Chapter 8

8

Alarm coursed through Millie’s body like an electric current. She felt the tingle of anticipation tighten her skin as her stomach clenched and the tips of her breasts budded.

Incredibly inconvenient time to develop such sensitive nipples.

‘You can’t be serious. This is completely untoward. You cannot mean to?—’

‘I mean to do many things with you, Millicent. But don’t fret. I promise not to consummate our marriage until we are actually married.’ He bit his bottom lip and Millie almost melted into a puddle on the rug.

She stepped back, mindful of the fire crackling behind her. The last thing she needed to do was catch her skirt on fire. ‘C-consummate the marriage? But surely there is no need.’

Drake stepped closer, his icy gaze burning with a blue flame. ‘I admit I thought that too, but then we had that most enlightening discussion in my study and I reconsidered.’

‘You reconsidered?’ She felt like a rather dull-witted parrot repeating his words.

‘Yes. I reconsidered. Do you feel it? The tension pulling between us? The delicious heat?’

In lieu of a response, Millie attempted to breathe normally.

Drake continued, seemingly unconcerned with her difficulties aspirating. ‘It occurred to me at dinner the best way to rid oneself of a craving is to indulge in the temptation. Haven’t you ever gorged on cake until the very sight of frosting makes you ill?’

The air had certainly thinned since Major General Drake began speaking. Perhaps he was using it all up with his wild suggestions. Just the thought of him gorging on her was the most erotic thing Millie had ever heard. Her earlier determination to deny her lust for him fled right along with her wits.

Sweet baby Beelzebub!

An ache pulsed between her legs as something warm and liquid melted in her core. ‘I don’t think people are supposed to gorge on… sexual relations.’

Drake smiled. In the flickering firelight, he was breathtaking. ‘Obviously, your experiences did not adequately educate you on the addictive quality of sex. I’d wager you had a sub-par teacher. Trust me, that is not the case now.’

‘But you don’t even like me.’ Millie was sure of it. She had trapped the man into marriage. He couldn’t possibly hold any affection for her.

‘Sometimes hating someone makes the whole thing that much more incendiary.’

Uhhfff. He hates me.

That hurt more than it should.

She didn’t care about Major General Drake, Millie reminded herself. It didn’t matter if he hated her or not. In fact, it was better this way.

Maybe she hated him. What about that? He was the one being obstinate and stubborn. This whole mess could be cleared up if he would just break the damn engagement instead of trying to seduce his hated fiancée. The nerve!

Millie narrowed her gaze, letting her anger lend her courage. ‘You hate me for trapping you in this marriage. But you could still break the engagement, Drake.’

‘Beaufort.’

Millie took a breath. ‘Pardon?’

‘My name is Beaufort. Beau, if you prefer.’

‘Oh, I. Well. Yes. Of course.’ She blinked, trying to gather her thoughts. Major General Drake’s first name was Beau? It seemed far too friendly a name for the hardened soldier standing in the middle of her room, holding a pot of salve and talking about gorging himself on her to rid his cravings.

Madness!

‘That doesn’t alter my point, Major… err, Beau.’

His lips softened, and he took another step closer. ‘I am not going to break this engagement, Millicent. Cease asking me. You set this into motion the moment you coerced me into joining you on the veranda. And I don’t hate you. You must know someone well to hate them. I hardly know you at all. But don’t be distressed. I’m sure as we become closer acquainted, our hate will grow, naturally.’ His sarcasm was not funny. Millie pressed her lips together to keep them from twitching. ‘Now, turn around so I can unbutton your gown.’

Millie sidestepped the fireplace and moved back, increasing the distance between them. ‘Absolutely not. If you already sent Penny to bed, surely there is another maid who can help me. Or I shall call for Lady Philippa. I’m sure she wouldn’t mind.’

Drake raised a brow. ‘You would call the Duchess of Dorsett to your room to assist you in undressing? You are a courageous woman, Millicent. But we have no need to resort to such drastic tactics. I am here.’ With each word, he drew closer. Millie found herself backed against a large wardrobe. ‘Turn around. I won’t hurt you. I promise.’

He was lying, even if he didn’t know it. There was no chance his kindness wouldn’t hurt her in the end. A cruel, cold, heartless man she could resist. But this honourable, kind, caring version of Major General Drake was impossible to keep at a distance.

But keep him at a distance, I must.

