The devil baron, p.19
The Devil Baron, page 19
His eyes narrowed at her. “My father did what? Almost killed Sloane?”
His father had never told him of this.
She nodded as she sucked in a few more breaths, then bent down flat against her thighs, hugging her knees. Her breathing started to wheeze out of control, panicked, like she was drowning in the air.
Two steps and he was to her, next to her on the bed, his hand on her back, rubbing up and down her spine, trying to calm her.
It worked, mildly, but not nearly enough for his liking. The wheezing dissipated, but she remained folded as though she was trying to shrink into a tiny ball. His right hand splayed along her spine to steady her and he reached to the front of her shoulder to tilt her upright.
Her body rigid, she fought the motion. Trying to stay small, to hide.
Her panic suddenly became his own. “Vic, what the hell is happening? You have to tell me—what is this?”
She didn’t unfold, but her head lifted slightly and she sucked in a deep breath through gritted teeth. She was fighting hard not to let tears slide. “You asked why I toss and turn at night? Why I have nightmares? That is why. He is why.”
“What?” Rafe went deathly still.
Her hands came up, and she buried her face in her palms, like that motion could hide her away from the world. But then her words started to flow, muffled though her hands. “I was nine when your father crept into my room at night and tied me up. He was at a party at Wolfbridge and Reiner was looking to trap him—he had all the evidence of a smuggling empire and he was going to send Lord Bockton to Newgate to swing. But Bockton discovered he was trapped and he needed to get out of Wolfbridge—out of England. I was what he needed for that. He found my room and tied me up. He was going to use me as leverage to escape. I was so scared—but I tried to be brave because that’s what Reiner would have wanted out of me, but I was so terrified. I didn’t know what was happening or why and he was so brutal…how he grabbed me like I was nothing. A cut of meat at the market.”
That sounded exactly like what his father would do. A trapped rat that would chew through flesh and bone to escape.
She heaved a gargled breath. “Then Sloane came into my room and saw what was happening. She convinced Bockton to take her instead of me. She lied and said I was worthless to Reiner and he agreed. He knew I was worthless and she was the prize. So he took her as insurance for his passage out of England. He tied me to the bed and left me there.”
“Who found you?” His words choked in his throat.
“Reiner. And I thought Sloane was telling him the truth.” She lifted herself slightly, her hands dropping away from her face, her eyes numb as they swung to him. “That I was worthless, that she wanted Reiner dead. And that terrified me even more than Bockton taking me. I loved her. Loved her so much and I thought she’d been lying the whole time she knew me. I thought she hated me. That she wanted to kill Reiner. How could I be that stupid?”
She paused, heaving a sigh deep into her lungs. “That was when I learned not just what loneliness was—I learned what desolate, soul-crushing loneliness was. I was losing everything.”
“How did she come back?” He pressed upward on the hand still on the front of her shoulder, again trying to drag her upward. This time, she didn’t fight it, pliable like dough.
“Reiner saved her. Bockton almost got away with her on a ship—but she escaped him. She came back and it took her so long to convince me that she had lied to Bockton in order to save me—so he would take her and not me. I know that’s why she did it—deep in my heart and in all the logical parts of my brain—but that hurt was real, and in my dreams…sometimes I’m still tied up by your father, her hateful words raining down on me. Him snickering at me, his hands bruising my arms.”
Rafe pulled her fully into his arms, clutching her to his chest. She let him do that as well.
“I’ve just…I’ve just never been able to shake it from my mind. The horror of what he did.”
The rage boiling his blood almost wouldn’t allow him to speak and his voice came out rough, unrecognizable to his own ears. “I am sorry he did that to you, Vic.”
Not that the sentiment was adequate. He was more than sorry. He was infuriated that his father did this to her—ever set his hands on a nine-year-old girl and threatened her. Apparently, he didn’t keep his monstrous tendencies confined to his son.
If his father were alive, he’d strangle him himself, watch the life drift out of his eyes and not so much as blink. No, that was too good. Flaying him alive would be better.
He’d tied Victoria up. Made her think she was worthless.
“You don’t need to apologize for him, Rafe. The son is not the father. Don’t give away the first apology you ever utter in his name.”
“Someone has to damn well apologize.”
She shook her head against his chest. “It wasn’t your fault. But this, this helps—that you hold me against this. And that you understand the legacy of bloodlust that he left behind him.” Her face shifted upward, her fingers lifting up to trail along his jawline. “I’m trusting you, even as I know I shouldn’t. Even as I feel like that stupid nine-year-old girl that will believe anything that is told to her. I’m trusting you, so don’t let me down.”
That she was here with him, believing in him after he’d admitted to intending to use her as a pawn just as his father did was nothing short of remarkable. And unnerving. A testament to how much she did genuinely trust him. Care for him.
All things he wasn’t worthy of. Yet she was here. Leaning into him, clutching him like he was the only man in the world deserving of her trust.
His lips dipped, pressing to her brow for a long second, inhaling all that she was, honey and spice with hints of lemon, swirled with the uniqueness of her own scent. “I swear, I won’t let that happen.”
