Something Unexpected Read online

  "You do not enjoy the switch, my dear?"

  She shook her head and swallowed hard. Words were impossible to find. Her breath caught in her throat when his thumb rubbed over her hardened nipple.

  "Too bad. It is one of my best instruments of torture.” He ground his hips against her aching womanhood. With the voluminous skirts she wore, his movements only seemed to create more friction. Two of his fingers clamped on either side of her nipple, and her head fell back against the pillar. The sharp twist and sting that followed dampened the inside of her thighs.

  She sucked in a breath and gritted her teeth when he did not let up. “Please, that hurts."

  Her whispered words did nothing to stop him. He twisted the hard bud in the other direction, rolling it between his fingers until her knees buckled, and she grasped hold of his coat and bit down hard on her bottom lip. “Was this not what you came to me for? To feel the painful burn of pleasure? To be used?” His harsh fingers twisted again, and her hands fisted painfully into his coat. “Answer me,” he growled against her lips.

  She sucked in deep breaths and pressed her eyelids tightly closed. “Yes,” she ground out. His words had her body blazing for attention. She needed much more than his hands. Muscles deep inside her pussy contracted, seeking fulfillment, but nothing came.

  His teeth nipped into her neck, and she gripped him more tightly. She pressed her hips forward, searching for release and escape at the same time. Dizzy and breathless, she barely heard his harshly spoken words.

  "Still want to meet me tonight?"

  Tears of pain pricked Beatrice's eyes, but she would not have stopped this moment for anything. The burn that followed with each twist raised her pleasure that much more. “Yes,” she squeaked.

  He bit down hard again into her neck and released her nipple. A new pain coursed through her, and she grasped his shoulders, rocking her hips against his.

  Gasping, she bent her head to the side. Her eyes drifted closed, lost in sensation as Donatein bit a trail down her neck to her shoulder in hurried, feverish bites. Like a starving animal tearing its prey to bits. Except his prey could not be enjoying herself any more if she were naked and writhing beneath him. Her womb released the tight coil building inside of her until she was nothing but a quivering mass of satisfaction in his arms. Those sharp teeth never ceased until she lay limp between him and her support post.

  "Good girl. You might enjoy this night, after all,” he said gruffly into the dark.

  Something hard and pointed pressed against her breasts. She blinked and looked down, confused to find an ivory card.

  His tongue flicked out, licking the punctures she knew must be permanently embedded into her flesh. Sexual wounds she would carry proudly. With trembling hands, she lifted the card towards her flushed face, but could not read the inscription.

  "Meet me here later at one. I will be waiting most impatiently,” he said quietly.

  When she looked up to question Donatein, she was left with nothing more than the cold air caressing her breasts.

  Bereft of her senses, she fought for several minutes to regain her composure and straighten her wobbling legs. Slowly, she pushed her dress back up over her chest. One look at her surroundings, and she knew she had not been caught. Beatrice grinned in heady anticipation of the delights to come.

  "Beatrice.” Her mother's soft voice called out into the darkness.

  Her breaths stilled, her eyes wide, she glanced down to check her gown before stepping from behind her hiding spot.

  "Yes, Mother, I am right here,” she said, a quivering smile pasted to her lips.

  The deep set of her mother's crystal blue eyes found her, and a look of disapproval marred her usually beautiful features. “You get in here this instant, young lady. If your father catches you out here, you will be in deep trouble.” Then, a smile touched her mother's lips, as it often did these days when she spoke of her upcoming nuptials. “Besides, your fiancé is looking for you."

  "Yes, Mother.” Beatrice heaved a heavy sigh and stepped past her mother back into the overcrowded room. The humidity instantly hit her. With a quick glance around, she found Renald's brown eyes smiling back at her. She gathered a quick smile for his sake. It is not his fault he bores me. Cutting through the guests once again, she stood before him and offered him a half curtsy. “How are you this evening, Monsieur?"

