in my life!” she declared.
He snorted. “Aye, till now.”
The blood drained out of her face. Oh, heavens! That’s what was wrong! Brandy. But she just remembered having a tiny sip. Or maybe two.
“You got me drunk!”
And again, she wondered about her state of undress. More than wondered, in fact. A horrible suspicion scratched at the back of her mind. Those passionate moans…had they been real? Had she been crying out in ecstasy in the arms of this beast, this criminal?
“I got you drunk.” He cackled unpleasantly. “I like that!”
What a horrible creature he was. She shuddered at the idea that he might have…well, she didn’t even want to think what he could have done.
And yet it was impossible to think about anything else.
She lifted her head and proceeded to do what had stood her in good stead all her life when she was in trouble. Issue denials. “I never overindulge.”
“If you’ll remember, Highness, I warned you against drinking too much. I’d no idea such a high-quarter lady could put so much away.”
“Just because I may have been led into overimbibing doesn’t give you an excuse to take advantage of a poor defenseless widow!”
His eyebrows darted up above the line of his mask. “And that poor defenseless widow is supposed to be you?” He practically bent over double with mirth.
She immediately wished she had held her tongue. It was beneath her to even broach the subject of his boorish behavior. Now she had inadvertently given him another line of teasing to torment her with.
“I’m thinkin’ you’ve got that wrong, Highness. Or don’t you remember begging me to kiss you?”
Her cheeks felt fiery. “I would never!”
Would she?
“Listen, Highness, there don’t be time enough to waste arguing o’er your wanton ways.” He chuckled snidely. “The tide’s out again and ’tis time for us to be gone. Now get yourself dressed quickly.”
Anything was better than more of this man’s idea of conversation. Violet scrambled to dress, and then winced at the pain this caused her head. How could men regularly drink too much? They must be bigger fools than she had always taken them for.
Yet her physical pain was as nothing compared to her mental anguish when she saw that her chemise wasn’t just off her shoulders but tangled about her waist. What, oh what, had gone on here? Had she completely taken leave of her senses? Had they actually—she gulped at the thought—performed the act?
Impossible! She had certainly not missed conjugal intimacies with Percy since his death. Her husband’s nocturnal attentions to her person had at first seemed repellent to her, but later had just dwindled over time into another chore to be performed. To think she would let this barbarian touch her, much less violate her, was laughable to contemplate. She would have fought the man tooth and claw before letting him lay a paw on her. Tooth and claw.
Yet he appeared to be none the worse for wear. In fact, he was irritatingly composed…and fully dressed. No visible scratches from this tooth-and-claw effort of hers to ward him off. His imposing figure seemed to consume most of the space in their small cave, and she felt unaccountably angry at him for being so tall, for having such a deep, resonant voice and such a wicked grin. Whoever knew that a criminal could have such dark, penetrating eyes and such white, even teeth?
She blushed at the complimentary turn her thoughts had taken. I must still be tipsy, she decided in her own defense.
Anyway, there was no use asking him what had happened during the night. Not unless she wanted to endure more of his taunting. He would probably only make up some wild tale about her throwing herself at his person—just as he had accused of her of practically wrestling the flask out of his hands. An accusation which was so preposterous it didn’t even bear argument.
Except…now that she had a moment to think back, she did remember tipping the bottle to her lips a few times. The drink had given her a sort of giddy, light-headed feeling. She had giggled. And she never giggled.
Oh, Lord.
To think that she, Violet Wingate Treacher, could have arrived at such a state! She, who had been married to a man who might have been a marquess, had everyone died in the proper order. Not even her sister Sophy had ever gotten herself caught in such an incriminating escapade—and Sophy had been disgracing the family on a weekly basis since she had escaped from the nursery. But Sophy had never approached this level of disgrace. Swilling brandy in a smuggler’s cave? With Cornwall’s most notorious smuggler, Robert the Brute?
And heaven knew what else had happened!
It was that what else that plagued her. As she struggled into her clothing, Violet tried to discern whether she had been violated. She didn’t think she had shared relations with a criminal, but how did one know for certain? He could have done anything to her while she was in a state of drunken unconsciousness. That thought made her even more ill.
What if she had been befouled by this low character? How would she possibly be able to hold her head up again?
“Ready?” he barked