She nodded when the maid asked her if she understood, and the woman scurried away, with Lina standing in front of the bathtub, filling by the second with steaming hot water.
She very nearly let it overflow as she thought of each moment in Mr. Blackstone’s strange chamber. She was filled with fury anew at the wicked lie that Mr. Carrington and Elizabeth, and perhaps even that Dr. Doyle, had perpetuated, and she clenched her fists as she thought about it.
She must find a way to tell Mr. Blackstone the truth.
When she stepped into the bath, it was scalding, and it took some doing to achieve a decent temperature, by turning the taps to various states of open, and draining some of the water. She sighed. In the end it seemed almost simpler to boil the water, though she supposed a servant in the enormous home might see such a task differently. The fire was probably miles away in an estate this size.
Once the water had cooled and she sank into the luxurious bath, she closed her eyes and drifted through the wild events of the day. She did not know what was in store for her. What was a harem, and what did it mean to be part of one? Was that a fate worse than the fate of marrying Mr. Blackstone, a man she did not love? A man who spanked her like a small child, only in a way that... that did what? The feelings snaking through her body were impossible to decipher. They felt so verywrong,and yet the more she tried to direct her thoughts away from them, the more she returned to them, and when she thought of the humiliating scene that Mr. Blackstone had just played out, those wild feelings coursed through her body just as they had before.
At some point, replaying the touch of Mr. Blackstone’s hand on her bottom, caressing the red-hot skin, her fingers wandered to that place she instinctively knew was not to be touched, or talked about. Between the folds of her skin she found a slipperiness. Exploring it, enjoying it, she struck the center of that part, a tiny, hard nub, and the shock that raced through her body made her gasp and sit up straight in the bath.
She was breathless, and ached between her legs.
It was so very, very bad. So scandalous. So naughty.
But why did she feel the way that she did, and why could she not banish Mr. Blackstone—a beast, by all accounts—from her thoughts, or the sensation in her chest that took over when she thought of him.
She wanted very much to hate him, to find a way to escape him. And yet the cold sensation, sinking and rising in her chest, betrayed a very different feeling than the one she attempted to cultivate in her mind.
She fell asleep much, much later than she retired, and Mr. Blackstone haunted her dreams, where she knelt before him and he growled that she would be disciplined and punished, over and over again, while the ache between her legs throbbed away, unsated.
Chapter Fourteen
“Do you not think youhave been a bit harsh?”
Rohan Blackstone said nothing as he crossed the library and helped himself to a snifter of Callum Doyle’s very expensive Scotch, brought back with him from a trip to Scotland. Callum could be so mercurial.
“And how is that, Callum? Was it notyoursuggestion that given the girl’s wanton behavior, she be found unsuitable for our purposes and sent on to Laroui?”
There was no reply from Callum, just a tap on his glass. Rohan turned to face him.
Doyle looked unhappy.
Rohan was not pleased, himself. The girl had seemed a perfect solution to their problems. She was not only acceptable, and in no position to decline their offer, but quite beautiful as well. He had been filled, for perhaps the first time in a great long while, with some optimism.
It had only been because of Doyle’s conviction that her behavior in London made her unacceptable for their purposes, that Rohan had let himself be so convinced.