Millie’s options were limited. Philippa had taught her some hand-to-hand combat, but she doubted she would be very successful against a trained soldier like Major General Drake. While she was taller than most men and strong enough to hold her own when sparring with Philippa, Drake towered over her, his movements lithe and graceful. The damnable man almost made her feel delicate: a novel experience.

What I need are my knives.

But she had carefully removed them and tucked the deadly leather package under her mattress. Penny might keep her secrets, but there was no need to alarm her maid with Millie’s more lethal talents. Even if they were still strapped to her wrists and thighs, she could hardly launch a knife at her betrothed in the middle of her bedroom. Questions would be asked if her fiancé was found dead in her room with multiple blades protruding from his delicious body.

She had only one option available. Follow his orders. For now.

But you will not weasel your way into my heart, Beaufort Drake, no matter how hard you try. I will not sacrifice my freedom on the altar of desire.

He might not hate her yet, but she was quickly growing to despise the damned earl.

Drake despised the effect Millicent had on him. But still, he desired to increase the burning need sparking in his spine and spinning over the rest of his body. His ever-optimistic cock hardened in anticipation.

He shouldn’t be doing this for several reasons.

One: he was seriously questioning his self-control around Millicent.

Two: he’d promised not to consummate the marriage until after they spoke their vows.

Three: he was seriously questioning his self-control around Millicent.

Fucking hell! I already said that. But it bears repeating. She is my every fantasy and nightmare combined.

He was half jesting when he spoke of glutting himself on her, but the idea might hold merit. Maybe he only needed to indulge in his fantasies to realise the reality wasn’t nearly as enticing as the idea. But to do that, he would need to keep his raging cock under control. And as he listed… twice… his legendary control was questionable at best when Millicent entered a room.

His single-minded focus on the infuriating woman was becoming a serious problem.

After Nora left him, he lost interest in sexual conquests. For years, he worried that she had broken something in him. Then he saw Millicent playing cards at Lord Bradford’s dinner party while on an investigation with Lieutenant General Killian all those months ago, and his body came back to life. He thought it was a fluke and even tried to engage a professional courtesan to slake his suddenly ravenous thirst.

She was a delicate thing: blonde, reminiscent of Nora. But he couldn’t drum up a hint of interest from his damnable cock. He tried again with a different woman. This one was tall with hair almost as vibrant as Millicent’s, though likely achieved through henna or some other means. Still, she had a sweet smile. Apparently, his penis didn’t care about the woman’s smile. Zero reaction. It was maddening. And more than a little embarrassing. There was only one possible conclusion. Millicent was using some kind of witchcraft on him.

Or maybe I like her.

Absolutely not. Drake didn’t like people. Especially not women. Dark magic was the only reasonable explanation.

When he ran into Penny in the hall and she dropped the salve, a red haze of rage had descended. There was only one reason she would be taking such medicine to her mistress.

He should have left the maid to her business. But something in him demanded he care for Millicent himself. Probably some primordial instinct that should have died with his Viking ancestors long ago. Yet it pervaded, making it impossible for Drake to focus on anything but tending to her.

The idea of caring for Millicent’s wounds filled his chest with something warm. Not the heat of lust, but something else. Something more . He refused to let emotion terrify him. He had faced down hordes of Afghan soldiers without a hint of fear. Certainly, he could manage a few feelings .

Millicent would be his wife in a matter of days. Why shouldn’t he offer her comfort? It was a simple task any idiot could complete, and it didn’t alter his overall objective to maintain distance.

Drake almost laughed. He could always determine a lie from the truth. Even the lies he told himself. He was playing a dangerous game.

And yet, here I am.

Standing in Millicent’s room with salve in his hands and sin thrumming through his blood. Well, there was no point second-guessing his motivations now. Best to crack on with the task at hand. Namely, undressing a beautiful, angry, powerful woman and forcing her to submit to his ministrations.

Unlikely.

He very much doubted he could force Millicent to do anything she didn’t want to do. And while the idea of her submission stroked along his senses, sparking awareness in areas best left untouched, he would never expect her to yield to him. He knew the injustice of his personal power being stripped away. Of stronger men forcing his will to their own. He would never do that to another. His body recoiled at the very notion.

But even he could wipe salve on someone’s back without ravaging them.

Again, unlikely. Especially when that person is Millicent.

