just kill me outright? That is what you mean to do in the end, isn’t it? What will that serve? Will it bring your wife and children back? Let me go, Lord Drumcondra! In God’s name, will you please just let me go?”
He raised himself on one elbow, searching her face in the moonlight. “Who said I was going to rape you?” he demanded.
“Y-you did!”
Her posture clenched, she held her breath as his hand cupped her face then slid the length of her throat and came to rest upon the soft swell of her breast. Her heart began to pound. As if it had a will of its own, her nipple hardened against his thumb as he grazed it through the stiff linen fabric. He began strumming the tall protruding bud. Her breath caught as icy-hot waves of pulsating sensation moistened her sex, just as they had done when he had fondled her naked breast while confronting Cian Cosgrove.
“You do not pay attention,” he murmured. “I have no intention of raping you, fair lady. I am no Cosgrove. Ros Drumcondra does not rape his women. He does not have to. What I said was, he ought take care because you are a winsome lass and I am tight against the seam.” He drove her hand down to his sex to prove the point. He was thick and hard, responding to her touch, albeit forced. “I alsosaid that, just as in days of old, I will have you before him, and that when I’ve done, you will want no other. I call that not rape, my pretty, because before I’ve done you will beg me to put that which you hold in your hand inside you. But . . . not tonight.”
And with that, he fell back down in the bed beside her, his wavy black shoulder-length hair fanned out on the bolster, and threw one well-muscled arm across his closed eyes, while the other tethered her wrist again.
“The wound, the whiskey, and that boot you clouted me with have had their way with me . . . for the moment,” he said. “But take no comfort in it. That door is locked. Make one move to leave this bed and Isor will have his way with you, fair lady.”
Chapter Eight
“What do you mean she just disappeared?” Nigel bellowed. His savaged eye was thickly padded with cotton wool, his head wreathed in bandages. They had kept Thea’s absence from him as long as they could. He had lost much blood, and had been confined to his bed with a fever that had set in after the falcon attacked him. Now he was on the mend, but hardly fit to be up and about. That had made him surly—downright mean, thought James, looking on. The more he saw of Nigel Cosgrove, the less he liked the man, and the more he wondered if Thea hadn’t staged the trip to Newgrange for the sole purpose of haring off to escape the impending marriage. If it were true, after what he’d seen of her betrothed thus far, he could hardly blame her.
“I know it sounds preposterous, but that is exactly what occurred,” James said. “The bird . . . I believe it was the very same that attacked you, seemed to follow us to New-grange. When we reached it, Thea went inside alone while I waited with the sleigh—to keep an eye on that falcon.I was of a mind to kill it if it menaced us. She was gone for some time—past the seventeen minutes when the tomb would be flooded with light. I called to her, but she didn’t answer, so I took the carriage lantern and went inside. There was no sign of her, Cosgrove, and there is no other exit from the passage tomb that anyone has ever heard of. I searched the land surrounding, but there were no footprints in the snow—”
“That is absurd,” Nigel said. “You must have muddled them in your search.”
“I did nothing of the kind. There was one clear set of her footprints going in, but none coming out. I thought at first that she was playing a prank on me, but no. It has been too long. And where could she go? There is nothing for miles out there—nothing but mounds of snow. If there were tracks they would still be there. No new snow has fallen since.”
“What then?” Nigel asked hotly, throwing
He raised himself on one elbow, searching her face in the moonlight. “Who said I was going to rape you?” he demanded.
“Y-you did!”
Her posture clenched, she held her breath as his hand cupped her face then slid the length of her throat and came to rest upon the soft swell of her breast. Her heart began to pound. As if it had a will of its own, her nipple hardened against his thumb as he grazed it through the stiff linen fabric. He began strumming the tall protruding bud. Her breath caught as icy-hot waves of pulsating sensation moistened her sex, just as they had done when he had fondled her naked breast while confronting Cian Cosgrove.
“You do not pay attention,” he murmured. “I have no intention of raping you, fair lady. I am no Cosgrove. Ros Drumcondra does not rape his women. He does not have to. What I said was, he ought take care because you are a winsome lass and I am tight against the seam.” He drove her hand down to his sex to prove the point. He was thick and hard, responding to her touch, albeit forced. “I alsosaid that, just as in days of old, I will have you before him, and that when I’ve done, you will want no other. I call that not rape, my pretty, because before I’ve done you will beg me to put that which you hold in your hand inside you. But . . . not tonight.”
And with that, he fell back down in the bed beside her, his wavy black shoulder-length hair fanned out on the bolster, and threw one well-muscled arm across his closed eyes, while the other tethered her wrist again.
“The wound, the whiskey, and that boot you clouted me with have had their way with me . . . for the moment,” he said. “But take no comfort in it. That door is locked. Make one move to leave this bed and Isor will have his way with you, fair lady.”
Chapter Eight
“What do you mean she just disappeared?” Nigel bellowed. His savaged eye was thickly padded with cotton wool, his head wreathed in bandages. They had kept Thea’s absence from him as long as they could. He had lost much blood, and had been confined to his bed with a fever that had set in after the falcon attacked him. Now he was on the mend, but hardly fit to be up and about. That had made him surly—downright mean, thought James, looking on. The more he saw of Nigel Cosgrove, the less he liked the man, and the more he wondered if Thea hadn’t staged the trip to Newgrange for the sole purpose of haring off to escape the impending marriage. If it were true, after what he’d seen of her betrothed thus far, he could hardly blame her.
“I know it sounds preposterous, but that is exactly what occurred,” James said. “The bird . . . I believe it was the very same that attacked you, seemed to follow us to New-grange. When we reached it, Thea went inside alone while I waited with the sleigh—to keep an eye on that falcon.I was of a mind to kill it if it menaced us. She was gone for some time—past the seventeen minutes when the tomb would be flooded with light. I called to her, but she didn’t answer, so I took the carriage lantern and went inside. There was no sign of her, Cosgrove, and there is no other exit from the passage tomb that anyone has ever heard of. I searched the land surrounding, but there were no footprints in the snow—”
“That is absurd,” Nigel said. “You must have muddled them in your search.”
“I did nothing of the kind. There was one clear set of her footprints going in, but none coming out. I thought at first that she was playing a prank on me, but no. It has been too long. And where could she go? There is nothing for miles out there—nothing but mounds of snow. If there were tracks they would still be there. No new snow has fallen since.”
“What then?” Nigel asked hotly, throwing
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