Succumb to Me Page 4

  She held her breath, frozen immobile as the footsteps became louder, came nearer, ceasing abruptly as they paused outside the door. Slowly, the knob began to turn. Winter stifled a gasp, looked wildly around for a place to hide and finally dove under the bed, unable to think beyond the immediate need to hide.

  She’d barely scrambled under the bed when the door opened. She put her cheek to the floor, peering beneath the dust ruffle. Black booted feet came into her view. They stopped in the doorway. For a moment she thought, a little hopefully, that perhaps it was merely a servant, come to check to see if his master had returned.

  The hope died almost instantly. No servant wore boots like these, of the finest of leather, polished until one could almost see their reflection.

  It had to be Logan.

  But why had he stopped at the door?

  In dawning horror, she remembered leaving the burning candle stick on the dresser by the door. She clamped a hand over her mouth to stifle a gasp, felt her face draining of blood. What other evidence had she left of her intrusion? What a careless fool she’d been!

  Why, why had he come back to the house so early? He should have been out gambling and being a rakehell for hours. Certainly well into the night.

  An agonizing moment ticked by. Winter stopped breathing, awaiting discovery.

  He did nothing but shut the door. She started breathing again, shallowly as she watched his movements, but her breath sounded so loud in her ears she feared he would hear her. The light flickered as he picked up the candle, then the room brightened as another candle was lit.

  Contrary to the frightening images her mind had conjured, he did not drop instantly to his knee and snatch the dust ruffle up, exposing her.

  Her hammering pulse began returning to normal when she wasn’t immediately discovered. Perhaps he thought a servant had left the candle for him. There was still some hope she could get out without being caught. If she waited until he slept, she was certain she would have a good chance.

  He walked around the bed to the chest, dropping his jacket to the floor with a soft rustle not a foot from her head, moving behind her where she couldn’t see. She remained perfectly still, barely breathing, listening intently.

  Strong hands gripped her suddenly by the ankles with surprising strength. Winter yelped, clutching with her nails at the carpet for a handhold, but she was yanked from under the bed with little effort. Stunned, she lay frozen on the floor, blinking up at him as he crouched above her, one knee braced on the floor.

  He smiled crookedly, making no move to rise, his dark eyes gleaming with unholy amusement. “What have we here?”

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Winter said nothing, could only gape at him while slow thaw set in to her frozen limbs.

  “Now what,” he murmured thoughtfully, “would a livery boy be doing under my bed?”

  Winter’s heart leapt with a mixture of hope and disbelief. Could it possibly be that he hadn’t recognized her? Was her disguise that good? The room that dim?

  She licked her lips, but before her harried mind could conjure a convincing lie, Logan leaned forward, as casually as you please, and placed a hand on one breast, squeezing gently.

  “Ah … I thought you a little too pretty for a boy.” His eyes narrowed thoughtfully. “A lady bird, then. The question is, have you come to rob me? Or, had you planned to earn your coin?”

  Still frozen, unable to think of much beyond the fact that his hand remained on her breast, Winter felt her jaw drop. If there had ever been a time in her life when she had needed her wits about her, her unflappable calm, that time was now.

  Unfortunately, she seemed to have left both behind in her room at home, where she should have been at this very moment, cursing Logan Cordell for a blackguard, instead of lying on the floor of the blackguard’s room with his hand on her breast.

  Logan tilted his head. “I’m not certain but what you’re a bit too boyish for my tastes,” he murmured thoughtfully. Moving his hand over her breast experimentally, he cupped it, as if judging the weight of it, then tested her other breast. He hesitated a moment and ran his hand down, along her sides, over her belly. When his hand cupped her femininity, Winter jack knifed up right, instinctively swinging at him.

  He caught her hand mid-air. A deep, wicked, chuckle rumbled from his chest.

  Winter screamed her outrage.

  He clapped a hand to her mouth. “Unless you want all of my servants in here gaping at you, I’d suggest you practice a little decorum.”

  Winter glared daggers at him, muttering against his palm.

  Slowly, he moved his hand away from her mouth, reached up and snatched the cap from her head, dangling it before her nose on his fingers. “Why, Miss Stevens! I’m shocked! It is you, is it not?”

  Winter snatched her cap from his hand. “As if you didn’t know, you vile blackguard!”

  He pretended shock. “Such language ... and from a ... ah ... lady.”

  Winter gasped, outraged. “How dare you!”

  “I could ask the same of you, my dear,” Logan said, apparently unfazed. “What brings you to my humble home?”

