Blythe gave her a sad look. “I’m afraid I must.”
“Let me leave my chemise on.”
“No.” He tossed her on the bed, placing his naked body between her thighs. Lifting one leg, Blythe drew the plain silk of her stocking down, pausing only to press a kiss to the skin of her knee. His hand drifted between her thighs, brushing lightly over the soft down.
Beatrice took a shaky breath.
When he finished with both legs, he pulled her up to stand, drawing up the hem of her chemise as he did so, revealing her stomach.
She resolutely took hold of the fabric, refusing to allow him to pull it up over her right side.
“Leave my chemise. You’ll get everything else.Please, Ellis.” The top of her ribs and her breast were the worst of it. One would have thought her stupid corset would have protected both. Instead, a particularly sharp bit of rock had sliced clean through, opening Beatrice up to being dragged further across the rocks of the riverbed. When the carriage tipped, it had pressed her into all the pebbles, rocks, and sharp sticks.
“No,” he repeated, pulling it up over her head and tossing the fabric out of reach.
Beatrice turned her chin. Even Peg, when she thought Beatrice wasn’t looking, couldn’t help staring at times. Taken together with her cheek, neck, and shoulder, it was rather unappealing. Her mother, upon seeing Beatrice the first time, had called for smelling salts.
“This isn’t terrible at all,” Blythe said. “I’ve seen much worse inflicted when my sisters argue over a ribbon. Young girls are nasty fighters.” His finger lingered over the deepest gash, dipping into the small ravine the rock had made in her breast.
“Only a lecher would continue to try to seduce a woman who doesn’t wish it.”
“Yes, I felt your disgust for me earlier.”
Beatrice looked away from him and into the roaring fire, wishing a flame would escape and burn her to a cinder. “I will understand if you find it necessary to leave, Blythe. Truly. I realize it isn’t at all appealing.” She tried to sound matter of fact.
Castlemare had gagged the first time he’d seen her naked after the accident. Put a handkerchief to his nose and declared her to be horrifying. Like a skinned rabbit.
“Tell me.” Blythe’s words were soft and punctuated with another kiss to her shoulder. “What happened? Estwood only told me of a carriage accident.”
“My driver became lost. We were in Castlemare’s second best carriage, which I don’t suppose had been cared for properly. It grew dark.” Beatrice could still feel the carriage seat beneath her rattling, then jerking when the wheels hit something in the road. “I am only grateful that Thomas—”
“Thomas?”
“The driver. He was young and not experienced.” An ugly sound escaped her. “I thought at first, we would be fine. The carriage was stopped in its descent down a steep embankment by a large tree trunk. Thomas jumped off and managed to release the horses before—well—” Her words grew thick. “Before everything, including me and Thomas, tumbled down to the riverbed. Parts of the vehicle shattered, and what didn’t break apart landed atop me.”
“And Thomas?”
“Dead. Thrown against a rock.” The image of his bloodied face, eyes open and staring at nothing, would haunt Beatrice until the end of her days. If only she hadn’t insisted on defying Castlemare and been so determined to return to London. “It’s my fault. Thomas’s death. The accident. I was so insistent I return to London because Castlemare didn’t want me to.”
“It wasn’t your fault, Bea.” Another kiss was pressed to her ruined shoulder.
“There were a great many splinters. It took nearly a week for the physician to get them all out.” Beatrice had screamed as each one was pulled from her abused shoulder and neck. The line of her ribs. “Tiny pebbles were imbedded in my cheek from laying in the riverbed with the carriage atop me. I think it was hoped I’d die from infection.” Castlemare had said as much when he thought Beatrice unconscious.
“It must have been painful.” He tugged gently on a lock of her hair.
“Don’t you dare pity me.” Beatrice jerked from him. “I am not some pathetic creature.”
“I’m not offering you pity,” he snapped back, cupping her breast, thumb running over her nipple until the small peak tightened. “When I fucked you up against a tree like a lightskirt, did that feel like pity to you?”
The zing of sensation shot from her nipple straight down between her thighs. His mouth, wet and heated, fell over the nipple, sucking gently.
Beatrice fell back against the bed, Blythe alongside her, crawling up the length of her body with small licks and bites, grazing his teeth and caressing her damaged skin. She writhed beneath him, focusing completely on the sensations brought on by his touch and forgetting entirely about hiding herself. Instead, she allowed Blythe to worship her. Adore her with his tongue and his fingers, feeling more beautiful than she ever had dressed in the finest silks and surrounded by hopeful suitors.
“Terrible harpy,” Blythe murmured, clasping Beatrice’s hands above her head as he entered her with exquisite slowness. He moved as though he wanted Beatrice to feel every drag of his cock against the inside of her body. Each thrust teased at a sensitive spot deep inside her. He lifted one of her hips. “There, Bea?”
She nodded, coming apart beneath him in an instant, so shocked at the violent tremors rocking her body that her eyes rolled back in her head. Beatrice barely caught her breath before he flipped her. “On your knees, duchess. Take hold of the headboard.”
Beatrice did as he asked, legs still trembling, every inch of her skin so sensitive, the slightest touch of his tongue along her spine had her panting out his name. Teeth nipped at her buttocks. The side of her hip. A gentle caress swept over the line of scars across her ribs.
