will appear I used that to cut the rope.”
“Clever,” she murmured. “Perhaps you are a dab hand at deception after all, despite your avowal the other day.”
Steven did not respond. He could not. He’d told her he preferred the truth, but everything he let her believe about him was a lie.
He cut into the rope. It was slow work.
“It is a very small knife,” she finally said, quietly this time.
“It will do.”
“I never imagined it would ever be of any use, and now I have employed it twice in a single day.”
He felt her gaze upon his back as he worked, like a touch. The blade was thin but sharp. The rope snapped and Valerie curled up her leg, her bare skin brushing across linen. Ignoring his heightened pulse, Steven moved to the other side of the bed and set to the bonds attached to the footpost there. In a minute, the sliced rope slipped through his hand. She drew her knees together.
“And for the rest?” she asked.
He turned to face her, unsurprised at the upward tilt of her chin. A brave woman, Valerie Monroe, and infinitely more seductive in her defiance than any man’s warped fantasies could render her with ropes and gags.
Steven studied the complex network of twists and loops. A lynch knot wound about her neck, interwoven with another rope. That one, doubled back upon itself, crossed her shoulders, twined between and beneath her breasts, around her hips, and finally restrained her wrists against her abdomen in repeating knots. All lay flush against her body. To untie or even cut each tether, the one before it must first be loosened, or the succeeding knot would tighten and, working its way up, grip her neck like a noose.
Steven drew in a long breath.
“He has contrived a series of lynch knots. Not impossible to unravel, but each connected to the next, beginning at the top. This will take some time.”
“That’s all right. I have no other engagements this evening.”
Steven met her candid gaze. In the gathering twilight, her eyes glowed the color of storm-tossed waves. One slender, dark brow perched higher than the other. He allowed himself a muted grin.
“No names yet upon your dance card, my lady?”
“Not yet, though I still have hope.” Her lashes fluttered, but guardedness flashed beneath the pretended coquetry.
“Valerie—”
“Please begin now.” Without any movement, she seemed to straighten her shoulders. “The sooner I am free of these, the better.”
Undeniably seductive .
“I will have to touch you.”
She held his gaze in silence. Steven wanted nothing more than to cup her cheek in his palm, pass his thumb across her abused lips, and speak soothing words. But the longer he returned her look, the faster the heat rose in his blood, spilling through his limbs, rocking him with long-suppressed need.
He bit down upon it, forcing his senses to obey and shifting his gaze to the ropes, bonds like shackles holding her captive. They represented everything he despised, everything dark and evil in the world. Nothing like the feeling of life and hope this woman’s spirit sparked in him.
He moved forward on the bed. Bebain had situated her in the center of the mattress, her shoulders leaning against the intricate headboard. Silently Steven cursed Maximin for purchasing the fancy iron piece months ago in Philadelphia. If he had chosen a bed more like Steven’s—solid mahogany—Bebain could not have arranged her upon it so provocatively.
It didn’t matter. The madman would have contrived another way to display her enticing curves and creamy skin. But Steven did not need Valerie lying upon her back, clad only in a sheer silk shift, to become aroused. That morning she had been half asleep and pointing a knife at him, and he had gotten hard so fast watching her she might as well have been Aphrodite.
Now was no different, despite the ropes and Steven’s resolution to remain in control, at least upon the surface. Sometimes the Jesuit habit’s loose skirt did come in
“Clever,” she murmured. “Perhaps you are a dab hand at deception after all, despite your avowal the other day.”
Steven did not respond. He could not. He’d told her he preferred the truth, but everything he let her believe about him was a lie.
He cut into the rope. It was slow work.
“It is a very small knife,” she finally said, quietly this time.
“It will do.”
“I never imagined it would ever be of any use, and now I have employed it twice in a single day.”
He felt her gaze upon his back as he worked, like a touch. The blade was thin but sharp. The rope snapped and Valerie curled up her leg, her bare skin brushing across linen. Ignoring his heightened pulse, Steven moved to the other side of the bed and set to the bonds attached to the footpost there. In a minute, the sliced rope slipped through his hand. She drew her knees together.
“And for the rest?” she asked.
He turned to face her, unsurprised at the upward tilt of her chin. A brave woman, Valerie Monroe, and infinitely more seductive in her defiance than any man’s warped fantasies could render her with ropes and gags.
Steven studied the complex network of twists and loops. A lynch knot wound about her neck, interwoven with another rope. That one, doubled back upon itself, crossed her shoulders, twined between and beneath her breasts, around her hips, and finally restrained her wrists against her abdomen in repeating knots. All lay flush against her body. To untie or even cut each tether, the one before it must first be loosened, or the succeeding knot would tighten and, working its way up, grip her neck like a noose.
Steven drew in a long breath.
“He has contrived a series of lynch knots. Not impossible to unravel, but each connected to the next, beginning at the top. This will take some time.”
“That’s all right. I have no other engagements this evening.”
Steven met her candid gaze. In the gathering twilight, her eyes glowed the color of storm-tossed waves. One slender, dark brow perched higher than the other. He allowed himself a muted grin.
“No names yet upon your dance card, my lady?”
“Not yet, though I still have hope.” Her lashes fluttered, but guardedness flashed beneath the pretended coquetry.
“Valerie—”
“Please begin now.” Without any movement, she seemed to straighten her shoulders. “The sooner I am free of these, the better.”
Undeniably seductive .
“I will have to touch you.”
She held his gaze in silence. Steven wanted nothing more than to cup her cheek in his palm, pass his thumb across her abused lips, and speak soothing words. But the longer he returned her look, the faster the heat rose in his blood, spilling through his limbs, rocking him with long-suppressed need.
He bit down upon it, forcing his senses to obey and shifting his gaze to the ropes, bonds like shackles holding her captive. They represented everything he despised, everything dark and evil in the world. Nothing like the feeling of life and hope this woman’s spirit sparked in him.
He moved forward on the bed. Bebain had situated her in the center of the mattress, her shoulders leaning against the intricate headboard. Silently Steven cursed Maximin for purchasing the fancy iron piece months ago in Philadelphia. If he had chosen a bed more like Steven’s—solid mahogany—Bebain could not have arranged her upon it so provocatively.
It didn’t matter. The madman would have contrived another way to display her enticing curves and creamy skin. But Steven did not need Valerie lying upon her back, clad only in a sheer silk shift, to become aroused. That morning she had been half asleep and pointing a knife at him, and he had gotten hard so fast watching her she might as well have been Aphrodite.
Now was no different, despite the ropes and Steven’s resolution to remain in control, at least upon the surface. Sometimes the Jesuit habit’s loose skirt did come in
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