  “As if you didn’t know, you ... you complete scoundrel!”

  Logan studied her a long moment. “As it happens, I had a feeling you would come tonight. Admittedly, I’d thought you might have something else on your mind besides seduction. Were you going to wait until I undressed before coming out from your hiding place? I must tell you, you needn’t have bothered with such an elaborate ploy. I do not account myself as an easy mark, but, for the right woman, I can be had.”

  “I’ll just bet you can,” Winter said acidly, hardly believing his arrogance. Handsome men always had that particular conceit, as if all women were dying to give in to them. She’d encountered it far too often in the past few years since her father’s death had left them vulnerable to such attacks.

  Abruptly, he hooked his hands under her arms and pulled her to her feet, his palms sliding down to her waist, caressing the sides of her breasts. “Apparently, my memory fails me. I would never have thought you, of all women, would be one to engage in a clandestine affair, Winter.”

  Winter slapped his hands away and backed up a step to look up at him with false bravado. “As if I would ever let you touch me, you ... you....” She couldn’t think of anything bad enough to call him that would also fall under the category of ladylike dialogue.

  He frowned, studying her thoughtfully a moment. “Did you come here to apologize?”

  A start of surprise went through her. She had considered it, but that was before he’d behaved so badly. “No.”

  “I see.” He rubbed his chin as if puzzling the riddle.

  “What made you so certain I would come?”

  He advanced on her, trapping her against the bed. The only way to escape now was go through him—or across the bed. She swallowed, glancing quickly at that route and vowing not to stray there.

  He lifted his brows. “The cherished memories we share? Unfinished business?”

  Was he so delusional he thought she didn’t know he had the painting? She studied him, trying to decide whether it was a possibility, or just hopefulness on her part. She’d smelled brandy on his breath. Perhaps he was so clouded with drink—and lust, she could still gain what she’d come for? If she could distract him long enough....

  But what liberties would she have to allow to distract him?

  She focused on him with an assessing gaze and discovered that he had transferred his attention from her face to the clothing she wore, his gaze heated and thorough as it skated down her length. Her skin tingled from his lingering look, and she regretted choosing the form fitting outfit, aware suddenly just how tightly it hugged her legs and hips, the turn of her waist.

  “You don’t know how much it pleases me to find you in here,” he said, his voice a husky murmur.

  “I can imagine,” she said wryly, watching transfixed as he casually removed his waistcoat. He untied his cravat, throwing it
atop the waist coat before loosening the neck of his shirt. She dropped her gaze, embarrassed at her own boldness and the knowing look he gave her, but her eyes immediately settled on a bulge straining against the front of his breeches. She swallowed, her throat gone dry, knowing instinctively the danger his arousal presented.

  She’d never been privy to a man undressing before. Somehow, seeing him in such a state of undress made the blood pulse in forbidden places of her body. She felt her treacherous heartbeat quicken.

  Her plans, and her boldness, shriveled away at the thought of what he would do now that she was at his mercy, and he was obviously under the influence. How much could she trust that good breeding would reign in his lust?

  He reached for her, and she startled, scrambling atop the bed to escape him before it even occurred to her that doing so was exactly what he wanted. He lunged for her, his greater reach catching her easily. She gave a strangled cry and kicked him in the shoulder, missing his face by inches. He rolled her on her stomach, straddling her buttocks, trapping her hands beneath her stomach. She could get no leverage to fight him and growled in frustration.

  “Where is the proper lady now I wonder?” he taunted, mocking her.

  “I will show you if you but let me up,” she gritted out through clenched teeth.

  He laughed. He actually laughed at her. His hands gripped her waist, holding her in place, his fingers inches from the tops of her buttock cheeks.

  “Stop touching me like that. You have no right,” she ground out, blowing loose tendrils of hair from her eyes. She couldn’t see anything but the bed.

  “Like what? This?” His hand slipped lower, and she went rigid all over at his bold touch.

  “Yes,” she said through gritted teeth.

  “Yes, touch you?” He bent, speaking low into her ear. “You should have told me this was what you wanted. I would have accommodated you sooner.”

  “This is not what I want and you know it,” she yelped, her voice muffled by the bed. Her mind whirled as panic raged through her. She struggled, trying to free her hands, trying to buck him from her back and finally collapsed weakly to the bed in exhaustion.

  Moments ticked off, and he did not move. Her rapid breathing slowed as she realized he’d made no attempt to ravish her on the spot. The need to know what was going on finally outweighed her reluctance to behave in any predictable manner.

