nor understood.
Undressing quickly, Moira slid into bed and closed her eyes. Exhausted, she fell asleep. Her dreams took her across time and space to the weeks preceding the night Jack Graystoke found her lying in the gutter.
Chapter Six
Prelude to Disaster: Lord Mayhew’s home, six months earlier
Moira entered Lord Roger Mayhew’s rooms with trepidation. Since the day she’d taken employment with the Mayhews, she’d had to fend off the earl’s son and heir, whose uninvited attention filled her with loathing. His pursuit of her had become so intense that she made a point of staying out of his way when he was home, which thankfully wasn’t often. Debauched and morally dissolute, his dark vices made him utterly destestable. If Roger knew she had inadvertently learned he was a disciple of the wicked Hellfire Club, her life would be in danger, she was sure of it.
Quickly stripping the soiled linen from Lord Roger’s bed, Moira was unaware that her nemesis had entered his room and quietly closed the door behind him. The barely audible click of the door latch sent her spinning around to face the man she had come to fear.
“Ah, Moira, how convenient to find you in my bedchamber.”
“Lord Roger. I thought you’d left. I’ll come back at a more convenient time to finish cleaning your room.”
Tall and lean to the point of gauntness, his long aristocratic face and colorless eyes gave hint to his cruel nature. Not unhandsome, Roger Mayhew had been spoiled and indulged most his life. He did not tolerate rejection well. For a man of wealth and breeding, gratification of his every whim was a duty—nay, a pleasurable goal. And Roger Mayhew indulged himself to the fullest.
“No need to leave, Moira. I propose we put the bed to good use while you’re here. I’ve been waiting to get you alone for a very long time. Finding you in my chamber is a stroke of luck I hadn’t anticipated.”
Moira stepped back in fear. “I’m a good girl, milord.” She tried to walk past him, but he deliberately placed himself in her path.
“You always did put on airs above your station, Moira. You should be more appreciative of my attentions. Most women in your situation would be eager to accommodate me. You won’t find me ungrateful.”
“I’m not most women.”
When she tried to sidle around him, he laughed cruelly and grasped her upper arms, dragging her against him forcibly. “You aren’t going anywhere. You’re nothing but a sluttish Irish tease. You know what I want, and I aim to have it. Don’t pretend innocence with me.”
“Let me go!” Moira struggled furiously, but despite his leanness, Roger was surprisingly strong. Grasping her head between his hands, he slammed his mouth down on hers, biting her bottom lip viciously. Moira tasted blood and struggled violently to escape.
Her strength was meager compared to Roger’s. In a shockingly short time, he had her pinned beneath him on the bed, his sloppy kisses and wet, thrusting tongue making her gag. She felt his hand sliding beneath her skirts, shoving them upward, baring her legs and thighs. Her scream was aborted when Roger placed a hand over her mouth.
“What are you trying to do, raise the household?”
Moira nodded her head vigorously. That was exactly what she wished to do.
“You want this, Moira. You’re just being stubborn. At heart you’re a whore. All women are whores.”
Suddenly Moira went limp beneath him, leading him to believe she was submitting willingly.
“That’s better,” he said with a leering grin. “I knew you’d see reason.”
He removed his hand from her mouth so he could kiss her, and summoning every bit of breath available, Moira screamed at the top of her lungs. Enraged, Roger slapped her with the flat of his hand, then covered her mouth with his. Pain exploded inside her head. Roger took advantage of her dazed condition to flip her dress up to her waist and thrust her legs apart. Desperate now, Moira bit down hard on
Undressing quickly, Moira slid into bed and closed her eyes. Exhausted, she fell asleep. Her dreams took her across time and space to the weeks preceding the night Jack Graystoke found her lying in the gutter.
Chapter Six
Prelude to Disaster: Lord Mayhew’s home, six months earlier
Moira entered Lord Roger Mayhew’s rooms with trepidation. Since the day she’d taken employment with the Mayhews, she’d had to fend off the earl’s son and heir, whose uninvited attention filled her with loathing. His pursuit of her had become so intense that she made a point of staying out of his way when he was home, which thankfully wasn’t often. Debauched and morally dissolute, his dark vices made him utterly destestable. If Roger knew she had inadvertently learned he was a disciple of the wicked Hellfire Club, her life would be in danger, she was sure of it.
Quickly stripping the soiled linen from Lord Roger’s bed, Moira was unaware that her nemesis had entered his room and quietly closed the door behind him. The barely audible click of the door latch sent her spinning around to face the man she had come to fear.
“Ah, Moira, how convenient to find you in my bedchamber.”
“Lord Roger. I thought you’d left. I’ll come back at a more convenient time to finish cleaning your room.”
Tall and lean to the point of gauntness, his long aristocratic face and colorless eyes gave hint to his cruel nature. Not unhandsome, Roger Mayhew had been spoiled and indulged most his life. He did not tolerate rejection well. For a man of wealth and breeding, gratification of his every whim was a duty—nay, a pleasurable goal. And Roger Mayhew indulged himself to the fullest.
“No need to leave, Moira. I propose we put the bed to good use while you’re here. I’ve been waiting to get you alone for a very long time. Finding you in my chamber is a stroke of luck I hadn’t anticipated.”
Moira stepped back in fear. “I’m a good girl, milord.” She tried to walk past him, but he deliberately placed himself in her path.
“You always did put on airs above your station, Moira. You should be more appreciative of my attentions. Most women in your situation would be eager to accommodate me. You won’t find me ungrateful.”
“I’m not most women.”
When she tried to sidle around him, he laughed cruelly and grasped her upper arms, dragging her against him forcibly. “You aren’t going anywhere. You’re nothing but a sluttish Irish tease. You know what I want, and I aim to have it. Don’t pretend innocence with me.”
“Let me go!” Moira struggled furiously, but despite his leanness, Roger was surprisingly strong. Grasping her head between his hands, he slammed his mouth down on hers, biting her bottom lip viciously. Moira tasted blood and struggled violently to escape.
Her strength was meager compared to Roger’s. In a shockingly short time, he had her pinned beneath him on the bed, his sloppy kisses and wet, thrusting tongue making her gag. She felt his hand sliding beneath her skirts, shoving them upward, baring her legs and thighs. Her scream was aborted when Roger placed a hand over her mouth.
“What are you trying to do, raise the household?”
Moira nodded her head vigorously. That was exactly what she wished to do.
“You want this, Moira. You’re just being stubborn. At heart you’re a whore. All women are whores.”
Suddenly Moira went limp beneath him, leading him to believe she was submitting willingly.
“That’s better,” he said with a leering grin. “I knew you’d see reason.”
He removed his hand from her mouth so he could kiss her, and summoning every bit of breath available, Moira screamed at the top of her lungs. Enraged, Roger slapped her with the flat of his hand, then covered her mouth with his. Pain exploded inside her head. Roger took advantage of her dazed condition to flip her dress up to her waist and thrust her legs apart. Desperate now, Moira bit down hard on
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