brandy’s distortion. There had been anger in the hard strain of his body against hers, disgust in the harshness of his grip, certainly. But there had been more as well. There had always been more.
“It doesn’t matter,” she muttered, to herself, or the Duke, she wasn’t entirely sure which. “He cannot simply leave. How dare he , really ? We have all been made to sacrifice, just so that he could become the proud male heir. Oh, if I had been born a man…But there it is. I was not. He was chosen and I was not. He was trained, and introduced, and supported…Without my father, what would he have become?”
“Something else, but what can one do?”
“It was old Sinclair’s intention that he stay. To leave us like this…It is the height of betrayal.”
“Who is ‘us’?”
“But there is an error in his plan.”
“ Error? My dear girl—”
“Nathan has planned a grand dinner party tonight at the station. He will be entertaining a group of investors, with the intention of selling his shares in one night and leaving by the end of the week. Dinner parties, however, are not his strong-suit.”
The Duke turned his head and pinched the bridge of his nose, as if a sudden pain had developed there. “Surprising,” he said softly. “How many clever plans achieve unexpected results.”
Gilda ignored him, leveling her gaze on the horizon, a new resolve brightening its flat and distant line. Let him prepare his most compelling proposal, rehearse his points, greet his well-dressed investors. He would have one additional guest to impress tonight, one that would teach him how unwise it is to slam doors on the Mad Lady Sinclair.
Nathan stared at his notes without seeing them. Thin pages of diagrams lay crisply in his hands, the vibration of Goliath’s massive engines causing the papers to tremble against his fingers, blurring straight lines and scribbled thoughts. For a moment, he didn’t recognize any of it, as if someone had simply placed a loose collection of obscure markings in his lap and walked away. But the notes were all his, just written in a clear and undistracted moment, the kind he’d not had since Gilda had appeared from the storm.
He released a frustrated breath through his teeth, glancing toward the window, now desperate for distraction. He should never have opened the door. He knew better. There was no way to talk to her, no way to reason, no way to remain fair, or decent, or honorable, when she decided to draw her tender weapons and show no mercy.
Is that what you’d like? Another man’s hands on me tonight, drawing my skirt up and pushing his way in, just the way you want to?
He still couldn’t believe she’d said it, along with all the other cuts intended to draw blood, even as she rubbed herself against him, teasing and caressing him until he could do nothing but shake with need. In his darkest moments, he imagined losing all control, holding her down and taking her in ways that none of her other lovers had even dreamed of. Let her taunt, let her tease, he could be just as ruthless, every bit as brutal and imaginative.
In the hours after he’d thrown her out, his fantasies had refused to abate, offering nothing but ripe images of her naked stomach, the lush curve of her hip, the plump rise of her buttocks and the tight slit running between them. He was mad with it, unable to sleep, barely able to breathe. When the insanity finally passed, it surrendered no relief, leaving him cold, empty and unrecognizable, even to himself.
He swore under his breath, putting his notes aside. Why, Gilda? Why taunt me to the very brink of sanity, turn us both into the basest of animals? What purpose can it possibly serve? Just let me go. I can’t stay. I can’t stand the man I have become, the man you see when you look at me. A reflection of a mistress you hate, a father you despise, a thing once used and discarded but still owned. A helpless witness. A jealous fool. Just let me go, for the love of
“It doesn’t matter,” she muttered, to herself, or the Duke, she wasn’t entirely sure which. “He cannot simply leave. How dare he , really ? We have all been made to sacrifice, just so that he could become the proud male heir. Oh, if I had been born a man…But there it is. I was not. He was chosen and I was not. He was trained, and introduced, and supported…Without my father, what would he have become?”
“Something else, but what can one do?”
“It was old Sinclair’s intention that he stay. To leave us like this…It is the height of betrayal.”
“Who is ‘us’?”
“But there is an error in his plan.”
“ Error? My dear girl—”
“Nathan has planned a grand dinner party tonight at the station. He will be entertaining a group of investors, with the intention of selling his shares in one night and leaving by the end of the week. Dinner parties, however, are not his strong-suit.”
The Duke turned his head and pinched the bridge of his nose, as if a sudden pain had developed there. “Surprising,” he said softly. “How many clever plans achieve unexpected results.”
Gilda ignored him, leveling her gaze on the horizon, a new resolve brightening its flat and distant line. Let him prepare his most compelling proposal, rehearse his points, greet his well-dressed investors. He would have one additional guest to impress tonight, one that would teach him how unwise it is to slam doors on the Mad Lady Sinclair.
Nathan stared at his notes without seeing them. Thin pages of diagrams lay crisply in his hands, the vibration of Goliath’s massive engines causing the papers to tremble against his fingers, blurring straight lines and scribbled thoughts. For a moment, he didn’t recognize any of it, as if someone had simply placed a loose collection of obscure markings in his lap and walked away. But the notes were all his, just written in a clear and undistracted moment, the kind he’d not had since Gilda had appeared from the storm.
He released a frustrated breath through his teeth, glancing toward the window, now desperate for distraction. He should never have opened the door. He knew better. There was no way to talk to her, no way to reason, no way to remain fair, or decent, or honorable, when she decided to draw her tender weapons and show no mercy.
Is that what you’d like? Another man’s hands on me tonight, drawing my skirt up and pushing his way in, just the way you want to?
He still couldn’t believe she’d said it, along with all the other cuts intended to draw blood, even as she rubbed herself against him, teasing and caressing him until he could do nothing but shake with need. In his darkest moments, he imagined losing all control, holding her down and taking her in ways that none of her other lovers had even dreamed of. Let her taunt, let her tease, he could be just as ruthless, every bit as brutal and imaginative.
In the hours after he’d thrown her out, his fantasies had refused to abate, offering nothing but ripe images of her naked stomach, the lush curve of her hip, the plump rise of her buttocks and the tight slit running between them. He was mad with it, unable to sleep, barely able to breathe. When the insanity finally passed, it surrendered no relief, leaving him cold, empty and unrecognizable, even to himself.
He swore under his breath, putting his notes aside. Why, Gilda? Why taunt me to the very brink of sanity, turn us both into the basest of animals? What purpose can it possibly serve? Just let me go. I can’t stay. I can’t stand the man I have become, the man you see when you look at me. A reflection of a mistress you hate, a father you despise, a thing once used and discarded but still owned. A helpless witness. A jealous fool. Just let me go, for the love of
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