To Tempt the Devil Pt. 01

She closed her eyes. This could not be happening. Slowly, she straightened, and made to turn, to face him, but the hands at her waist would not let her move. She found herself held more tightly against the large male chest behind her, a chest, wide and leanly muscled, that seemed more like a solid steel wall. “What do you want?” she whispered, and as if in answer, felt the rigid bulge against her back nudging against her. He laughed softly, and set warm, firm lips to her neck. She felt them, kissing the intimate line of her throat, his tongue licking a searing hot trail along her neck, and then his teeth, biting, ever so gently, and then not so gently. Her tiny whimper of mingled pain and pleasure seemed incredibly loud in the warm, still night.

She strained against him, fighting to get free. He stiffened, said hoarsely, “Stop doing that.” His tone, more than his words, made her heed the warning, and she stopped moving.

“Let me go.”

Somehow, Faith felt him smile. “No,” he said softly. “Never that.”

Her shoulders seemed to slump. “Why are you doing this? I have already promised to completely remove my presence from your life. Why have you followed me here?”

“Ah,” Vardon murmured, his lips purring against her skin, and she seemed to feel the shiver throughout her body. “But it is not that simple, you see. Let me remind you, child. What happened the last time you set foot in Vadistes?”

She floundered. “I - I got drunk.”

“We also made a deal, you and I. If you were to come back, I would take it as your consent...to what we are doing now, and more. So you see, the wager that we conducted tonight was really of moot point.” While he had spoken, his arms had slid steadily forward, until at last he had completely wrapped his arms around her, caging her with his body. For a moment, she stood still, feeling, strangely, as if this was the rightest thing in the world, for him to be holding her, like this. With that thought came rebellion, and she immediately started to struggle again. “No,” she said, furiously. “I won’t consent to rape!”

“Whoever said anything about rape?” he purred. His hands, somehow, had found themselves at her stomach, and she froze as he slid them slowly, upwards, to settle over her ribcage. His thumbs, languidly, caressed the underside of her breasts, and then his whole hands cupped both, squeezing slightly. The intimacy of what he was doing, what he was touching, occurred to her, and the idea was both thrilling and terrifying.

“Shall I tell you what I’ll do to you?” As he spoke, his fingers, nimble and deft, were working on her laces. One by one, he undid them, surreptitiously, so quickly that she barely noticed. One knotted bow was quickly undone. “I’ve dreamed about it, you know. I fantasised about what I would do to you when I finally had you while I worked, while I gambled, while I rode. Do you know what torment it is to be aroused when riding? No, I don’t suppose you do.” Her bodice cracked open, enough for half her breasts to be revealed. “When I slept, I dreamed. I dreamed about how you’d feel, how soft your skin would be, how your breasts would feel in my hands.” His hands suddenly wrenched her bodice down, exposing her breasts to the air, then grabbed them, fondling and kneading with what seemed to be barely suppressed violence. “I dreamt about your nipples, too, you know. I had fantasies about touching them, teasing them.” His fingers stroked, circled, then gently pinched. She fought to level her breathing, repressed the desire to shift, to move against him. “Tasting them.” Abruptly, he released her breasts, took her shoulders, and spun her around to face him. His eyes, brilliant glittering blue, met hers for a second, and then he bent his head, and set his lips to her breast.

She gasped, cried out, then quickly clamped a hand over her mouth as her body arched and her head dropped back. His mouth, his tongue - hot, searing wetness. His tongue, lazily circling her nipple, then stabbing at it with brief, teasing flicks, licking, and laving at her breast. His mouth, enclosing the entire mound, then sucking, madly, frantically, as if to draw her entire breast into his mouth, as if to devour her entire body.

He was breathing, hard, drawing in the scent of her, the taste of her, taking her in as if there were no tomorrow. She was soft, silky, incredibly pliant in his hands. He could feel his pants tightening even more, feel himself growing even stiffer than before, if that were possible. Almost imperceptibly, he felt her hips move against his, and exulted. She had succumbed. He had won.

His hands clenched around her derriere, kneading, and clasping her against his rigidness, he shifted backwards, moving until he felt the bench against the back of his legs, and sat, drawing her with him onto his lap, positioning her so that she straddled him, the skirts of her dishevelled gown setting over his legs.

