Deepest Desires of a Wicked Duke(62)
With her hands clamped over her breasts—they were warm, heating from her pleasure, but not as hot as her cheeks—she nodded. “Oh, all right. Go.”
He lifted her bodice with one efficient tug; then she set to ensure it was as far up as it could go—and that it would stay up.
She heard Sinclair shout up the stairs. “Who’s there?”
Portia couldn’t stay put. Praying her dress didn’t flop down as some seams had torn and she didn’t know which, she emerged and reached his side. Just then the maid hurried down the remaining steps. Pale as well-cleaned sheets.
“It’s me, Your Grace. I were upstairs, doing the empty bedchambers, when I heard a woman’s scream. The most bloodcurdling sound, it were. I came down to find Mr. Humphries. I weren’t going to take a look on me own!”
“You go and sit down. I’ll go. Which room?”
“The one belonging to that old marquis.”
* * *
Cautiously, Sin opened the door that Ellie told him was the one for Marquis of Crayle’s bedroom. From the corridor, he saw Sadie was on her knees, nude, her hands braced on a chair.
The marquis stood behind her, fully clothed. Thank the Lord—Sin hadn’t wanted to see Crayle naked. Then he saw the large bullwhip in Crayle’s hand.
Hell. If Crayle was hitting Sadie with that thing . . .
Crayle moved and Sin could see Sadie’s back. Welts, bruises, small cuts made a pattern on her ivory skin.
He was ready to launch forward and physically stop the marquis with a punch in the man’s arrogant face. But was Sadie a willing submissive?
The feminine gasp beside him made him freeze.
“Oh my heavens!” Portia whispered fiercely. “He’s beating her!”
He’d told her to stay downstairs—to not follow him to investigate the woman’s scream. He should have known she would not stay put.
Portia brandished a poker. She must have snatched it up from the fireplace.
Sin grabbed her arm to stop her rushing in and she stared at him as if he were mad. “Why are you stopping me?”
He’d hesitated because he had seen these scenes before. He’d done this before. Not with as big a whip, not as brutally. But he’d had to make sure that—for all her cries—Sadie wasn’t willing.
The next blow let him know. She wasn’t.
“I’ll deal with him,” he said shortly.
Two strides took him in front of Crayle. He ripped the crop out of the man’s hands and turned to Sadie. She was on her knees, hair in a messy tumble around her face. Tears streaked her cheeks—they’d taken the kohl around her eyes with them, making wet, dark lines down her face. “Get up, Sadie. Get up and get the hell out of here.”
“I . . . I didn’t know he would truly hurt me. I never wished for this—”
Portia was there. She helped Sadie up and put her arm around the girl’s rounded white shoulders. “I will tend you. We’ll bathe you and bandage you. Let us go to your room.” Portia looked up at him, admiration shining in her eyes. “Thank you for coming to her resc—” She broke off, eyes widening.
He had no idea why. Until he saw the crop jerking in his hand. He was shaking. Shaking in rage—and more. He knew what it was like to be hit until his skin broke. Until he bled. He’d been the victim in strange games. Not just when he went to the House of Discipline. Long before that.
He snapped the crop over his knee, ignoring the pain of striking himself hard enough to break it. “Touch a woman like that again, and I’ll meet you over pistols,” he snarled.
Crayle was white. Shaking also. Fear and rage, Sin guessed. “Damn you, Sinclair. No right to spoil my fun. You’ll pay for this.”
His hands fisted and he was sorely ready to punch Crayle in his face. Not caring that the man was so much older. Weaker. “I’d suggest you get the hell out. Before I knock your teeth out of your head.”
It came out low, smooth, calm.
That had its effect. Crayle backed away. But gave one last parting shot, to stand on pride. “You will pay for this.”
Turning, Sin stalked out of the room. Took the stairs upstairs and found Portia as she was giving direction to the young maid to fetch warm water, cloths, towels, bandages.
Sadie was on her knees at the side of the bed, resting her chest on it so her back could be tended. “Look at my back,” Sadie whispered. “It’s a horrible, ugly mess. He’s ruined me. My back was lovely—perfectly shaped, without a blemish. He said it would just be a game. Then he turned vicious, trying to hurt me.”
“I’m sure it will heal,” Portia said. “We’ll clean it up and bandage it, and you will heal.”