Page 12 of Two Secrets to Surrender (Blackwood Legacy #2)

Chapter Eleven

G igi awakened to flickering darkness. Her eyes widened as she registered that her cheek was pillowed by Conrad’s hard chest, her trousered leg thrown wantonly over his. He held her close, his hand on her hip. His even breathing told her he was asleep—peacefully, this time.

Oh my stars. What have I done?

Even as panic began to set in, she couldn’t regret her actions. As promised, Conrad had shown her “more.” He’d stretched atop her, and the memory of being covered by his sleek, muscular form sent a thrill through her even now. Despite the layers of clothing, the thrusting friction of his heavy, turgid length had made her moan and buck her hips.

“ That’s right, duchess ,” he’d coaxed. “ Rub that sweet little pussy against my cock. Do you feel how hard I am for you ?”

She’d felt him, all right. He’d ground his steely cock against her peak, showering her insides with white-hot bliss. He’d done it again and again, and she’d clung to him, wrapping her legs around his hips, trying to get closer.

“ You’re so wet .” Feral intensity had sharpened his features. “ I can feel you soaking through your trousers and mine .”

She’d felt a jolt of embarrassment. “ I’m sorry ? — ”

“ Why in blazes are you sorry? ” he rasped. “ I love how wanton you are. I cannot wait for the day when I get to be inside you—to feel your drenched pussy squeezing my prick. ”

A combination of shock and pleasure had cut off her reply. He’d thrust harder, faster, and awash with need, she’d held on to his shoulders, chanting his name. Pleasure crested, this pinnacle even more intense than the last…especially since it was shared.

“ Bloody Christ ,” he’d roared. “ Gigi .”

The tendons of his neck had stood out in stark relief, the muscles of his chest bulging. He’d lunged heavily, as if he wanted to pound her into the stone. In that instant, no matter how wrong it was, she’d wanted more. More of those guttural sounds from his throat, more of his harsh breaths, more of the wonder blazing in his eyes.

Of course, that had been the heat of the moment. Now reality was beginning to creep in, along with worries about the future. About consequences.

How will I escape this situation with my reputation intact? Although Conrad said that he would “take care of it”—whatever that means—he cannot control everything. If we are discovered, I will be ruined. My family will be devastated. The only solution would be to marry Conrad, but he obviously doesn’t want to marry me. And I don’t want to be married either...at least, not out of necessity. Not because “worse came to worst”…

A high-pitched trill interrupted her spiraling thoughts.

Is that a bird? In here?

Carefully, she tried to extricate herself from Conrad. Even in sleep, he held her tightly, and as she attempted to scoot from under his arm, his lashes lifted. With his hair tousled and eyes sleepy, he was so attractive that her heart tottered against her ribs.

“What’s the matter, duchess?” he said alertly.

“I, um, heard something.” Flustered, she said, “It sounded like a bird.”

He sat up, running a hand through his dark-blond waves. Waves that had been mussed by her own hands as she’d clung to him in the throes.

“In here?” he demanded.

“I think so.”

He was already on his feet. Donning his dried shirt, he prowled around the caldarium. She grabbed a dusty candle from the stash they’d found and joined him in the search. When a series of chirps broke the silence, Gigi followed the sound to an alcove that she hadn’t explored. There, perched on the stone bench, was a small bird with a yellow breast and black markings on its head.

“However did you get in here, little one?” Gigi exclaimed.

The bird cocked its head, then darted upward. Gigi held the candle up toward the ceiling. Squinting at the cavernous roof, she saw no sign of her feathered friend.

“Did you find the bird?” Conrad’s voice came behind her.

“Yes.” Focused on the shadowy ceiling where the bird had disappeared, she added absently, “It was a great tit.”

When silence greeted her, she twisted her head in Conrad’s direction. His lips were twitching.

“What is so amusing?” she asked.

“I believe that was my line.” Smirking, he lowered his gaze to her bosom.

The man owns half of England…and has the humor of an adolescent.

She sighed. “Don’t be crude, Godwin.”

