Oh God, no! That burning hot, liquid sensation grew more intense. She ached in the core of her being.
Her body craved something her mind hated. And she was no longer in control of herself; Lachlan was.
A half moan escaped before she smothered it. Her body tightened, rigid like a bow, straining for something. She arched toward him, then forced herself to stop.
Slowly, he trailed kisses over her lower belly and down toward her mound. She tried to squeeze her thighs together but he had inserted his knee between.
Her legs trembled, her strength vanished. Pushing her knee up, he kissed her inner thighs, both of them, opening her to his view. She was utterly at his mercy.
"Oh." He was scandalous. She whimpered, praying it would not hurt.
"Mmm, you smell like heaven."
That most feminine part of her wept and ached…and yearned for something…he touched her there with his fingers, parted her female lips, blew his hot breath upon her, and licked between. "Mmm."
"Mon Dieu!" She gasped and her body did what it wanted, her hips thrust toward him, her legs widening like a wanton's, giving him complete access.
"Aye." He took full possession.
Her sole focus was on what he did, spreading her with his fingers, lapping with his tongue. He closed his lips around some part of her and drew on her, sucking. A sharp ache speared her. Not a painful ache, but one that yearned for something more. Not his member, no, she did not want it.
His tongue slid inside her, in and out. How could he do such a thing? Surely that was immoral and sinful…the most erotic thing she could imagine.
"Mmm, you are sweet as a plum tart," he murmured, his breath heating her skin.
A moan slipped out without her permission.
"You see? You like this."
She shook her head vehemently. "I hate it!"
"Liar. I love to hear you moan. Do it again." He slid his tongue inside, deeper, no…it was his finger. Before she could protest, he suckled at her flesh again, licked a most sensitive spot fast and hard. The sensations were blinding, mind-stealing. He would drive her to lunacy. Her body suddenly became possessed with something, taken over, bombarded and smothered with intensity.
Pleasure? No, something beyond pleasure.
His finger felt larger inside her, two fingers, stroking in and out. And she rode, hating him for making her crave it so badly. He tugged at her hair, exposing her more completely, licking faster, making the erotic sensation extend and magnify. She knew she was crying out, screaming, but was helpless to stop it. Her body clutched at his fingers, but wanted something more, something that wasn't there. Whatever invisible demon possessed her made her jerk violently beneath him, shoving her body more firmly to his mouth.
The possession released her and she felt she dropped back to the bed, her flesh tender and most sensitive. She wanted to draw away from him, fold into herself and hide completely.
"Mmm, Angelique. There you have it." Lachlan licked his lips, savoring her sweet, sensual flavor. Saints, that was the best sex he'd ever had and he hadn't even been inside her yet. Near to the edge of climaxing himself, he sat back on his heels.
Angelique sobbed and turned her head aside, crying into the pillow.
"Nay, don't cry." He stroked a hand over her hip. "Did you not enjoy that?"
"Non. Va-t-en! Leave." Tears glistened on her lashes.
He had seen women brought to tears during climax, especially their first, but not in this way. He was used to joyful tears of awe, or maybe an outburst of laughter. But not distraught as Angelique was. "Don't be afraid, lass. I wouldn't hurt you."
"I'm not afraid. Que vous êtes brute!"
"What's wrong, then?" He could not understand her, still hostile after such an obviously pleasurable release.
"Men. Je les déteste."
So she hated men, not just him? "Why?"
"None of your concern."
"Did someone hurt you? Your first lover, the man you had planned to marry?"
She nodded slightly, surprising him.
Dear God, no. Why had he not realized? "Tell me his name."
"Girard," she whispered.
Poisonous jealousy and rage snaked through Lachlan, sickening him. "Girard? He was the man you had wanted to marry? The man who you fear is here now, threatening you? Why did you not tell me this before?"
"I did not wish you to find out," she said in a small voice.
"What else are you keeping from me? What secrets?"
"None."
What the hell have I gotten myself into? "Saints! What did the bastard do?"
She shook her head.
"Tell me. Did he hit you?"
She nodded but kept her eyes shut tight.
"What else?"
"C'est rein."
"Nay, I don't think 'tis naught."
Tears leaked from beneath her long lashes.
"Did he force you?" He tried to ask gently, but his voice came out a growl.
She turned her face into the pillow, her curls hiding her face.
"Ange, did the whoreson rape you?"
Chapter Ten
Damnation! Girard had raped her. Lachlan wanted to run the bastard through, nay, slit his throat and hack him to bits!
Angelique cried silently, her body shaking with the sobs.
Lachlan untied her hands and her ankle. Once free, she curled into a ball, and he covered her with the blanket. He knelt beside the bed and stroked a hand over her head, pushing the curls back from her face…trying to soothe her and make up for some of his own callous behavior.
"I will kill him," he said in a soft, rough voice. "By the saints, I swear it. When did this happen?"
Finally, she opened her eyes but would not hold his gaze. "A year ago, in France. The first time, after he asked me to marry him, he did not force me. I thought I was in love with him and, against my better judgment, agreed to become lovers. I hated the painful, humiliating act. Then I caught him with another woman, a serving maid. I told him I never wanted to see him again and this angered him. That is when he raped me."
A killing rage, nay, a dark bloodlust such as Lachlan had never felt speared him. He rose and moved away, fearing she'd feel the violence radiating off him. He wanted to smash something. "If I ever see him, I shall kill him. I swear it!"
She pressed her eyes closed and more tears leaked out.
Lachlan yanked on his clothes, imagining the hell she'd endured, trying to control his anger. No wonder she had not wanted him to touch her. And he'd tied her up. He'd terrified her beyond reason, probably made her think he was going to rape her, too. Though his only intention had been to give her pleasure, he'd been a bastard.
Once dressed, he again knelt by the bed and slid a hand over her hair, offering what comfort he knew how. "I'm sorry I tied you up. I didn't know."
"It is nothing."
"Nay, I was wrong to do it. I never meant to frighten you."
She remained silent. He knew naught else to say. How could he offer her comfort when his mere presence likely scared her worse?
"I hope you can forgive me. Sleep now, and I'll see you on the morrow."
He did not want to leave her like that. He wanted to crawl in bed beside her, pull her against his chest and stroke her, kiss her, 'til she felt better. 'Til she was happy. But that would not happen. Feeling helpless and in the darkest mood ever, he closed the door on the way out. In the sitting room, Camille glared at him with tear-filled eyes, her fists clenched at her sides.