Against his will, he felt his groin straining against her, felt his hips shifting against hers. Maddeningly, her thighs tightened around him, and he felt his eyes glaze, as out of its own volition, his groin ground against her, seeking release from the torment he was in. He was undulating against her, frantically, urgently, and he feared that if he did not stop, he’d lose himself before he’d even started. He shook his head, stilled his pelvic movements, and unable to resist tormenting them both further, said, hoarsely, “I fantasise about kissing, you, too. That first time that I tasted you - it wasn’t enough, you see. I kept thinking about it,” he set his lips to hers, briefly, tauntingly. “And I couldn’t stop. I wanted to put my tongue into your mouth.” He kissed her again, a chaste press against her lips. “I wanted to have you suck on it, and then I wanted your tongue in my mouth, so I too, could taste, and touch and caress.” Another kiss. “And your lips - I wanted them, as well, to play with.” He kissed her again, so lightly, so teasingly she could have screamed. “But do you know what I wanted most?” Her eyes glazed, she shook her head. “I wanted you to kiss me.”

Faith seemed to come out of her trance. At a loss, she stared at him, took in the harsh lines and angular planes of his face, took in the feverish glint of his sapphire blue eyes, the tense set of his jaw. Then, tentatively, she leaned forward and set her lips softly against his.

A groan seemed to rip from his throat, and his hands came up to clutch handfuls of her hair, holding her still. His mouth opened - she felt his tongue licking at her lips, then teasing, urging them to part. Almost immediately she felt her bottom lip sucked into his mouth - and then his tongue in hers. She felt it, hot, wet, insistent, an explicit violation of her mouth, and yet at the same time luring, tempting, delicious. His tongue, curling around her own, taunted, teased, until somehow she found her own tongue in his mouth - captured, and sucked on. She heard a moan - she didn’t know whether it was his, or hers, and felt his hands trail up her legs, up the inside of her thigh, rucking up her skirts. She stared into his eyes, her gaze hot and excited, as his fingers reached the moist core of her. His eyes locked with hers, and then slowly, his finger was sliding up, deep, inside of her.

She let out a whimper, her head falling back to reveal the creamy expanse of her throat. He stared, mesmerised, then bent his head and set his lips to her neck, sliding his finger in and out of her, his rhythm quickening as her excitement mounted, as her whimpers rose to soft, excited cries, as his breathing grew harsh and fractured, as his cock strained so hard against his breeches he feared he would explode.

A twig snapped.

Vardon’s head swivelled. “Oh dear god,” she heard him murmur, and then a cast of rather more colorful curses.

Faith, herself, did not know whether to laugh or cry. She had just been compromised - which was what she had been setting out to obtain all along, and yet at a time when she had decided she no longer wanted to be. And the very worst of it was that it had to be Lord Justin St James - Silverstone’s brother. Brilliant. There’d be no escaping it now.

“Justin,” said Vardon, who seemed to have completely regained his wits while she still sat, half naked, straddling his hips, “Do leave.”

“Ah - er, yes, of course, Vardon,” he said hurriedly, looking flustered. “So sorry to disturb you. Do carry on.”

“Ha,” Faith muttered under her breath, hurriedly lacing herself up. “Carry on, indeed.”

A curious little smile flickered against Vardon’s lips. “But whyever not? As I recall, we were having a delightful time of it before Justin came along.”

“We were not!” Faith exclaimed loudly. “You may have been, but I certainly wasn’t!”

He resisted the urge to roll his eyes. “Come, child,” he said, a touch derisively. “Do drop that ridiculous little act of innocence. No use telling me I’m not very good at what I do. Too many people have told me otherwise, you see.”

“I don’t doubt it,” Faith murmured, attempting to get off his lap without falling over. She stopped when she realised his finger was still inside her. He clamped his hand over her thighs and held her there. “Don’t go,” Vardon murmured. “Stay. I’ll tell you some more...”

“I don’t want to hear it!” Reluctantly, he withdrew his hand from her thighs, and she wrenched herself off him, tripping over her skirts in the process, and disregarding how she might appear, stormed back into the ballroom, ignoring the curious glances that she was receiving. Outside, she stood, wondering where her carriage was. She had sent for it some time ago.

“Faith!” Vardon had caught up to her. He took hold of one of her wrists and hauled her towards him.

“Let me go!” she snarled, furiously. “I want nothing more to do with you!”