  He stood just a few inches taller than her. Renald's golden and navy blue coat cut perfectly to his narrow frame, and he wore stockings of matching color. The perfect stance with the perfect attitude. There must be something imperfect about the man. She watched his cat-like movements. Always so well-behaved!

  As though she were a frail baby, Renald grasped her elbow and led her towards the dance floor. His breath felt hot and heavy against her ear. “If you are tired, Milady, we do not have to dance. I would have gladly taken you to the veranda for fresh air if that was what you had wished."

  Beatrice fought back a sudden wave of raw desire that swelled at the juncture of her thighs. Confused, her teeth clamped the inside of her lip. She did not want to desire Renald. Craving two men in one night—impossible. Yet, his words tingled against her ear.

  No, this rush of longing had to be part of her earlier encounter with the Marquis. “Of course not, Monsieur. After all, the festivities for the evening have just begun."

  The hard look he presented her left her wondering if, in fact, he did know she was outside with someone else. If so, he did not seem happy. Inwardly, she cringed at the knowledge of what she was about to do. Women of class did not behave in such a manner.

  Just as quickly, her resolve returned. He will choose a suitable Mistress once we are married. What would it hurt for me to have this one indiscretion before we are married? With a renewed sense of excitement, she followed him to the dance floor and joined her hand with his above their heads. Their eyes locked, and he nodded his head in her direction, his thin lips drawn into a line of discontent.

  Beatrice lifted her chin and displayed a grin so wide, it brought a raised brow from her suitor. She dipped into the turn, her hand against her hip, and felt that for once, marriage might be more interesting than she first realized.

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  Chapter 2

  "I am so glad this night is over. Did you see the way Lord Tinbalm was looking at me?” Camille grimaced in the mirror at Beatrice, then visibly shuddered. “Nay, he was leering at me. He cannot be a day below fifty."

  Beatrice offered her younger sister a wan smile, undid her hair, and shook out the long tresses. “Sorry I missed that tonight, dear sister. Do you have any other suitors?"

  Camille scoffed at the mirror. Her ladies’ maid proceeded to unlace the back of her gown. “I have many suitors. Mother, however, knows Lord Tinbalm has his own money. He isn't waiting on an old relative to die. She wants me to press my attentions on him.” Her sister tossed the turtle shell comb onto the vanity. “I am much too young to accept the attentions of that man."

  Beatrice reached behind her to pull at her own laces, not wishing to wait for the maid to come to her aid, and dropped her gown to the floor. “That may be so, but you cannot deny you would be rather comfortable.” Beatrice dared a glance up into the mirror at her sister, who stared back at her in shock.

  "You would not dare think to tell me to marry him. Nothing about our marriage would last more than a year. Why, I was listening to one of the ladies talk just tonight about how her husband can no longer keep himself hard. She was very distraught. That is not the type of marriage I am looking for."

  Beatrice rolled her eyes. “I understand, but it is not uncommon for a wife to take a lover on the side, as her husband does. It is just not displayed as openly as when men do it."

  Camille's eyes narrowed into slits, she stared back at Beatrice. She blew a strand of black hair from her eyes, hair that matched Beatrice's own. The silky tress refused to obey and quickly fell back into place. “Are you trying to tell me something? Your own fia
ncé is a catch. He is young, handsome, rich, and has his own money. I will not have the same fortune as you, because I am the younger one."

  Beatrice attempted to laugh off her sister's comment. “I am not saying anything. You really should not jump to conclusions. All I am saying is that if you are forced to marry a man you cannot bear to spend your life beneath, make the most of it in other ways.” She shrugged and stepped out from her skirts.

  Biting her lip, she looked up at the clock. Another hour, and she would be late for her meeting with the Marquis. She cast a look towards her sister and wondered if she would be able to sneak around her.

  Camille raised a suspicious brow towards Beatrice. “So, if there was something going on, you would tell me?"

