To Tempt the Devil Pt. 01

He caught her wrists before she could swing one at him, and pinned them above her head in one arm. It infuriated her, how sheer brute strength could subdue her so easily. She wished, fervently, that she had something to hit him with.

“Ah, my poor child,” he was murmuring into her ear. “You don’t seem to understand.”

He drew her earlobe into his mouth. “I have a very simple principle.” He set his lips over hers, forcing them open with his tongue, then slid inside, wrapping it sinuously around hers, then dragging her tongue into his mouth, where he sucked on and raked at it gently with his teeth. With a small whimper, her lips parted wider, and with a small hiss of triumph, he opened his mouth wider over hers, sucking and tasting at her mouth as if to devour her.

“Its like this. Want.” His mouth slid downwards, down the column of her neck, sucking, and biting, to her breasts. He ran his tongue over one nipple, licked and laved at it through the fine silk of her chemise, then drew the peak into his mouth, silk and all, suckling furiously. She gasped, cried out as she felt his teeth, arching herself into him. His eyes glinted in the candlelight. One hand still holding down her wrists, the other slid to her breast to fondle, and caress, taunting and squeezing the turgid nipple between his fingers.

“Take.” With both hands, he grasped the silk of her chemise and ripped, tearing the material in half. One hand slid down between her thighs, and touched, gently, the soft folds of her feminity. She was hot, wet, slick with need. He stroked, once, twice, then slid first one long finger into her, then two, then with difficulty, a third, stretching her, readying her. His fingers moved, in and out of her, a maddeningly quick rhythm, forcing her to build and build. She moaned, bit her lip, arched into his hand.

“Have.” He withdrew his fingers, feral triumph in his eyes as he watched her arch helplessly, following his hand. He gripped her buttocks, lifted her, and plunged deep, hard, fast. She cried out, her head dropping back onto the pillow. Fullness. Such incredible, intoxicating fullness. Heat. Darkness. Hunger. The whole, hard heavy length of him seemed to fill her completely, to depths she had never known she possessed. He seemed to touch her everywhere, at once, and yet she yearned for more.

“Oh, god,” she whispered, closing her eyes, clutching him to her. She needed to be closer, needed to have him all around her. Her arms wrapped around his back, as he thrust, hard, deep. Faster, harder, more. She kept her eyes closed and held on to him.

Heat. Wetness. Hot, searing tightness. Then the frail, flimsy barrier that he barely felt and tore through before he even had a chance to think. Dear god. She was a virgin. But how? Impossible. Impossible to think, now. So tight - she was so tight, so hot, so wet. He couldn’t stop now. It was too late, anyway.

His hands slid under her bottom, clutched her to him. He slid deeper, thrust faster. His cock ached. Barely held on to his control, clenched his jaw, when he heard her moan, and lift her hips frantically against his, forcing him deeper. Sweat beaded his brow - he heard a groan - was it his? Hoarse, heavy breathing filled the room. She was nearing her peak, he knew. Almost there - just a little longer - he had to hold on, just a little longer... Small, whimpering cries broke from her, and he felt her clench around him. With a low cry, he let go, flung his head up towards the ceiling and shouted her name, thrusting deep one last time.

She screamed, as she shattered, as the convulsions broke over her, as the shuddering, intense waves rushed over her and dragged her into their depths. She could feel him, deep inside her, hard, heavy, the wet rush of his seed pouring into her.

She closed her eyes, simply letting sensation wash over her. He let out a harsh, pained groan, then relaxed, settled over her, drew her close and rolled over, pulling her to lie on top of him.

“Well, sweetheart,” Vardon said after a long moment in which she had simply enjoyed the sensation of being held so tenderly, “If you were not ruined before you have certainly been ruined now.”

Chapter Eleven: In Which a Number of Revelations Are Revealed

“Mmm,” Faith mumbled, some time later, her face against his chest. The crisp, fine hairs there tickled her nose quite pleasantly. “You smell nice.” He did too, of sweat and soap and a delicious, crisp cologne that she noticed he always wore.

Vardon laughed. “So do you, sweetheart,” he said, threading his fingers through her hair. “You have the loveliest hair.” His fingers stilled suddenly. “Why did you lie to me about your virginity?”

