Page 11 of Two Secrets to Surrender (Blackwood Legacy #2)

Chapter Ten

“ B loody hell,” Conrad bit out.

“Can you open the door?” Gigi peered over his shoulder.

“If I could, would we still be trapped inside this goddamned cauldron?”

“It’s a caldarium.”

Gritting his teeth, he planted his feet and pushed at the door, trying to slide it open. It didn’t budge. He pushed harder, his muscles bulging against damp seams. He put all his power into it, calling upon his years of strength training as a prizefighter. The chamber was sweltering, heat radiating from the pool and the ground. Sweat poured from him as he shoved at immovable stone.

With a frustrated oath, he gave up. “The mechanism used to open and close the door is broken. Based on that unholy sound we heard, a chain probably snapped, and the door is too heavy to move without it.”

In the candlelight, Gigi’s eyes were huge. “We are trapped?”

“For now. In a few hours, Miss Caldecott will undoubtedly discover where we are. At that time, she’ll have to fetch someone to break through the door.”

“But I will be ruined if I am discovered here with you,” Gigi moaned.

He resisted the urge to kick the door, which would accomplish nothing except possibly injure his foot. Disgusted, he said, “If there is a problem, I will take care of it.”

Although he did not wish to bear the consequences of compromising the well-bred chit, Gigi’s look of utter horror grated on his pride. Bloody hell, she could do worse— a lot worse. While she didn’t know that his pedigree was, in fact, a match for hers, she was aware that he was wealthy as sin. Plenty of women would give their eyeteeth for the privilege of being Mrs. Conrad Godwin.

For him, revenge came first, which was why he’d vowed not to marry until his objectives were met. Now he found himself in a situation where his honor might make him break that vow, yet the reason for his conflict did not appreciate his sacrifice one iota.

“Take care of it?” she echoed.

“If worse comes to worst, I’ll marry you.” Saying the words gave him a heady feeling; it had to be the heat. “You could suffer a worse fate.”

Apparently immune to sarcasm, Gigi began to pace. “None that I can imagine. If we were discovered together, my papa or my brothers will have my head—or yours, rather. It will be pistols at dawn or some such thing, and your blood will be on my hands.”

“Why do you assume that it will be my blood that is shed?” he asked coldly.

“Because the men in my family are excellent shots,” she rejoined. “And if you were to wound them, it would be just as bad! All of this is my fault. I should have never come?—”

“On that, we agree.”

“But you shouldn’t have been here either.” She glowered at him. “If you weren’t trespassing, we wouldn’t be in this mess.”

He felt a muscle twitch near his eye. He was willing to do the honorable thing—the right thing—and this was her response? Not gratitude or, God forbid, some small show of excitement? Instead, she was pelting him with accusations.

“I was carrying on fine until you attacked me with a poker,” he said curtly.

“ You pushed me against a wall.”

“Well, you strolled into this bleeding cauldron as if it were Hyde Park.”

“ Caldarium. And you were right behind me!”

They were standing toe to toe. Her chin was tilted at a mutinous angle.

“This situation is at least half your fault,” she informed him. “I dare you to deny it.”

The heat in the chamber was oppressive, but his blood felt even hotter. It rushed like molten lava beneath his steaming skin. Skin that was uncomfortably trapped beneath heavy, sodden layers.

“I don’t deny anything,” he bit out. “I acted foolishly. Lust clouded my judgment.”

She blinked, swallowing. “Lust has nothing to do with it?—”

“This is all about lust,” he snapped.

Suddenly, he was done. Done with trying to control this out-of-hand situation and done with reining himself in. Done with sparing her delicate sensibilities, too. He stripped off his coat, tossing it to the ground.

“Wh-what are you doing?” Gigi gasped.

“Getting comfortable. It’s hotter than hell in here.” Grimly, he tore off his neckcloth and unfastened his waistcoat.

“You cannot just…just disrobe !”

“Watch me.” His waistcoat joined his coat on the floor.

“You are no gentleman?—”

“We’ve established that already.”

He started on the buttons of his shirt.

“Stop,” Gigi said in a high voice. “Stop right there.”

He scowled at her. “You feel no lust toward me, correct?”

Wetting her lips, she said, “Of course I don’t.”

“Then seeing me without a shirt shouldn’t prove a problem for you.”

He shucked the sodden linen. Christ, that felt good. During his days as a prizefighter, rumors had flown that he felt no pain. In fact, the opposite was true. He was a highly sensual man, and the only reason he’d fought on with broken ribs, knuckles ripped to the bone, and eyes swelled shut was because he’d willed himself to. Courtesy of the “lessons” forced upon him by Grimshaw, the headmaster of Creavey Hall, he could push himself past normal limits of endurance…but that didn’t mean he felt nothing.

Conrad felt intensely : pain, pleasure, and everything in between. It was why he enjoyed swiving—the sensual build-up and release, that fleeting sense of rightness in his own skin. On the other hand, the feel of wet fabric plastered to his chest had been torture. Shedding that layer was a physical relief. In fact, he was tempted to remove his trousers…but even he had limits when it came to toying with a virgin.