Drake tightened his grip on the pot. He needed to complete this task. He needed to prove to himself that Millicent held no power over him. He could remain indifferent to her supple curves and haunting eyes. He could maintain control. He would hold his distance.

Millicent turned, giving him her back. Drake exhaled a breath he hadn’t been aware of holding. He put the pot of salve on a nearby table and reached for the first button. His fingers shook as he deftly released the piece of bone from its hole.

Jesus. Get it together! You aren’t some green lad.

He squeezed both hands into fists, shaking them out before moving on to the next button.

Slowly, in painfully small increments, Millicent’s dress opened for him. When he released the last button, he gently pushed both edges of her gown down. She pulled her arms free of the sleeves, then held the dress to her front.

‘For a woman so determined to ruin herself, you’re awfully modest.’ He rumbled, his breath stirring a loose curl at the back of her neck. She tilted her head, swaying into him for a heartbeat before catching herself and straightening.

‘I wasn’t trying to ruin myself. I was trying to gain my freedom. Men fight wars for freedom. They bleed and sacrifice and rage to attain autonomy, and they are honoured for their efforts. Women aren’t afforded such noble means to attain independence, but we yearn for it just as fiercely, Major General Drake. I assure you.’

‘Beaufort.’

‘Fine,’ she hissed. Such an angry warrior.

‘May I share a story with you?’

She shrugged an elegant shoulder. The closest he’d get to an assent, he wagered.

‘In the Anglo-Afghan war, I saw many things. One of the most fearsome was a woman fighting to protect her child. She killed three soldiers with nothing but a sling, several stones, and her bare hands. I’ve never seen anything more noble.’

Millicent stiffened. ‘Some parents will sacrifice everything for their children.’

‘And some won’t even acknowledge the cruelty of their own spouse.’

‘Yes, well…’ She fell silent.

‘I don’t believe women are subservient to men, Millicent. In many ways, I feel they are superior.’ Certainly, in their skills at deception and treachery. But he wisely kept that thought to himself. Instead, he began unravelling the laces of her corset.

‘You are a strangely contradictory man, Beau.’

He decided to take that as a compliment. And her use of his first name thrilled him.

The fire crackled. A clock chimed the half hour. A winter breeze picked up in the alder trees, creating a haunting melody. Millicent sighed in relief when he loosened her corset enough to let her chest expand on a full breath.

‘Hold your hands up. I promise I won’t peek down your dress.’ Drake smiled to himself. She might be an honest creature, but he was comfortable with deception. Every sinew in his body was strung tight. He wanted her more than food, water, or air.

Millicent hesitantly loosened her grip. The material sagged forward, and she started to reach for it.

‘Only for a moment, Millicent. I’m not looking. I promise.’

Big, fat liar.

Fine. So, he was looking. It was only breaking one small promise. His soul already belonged to the Devil. A glimpse of Millicent’s luscious body was worth whatever extra time he spent burning in the pits of hell. When she slowly lifted her hands up, he leaned forward to pull her corset over her head. And yes. He peeked.

Jesus!

Her breasts were magnificent. Glorious, full globes with strawberry-pink nipples that her nearly sheer chemise couldn’t hide from Drake. He only had a glance, but God’s teeth! What a worthy sacrifice of his honour.

As soon as the whale-boned contraption cleared her head, Millicent pulled her arms down, wildly grabbing her dress and clasping it against her chest again.

‘We have a bit of a conundrum, Millicent.’

‘Really?’ She spoke in a breathless whisper, simultaneously melting and hardening various parts of him.

‘Your chemise. I can’t take it off without removing everything else. How attached are you to it?’

‘How attached? I don’t understand.’

‘Do you have others?’

Millicent turned her head, her chin touching her shoulder. She had an arresting profile. Her nose was almost too strong, but her full lips and high cheekbones softened the lines of her face. She was stunning in the firelight. A goddess descended to earth.

‘Do I have other chemises? Of course I do. I’m not a pauper, Maj… err… Beau.’

‘Perfect.’ Drake reached down and pulled a blade from his ankle holster. In one quick flick, he cut the top inch of material, then replaced his knife before grasping both sides and ripping the garment in two to her waist.

Millicent’s strangled cry alerted him that his actions may have been a bit aggressive.

‘You did say you had others.’

‘Yes, but I didn’t expect you to rip it completely in half!’

‘Only partly in half. The bottom bit is still intact. Would you rather strip naked for me?’

‘I’d rather Penny be here,’ Millicent bit back.

