Mask of Duplicity (The Jacobite Chronicles Book 1) by Julia Brannan

her, grasping her wrists and forcing them above her head. He leaned up, supporting his upper body on his arms, pushing hers into the mattress and making her cry out in pain as the fragile bones of her wrists took his weight. He adjusted his position so that he was sitting astride her, her lower body pinioned by his, one heavily muscled thigh on each side of her legs, crushing them together.
    He was as surprised as she was by his reaction. When he had gripped her waist, he had intended to strike her, but was now glad he hadn’t. He was enjoying the feel of her slender body struggling futilely beneath his, her eyes wide, pupils dilated with fear and pain, a great improvement on the defiance of moments ago. He felt the rush of adrenaline that always coursed through him when he inflicted pain combining with the alcohol, and he smiled.
    Beth sensed his pleasure, and stopped struggling. She fought to bring her ragged breathing under control, but her chest heaved, drawing his attention. He looked down at her breasts, the nipples clearly visible through the thin cotton, and felt her arms tense as she instinctively tried to bring them down to cover herself.
    “Richard,” she started, then hesitated, having no idea how she was going to appease him, apart from promising to visit Isabella. “You are drunk,” she said, smelling the brandy fumes on his breath. “Let me go, and we will talk about this in the morning, as you suggested.”
    “No,” he said firmly. “We will talk about it now. I have been giving some thought to your curious reluctance to see sense. My plan is the only sensible course of action open to us if we’re to avoid a life of penury. And yet in spite of all my persuasion you will not see reason. I begin to wonder if there is not another cause for your obstinacy.”
    What on earth was he talking about? She looked up at him, puzzled. She tugged experimentally at her wrists, to no avail.
    “I have told you why I won’t visit them,” she said. “I have asked Mr Cox if he can find a way to release the money you need to purchase the officer’s commission you want. He’s promised to do his best.”
    Richard snorted dismissively.
    “I have already discussed that with him. There is little hope. And even if he did find a way to get me my commission, I would still have to try to live, and keep you, on two hundred pounds a year, which is not enough. The life of an officer is not cheap, if he wishes to participate fully in the society of his fellow gentlemen. No, like it or not, sister, you are going to swallow your pride.”
    “You cannot ask this of me, Richard, it is too much,” she said, looking up at him desperately.
    “Are you virgin, sister?” he asked suddenly, startling her.
    “What?” she gasped.
    “Only it seems to me that you must have more reason than pure pride for being so recalcitrant. Your behaviour since I arrived has left me in grave doubts as to your purity.”
    “How dare you question my virtue?” she shouted, outraged. She pulled with all her might to free her hands from his grasp, but he took no notice of her struggles.
    “I think I have every reason to question your virtue,” he replied conversationally, sitting back on his haunches and lifting her arms from the bed. Deftly he transferred both her wrists to one hand and forced them back to the mattress above her head. “After all, when I first saw you, you were riding around the countryside in a state of considerable disarray. Then I come home unexpectedly and catch you with a half-naked stable boy.” She opened her mouth to protest, but he put one finger warningly on her lips. “Then last night I find you wandering around the house in your shift. Who were you going to meet?”
    “I told you what I was doing,” she said icily. “My virtue is intact, and you know it.”
    “No, I don’t,” he replied. “But I am about to find out.”
    He shifted his weight suddenly, driving his knees between hers and using his free hand to