She lifted her head, looking him steadily in the eye. “I did not. You came to that conclusion yourself. I simply chose not to overexert myself in persuading you. Besides,” she paused. “Would you have believed me if I’d told you I was a virgin?”

“No,” he admitted. “But you still ought to have told me.” There was a silence, in which his mind ran through all the possible reasons for her innocence. He could not seem to think properly - his mind was unable to sift through what was true and what was false - all his ideas of her were so confused and tangled. Had she been planning to trap him into marriage? Was that simply it? Had she deliberately sought to entice him with her wiles - giving him the false impression that she was not innocent, in order to trap him? Well if that had been her intent, she had succeeded, marvellously. He was honor bound now, to marry her. Perversely, he said, “I can’t marry you, you know.”

Faith, of course, had no intention of marrying him. An inner demon inside her, however, prompted her to ask, “Why not?”

Vardon barked out a harsh laugh. From one unwanted marriage to another. Of course, now Edenvale would most definitely put a bullet through him. “I’m engaged,” he said curtly, “To a duke’s daughter.”

She stilled. “A duke’s daughter?” she asked softly. A thought, a most horrible thought, had occurred to her. There were not many duke’s daughters of eligible age in London. It also occurred to her that she knew almost nothing about Vardon - his title, for example. Perhaps because she had only so far been in the company of those who called him by name and not by title.

“Yes.”

She wondered, briefly, whether she should ask. If she wanted to know. She did not have to, she knew. After tonight, she would still be able to go. She would still, as planned, simply take her carriage over to Amelia’s, whose family was going away, and disappear. Her brother would assume, for two weeks at least that she was with them - giving her ample time to settle in at any one of her estates, long enough to fortify herself against any assaults by either her brother or Silverstone. She could simply keep her mouth shut, leave in the morning, and never know.

“If I may ask,” she said carefully, “Who is this lady that you are betrothed to?”

Vardon smiled cynically, his hand stroking idly over her hair. The chit was fishing, was she? But of course - he would expect her to try and find out about the competition. Why not let her suffer for a while more? At least until he could break off the engagement with Edenvale’s brat. At least he would be telling her the truth in telling her he couldn’t marry her - while he was engaged. “Lady de Courte,” he answered musingly. “I never could remember her first name. I met her once - unfortunate looking chit.” He smiled at her. “Don’t worry my dear. I’m sure after I’m married I’ll be able to set you up somewhere - I’ll keep you in style, in that you need not worry.”

He had no idea what devil had made him add that last part - all he knew was that he felt angry and cheated and somehow quite resentful of her at that moment - and he wanted to cause her pain. He was rewarded by the look of horror on her face, and then the fleeting expression of pain as she sat up, clambering awkwardly off him. He stilled her with his hands on her waist. “Where are you going, sweetheart?” he murmured. “We still have a lot to do.” He ground his pelvis against her suggestively, his newly stiffened cock rubbing against her, an eyebrow slightly raised.

“Let go of me,” she hissed, such fury and violence in her eyes he was certain his nose was about to be disfiguered, and dropped his hands from her waist. She climbed off him, slid to the floor, and began dressing in angry, jerky movements. He watched with ill concealled amusement, then sat up quite suddenly when she opened the door. “Faith, where are you going?”

“Away from here,” she snarled. “Anywhere but where you are.”

He slid from the bed and started towards her. “Now, see here -”

“Stop,” she commanded, her voice chilly. It was amazing how well she could look down her nose at him, even standing more than a foot beneath him.

He took a step towards her, and towered over her. She stood her ground, refusing to be cowed, and attempting to ignore the fact that he was still fully naked, and by the looks of it, become quite flagrantly aroused again.

“If you do not stop, my lord Silverstone,” she said in icy tones, “Then I shall scream the house down. I swear it.”

“Oh, that I do not doubt,” he said a dark smile hovering on the edge of his lips. “I will make you scream all night.“ He took another step towards her, so that she was close enough to touch.

“No,” Faith said, a fraction shakily. She took a step backwards as he advanced steadily. “I do not want this, I tell you.”

“You will,” he said, arrogance radiating from every part of him. “In fact, I may well make you beg for it.”

“You - you devil!” she managed to hiss before he caught her by the hair, and kissed her.