If he were honest, though, Gigi didn’t look as shocked as she ought to. He’d deliberately kept his back from her—he didn’t feel like explaining his scars—but he’d given her a good view of his chest. When she wasn’t pretending not to look, he saw the curiosity in her eyes…the same sparkle she’d had when peeping at him at the stream. A sparkle that somehow combined innocence with feminine hunger. It made him instantly hard. Or harder , rather.

Yet he was a man in control of himself and the situation. To prove it, he sauntered past her and settled on the wide stone platform. He lounged against the back, welcoming the feel of warm stone against his spine, and stretched out his arms and legs. With satisfaction, he noted that Gigi was avidly watching him while pretending not to.

“Might as well settle in.” He quirked a brow. “Care to join me? There is plenty of room here.”

“Not for you, me, and your arrogance.”

Despite his simmering lust, he had to stifle a smile at her cheekiness.

“Suit yourself.” Leaning his head back, he closed his eyes. “I’m getting a bit of shut-eye. We have a long night ahead of us.”

Eyeing the half-naked Adonis lounging in front of her, Gigi recalled her mama’s advice.

The mark of a lady is not the absence of impulses, dearest, but the ability to make wise choices despite them.

Given the urges currently swarming her, Gigi made the prudent choice to put as much distance between herself and Mr. Godwin as possible. She made a beeline for one of the alcoves. Dropping onto the bench, she crossed her arms and tried to unsee the sight of his bulging biceps and rippling torso. His body hair had formed an intriguing pattern, sprinkling across his wide upper chest before narrowing into a line between the stacked muscles of his stomach. It drew the eye to his waistband and the thick, unmistakable ridge just beneath.

Stop thinking about his you-know-what. You’re in enough trouble as it is.

The sweltering heat didn’t help. She was warm, damp, and sticky; unlike Godwin, however, she couldn’t just shuck off what made her uncomfortable. Hearing a snore from his direction, she blew out an annoyed breath and shifted on her hard seat. Perhaps she should try to rest; she would need energy to deal with this mess in the morning…

She must have dozed off, for a voice startled her awake.

“Don’t touch me, you bastard.”

Blinking groggily, Gigi sat up.

“No. No . Stop.”

The pain in Godwin’s voice propelled her from the alcove. She found him on the platform, still asleep, his head rocking back and forth against the stone headrest. Lines slashed across his brow and around his mouth. His jaw was tight, his eyes twitching behind closed lids.

“Stop,” he gritted out. “Going to kill you?—”

The sound that came from him was inhuman—an animal howl that made Gigi scramble onto the platform next to him. He thrashed his head against the unforgiving rock, not seeming to feel the impact, gripped in the greater agony of his nightmare. When another pained sound scraped from his throat, she could bear it no longer.

She placed a hand on his shoulder. “Godwin, wake up.”

Beneath her palm, his skin was hot, nearly feverish. The muscles of his shoulder bulged, but he did not awaken. Demons from his past held him fast; he was trapped by terror that time had not healed. Understanding squeezed her heart, for Owen suffered from a similar affliction. When Godwin gnashed his teeth, smashing his head against the rock, she cupped his jaw with both hands.

“It’s just a dream,” she said firmly. “ Wake up .”

His eyelids flew open. The nightmare stared back at her, blowing his pupils wide, obscuring any hint of cocky green. A chill passed through her as she realized she was looking straight at his demons. Yet she’d never been one to back down when someone needed her.

“You’re awake,” she said gently. “It’s me, Gigi. We’re trapped in the caldarium, remember? You had a dream, but you’re safe. There is no one here to hurt you.”

The darkness slowly receded from his gaze. She saw the instant he came back to himself, his storm-filled eyes taking her in. He reached a hand to his jaw, trapping hers beneath his callused palm. She understood his need to anchor himself and didn’t pull away. Even though his grip was strong, it was his slight tremble that held her captive.

“You’re all right,” she murmured. “I’m here, and I have you.”

“You’re here,” he repeated. “And you have me.”

His eyes flashed with a different kind of need. One that her female instincts recognized and responded to. Her heart raced, her breath hitched, her skin prickled with awareness. Every nerve tingled when he cupped the back of her neck, dragging her close. She tumbled atop him and had an instant to brace her palms against his hard chest before he claimed her mouth.

His kiss was as hot and hungry as she remembered. Yet the flavor this time was more than desire: it was pure need. He needed her , and he had no qualms about showing it. His intensity lay waste to her inhibitions. Insight flashed that this was what she’d been waiting for: this all-consuming feeling. This electrifying call to discovery. It was like unfurling hidden wings, and guided by instinct, she took the leap and soared.

His hunger was like tinder: she kissed him back with the passion that he’d sparked at the stream—that only he had ever elicited in her. When he licked the seam of her lips, she parted them readily. His essence flooded her senses, wild and forbidden and delicious. The thrust of his tongue seemed to reach beyond her mouth, stimulating her sensual core. She felt his velvet stroking at the tips of her breasts and between her thighs. She whimpered, squirming with need.

“Christ, I want you.”

The growl in his voice made her squirm even harder.

“You want me too, don’t you, sweetheart?”