“Back to that, are we? After what we shared, one would think we could be on more familiar terms.”

She didn’t trust herself to answer, especially when he moved close behind her. Although he made no physical contact, his virile heat kept her in a state of quivering awareness.

Now is not the time to become a ninny. Concentrate, Gigi.

“The great—the bird flew up to the ceiling, then disappeared from sight,” she told him. “It is either hiding up there…or it escaped through an opening. I am guessing the latter since the bird had to get in here somehow.”

“There must be a vent.”

Conrad held his candle next to hers. The added light revealed a rocky ledge in the ceiling about thirteen feet above the ground. If there was a vent, it was cleverly concealed.

“The opening must be hidden beyond the ledge. I think I can just fit through the space between the ledge and ceiling,” he muttered. “Once I get up there, I’ll locate the opening and get us out.”

He set down his candle, eyeing the ledge. She did her own calculations, informed by years of tree climbing. Unfortunately, she concluded that the rocky shelf was out of reach, even for him.

“It’s too high—” she began.

He crouched, his thigh muscles bulging before he jumped. His athleticism was a sight to behold. As she’d predicted, however, the destination was too far up, and he landed with a frustrated grunt.

“You cannot reach it this way,” she said. “I have a better idea.”

“I can do it.”

Again, he leapt…and missed.

“If you would just listen?—”

“Stand aside,” he ordered.

Seeing the stubborn set of his jaw, she raised her brows and moved out of the way. Conrad backed up, pawing his feet against the ground like an angry bull. He sprinted at full speed, taking off with an impressive leap. Bemused, she had to admire his determination as he soared through the air. Her breath caught when his fingertips brushed the underside of the ledge.

Close, but not quite there. He landed in a crouch, letting out a string of expletives.

She tapped the sweaty bulge of his shoulder.

“I almost had it.” He rose, his hands clenched. “I’ll try again?—”

“We don’t have time for your heroics,” she informed him. “This time, we’ll try it my way.”

“Don’t be afraid,” Conrad said. “I’ve got you.”

“I’m not afraid.” Gigi’s voice floated down to him. “Hold steady and stop distracting me.”

He gripped her delicate ankles, providing stability as she rose and stood upon his shoulders. Damn, but she had the grace of an acrobat. The fearlessness of one, too.

“You’ll have to bring us closer to the ledge,” she said.

Given his precious cargo, he took the steps with care. Sweat beaded on his forehead as she wobbled, her bare heels digging into his shoulders. Sometime soon, he was going to feel those heels digging into his shoulders again—only this time, she would be on her back, moaning his name while he plowed her snug little pussy. The thought of being skin-to-skin, of being the first to claim her virgin territory, blazed fire up his spine.

Even fully clothed, she made him hotter than hell. He hadn’t spent in his trousers since he was a fourteen-year-old lad. Ratterby, the enterprising bastard, had smuggled a leathery whore into Creavey Hall. For the price of a fortnight’s meals, Conrad had been granted five minutes with her. Even though she’d smelled of sweat and onions, she’d expertly frigged him with her chapped hands, cackling when he spent a mortifyingly short time later. That had been his first experience of intimacy.

Shaking off the memory, he tightened his hold on Gigi.

“Almost there,” she said.

Christ, he liked when her voice had that breathless quality. She’d cried his name in just this fashion when she came, and he’d never heard anything sweeter.

“You can lean forward.” He braced her knees. “I’ve got you.”

“I’m touching the ledge,” she said excitedly.

“Good girl,” he muttered. “Can you pull yourself up?”

“Not quite. I shall have to jump.”

Concern jolted him. “That’s too risky?—”

“I’ll be fine,” she assured him. “But you’ll have to let go of me.”

Like hell I’m letting go of you.

The thought invaded him, along with a foreign feeling of possessiveness.

Frowning, he said, “It’s too dangerous. If you don’t make it onto the ledge, you could fall?—”

“Then I’ll just have to make it, won’t I?”

Peering down at him, she winked. Christ, she was a handful. If he didn’t keep a firm grip on the reins, she’d snatch them up at the first opportunity.