“Ah, my dear,” was the soft reply. “But it isn’t so easy as that, you see.” He reached inside his coat pocket. “You forgot your fan before.”

With a low growl, she snatched it out of his hand, and turned to leave. Before she could move more than a pace however, there was a sharp crack in the air, and as she spun around she saw that he had stiffened, and was looking down to where blood was seeping through the tear on his arm. “I seem to have been shot,” he murmured in a rather surprised voice. “How very curious.” One arm felt in his pocket for his pistol, and he drew it out inconspicuosly. He looked up that moment at Faith to see that her eyes had widened, and that her mouth had opened, but no sound came out, at least none that he could hear, for at that moment, he felt a blow on the back of his head. Then everything went black.

* * *

When he awoke, it was to find Faith bending over him, a look of concern on her face. “Vardon,” she said, shaking him softly. “Vardon.”

He shook his head slightly and sat up. “What the devil?” he muttered. Apart from a slight feeling of dizziness, he felt fine. He felt wetness and looked down. His arm was still bleeding.

“Just a scrape,” Faith said, noticing his look. “Are you alright?”

“I’m fine. What happened? Who the devil shot me?” He looked around, noticed one of the men lying sprawled on the ground a few feet from them, his throat having been slit. “And who killed him?”

“Footpads,” Faith answered. “The dead one is the one who shot you. And there was a man, a gentleman I believe, who came upon us at that moment and finished the two off quite easily. He simply dusted his hands and went off before you woke, having judged your injuries not to be too serious. I’ve ordered the carriage around - you can probably simply go home, now.”

He stood, groaning, and swaying a little. He took a step, and leaned slightly to the side, as if to fall over. Quickly, she rushed to his side and held him up, wobbling slightly under his weight. “Are you quite certain you’re alright?”

“My head,” he said, his voice hoarse.

She cursed slightly under her breath. “Will you be able to manage by yourself?”

He nodded, weakly. “I’ll be fine,” he said staunchly. “No need for you to come with me.”

She frowned. “I don’t think so. I don’t really want you to faint in the carriage or something. Let me write a note to Sylvester, and I’ll see you home. I’m sure the carriage can send me back. Let me just go summon the carriage.”

A few minutes later, while she was still inside the manor, ostensibly writing out the note for the duke, the carriage was brought around, and Vardon, finding himself quite miraculously cured of any pain or headache whatsoever, took it upon himself to have a few carefully chosen words with Faith’s driver. A few coins were exchanged, the transaction finalised, and when Faith appeared at the doorway, Vardon found himself once again, slumping against the door, being helped up by the carriage driver into the carriage.

Chapter Ten: In Which Faith is Further Ruined

Somehow, Faith found herself not only helping Vardon into his house but into his bedroom, as well, and then dressing his wound for him. He had stripped off his shirt to let her work, and lit a few candles, and she tried to ignore how her hands were shaking as the flames danced across his smooth, golden skin. His shoulders were incredibly broad, she noticed, and his chest looked as hard as it had felt. He was lean, sinewy beauty, corded with muscles and yet not enormous the way she knew some men were. He was still large though, and in the intimate semi darkness of his bedroom his presence seemed to fill the room. The opulence and luxury of the room itself - the rich, expensive tapestries, the enormous, four postered bed, the soft luxurious carpets and the flickering, scented candles - all seemed to add to the intimacy of the atmosphere.

With a small, rueful laugh, she smoothed the bandage over his arm, and said rather ironically, “Do you know, I think I’m quite ruined.”

He raised his brows. “Ruined, my dear? But how? Surely you are still innocent.” His tone was slightly sarcastic, but she did not seem to notice, for she simply shrugged and closed her eyes briefly.

“What difference does it make? I was seen, in a most compromising position with you in a public place, and I was probably seen getting into a carriage alone with you. Now I am alone with you, in your bedroom. What does it matter whether I am still innocent or not? You could ravish me, and it would not matter.”

He stilled. In the softest of voices, he murmured, “Am I to take it as an invitation?”

She sighed, closed her eyes briefly. “You may take it as anything you wish,” she said tiredly. “I don’t care anymore.”

His buttler, Cottsloe, chose that moment to rap on the door. He stuck his head in, and said in his usual bored, haughty tone, “My lord a certain character, is inquiring after you. He says that the carriage you travelled in has just broken a wheel, and will require until morning to fix it.”