God, he loved fighting with her. It might be one of his new favourite things. And he didn’t have favourite things. Except perhaps whiskey. And a good cheroot. A warm fire on a cold night. But nothing compared to the heat flaring between them as they argued over her ruined underthings. It was marvellous.

‘Well, she isn’t, and I am.’ Drake let his gaze fall upon her bare back. He was torn between arousal and intense anger. Millicent’s skin was as pale as porcelain. Freckles covered her like cinnamon constellations, matching his imaginings at dinner with alarming accuracy. But marring the perfection of cream and cinnamon were savage, crimson slashes. The worst were covered in bloodied bandages. He carefully started peeling the linen from her skin, knowing from experience it would pull painfully and newly formed scabs would be ripped away.

Millicent hissed in a breath.

‘Fucking bitch!’ Drake snarled. Patricia would pay for what she’d done. He wasn’t sure how yet, but it would be slow and painful.

‘Wh-what did you say?’

‘Nothing. I’m just sorry for hurting you.’ The words tore from him like the bandages ripped from her back. But it was a necessary evil. He must remove the wrappings to apply the balm. Some of the cuts were angry and red, a sure sign of infection starting. Just the thought of Millicent consumed with fever, wasting away from the damage inflicted by her stepmother, filled Drake with renewed rage.

‘You don’t need to apologise. You didn’t do this. I mean, yes, it hurts, but you’re trying to help. Thank you.’ Millicent’s husky voice wrapped around him like an embrace, giving him the strength he needed to continue. ‘I hate to ask another favour, but perhaps you could distract me with a story.’

Drake snorted. ‘I don’t know any stories.’

‘Well, tell me something about you, then. Why are you so opposed to marriage?’

Drake gently pulled another bandage free and when she hissed in another breath, he started speaking just to drown out the sound of her suffering.

‘I wasn’t always. There was a time when all I wanted was to marry.’

Drake wasn’t sure he could continue. He didn’t speak about Nora. When he returned from the war, his brother’s marriage had been a juicy scandal. Everyone in the beau monde knew about Drake’s rejection which only added bitter insult to Drake’s grievous injury. But it also granted him an unexpected gift. He didn’t have to explain to anyone what he was experiencing because every peer in the realm knew about the debacle.

‘You don’t have to continue if it’s too painful.’ Millicent’s words were soft and sweet in the silence, and the irony of her offering him comfort when he was tending to her wounds wasn’t lost on Drake.

‘I just don’t want to bore you with a story I’m sure you already know.’ Drake began work on a new bandage. His soft touch contrasting his harsh tone.

Why? Why did she pick at his most tender wound? Even more confounding, why did Drake want to tell her about his hurt? To find some comfort in her empathy? He didn’t need the approval of some woman to make him feel better about his past.

‘I know what I’ve been told, but that isn’t the truth. Only three people really know the truth of what happened. You, your brother, and Nora. And yours is the only version I’m interested in hearing.’

Drake snorted. ‘My version is biased by my own feelings.’

‘Ah, but the beau monde is convinced you have no feelings.’

Drake smiled. He was grateful her back was turned. He didn’t need her knowing how easily she teased a vast array of emotions from him. ‘Perhaps they are right. Maybe I am just a feelingless monster.’ He heaved out a heavy sigh, causing the wisps of Millicent’s hair to dance in firelight. For a moment, he watched, fascinated by how many shades of red existed in just a few strands.

‘We already established that you are no monster.’

‘Men can be the worst monsters of all.’ Drake clenched his teeth and pulled free another bandage.

‘Some men. Yes. But not you.’ Millicent’s husky voice broke something in him, and the words began to pour forth without permission or thought.

‘I loved Nora. With all my heart.’ Once he started, he couldn’t stop. ‘She wasn’t the first woman I fancied myself in love with, but she was the first woman I loved as a man. We dreamed of creating a life together. When I left for that godforsaken war, I carried her with me.’ As he spoke, he continued to remove Millicent’s bandages. It helped to keep his hands busy. ‘I thought she loved me. But when news of my capture reached England, she wasted no time in transferring her affections to my brother. And then, when I returned looking like this…’

Millicent twisted her waist to face him, hissing at the pain it must have caused. ‘You are the most beautiful man I’ve ever seen.’ Immediately, her face turned crimson, and she spun back around.