Now he just had to make good on that oath.
Empire be damned.
{ Chapter 24 }
“I have something for you.”
Dragging off her pelisse, Victoria draped it over the back of the chair in the newest coaching inn and looked up to Rafe entering the room, excitement shining in his dark brown eyes.
After a better meal than they’d had the last two days travelling, he’d left the room to return their platters to the kitchen of the coaching inn, but he hadn’t had this excited energy flowing about him when he’d left the room.
That was the thing she’d discovered about him. When he didn’t have that cold façade locked in place—and he always did around everyone but her—he was almost like a little child, the smallest thing about her pleasing him. Usually, those fleeting moments sent a wicked gleam into his eyes and his hands on her body soon followed.
Not that she minded in the slightest.
The man was sin and torture in the most delicious body, hard in all the perfect places under the soft of her hands, and he was equipped with the most wandering tongue that held no shame or embarrassment and could never quite get enough of her skin.
But the current enthusiasm running through him was different. He’d strode into the chamber, his left hand behind his back with a lopsided grin on his face.
Moving across the room, he stopped in front of her, but her gaze stayed locked on his suspiciously hidden hand behind his back.
Her fingers quickly worked down the front row of buttons on her walking dress—she’d chosen this outfit specifically for the straightforward ease of clothing herself without a maid—and she stepped out of the fabric and draped it atop her pelisse.
Left in only her chemise and short stays, she gave him a wicked smile. Whatever surprise he had for her, he’d better hope it entailed dragging the thin fabric off her body.
“What is it?”
He pulled his hand from behind his back, presenting it to her. In the middle of his hand sat a heavy iron padlock.
A smirk lifted the corners of her lips. Not what she was expecting, but if he wanted her to lock him up and do delicious things to his body, she would happily service the desire.
Her look lifted to his face. “You charmer, you brought me a padlock.”
“I did indeed.” His mouth quirked to the side. “I’m going to teach you how to pick it.”
She let out a confused chuckle. “Pick it? What makes you think I don’t know how to pick a lock?”
His eyebrows lifted. “Do you?”
She laughed. “No. But why?”
A brutal coldness slipped across his face, taking all mirth out of the moment. “What we’re walking into, Vic, I don’t know all the nuances, and I always know the nuances. But in this, I do not.”
He moved past her to the table and set the lock down, then dug into an inner pocket of his jacket until he pulled free two hand-length, bent-tipped wires made from thin steel. They looked sturdy. He set those next to the lock. “So I need you to be ready for any eventuality as I’m not letting anyone take what’s mine. You know your way around a blade, thanks to Jules, but I want you to be prepared for anything.”
Take what’s mine.
He said the words so casually, like it was inevitable that she was his.
A possession.
Maybe it was and he’d already accepted it, while she was still deluding herself in that she had a choice in the matter.
Truly, for how she’d just left Seahorn with him—for what she did in bed with him the last two nights—she was utterly and completely ruined. The most viable path forward was with this man—assuming they both escaped alive the upcoming debacle to get Eva and Torrie back.
That part didn’t bother her, so much as the part on how she had never wanted to be trapped into a marriage. And she knew Rafe had never wanted to be trapped either.
She wanted the man she married to want her. True, soul-shattering want. Love.
That was what she’d been holding out for in her heart of hearts these years. Love.
But she was now with a man that had no capacity for it. He’d admitted as much to her.
He wanted her body, yes. He enjoyed her company, yes. She’d seen joy on his face when they would laugh together, yes. Even at night, when he held her after their bodies were sweaty and sated, she got the distinct sense that she might just be the one thing he cared about.
But he didn’t love her.
That she would know. That she would feel.
Wouldn’t she?
Even if she’d gone and fallen down that well herself. For she loved Rafe. Even knowing his past, knowing his history. How his morals lacked. How he’d killed people. Tortured them. Yet she’d still, stupidly, fallen in love with him and she knew it.
The unsettling part was what did her misguided love say about her? That she was just as corrupt? She had a soul tinted just as dark as his?
Maybe.
Maybe that was why she was having a hard time coming to terms with them being together, rather than just accepting the fact that she wanted this man. Wanted him wholly and fully and for the rest of her days.
Rafe looked over from the table to her, his fingers tapping on the wooden top next to the lock. His gaze flicked over her, from head to toe, and instant desire flashed in his eyes, but then he blinked it back, tapping on the table again.
He wanted to get on with it.
Because she was a possession to him. Something to own. To care for. And this was what would assist with that.
At least he felt that. It was a start.
So sure, she’d learn to pick a lock if it would help her to crawl into the cold cavern of his heart.
How did one convince a man that has never known love, to love?
“Please, Vic.” Rafe stripped off his coat and waistcoat, setting them on the opposite chair, then removed his boots, getting comfortable in just his lawn shirt and trousers. “Can we get this done so my cock doesn’t explode having to stand next to you nearly naked?”
Or he was stripping off extraneous clothes to make access easier when they were done? She liked that thought.