  Beatrice nodded and slid her nightgown over her head. “Of course I would. You are my sister and closest friend,” she said with a smile, then turned her back. It was true. Everything in her life that she had been through up until this point, she always told her sister. Upon tasting her first kiss, who did she tell? Camille. When her monthlies started, who knew even before her mother? Her sister.

  Beatrice's shoulders fell. She would have to tell her. One look at the maid fussing over Camille's hair, though, and she knew she would probably not have enough time to do so tonight. “I think I need to go for a walk, Camille."

  Camille gasped and turned, screeching when she caused the brush to tangle in her hair. “What are you talking about? It is after midnight. Mother expects us to be in bed, and Father would be furious at you for leaving in the middle of the night."

  She shrugged. “Maybe, but I really must go out. I am nervous about my upcoming nuptials, and I think I just need some time to relax and walk."

  Camille's hands rested on her hips. The maid made every attempt to rectify the knots twisted in her hair. “What is wrong with your upcoming nuptials? Renald is a fine specimen of a man. I could only wish I could do so well."

  Beatrice lowered her head and fiddled with the satin tie at her breast. “Yes, I know. I am just nervous, that is all. There is much to think about when you turn yourself over to a man for the rest of your life."

  Camille gave in, unconvinced. “All right, just please do not be too long. Mother will have a fit if you are discovered out of bed."

  Beatrice smiled bravely. “You are right, dear. I will not be late. Possibly only a few hours.” At Camille's shocked stare, she continued quickly, “I love the land at this time of night. Everything is quiet and peaceful."

  Before she was able to say more, her maid held up her cloak. Beatrice bent and retrieved the small card with the Marquis’ address. It would take her nearly an hour to arrive at his residence. After securing her cloak about her and strapping on her good walking boots, she kissed her sister's cheek. Excitement raced through her blood, and she fought hard not to giggle while still in their presence. “I promise to tell you about it when I return."

  Camille smiled. “Have it wait until morning, sister. The middle of the night will be a little too late for me."

  * * * *

  Beatrice did not breathe a sigh of relief until she was well on her way down the main road. Even then, she turned back to make sure no one followed. Her heart raced with excitement for her coming night, and she wondered how it would feel to be at the mercy of the Marquis with no possible interruptions.

  The thunder of horses’ hooves behind her stopped her dead in her tracks. She turned around. Whoever was traveling at this time of night was in a hurry—and headed in her direction.

  Beatrice saw the lamplight dangling from the side of the carriage and quickly jumped off the road. The two dark horses galloped so closely beside her, she could feel their heavy footfalls.

  "Whoa,” someone said, plain as day. The carriage stopped, only a few feet away.

  She held her breath. Prepared to run, she watched a small man alight from the carriage. Twigs cracked, and gravel twisted beneath his feet as he approached her. Between the night and the trees overhead, she could not make out much more than the man's height. “Mademoiselle Beatrice, is that you?"

  She blinked and squinted into the dark night before grabbing her wrap to her body to hold it tightly in place. “Who goes?"

  A light chuckle from the man made her uneasy. She chewed her bottom lip, willing her legs to stop their incessant quaking. “It is the driver for the Marquis. I am late, and I do apologize. We must hurry—Monsieur does not approve of tardiness."

  With a deep breath of relief, she left her hiding spot, which was not really a very good hiding spot, since she was so easily found. “Thank you, Monsieur. You gave me quite a fright."

  Another chuckle. He took her arm and helped her into the carriage seat. Plush, comfortable, and warm, it almost hugged her small body. “Well, I do apologize. Monsieur must not have told you I was coming."

  She shook her head, but the carriage door had already closed. Her encasement rocked precariously as the man climbed back into his seat, clucked to his horses, and turned the large curricle toward Donatein's house.

  The night flew by at such a pace that Beatrice had to close her curtain. The sight made her stomach flip flop and her head swim. She clutched a hand to her stomach and rested her head back against the fine velvet seat. Hours. Just a few hours are all I want. Anything to escape the idea of marriage to a man she did not love, a man who by all appearances would never bring about the same pleasure she sought from Donatein.

