Page 17

17

Rupert

Rupert’s chest heaved, and he sucked in a labored breath. Franny’s legs slid down his thighs as he lowered her to the ground with shaking arms.

She fell into him, and he buried his nose in her hair, inhaling deeply. He would consume her if he could. He couldn’t quite place the hypnotic smell of her, sweet yet tangy, possibly a hint of lemon, but also pure wildness, like the untamed fields of grass and wildflowers that separated their families’ estates.

Her body shuddered within his arms from her own struggle to regain breath, and his arms tightened reflexively around her.

He pressed a soft kiss to her head and dragged his nose down her cheek until his lips met hers. Tender this time, light brushes that did something he couldn’t put into words to his heart. It shook, trembled as much as his taxed muscles in his arms. Incredible.

His hands traveled up to grip her delicate jaw while they traded whatever these soft caresses of lips were. He had no idea what he was doing. Franny was the only woman he’d ever kissed—his lips curved against hers—and only ever the once. But he just knew he needed to run his lips over hers, drink from them until he drowned in her. What they’d shared…he didn’t have words.

He pulled back and stared into those green-and-gold eyes. Their color was muted in the dim light of the lodge, and he cursed the bloody outbuilding. But they were warm and filled with something unprecedented; something unprecedented that reached out to him and swirled in his chest, filling it with the same warmth that resided in her beautiful eyes.

He ran a finger down her delicate nose. The way she had yielded to him. The way he had driven into her. The way she had taken him in her mouth . His blood thrummed south. And then instantly solidified, flow cut off, stalled. His body went rigid. Dear Lord, he had thrown her into a wall. He had put his cock in his wife’s mouth .

Immoral, sinful, vulgar.

He abruptly released her and backed away, his breaths short and choppy. What have you done? His gut knotted, and a feeling so unbearable consumed him, nearly sending him to the floor as it attempted to shred him apart from the inside out.

“Rupert?” she asked, her eyes searching, her hand outstretched, reaching for him.

No. Why did he always lose control with her?

She enjoyed it, though, the devil inside him taunted. She likes the beast you hide inside.

He shook his head, denying the voice always tempting him to sin. The one always finding a convincing argument.

“You should get dressed and return to the manor,” he managed to get out.

“Rupert, don’t retreat from me. We should discuss this.”

“No!”

She flinched at his biting tone, and his gut twisted. But there was nothing to discuss. He’d attacked his wife. He’d allowed her to debase herself in the worst way.

Franny stood firm. “What’s wrong, Rupert? What could possibly have you upset?”

“What could possibly have me upset?” He could feel his eyes stretching wide, and pain lanced his scalp before he realized he was tugging at his hair again. “God, Franny. I treated you no better than a whore. I threw you into a wall. I put my—my—in your mouth!” Heat attacked the skin of his face, fast and furious. “I put my mouth on—”

His gaze dipped to her curls, and the immediate zing of lust that shot through him only fueled his panic. Oh God. His breathing picked up, hurried and hoarse.

Her brows puckered, and she stared at him as though he didn’t even know his basic sums. “Urm, yes, Rupert. I wanted to. I demanded it. And I quite liked what you did with your mouth. I fail to see the problem.”

He closed his eyes, tried to calm his breaths, but something was twisting an ever-tightening web around his lungs. “Yes, and you are known as a model of decorum,” he gritted out.

Silence greeted him, and he glanced at his wife. Her arms were crossed in front of her chest, hiding her breasts from him . Her lips were pressed so tightly, they were the thinnest he’d ever seen them, and she tapped her foot against the dirt floor, a little cloud of dust rising with each tap.

“Well, it’s true,” he argued, desperately trying to rub away the dense knot building in his chest. Not once growing up had she ever found a rule she didn’t purposely break. “If it’s a behavior you’ll do, you can pretty much be sure it’s something that shouldn’t be done. You have never behaved as a proper lady ought. It was not exactly a secret that ensuring you conduct yourself properly was going to be one of the biggest challenges of this marriage.”

Her lips flattened even further, a feat he hadn’t thought possible. He feared their lushness might disappear forever. With a look that made him feel as though she’d stepped in something foul, she walked past him and bent to retrieve her clothes.

And his breath froze in his lungs, trapped there, ready to breathe, but his body denying him the crucial function. A cruel jest. Denial tore through him. He took a step backward, shaking his head. No , no, no. He squeezed his eyes shut. Maybe if he closed his eyes, he could unsee it. But the image was scraped into his brain.

Her back.

His eyes flew open, and he accepted his punishment. He stared at his sin. A patchwork of pink and red raw flesh covered her back, a scattering of deep red cuts, most prominent at her shoulder blades and lower back. Dark crimson beads reflected in the sun’s rays peeking through the window, in some places building so much it dripped down her back.

Blood.

She threw her chemise over her head and shimmied until it fell around her. And in an instant the blood seeped into the fabric, red blotches growing, growing, as the fabric absorbed his sin. How could he have harmed his wife in such a way?

His mother’s words came rushing to the forefront. Impulsive behavior and lack of control is for poets, actresses, and residents of Bedlam.

God, he should be locked up.

A pounding started up in his temples, in his ears, drowning out all sound. His chest constricted. His lungs wouldn’t pull in air. He doubled over, and a wheeze burst from him as his vision dotted over. The pressure in his chest turned crushing. Bile burned his throat. God, was this his body punishing him?

Immoral.

Sinner.

Heathen.

“Rupert?”

He barely registered Franny’s voice through his haze. He closed his hands over his ears, tried to block out his thoughts, his mother’s voice.

Immoral.

Sinner.

Heathen.

A hand landed on his shoulder, and he flinched.

“Rupert?” Her voice was higher now, alarm evident.

“No!” he burst out.

Her hand jerked away. “Rupert, what’s wrong? What can I do?”

“Go,” he bit out. “Please, leave.” Please, Franny. “I need to be alone,” he managed.

Silence greeted him, and then the slow pad of her footsteps before the soft click of the door echoed through the lodge.

His breathing slowed, and he stumbled backward until his back met with the wall. He sagged against it, his palms splaying across the boards. The rough, abrasive boards. His fingers curled, biting into the wood. That he had fucked his wife against. And destroyed her back.

He had gone too far. This had gone too far. A sharp pain sliced through his twisting insides. Three days into his marriage, and he couldn’t be near his wife without turning into a lustful beast. Without succumbing to his prurient desires. Without hurting her. She pushed him too far with her antics. He had thought he had more mastery over his person. But Franny’s glaring disobedience and his unwanted desire were too potent a combination. He couldn’t resist.

His admission to her lashed at him, leather whipped on skin. I have dreamed of this. Fucking you until you break. Oh, God. What must she think of him? His dreams, his desires, had always frightened him. But he thought they’d stay there. Safe in his dreams. She was safe in his dreams. Dreams that were his mind’s way of retaliating against the unruly, ethereal, raven-haired nymph who threw rocks at him.

He wasn’t actually capable of harming her.

But he was.

He hadn’t just debased her. He’d wounded her.

Shame clogged his throat; a thick, disgusting black sludge.

There was only one way to solve this problem. If he couldn’t be around his wife without succumbing to his inner demons—he would have to distance himself.

He needed space. To clear his mind. Come up with a plan.

Away from the temptation he couldn’t resist.

Away from Franny.