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We sit before a dead piglet laying in a bed of vegetables and fruits. Different starches and gravy rest alongside it in smaller dishes and bowls. A three-candle setup is in the middle of the long table. I’ve brought her seat closer to me.
“Now look, you’ve made the food go cold. But no matter, I won’t have Cook heat it up. I’ve waited too long, and I’m starving.” Pouring some wine into each chalice, I push hers toward her before taking a smiling breath. “That’s better.”
Raising my wine, I nod at her to raise hers in a cheer. “To entertaining my company tonight, to Mark and your father living another day, and to you not sleeping in a dusty, old cellar, crawling with vermin.” I smile before taking a sip and raking my eyes over her.
“You know, I never thought it possible for you to get even more beautiful than you are right now. But somehow, you’ve managed to do it. I see you’ve worn the corset this time.” I let my eyes linger on the two soft mounds sitting on her chest, bringing my gaze back up to her eyes which dart away from mine. Her breasts were perfect before in her nightdress, but tonight, they outdo even the rubies around her neck and dangling from her ears.
A few of her natural curls frame her face and is let down over one shoulder while the rest is tucked away in a jewelled clip. Her soft face is made even more striking by her strong, dark brows and long, dark lashes that make her eyes seduce without even trying to. How she’s never been sexed before is beyond me. Surely, it must have been hell for any man to resist those eyes or the calling of her full, pink lips. And when I ravish her, it won’t be because I can’t resist her. It’ll be because I can. And that makes me feel powerful.
Chapter Twelve
Adam
Myknifesqueaksagainstmy plate as I cut into the pork. I look up at her while masticating my food. Those are the only sounds in the room. She sits there in silence. She hasn’t made a sound since we’ve come down to eat. I’m almost halfway done with my second plate, and she hasn’t looked once at hers.
“What’s the matter?” I huff, dropping my knife and fork. “Does meat offend you, now?” I ask.
She says nothing, and her silence bubbles up heat within me. I slam my fists down on the table, sending vegetables and fruit flying, wine and gravy spilling, and rocking the partly eaten pig. “Answer me!”
She jerks her head around to look at me, stifling a breath before releasing it. “I’m not hungry,” she mumbles.
“You’re not hungry?! You haven’t eaten all day!” I remind her.
“That’s not true. I broke my fast,” she mutters.
“Oh, you broke your fast,” I repeat, mockingly. “Well, let me remind you that you are my entertainment. That is your role here. I don’t feel as if my company is being entertained. Do you need some encouragement? Was my earlier display not encouragement enough?”
She inhales deeply, tightening her lips. Her eyes darken beneath the candlelight of the vaguely lit room. She turns those darkened eyes upon me, breathing fire as she clenches her jaw. Her cheeks redden with the memories of earlier. I can tell as she clears her throat and grabs the knife and fork. Her hands grip each with might and temptation. I smirk, daring her to attempt the fantasies that must be swimming in her mind. But she proves to be a smart girl. Smart enough at least to release the breath she was holding and use the knife and fork on the cold, smoked meat on her plate.
“No,” she mumbles. “That won’t be necessary.”
Satisfied, at last, that she’ll be joining into the game I’m playing, taking her as my company for the evening, I salivate in anticipation for the meat to touch her lips. As I swallow, my titillated pipe groans in my pants. Now, I’m the one holding my breath, and that breath threatens to suffocate me when she presses her knife and fork to the tiniest piece of meat, which she puts in her mouth before gulping as if she attempted to swallow gravel.
“There,” she says. “Satisfied?”
Satisfied? I growl, throwing the linen square from my lap. My fingers twitch, urging me to slam her face into the plate and shove the food into her mouth. But I control myself.
“What do you think this is? Do you think I’m playing with you?” I ask. “Don’t let the fancy corset, the beautiful dress, the maidservant, the room of luxury I’ve provided you, or the mercy I’ve shown you, fool you into thinking you’re worth anything more than what you are. A bartering tool. A prisoner….”
She interrupts me, “Trust me. I’ve not forgotten that I’m not free in this hell.”
My eyes widen at her, and I press my lips together, shoving my chair back and steaming at her.
“You don’t speak when I’m speaking! I wasn’t finished! What are you not getting here?! Until your father comes back with or without the money, I own you. You’remybloody property. Do you hear me? You don’t get to have opinions; you get the choices I give you, and you do what I say!”
There’s thunder rumbling in my bones, lightning flashing through my blood as I’m ejected from my seat by the fire under my arse. “You are nothing! Do you hear me?! Nothing!”
Still, she glares at me and when I reach for her face, pressing my nose against her cheeks, she pulls her head away from me. If I’m being honest, my ego is a little bruised here. I’m accustomed to women wanting me. Even that whore Agatha, even if she professed false chastity and never gave herself to me, she wanted me… as well as the other men she was with. I’ve never had to beg a woman to sleep with me. It was my idea to protect what I thought was Agatha’s chastity at the time. But the lightskirts have always been willing. Too willing, in fact, to the point of being sickening.
There’s something both refreshing and infuriating about her disdain for me. Her resistance challenges me and as much as I hate being challenged by a woman, my member hardens at the thought of getting her to submit—surrender to me.
“It seems you’re in need of a lesson. You don’t know how to act yet. But you will soon enough,” I say, sniffing the scents of sage and lavender in her hair and on her skin before pulling her up from her seat by her neck. “Kneel,” I demand.
Except for the smell of melting wax and the eyes from rich paintings of people I don’t know, we’re alone in the dining room. The audience wouldn’t have mattered to me anyway, but the male servants weren’t needed. And I’m glad they aren’t here to witness her disobedience, have them question my authority. She needs to learn to fear me, especially under the watchful eyes of the servants in the future.
“Over my dead body,” she spits.
“Over your dead body or your father’s?” I ask. “Ah, you’ve forgotten, huh? I hear he made it back to Colderidge in one piece. I also heard that the old fool tried to tell everyone about me and your disappearance. Luckily for him, no one believed him. You know, if the old man doesn’t stop talking, some people might think him crazy, and you know what happens to the crazies. And well, it goes without saying, doesn’t it? That if he ends up in an asylum, well, you’re dead.” I say, twirling her hair.