They tumbled to the floor together, mouths fused, he frantically fumbling at her clothes, she half unwillingly allowing him to. He pulled at the laces of the bodice of her gown. Finding them knotted, he let out a growl of frustration and simply ripped it in half, pulling it away from her. He bent his head, taking one exposed breast into his mouth, sucking and laving at the nipple maddeningly, until she wanted to scream with frustration.

“Do you want me?” he said, lifting his head from her breast and looking her in the eye, midnight blue glinting in the candlelight. “Say it!”

“Never,” she gasped, regretting it as he tugged cruelly on her hair and kissed her again. His tongue slid into her mouth, thrusting against her, plundering, taking as he wanted and giving no quarter. “You will,” he promised, sucking her bottom lip into his mouth and biting on it with vicious tenderness. He smothered her soft cry with his lips, pressing bruisingly against her. His hands roamed over her body, fondling, touching, caressing, as his mouth and tongue followed suit. Fingers, long hard fingers slid between her legs, up inside her, slid in and out. It was not until much later that she remembered his threat, which she had thought he had uttered in idleness. But by then, of course, she had reached such a peak of frustrated need and wanting that when he whispered, “Beg me,” she did. As she choked out the angry, frustrated words, he drove himself deep into her, satisfying them both at last, and riding her to a peak of ecstasy, one which drove her mindless. She did not care when at last she came, and screamed her release. She would gladly beg him again, if only to experience it again.

* * *

Vardon was asleep, and it was but dawn when Faith was finally able to extricate herself from their tangled limbs on the bed after that second, furious coupling. He had taken her twice more after that, and though initially, she was never cooperative, a few minutes spent persuading her were all that were needed to sway her. Even now, as she dressed quietly and hurriedly, hoping he would not wake before she was able to get out, she cursed herself for being so susceptible. Damn her unruly body for not obeying her commands! She was not going to risk being caught in a similar trap once again. Four times had been plenty.

Damn him to hell, she thought, as she realised her bodice had been ripped beyond any decency. Her chemise too, she thought with irritation. Would he be constantly ruining her clothes then? He wouldn’t have the chance to, she reminded herself, snatching up one of his shirts and pulling it over her head, to cover up her torn bodice. She would need to hurry home and dress properly if she was to accomplish what she had planned to do while she had lain in his arms, waiting for him to fall asleep. She had never broken her word before, she thought vaguely. But no one could deny that these were special circumstances.

* * *

It was well into the morning by the time Silverstone awoke, reaching for the warm body lying close to his. He drew her close, into his chest, then ran one hand languidly down her back. His eyes opened as his hand somehow managed to sink into her, and when he tried to get a grip ended up with a handful of something that was undoubtedly material. A pillow. What the devil was he doing embracing a pillow? And where the devil was Faith?

He sat up, rubbing a hand over his eyes. Around him, the sheets were tangled, stained and half on the floor. A small smile crept onto his face. Four times. Even now, after a virtually sleepless night, the sight of the rumpled bed coupled with the scent of her, and their lovemaking, served to half arouse him again.

She’d been a virgin. He’d been the first. Oddly enough, unlike last night, the thought made him feel fiercely relieved, and somehow, fiercely possessive. He shook his head as Henley rapped on his door, then stuck his head in. “My lord,” he said tonelessly. “You have a guest.”

Silverstone glanced at the clock. It was, he supposed, a decent enough time for guests for everyone else’s standards, of course, but far too early for his. The man would have to come back. “I’m not home,” he said curtly.

“I’m afraid he was er, very persistent, my lord.” He held out his hand. “His card, sir.”

Grimacing, Silverstone took the elegant slip of white cardboard, and scanned the name briefly. Edenvale. Well dammit to hell. He’d been about to pay the man a call himself. Might as well get the thing done. “Fetch some hot water,” he said, resigned, to Henley. “I’ll be down in twenty minutes.”

Silverstone stepped into his morning room fifteen minutes later to find Edenvale sitting with his usual leisurely grace in a loveseat, clutching a copy of the Times in his hand. He looked up as the marquess, dressed in hasty elegance, entered, and raised his quizzing glass to eye the older man. Silverstone suppressed a grin. For a lad of twenty two or so, he had mastered his father’s ducal hauteur remarkably well.

Edenvale stood. “Lord Silverstone,” he said formally. “I give you good morning. I trust I do not disturb?”

Silverstone bowed. “Not at all, Edenvale. Pray, take a seat. I have a matter to discuss with you.”