“I’ll give you a boost,” he said decisively. “When I do, then you jump. Picture yourself getting onto the ledge but have no fear. I will catch you if you fall.”

“I know you will.”

The trust in her bright eyes pierced him to the quick. The pain was fleeting and exquisite. He couldn’t recall a woman ever looking at him that way.

Frowning, he focused. “On the count of three. Ready?”

“When you are.”

Following his own advice, he kept his gaze on the ledge and envisioned Gigi’s safe landing. “One, two, three .”

He catapulted her. She coordinated her leap with his movement, and his lungs seized as she flew through the air. He braced to catch her…but she landed on the ledge, lying on her front, her feet dangling.

“Are you all right?” he demanded.

“I’m perfectly well. And there is a tunnel.” Her elation was contagious. “I can see light at the end. I shall figure out the exit then come back for you.”

“Be careful?—”

She’d already disappeared. He kept his eyes fixed on the ledge, his ears pricking at the slightest sounds. Soon it was quiet…too quiet. When he called her name, she didn’t reply. Perhaps she couldn’t hear him? He tried again: still nothing. Minutes ticked by, and tired of calling for her, he braced his hands on his hips, staring at the empty outcropping of rock.

Gigi’s fine. If she wasn’t, she would call for help ? —

Then it hit him. What if she had escaped…and left him there?

It wouldn’t be the first time a woman left you hanging.

The past crawled beneath his skin, grabbing his heart and smacking it against his ribs. Raking a hand through his hair, he tried to calm himself. To give Gigi the benefit of the doubt. She wasn’t like the others. She wouldn’t betray him. She wouldn’t use him the way Isobel, Vicky, or other lovers had. Nor would she break her promise the way his mama had.

But as the minutes passed, he cursed himself.

How could I be so bloody gullible?

He hardly knew Gigi. Why would he think for even a moment that she would come back for him? Their relationship, such as it were, consisted of a few heated disputes interspersed with kissing and groping. He knew better than anyone that a night of pleasure meant nothing. Hell, she was probably galloping home right now, laughing to herself because she’d gotten away with an indiscretion, and her reputation was safe.

In the meantime, he was stranded in this hellhole.

I’ll come back for you. I promise…

Desperation sucked at him, but he fought it off with fury. With icy logic, he contemplated Gigi’s next moves. What strategies he, himself, might employ in her situation. She could, for instance, summon constables to the spa on the pretense of discovering a break-in. When the authorities knocked down the door to the caldarium, even Conrad would be hard-pressed to come up with a reasonable explanation for his presence.

“Fucking hell,” he bit out. “The deceitful b?—”

“Conrad?”

He jerked, his gaze shooting up to the ledge. Gigi was smiling as she peered down at him, and he choked on a breath. Relief flooded him…along with anger.

How could I have given her such power over me?

“What took you so long?” he said tersely.

“I was looking for something to help you up.” She threw down a dirty length of rope. “Luckily, I found this in Miss Letty’s shed. I’ve secured the other end to a tree; it should hold you.”

“Aren’t you ingenious?”

At his surly tone, she frowned.

“What’s the matter with you?”

He was in no mood to share. He’d trusted her with too much already. He was appalled by how readily he’d let down his guard—by his own stupidity.

“Nothing’s the matter,” he muttered. “Except that I’ve wasted hours trapped in this stinking place.”

She drew a breath. “Do you need help climbing up?”

“No, I do not need your bloody help.” He snatched the dangling rope. “You have done enough. You’re the reason I’m here in the first place.”

She jerked as if he’d struck her.

“The reason you are here is because you decided to vandalize my friend’s property.” Her stare was harder than diamonds. “Well, I wish you the best getting out on your own. And by the by, you’re welcome for the rope, you ungrateful clod.”

If there was such a thing as stomp-crawling, she managed it. Her knees thudded irately overhead as she made her exit.

Jaw clenched, he grabbed the rope, tested that it could take his weight, and began his ascent.