With a wry smile she stepped toward him. “What do I need to know?”
He picked up the steel wires, one with a longer bent tip than the other. “These are your best option, they are lever wires. It depends on the lock, of course. Heavier ones like this one benefit from sturdy tools like these wires, but on a smaller lock with fewer levers, hairpins can work, if you have them handy and the metal is strong enough to bend the tips without snapping. Most locks all work on the same principle, you move the interior levers to the right height and that opens the lock.” He looked to her chiffon. “How many pins do you have in there?”
Her shoulders lifted. “A healthy number.”
“Good.” His attention turned back to the lock. He set the shorter lever wire into her right hand and then moved behind her, wrapping his arms around her as his right fingers slid over the back of hers. “I’m going to do this with you a few times until you get the touch of it.”
Good heavens, it was hard to think about anything at all when his body was pressed up against her back like this.
“Vic?”
She blinked hard, then nodded.
He had her pick up the lock with her left hand and then slid the lever wire into the keyhole opening.
His fingers over hers, he twisted the bent part of the wire around in the black void of the interior of the lock. “You won’t know how many levers are inside. Usually there are two to four, depending on the locksmith, but the goal is to get them all to the right height—there—did you feel how the tip hit resistance? That’s the resistance you need to push back against.” He squeezed her fingers, making her push the interior lever. “That is one. Let’s find the others. The levers are stacked in a row, front to back. There’s another one—do you feel it?”
Her shoulders lifted. “Maybe?”
He chuckled, his warm breath on her neck. “Let’s keep going.” He twisted her fingers holding the lever wire. “This is the third one and…there is the fourth, and that should release the lock.” He pulled up on the shackle, freeing the lock.
She looked to her left at his face directly next to hers. She didn’t know why this particular skill of his took her aback, but of course he knew how to pick locks. Why wouldn’t he? That was the world he lived in.
“Did you feel it?”
She offered a half smile. “Try again?”
He pulled the lever wire until it was out of the keyhole and then relocked the shackle into place. Setting the lever wire in her fingers, he slid his hands over hers once more. They went through the same motions again, only this time, he guided, letting her push on the levers once he led her to the resistance.
In short order, the lock opened again.
“Now do you feel it?” he asked.
She did—a little bit. “So, I basically fiddle around in there until something that is hard to move, moves?”
He smiled. “Basically, yes.” His arms wrapped around her dropped from her body and he took a step away, leaving a brush of cool air she didn’t care for to wisp down her back. “On your own. Your turn.”
He moved to her side, clamping the lock shut once more, then studying her hands as her fingers worked the lever wire.
Blast. Finding the levers was a lot harder without his touch guiding her. Several minutes passed, her tongue slipping out between the right side of her teeth as she concentrated on searching in the vacant dark of the chamber for the levers.
“You’re doing fine.” He set his knuckles on the edge of the table, leaning down as his stare focused on her hands. “Gentle. Let the pressure bleed up into your fingers. The lock will tell you what you need to do.”
He thought her fingers were way more sensitive than they were, but then, click. Success.
Dumbstruck, she looked up to him. “I did it,” she said with a squeal, laughing.
He laughed with her, his dark brown eyes glowing like she’d never seen him.
Pride in her.
The simplest little thing that he could do so easily, and he was proud of her. Pride and…what? Something rumbling raw in his eyes. Like he was seeing deep into her, his hunger feral, wanting to steal everything she was for his own.
It stilled her, yet her smile stayed in place.
He blinked, and then his look dropped to the lock and he clamped it closed once more. “Again.” His fingers tapped the iron. “Again and again until you’re quick, sure at it.”
She nodded and set the lever lock into the keyhole again.
Easier.
And the next six tries, easier and easier still.
He moved to his coat and pulled out a smaller lock he’d had in an interior pocket, then set it on the table. “Now this one. Use your hairpins. Use the keyhole to first bend the tip of the pins—you can try different lengths if you need to.”
Her mouth quirked to the side, but she pulled out several pins from her hair. Her dark hair started to fall about her shoulders and she gave up on it, quickly stripping out the rest of the pins, fifteen in total for how thick her hair was, and she set them onto the table.
She twisted her dark hair together, then draped it forward over her shoulder so it would stay out of the way as she worked on the lock.
“Saints, I love your hair down, Vic. You look like a siren.”
Her eyebrows lifted as she glanced up from the lock to him. “A siren?” She bent over, her eyes narrowing as she set the tips of the hairpins into the lock, searching.
“You sucker me in with your voice, your face, your kindness, your innocence, and then you seek to destroy me, full and through.”
She lifted her eyes but not her head to him. “You think I mean to destroy you?”
“No, but that is the cruel twist of it, your innocence wouldn’t allow it. You are unjaded and I am the one to jade you. That is how you destroy me.”
“If that is the case, I rather like how I destroy you.” She looked back down to the lock, feeling that inexplicable presence of the lever he was talking about under her left forefinger. She pressed downward. And…there.
Click.
The lock released.
Who knew she would be good at this? She had burglary in her future if he kept corrupting her like this.