“As do I,” said the duke, sitting. “Pray, go ahead.”

“It is a rather delicate matter,” Silverstone began, taking a seat. “I fear you will be displeased.”

Edenvale eyed him impatiently. “Do go on.”

“I’m afraid,” said Vardon, rather unnerved by the expressionless stare the lad was giving him, “That I must break off this engagement with your sister.”

With disturbing calm for one so young, Edenvale put down the paper very slowly, and raised his quizzing glass to his eye once again. Silverstone resisted the urge to flinch under that unwavering stare.

“What,” said Edenvale very slowly, “May I ask, prompted this decision on your part?”

Vardon met his gaze squarely. “It was a matter of honour,” he said calmly.

“I see!” said Sylvester, crossing his legs. “You have ruined an innocent.”

Vardon said nothing, merely waited.

“Well,” said the duke sounding rather cold, “I can only say that perhaps she was not so impetuous as I thought her to be then. You have proven yourself to be more unworthy than I thought, sirrah. Though I can’t say I know for the life of me how she knew - I daresay she saw you, or some such thing.”

Silverstone stared at him. “What the devil are you on about, Sylvester?”

The duke had already risen and was half out of the door. He glanced over his shoulder, nodded negligently at the paper laying on the loveseat. “See for yourself,” he said, with a curious little smile, and left.

Unable to think for the life of him what had just happened, Silverstone nearly fell upon the newspaper Sylvester had left behind. He picked it up, glanced with a frown at the first page, not understanding what the matter was. He could see nothing of interest here. His eye fell across the column on the left of the page, drawn towards the bold print. He read the words seemingly in a daze, the letters all swimming together rather oddly in his head. Her ladyship...de Courte...Countess of Tusane...renounces...engagement...Lord Vardon St James...Silverstone...

He did not know whether to laugh or to cry. To think that he had been worrying over the prospect of turning the considerable power of the de Courtes against him, meaning a great deal of business associates, political alliances, etc, when the chit herself had broken off the engagement! And then to think that he himself had landed in a rather deeper hole by announcing his own intent to the head of the family - thereby having ruined whatever good her announcement might have done. It was all a ridiculous farce, but somehow he could not bring himself to laugh. He was now, at least, free to marry Faith. No doubt the chit would be overjoyed. Somehow, the thought did not bring him the least amount of comfort.

The next few nights found Vardon haunting Vadistes with distracted regularity. When Faith did not turn up, he moved to the other hells, searching systematically until he realised that she had left, withdrawn forever from his world.

He knew her now, for what she was, an innocent in search of excitement. He could think of no other answer. Or perhaps she was simply a demi rep who had not yet found her first suitable victim until she had met him? He did not know what to think anymore. In any case, he was trapped. His honour would never allow him to sully innocence and then turn his back, and neither would his pride let him rest now that he had made clear his intentions of breaking off the engagement with lady de Courte.

As she was no longer in his world, the world of darkness where everything was shrouded in deceit and yet open and truthful, it left only hers - the realm of glittering light, where falsity walked in sunshine.

Almacks. He shuddered. Briefly, he wondered if perhaps she was one of the few who spurned even that beacon of grace and refinery. After all, she frequented gaming hells and liked to drink and wager. But no - he could not risk not searching there and having her slip through his fingers. He did not stop to think why the thought of losing her was so awful. He merely instructed his valet to search for his kneebritches. It was not until several painful tonnish episodes later, however, that he finally found her.

“Faith.” The hand, warm, large, and so familiar, startled her out of her wits, from where she was standing by the large potted plant in the corner, watching couples dance. Sylvester had disappeared some time ago to the gaming room - judging, evidently, that she needed no chaperoning. Amy and Prudence were both dancing.

After Sylvester’s two dances with Prudence he had simply disappeared and Faith could see that even now she was searching for him. She smiled slightly. When would those two finally wake up? It was a problem she would have to turn her mind to.

For the moment however, there was her own problem, standing over six foot tall, sinewy muscular strength, behind her. She could feel the heat of his body even through her gown. The hand which had slid from her shoulder down to her bottom and was even now, kneading possessively, burnt through to her skin. She refused to turn around, however, merely stepped forward a little, shrugging off his hand. It took all her self will not to spin around, fling her arms around his neck and beg him to kiss her.