Eternally Seduced(128)

He asked hoarsely, almost begging, "You love me?"

Oh God, he was so unfair.

"Yes!" She bowed her head down, her tears falling fast and furious now  that she had admitted her true feelings for him  –  something she had only  discovered that afternoon. It had struck her out of the blue, the love  she felt for him, and the love she had to deny because he had never  asked for it. He wanted her as a mistress and not a girlfriend, not even  a lover.

Psychologists would probably tell her it was just an emotional reflex, a  victim falling for her rescuer  –  the opposite of a victim falling for  her captor. But Mary knew deep in her heart it was different. They had a  connection, Rathe and her, but it was not a connection that was meant  to last.

"You love me."

He spoke the words with such disbelief that she had to look up and make  him realize it was her who was unworthy, not him. "How could I not fall  for you, Rathe? You saved me from my stepfather. You wooed me when I  didn't want to be wooed. And you made me live when before you, all I did  was exist."

Rathe let go of her, but now she didn't want to leave him, not when he  was looking at her in a way that made her heart crash against her chest,  the way it beat so hard. That look of his … oh God, it made her want to  hope.

He was almost afraid to touch her, feeling like if he did she would  disappear. Did she really not care about the years that would always  separate him?

"They called me the pedophile's son."

"They were just jealous of you."

"They called my mother a whore."

"They don't know what they're talking about."

"Don't you care if they call me a pervert because I want to be with you?"

Mary said shakily, "I wouldn't care if they called me Jezebel reincarnate if it means I get to be with you."

He said in a low, shamed whisper, "I want you with me, but I cannot  offer anything more than what I have offered." He looked at her with  regret in his eyes. "You deserve more than to be my mistress."

Looking at him, she wanted to cry out to all the gods and beg for them  to make her just a little bit older. Because if she was, then  –  maybe,  maybe then he would fall in love with her. But she knew it was an  impossible wish and she was not the type to knock her head against the  wall.

She touched his face, and she marveled at the way his entire body shook in reaction to her touch. She affected him that much?

The question in her eyes was easy to decipher, and he said quietly,  "Just you. It's only just you who makes me feel this strongly when  before you … I felt nothing."

For a long time, they only gazed at each other. When he started to  speak, she knew it would be something she wouldn't want to hear, knew it  would be the duke speaking and not her Rathe, the man she had come to  love.

"No," she said softly. "Let me speak first."

He inclined his head, the lord granting the servant leave to speak. Even  when he hurt, he did not and could never lose his aristocratic side and  it made her smile even as her voice wobbled and her eyes started to  shed tears once more.

Rathe could not bear seeing her struggle. He should have left, should  never have messed up her life. Thank God he had not taken her innocence  yet. At least that was one thing he could be proud of.

"Mary---"

"No," she cut him off desperately. "Let me speak first." She did not  wait for him to answer. Tiptoeing, she placed her lips on his. After a  moment of stunned disbelief, Rathe reacted, starting to kiss her back,  but she pulled away, cupping his face as she asked him, "Please make me  your mistress again?"





Chapter Twelve





"Rules, you say." He lifted one noble brow at his mistress as they  enjoyed dinner in the privacy of their living room, with the housekeeper  given the rest of the day off. Moonlight filtered through the glass  wall, creating a silvery sheen inside the room and making Mary feel like  she had been transported to another world  –  one where magic and love  co-existed.

Rathe was seated on the leather couch, bare-chested and barefoot and  wearing only a pair of low-slung sweatpants. Mary was seated  cross-legged on the rug and between his thighs, still wearing the  clothes she had worn to school.

She had her laptop and portable printer on the coffee table, and she was waiting impatiently for her list of rules to come out.

Her eyes twinkled up at him. "When I found out that you never had a mistress before me---"

If looks could kill, Mary would be dead by now. He said in his best icy  ducal tone, "You make it sound like I am horribly equipped to keep a  mistress simply because it's my first time to do so."

She said innocently, "But that is what I'm saying."

He muttered a curse under his breath, making her throw back her head and  laugh. He bent down and kissed her, cutting off her laugh midway, and  when he pulled away it was his turn to smile at the dreamy expression on  her face.

"Ill-equipped, am I?"

She recovered, flushing. "You're so … "

" … nothing like you've ever dreamt of?"

"I give up," she said laughingly. "Nothing's going to kill your ego."  Her printer had fallen silent, and she quickly grabbed the sheets of  printed paper it had churned out, waving them at Rathe's face. "I have  it!"

He smiled at her enthusiasm, knowing he was one of the few persons  privileged to see this side of her. They really were one of a kind, both  of them only able to reveal their true natures to a few.

She cleared her throat. "Rule number one of our mistress-master agreement."

He choked. "Mistress-master?"

"I couldn't think of anything else to write," she said defensively.

"Mistress-master," he repeated, a grin tugging at his lips.

"Hmph," she grumbled. "It's just a title. Anyway, I want to know what  you think about the rules." She lifted the papers back up, and unable to  see the pages clearly, grabbed her glasses.

Looking at Mary with her glasses on, his body reacted immediately. There  was something so bloody sexy about a girl who wore glasses not just for  show but because she really did have a serious need for it.

"Ahem."

Her attempt to sound professional made him laugh.

"Shut up. I'm serious. Ahem. Ahem." She adjusted her glasses. "Rule number 1: the comings and goings of the master."         

     



 

An arrested expression appeared on his face, and she knew both of them were thinking the same thing.

"Your first rule packs a punch," he acknowledged evenly when Mary kept  looking at him, "especially if this is a reference to what I did the  last time I was here."

"Yes," she answered evenly, sounding incredibly mature for her age at that moment. "It is about that."

"I won't do it again."

"Good  –  because this rule won't let you. There must be an agreement  between us from now on. About when and where the mistress' affections  may be engaged by the master and how the master is to treat---"

He interrupted her, saying, "Mary?"

She paused.

"Let's cut to the bull. I will do anything you want to make up for what I did. Is that good enough?"

Her eyes shone at his words. "Yes," she said shakily. "That's good enough."

He nodded. "What's the next rule?"

"The master---"

He groaned.

She laughed. "I'm just kidding. Most of the next rules are really  about … that." Seeing the grim look enter his eyes, she rose on her knees  and touched his face, no longer shy because there was nothing to hide  now. He knew she loved him  –  and he was letting her love him. It was  more than enough for now.

"It's okay," she said softly, kissing the corner of his lip.

"It's not," he said roughly. "I was a bastard for doing that to you."

"You're sorry. I've forgiven you. It's water under the bridge now." She  kissed the other corner of his lip, his nose, and his cheeks, kissed  every part of his face until she felt the angry tension leaving his  body.

He caught her face and kissed her on the lips. "Thank you."

She answered with a smile, "I love you."

Bloody hell.

She never failed to knock him sideways whenever she said those words to  him out of the blue. "What's the next set of rules then?" he asked  gruffly.

Settling back on the rug, she leaned against him and he moved forward so  he could start massaging her shoulders. He had never done this for any  woman but Mary---

"Ooooooh." A blissful expression settled on her face as she stretched  and purred in his arms while he continued massaging her shoulders.

"My sweet, beautiful, hedonistic pearl," he teased.

Her head now lying on his lap, she opened her eyes to look up at him with a smile. "Only with you."

"Good." He didn't bother to hide the possessiveness in his voice.