Drake couldn’t stop the harsh exhalation of air from his lungs. Not a laugh, but close. ‘Beauty is in the eye of the beholder, but even a blind woman would know I’m not beautiful.’

Millicent stiffened her shoulders. ‘I just mean to say, I’ve not met your brother, but I can’t imagine him ever being as interesting as you.’

The joy bubbled up in him, cracking open his shields. ‘So, I went from beautiful to interesting? That’s probably a more accurate description, though still not honest. At any rate, when Nora made it clear she didn’t want me, even if I still held the title instead of my brother, it shattered me. I was no longer good enough for her. Or for anyone. After that, I wasn’t interested in anything, marriage least of all.’

Until I met you.

Thank God he kept that thought to himself. He renewed his efforts with her bandages, doing his best to be gentle.

‘Thank you.’ Millicent’s words were so soft, he almost missed them.

‘For what?’

‘For telling me about Nora. She’s an idiot, by the way. And wrong.’

Drake shook his head, letting his fingers graze over an unbroken line of creamy skin. ‘I suppose there are a few topics on which we actually agree.’

‘Yes, but there is also one topic that we decidedly don’t agree on. It isn’t that you aren’t good enough for her; it’s that you’re far too good.’

Drake’s hand paused, and he held his breath.

She is wrong. So wrong.

But he didn’t have the heart to tell her. Because it mattered that she found worth in him. He hated how much it mattered.

‘At any rate, I don’t think Nora deserves any more of our attention,’ Millicent continued. ‘Tell me something else. What’s a funny story about the fierce and formidable Major General Drake?’

Drake sucked in air and bit his lip. She was like balm on his ragged soul. Millicent made talking about his worst moments easy. The least he could do was distract her from her own pain with a silly story. So, he dove deep into his memories and told her about a night out drinking with Killian and the Renquist brothers that ended with Drake waking up in Killian’s wine cellar with a broken nose, a massive shiner, no shoes, and no recollection of how he’d gotten there.

By the time Drake removed all the bandages, Millicent was shaking, and sweat trickled from her hairline down her cheek.

‘Brave woman. I need to wash your back before I apply the balm. Can you stay standing, or would you rather sit?’

She must be in excruciating pain, but she hadn’t even whimpered.

‘I’m fine. Your stories helped, though I’m shocked at the behaviour of four such honourable gentlemen.’

‘Titles hardly make a man honourable.’

‘Another point upon which we agree.’

Drake hurried to a washbasin by the window and poured water into the bowl. A cloth was folded next to it. Taking it up, he lathered the piece of cotton with soap. The lye would sting like the Devil, but there was no getting around it. Keeping wounds clean and well-dressed was the best way to avoid infection.

He returned to Millicent. Before washing her wounds, he placed a hand on her shoulder. She shuddered at his touch as he leaned closer, his lips almost brushing the shell of her ear. ‘I will be as gentle as I can. But this will hurt, Millicent. I am so sorry.’

Millicent laughed. A husky melody that tripped over his senses like whiskey. ‘Trust me, I’ve lived through worse.’

In the midst of his burning lust, suspicion flared again. Exactly what had she experienced to be so calm and collected in the face of intense pain? And why was she approaching this terrible event with the stalwart constitution of a seasoned soldier? Did the duchess have anything to do with Millicent’s unusual ability to face impending agony with controlled focus?

In a man, such courage would be admirable. In a woman, it inspired distrust. Hardly a flattering truth about Drake’s opinion of women in general and his fiancée in particular. He shook his head, trying to clear the swirling thoughts.

‘You are a unique creature, Millicent. Such bravery is rarely found in men or women. You face disaster with such determination.’ Dear God. He respected her. The startling truth rocked him.

Millicent turned, still holding the dress against her chest. Her eyes were huge in the dim light, her pupils almost taking over the warm chocolate irises. She shifted her hold on the dress to free an arm. Reaching behind his neck, her fingers brushed against the back of his skull. Pulling his head down, she pressed a kiss against his cheek. It was innocent and honest and so fucking arousing, Drake almost dropped his soapy cloth. Lemons and cotton infiltrated his senses.

Pulling away, she held his gaze. ‘Thank you.’

And then she turned again, facing the fire, and once more gave him her savaged back.

Holy shit. I’m in trouble.

Drake survived many things. Betrayal. Torture. Imprisonment. But he couldn’t survive Millicent Whittenburg. Of that, he was certain.