“Lift your hips,” he said, his hands going to where her dress pooled about her hips. “Let me see you naked.”
Her eyes widened, the dazed confusion rapidly shifting to alarm. “Robert…,” she began, but he wasn’t listening. He had the strength and the leverage he needed. He knew how to do this. His work with the patients at the Chandler had long since taught him how to quickly and efficiently strip a woman. So he did.
He pushed his hands beneath her slender body, looped his thumbs into the curve of her gown, and stripped the thing away. Between one breath and the next, her dress was gone. Except for her stockings and shoes, she was naked and laid out before him for the taking.
Chapter 13
Helaine knew the moment she was in trouble. Up until now, she had seen passion in Robert’s eyes. Desire, humor, even frustration had slipped across his features. But never had she seen that dark possessive glint in him. Not until he had looked down at her half-naked body and decided he wanted more. At that moment he had switched from friend and possible lover to a man bending the world to his will. Then he had stripped off the rest of her gown and she had gone from slightly dazed to frightened in the space of a heartbeat.
She scrambled backward, but wasn’t fast enough. He clamped a hand on her ankle, and his dark eyes widened in surprise.
“Helaine?” he asked, his voice frighteningly soft. “Where are you going?”
“No,” she said as she struggled futilely to free her foot. “No, you have gone too far.”
His nostrils flared and his hand tightened on her ankle. “Too far? I have done nothing you did not want or allow.”
She frowned, damning herself for daring to believe this was possible. That she could enjoy the company of a man without it turning ugly. “Not me, you dolt,” she snapped. “You have lost control of yourself; you have gone too far in your own mind. Now let go!”
She kicked hard with her foot. She meant to simply jerk her ankle out of his hand, but she connected with his hip in the process. Her toes crumpled against his bone, and he grunted at the impact. Sadly, it did nothing to help her escape. If anything, his hand gripped even tighter.
“What are you talking about?” he demanded. “I am no different than I was a moment before. If you will just relax, then you will see.”
She grimaced. His tone, his touch, even the tight grip to her fingers told her he’d lost patience. He’d forgotten about her entirely and the thought made her infinitely sad. Furious, too, but sad as well. For a while there, she had thought they could be friends.
“You have forgotten yourself, Robert,” she said slowly. Gently. As one would talk to a rabid dog because, in her mind, that was exactly what he had become. “I am sorry for what has happened, but you need to release me.” She straightened up, all too conscious that she was virtually naked. “Let go of my ankle or I shall scream.”
He reared back. “The devil you say!”
“And if you hit me, I shall have bruises that your sister will see. I might even now have them on my ankle.”
That hit him far more than anything else. His hand jerked back as if she burned him, and then he gazed hard at where his fingers had wrapped around her body. There were no marks, except perhaps a reddened imprint. She was sturdier than that. But it gave her enough freedom to scoot backward and grab her shift. The dress was behind him and out of her reach.
“Helaine,” he said, the word half plea, half apology, but she knew better than to believe him now.
She lifted her shift, damning her hands for how they shook. It took her a moment to sort through the fabric, and then she nearly cried. The shift was ripped and would never be worn again. It was old and meant for the rag bin anyway, but she had precious few of them and mourned the loss of even this.
How had she allowed herself to be so seduced? He had ripped her clothing and tossed aside her dress, and he hadn’t done anything more than pull off his cravat. That alone showed her how far outside of her depth she had gone. What had she been thinking to come to him like this? To lie with him even a little?
“God, I am such a fool,” she said. She balled up her shift into one hand, then gestured to her gown. She had learned from experience with her father that a firm, calm hand was needed when he was deeply in his cups. “Hand me my gown, please, Robert.”
He complied, passing over her clothing with a slow hand. His expression was serious, though, and he appeared to be thinking furiously.
“I don’t understand what just happened,” he said.
She was on her feet already, quickly pulling the gown over her head. The buttons down the back were another problem altogether, but she could manage a few of them. The rest would have to be covered beneath her wrap.
“Turn around. I can do them for you.” His words were simple, his expression calm. He was back in control of himself. She saw that now, but she didn’t trust that it would last.
He must have seen that hesitation because he sighed and shook his head even as he pushed to his feet.
“I assure you, I can restrain myself from ravishing you for the time it takes to fasten a few buttons.”
Yes, he could, but she was not at all sure she wanted to get that close to him. After all, her skin still shimmered with an awareness of him that was wholly unwelcome at the moment. But neither did she want to leave with her gown half done. So she slowly approached him and turned around.
Her back muscles twitched when he put his fingers to her skin. He didn’t work the buttons at all, just set the pads of three fingers against her spine.
“Passion demands some loss of control. Indeed, I believe that is the point. To be swept away.”
“You promised to sweep me away, my lord,” she returned. “One of us had to remain in control. You lost yours, therefore—”
“That is not how passion works.”
She thought about it a moment and had to admit he was probably right. Meanwhile, he lifted his fingers from her skin and made quick work of her buttons. And when he was done, she stepped away to look at him. She fought with her words, but finally expressed them in an awkward way.
“I do not trust men who are not in control of themselves.”
His expression darkened. “So you have been hurt before.”
“No, not like you mean. But even a child knows there is nothing more frightening than someone who is larger, stronger, and more powerful who has lost control. Who gets hurt in that situation, my lord? The powerful aristocrat? Or the weak woman?”
“You are many things, Helaine, but weak is not one of them.”
Oh, how she wished that were true. She was vulnerable in so many ways. Financially, she risked everything, and he had no understanding of what it was like to teeter on the edge of poverty. Personally, she felt more and more vulnerable to Robert, even after this debacle. He was charming, smart, and titled. Everything she had once wanted in a husband.
“Then call me a coward, my lord, because you frighten me.”
He leaned back against the mantel, his expression hooded, his arms crossed over his chest. “You are no coward, either.”
She shrugged. She had no answer to that. She felt like the smallest thing next to him. An egg, perhaps, or a tiny seedling about to be crushed beneath his boot heel. Not because he was cruel, but simply because he wouldn’t notice what he was doing.
“I should stick to my own kind, I think,” she said softly. “There should be a man among the merchants of this world. Someone who will understand what it takes to survive the whims of the aristocracy.”
He snorted. “You have hidden your birth, but not your breeding. Even your own kind, as you put it, knows that you were born the daughter of an earl.”
She gasped, needing to run his words over again in her mind. They didn’t change, and neither did the truth.
“You know who I am,” she whispered. He knew what her father had done. Now she really was at his mercy. He could destroy her at any moment. All it would take would be a word, a comment to his sister or mother. He might not even do it intentionally, but what about one day in his cups? What about—