Captivated by his stark hunger, she couldn’t lie. When she nodded, the glittering triumph in his eyes caused a flutter of anxiety.

“But while we may feel a certain, um, mutual attraction, that doesn’t mean we should?—”

“I won’t hurt you, Gigi,” he said. “Whatever happens between us, you can trust me on this. Your virginity is safe with me.”

When she stared at him, he drew his brows together.

“I assume you are a virgin?” he asked.

“Of course I am,” she said with a small huff.

“Then rest assured your maidenhead is safe with me.”

“Even so.” She tried to think clearly. “It isn’t proper.”

“As long as we don’t do anything incontrovertible and no one knows, who gives a damn about propriety?”

There was something wrong with his reasoning, but the way he was running his thumb along her cheekbone, staring at her as if she was the only thing that existed in the world, was muddying her thoughts. He drew her to him, kissing her until she was limp and breathless.

“If it reassures you, we’ll keep our clothes on,” he said against her lips. “No consequences, only pleasure. Say yes, Gigi.”

Fully clothed and my virginity is safe. No one will know. No consequences…only pleasure.

How could she resist?

The word escaped with her next breath. “Yes.”

He kissed her again, and only then did she realize that he’d been holding back. Now he unleashed his desire, his hunger, and her world went topsy-turvy—literally. Before she could regain her bearings, he flipped their positions, and she was lying on her back, sandwiched between the stone and Godwin’s equally rigid length.

“Feel how well we fit together,” he said huskily.

It was impossible not to. His hard edges pressed into her curves, setting off tingles of delight. She ran her hands over the bulging contours of his shoulders, and at his shudder, she felt a jolt of confidence.

“We do fit,” she marveled.

“You were made for me, little nymph. Made for pleasure.”

Her reply melted into a moan when he turned his attention to her ear, catching it between his lips. His flicking tongue scattered goosepimples over her skin. When he suckled her lobe, her breath hitched. Pleasure sizzled through her veins, shooting to the tips of her breasts.

“You’re so sensitive,” he muttered. “So bloody lovely.”

His mouth was on hers again, his tongue delving deeply. When she licked him back, his groan of encouragement unraveled any remaining inhibitions. He led, and she followed, their tongues entwined in a timeless dance. He caressed the column of her throat, and she arched to his touch as they devoured one another. Then he palmed her breast, his heat seeping through the linen. His eyes on hers, he grazed the tip with his thumb, luring a gasp from her lips.

“Absolute perfection,” he said. “That’s what you are, Gigi.”

At his blatant admiration, she felt a leap in her chest…and in her lower regions. And that was before he began strumming her nipple, adding to the ache at her center. She squeezed her thighs together, trying to quell the throbbing, and he laughed softly before kissing her again, filling her with his tongue, groaning when she sucked on his offering.

“Hungry girl,” he rasped. “I know what you need.”

Then he was kissing her neck, prickling her skin with his night beard. He kept going, and to her shock, she felt his mouth on her clothed breast. Before she could push him away, he closed his lips over the throbbing tip. Wet heat engulfed the sensitive peak as he suckled her through linen.

She didn’t recognize the sound she made. “Oh my stars, Godwin?—”

“Call me Conrad,” he said. “I want to hear my name on your lips while I suckle your sweet tit.”

When she gasped his name, the intimacy of it burned her tongue. Yet his was even hotter. She writhed with bliss as he laved, flicked, and teased her engorged bud.

“Rose-flavored Turkish delight,” he muttered.

Her head spun. “P-pardon?”

“Your nipples. They’re the same color as my favorite confection.” His eyes gleamed down at her. “However, you are far sweeter.”

He moved on to her other breast, consuming her as if she were a treat. Whimpering, she gripped his hair, lost in the slide of rough silk between her fingers and the masterful pull of his mouth. He played with her other breast simultaneously, rolling the swollen tip between his finger and thumb. The sensations spread from her breasts, building and building, until every fiber of her vibrated with need.

“Let go, Gigi,” he said thickly. “Go over for me.”

Before she could ask what he meant, he pinched her nipple while drawing the other deep into his mouth. The bite of pain and heated suction tugged at the knot at her center, and it suddenly released . Unraveled by bliss, she cried his name, and he growled, covering her mouth with his. Pleasure crested, rolling through her in luxuriant waves.

Slowly, she drifted back. She felt warm and lax, as if she were wrapped in a cloud. Touching his jaw, she felt the contrast between its hard edge and the tender press of his lips. He lifted his head, a gilded forelock dangling upon his brow. It added boyish charm to his handsomeness, and she couldn’t resist brushing it back.

“Was that good, duchess?”

There was nothing boyish about the knowing rasp in his voice.

“It was,” she said shyly. “I…I’ve never felt anything like it.”

“That is just the beginning.”

She felt her eyes widen. “There is more?”

He cupped her between her legs. She jolted at the intimacy, the way he casually laid claim to a part of her that no man had touched. As if he gleaned her thoughts, his lips curved in a wicked smile that made peril feel like passion and risk seem like reward. He rubbed his palm in a circle, and her thighs quivered anew.

“Oh, there’s more,” he said.