  What is he going to do, she wondered, turning her head to the side. She could see nothing from her limited field of vision, however. She blew her tangled hair from her face, to no avail.

  “Should you be punished for breaking into my house? Perhaps a spanking?” he said finally, his voice tight, sounding strained.

  “You are not my father!”

  “No. I most definitely have no paternal feelings for you, but something must be done.” He was silent a moment, as though contemplating what he would do.

  “Call the guard if you are so eager for justice,” she gritted out desperately, certain nothing could be worse than her current predicament. She wanted to strangle him for holding her this way. How dare he think he could do anything he wanted to her, to insinuate that he could punish her. She’d rather be publicly whipped than allow him his way.

  “Ease down. I’m of no mind to cause you injury, though I’ll admit I find the idea of paddling your bottom more than a little intriguing.”

  “You bastard.”

  “I assure you, my parents were married. Save your tongue for other things, sweet Winter. I would think a moment.”

  She tensed, expecting that he had lied and would deliver a blow to her buttocks. Instead, after several minutes passed in tensed expectation, he began rubbing her back, his fingers working deep into her muscles, easing the stress knotting them.

  Despite her reservations, despite her initial tensing at his touch, Winter felt her muscles begin to relax with a will of their own, found that it was actually a pleasant sensation having his strong hands kneading her.

  She’d just begun to truly enjoy his ministrations when he stopped, shifting atop her so that he lay against her, pulling her hands from beneath her where they had been trapped, lifting her arms above her head and clamping them to the bed.

  She tensed as a hard object pressed against the cleft of her buttocks, as he began to move against her, his breath harsh against her ears, sending shivers of sensation through her. His arms covered hers, his hands gripping her hands, his body shuddering—with tension, or his efforts to support his weight so that he didn’t crush her, she wasn’t certain. But her body responded as if it were no longer hers to control, a strange excitement seizing her, causing her pulse to race, her breath to catch in her throat.

  A strange fog seemed to cloud her mind. She found herself moving, almost unconsciously, with him. Becoming aware of what she was doing, Winter stopped, trying to calm her racing heart, trying to regain control of her raging senses.

  As abruptly as he’d begun, he stopped, rolling off of her and coming to his feet beside the bed. He grasped her, rolling her onto her back to face him. She stared at him for several moments, unmoving and finally sat up with the careful movements of a mouse suddenly freed by a cat, regarding him warily, shakily smoothing her jacket down where it had ridden up her chest.

  His eyes flashed a warning, and she stilled. “If you give yourself to me willingly, we will go down to my study afterwards and you can take the painting and go. I will not plague you again.”

  Shaken from his caresses, Winter stared at him blankly for several moments, certain she hadn’t heard him correctly. His expression was deadly serious, however, his eyes dark, hot, and hungry.

  She should have felt outraged … not breathless and confused.

  She should have leapt to her feet and slapped his face for the liberties he’d taken, for his assumption that she would willingly give herself to him only to get her hands on the painting.

  The problem was, she wasn’t outraged.

  She wasn’t even altogether certain that she wasn’t tempted to agree, only for the sake of more of his dangerous caresses.

  That was her first clue that her wits had gone a begging. She needed, somehow, to remove herself from his proximity before something completely insane began to seem like a totally rational solution to her problem.

  “I ... I need a moment ... to collect myself,” she said, moving to the side of the bed and standing slowly, watching him warily.

  He made no move to stop her.

  “Take all the time you need.” He smiled a little crookedly and lay down on the bed, propping on an elbow as he watched her open the door to the sitting room and leave.

  She closed the door behind her, collapsed against it, breathing a deep sigh of thankfulness. For many moments, she simply stared at nothing, trying to regain control of her weak, trembling body.

  As calmness overtook her, however, it occurred to her that she had succeeded. Without any attempt on her part to seduce him with her wiles, he had fallen for her scheme. He honestly believed she would give in to him—trust a man to think he need only show himself willing and a woman would swoon to accommodate him!

  Now she knew where the painting was. She nearly giggled with relief, feeling almost drunk with all that had happened. Treading softly, she went to the opposite door and found to her relief that it was unlocked. She slipped inside the mistress’ bedroom and from there out into the hall.

  Chuckling inside as she pictured him awaiting her to join him in bed—something that would never happen—she crept back down the stairs and to the first floor, searching with a candle until she’d found the study.