  For the tenth time just this week, she thought about her desires. Surely there must be something wrong with me to crave such treatment. Despite its strangeness, she felt as a grown woman it was her duty to herself to explore and relish these small moments she might not receive again. To ask her future husband to invade her and punish her without remorse, to demand he take from her what she must willingly give to him—her control, her surrender—was too much to expect. Men held all the rights, by all accounts. And that would have to be good enough.

  "Maybe if I told him, he would give me what I desire.” She bit her lip briefly and thought on that, then dismissed the idea. More likely, she was just too embarrassed to go to such depths. If I am lucky, this will be my one moment, and I will have worked this need out of my system.

  They navigated a sharp turn, and she knew they must be close. She spread the curtain wide and leaned forward to view Lacoste. Her breath hitched at the beautiful sight. The grand castle looked more like it floated atop the hill, enveloped by the forest that surrounded its hard exterior. She imagined herself looking out the top window. The view would be breathtaking.

  Houses dotted the bottom, and she felt like a queen coming home to her subjects. Not that her own fiancé was without funds. He had his own very large estate, yet it was nothing so beautiful as where Donatien lived. Nothing so spectacular and overwhelming. They wound up the roads, and she wondered if they would make it on time. At the last moment, the driver steered the horses around back.

  He pulled the reins and alighted from his seat to open her door. Still in amazement, she barely breathed a ‘thank you’ when he helped her from the carriage. Standing on solid ground now, she followed the straight lines of the castle to the very top, where a candle burned in a window. A slow smile spread across her lips.

  "This is as far as I can go, Madamoiselle. If you walk inside the back door, Monsieur will be awaiting your arrival."

  She nodded and walked precariously to the back entrance of the massive home. Before her hand could even touch the knob, the door flew open, and she was dragged with a shriek inside the dark interior. “Do not make a sound. You will wake the entire house."

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  Chapter 3

  She suppressed a giggle and nodded. His warm hand cupped her elbow and led her through the darkened home, without so much as missing a step or running her into a wall. After traveling several flights of stairs, during which she stopped to catch her breath twice, he finally opened the door to a well-lit, wide open space. Only then did he finally speak to her. “
I have waited all evening to see you, Beatrice."

  He paused and turned her in his arms to press her body against his. His warmth, strength, and experience relaxed her. “I hope you will allow me to do away with propriety while I am with you this night."

  Her face reddened. Had they not already? “Yes, Monseiur."

  "Donatein,” he said lightly.

  "Yes, Donatein,” she murmered before his lips fell upon hers, claiming her with a searing bond she knew she would never experience with another. His tongue leapt past her lips, dropped her barriers and drugged her with the power he held over her.

  He groaned against her mouth, “There is my girl. Keep kissing me."

  With pleasure. She leaned against his chest and pressed closer to him, wrapping her arms around his waist. Their tongues mingled and danced. Not as stolen kisses in the night or gentle pecks against the lips. These were kisses brought about by one goal and one goal only. A gentle persuasion to punishment. And for tonight, she wanted to experience the lusty kiss of an instrument of torture.

  His hands at her forearms held her prisoner, as if she would escape, were she given the chance. All thoughts of this being wrong fled. He drew back and nipped at her bottom lip, then worked his soft warm lips down the column of her neck. She craved the feel of his teeth biting into her flesh, and he delivered.

  Her hand came up to the back of his head and threaded her fingers through the hair that fell over her fingers. Soft, luxurious, perfect. With a moan of pleasure, she fell into sweet surrender, tilted her head further even as his own hand came up and wrapped the tresses of her hair around his palm. He pulled so tightly, she bit her lip to keep from crying out. A shudder coursed through her, and her knees buckled to the point that Donatein had to wrap another arm about her waist. His teeth sank deeper into her neck.

  She moaned and gritted her teeth when the sharp pain increased. Suddenly, he brought his head back up. His breathing heavy, his eyes half-closed, those sweet pink lips parted just barely.