“Very well, Cottsloe,” Vardon said curtly. “Inform him to do as he must.” He dismissed the butler with a nod.

“My carriage wheel broke down?” Faith said, looking rather chagrinned. “What a bother. Why didn’t you send your butler for one of your carriages?”

Vardon turned wide, puzzled eyes on her. “One of my carriages? My dear, my only carriage is still at the Henley’s manor, since you sent only for your own. I daresay my driver will have it back here at some point, but until then...” he made a helpless gesture. “I daresay it will be best if you were to spend the night here. I will have Cottsloe prepare a room for you.”

Faith was still speechless. “You - One - You only have one carriage?”

“Why yes,” Vardon said, sounding surprised. “What the devil would I do with any more? I am the only one who lives here, you know. I only need a horse and a carriage, and I’ll be damned if I let you ride back by yourself.”

“I could take a groom with me,” she offered desperately.

“I don’t trust my grooms,” he returned.

“Could I not send someone off to my brother, then? I daresay he will come fetch me.”

“At three in the morning, my dear? I doubt you even know where he is. Do you?”

She was silent, at a loss as to what to say.

“It is settled then,” he declared. “You will stay here for the night, and in the morning, you may go where you wish. I daresay the carriage will be fixed by then.”

In the meantime, he thought, he would simply have to keep her indoors, where she would be unable to notice that he had a very large stable and six assorted carriages, kept at the back of the house.

* * *

It was very difficult to sleep, Faith noted, tossing and turning in her bed, when one’s mind was filled with lascivious images and one’s body would not calm itself down.

I dreamt...I dreamt about kissing you...But do you know what I wanted most? I wanted you to kiss me...

Her mind kept repeating the words, over and over again. She could not seem to forget everything he had said to her. Even as she wanted to fling the bedclothes away, she clutched them to herself, clenching her fingers tightly against the sheets, the only protection she had against these strange, terrifying feelings swirling inside her.

It was not that she did not know what she was feeling. It was lust, pure and simple. She had felt it before, odd twinges, when a man had flirted rather more outrageously with her than usual. She understood too, well enough, what happened, when men and women indulged in lust. She had felt all too clearly those urges herself, with Vardon.

But it had never been like this. She had never been so tormented.

She wondered if Vardon, lying in the room next to hers, was having the same trouble sleeping.

* * *

She was in that state that one enters when one is neither awake nor asleep, but drifting somewhere lazily in between, when the door to her room opened, almost soundlessly. Her eyes snapped open as she came wide awake, and she turned, surprised, to the door.

Vardon stood there, a tall, broad shadow against the doorway, moonlight filtering in past him, casting his form into darkness where it blocked the door.

He was naked.

“No,” she whispered, unconsciously drawing into herself.

“Yes,” he retorted, stepping into the room and closing the door behind him. He lit a candle, and set it on the bedside table. “I was thinking, before, about what you said. I debated, you know, over and over again the wiseness of my course. I could very well wake up with a Edenvale’s bullet in my brain, I realise. I wondered whether I should take the honourable course, and leave you be. But my body would not listen to reasoning, you see.” He looked down at himself, at his hard jutting erection, a rueful smile playing about his lips. “And besides,” he came to stand beside her bed. “I realised I’d been issued an invitation earlier. Who was I to say nay?”

He reached down and flung the sheets away from her. She gasped, recoiled, shrank bank into herself, feeling desperately exposed. “No,” she said, almost incoherently, “No, my lord, you musn’t -”

“Surely,” Vardon said, kneeling down, grasping her hair with casual cruelty, “We have reached the stage where there ought to no longer be a need for formality?” He drew her head towards him and bent his and rubbed his nose back and forth across hers, a strangely intimate gesture. “I hardly expect to be called ‘my lord’ when I am mounting you.” His tongued flicked across her lips, then licked lightly across her bottom one, before he set his mouth on hers.

“Please, stop,” Faith said, gasping. “I do not want this.”

His lips curved slightly. “That is really too bad,” he said, climbing onto the bed and crawling over her. “I want you.”

She felt his erection brush across her as he settled over her, engorged and heavy, resting against her belly as he straddling her thighs. The sensation of the crisp hair on his legs, the heat of his skin against hers, sent shivers through her. Quite suddenly, she was enraged. “You can’t always have everything you want,” she snarled, trying to sit up and push him away.