Bad Kitty Page 7

  When he was out of sight, she looked at Uncle Jasper. “I refuse to marry him.”

  * * * * *

  Bram paced in the front of the church. Where was she? Surely his bride would come to her senses and arrive willingly at the altar. After all, she was the daughter of a baron and marriage to a duke’s heir would be to her advantage.

  The church bell had already tolled the hour and the priest stood by looking a bit bewildered.

  Bram had known better. He never should have fucked her. He never should have let her stay past the initial interview.

  He heaved a sigh. He had never intended to marry and wondered if he had not compromised Katrina simply because he knew it would infuriate his father. He was both marrying below his station and not marrying the woman the old bastard had chosen for him.

  Possessing Katrina had been on his mind since the first time he had laid eyes on her at the Duke of Blakemore’s party. With chagrin, he recalled not being able to finish with the duchess. That had been days before Katrina had turned into bespectacled Kitty, the curious servant girl, and had requested employment at his estate.

  He stopped pacing and looked toward the door. Nothing. “Where are they?” he ground out and resumed walking back and forth.

  Bram’s thoughts returned to his father. He was going to be furious when he found out Bram had married a girl who was barely a step above a commoner. Still, the old duke was not looking for a political connection. Not really. He was looking for grandchildren.

  Bram squeezed his eyes shut. Children. That was another thing he had never planned—but there was no sense in dwelling on children when the bride had not even bothered to show up.

  The church door opened and Bram whirled, his pulse accelerating when he thought he might see Kitty dressed in her bridal finery.

  Instead his gaze fell on her fat, balding little uncle. Bram clenched his teeth as, hat in hand, Jasper Hartford slunk down the aisle.

  “Where is she?” Bram demanded.

  Hartford shrugged apologetically. “She has locked herself in her room, my lord.”

  Bram drew in a sharp breath.

  “She refuses to come out. She says she will not marry. I am contemplating sending her to a nunnery. You are certainly not obligated to—” Hartford’s words halted as Bram shoved past him.

  “Oh, there will be a marriage today. Mark my words.”

  * * * * *

  Kitty raced to the window when she heard hooves thundering up the lane. She was hardly surprised to see Bram but the look on his face was terrible. He glanced up at her window and Kitty shrank back as if she could hide from him.

  Her heart thudded against her rib cage as he dismounted. Seconds afterward, she heard the front door open followed by the sound of footsteps racing up the stairs.

  Clutching the skirt of her day gown, she stared at her locked bedroom door.

  Bram pounded on the wood. “Come out of there, Kitty!”

  “No!”

  Why had he not just given up and gone back to his estate to forget she ever existed?

  “I will give you until the count of three to unlock this door,” he said from the other side.

  “Go away!”

  “Blast, Kitty—”

  “Go away. I shall not come out and I certainly shall not marry you.”

  “Bloody damn hell!”

  He did not count at all. Instead, the door splintered as it flew open and slammed against the wall. Bram stood, shoulders heaving with his deep breaths, face flushed, black hair mussed and eyes flashing like summer lightning. His look was murderous.

  Kitty clutched the foot rail of her bed.

  His gaze raked her from head to toe. “Why are you not dressed?”

  She lifted her chin defiantly although on the inside, she quaked. “I told you, I do not intend to marry you or anyone else.”

  He had the audacity to laugh. “Yes you will. I command it.”

  Kitty inhaled. “You, sir, are no longer my master.”

  Two strides and he hauled her into his arms. Kitty gasped as he jerked her against the unyielding length of his body. “I will always be your master, Kitty Hartford.” His voice was smooth as black silk as he rocked his hips so that his phallus pressed into the softness between her legs. “And you know it.”

  Chills swept Kitty from head to toe. Everything in her body seemed to whirl downward, liquefying her, and while her sex screamed at her to spread for him, she did not. “Unhand me.” She cringed at the meek sound of her own voice.

  His gaze dropped to her lips and then returned to her eyes. “I should fuck you right here. Better yet, I should bend you over and give you that spanking you begged for yesterday.”

  Kitty swallowed thickly. Dampness oozed from her channel at the thought of him swatting her backside.

  “You won’t deny me,” he said, lowering his mouth dangerously close to hers.

  What was this power he held over her? Kitty struggled against the desire to allow him to do anything and everything to her despite the fact she hated him. Why could she not cling to the venom she had possessed while writing the article yesterday?

  Realization flooded her—the article would destroy them both.

  Her breath caught. Although she had not named the Earl of Rochford’s daughter, she had accused him of sullying a woman’s honor and then not marrying her.

  If he forced this marriage, then everyone would think she was the woman and assume Allenby had depicted her as a maid to protect her identity. She had wrongly laid blame on him, for if he were the cad she had called him, he would not be here demanding her hand in marriage.

  But what of the Earl of Rochford’s daughter? Before she could stop herself, she asked him that very question. “Why did you not offer the same consideration to Rochford’s daughter?”

  Bram stared. His eyes flashed with spite. “So you’ve bent an ear to the gossips?”

  Kitty trembled but she could not back down now. “Sir, one cannot help but overhear what is spoken so plainly.”

  “Did you believe it?”

  When Kitty did not answer, he gave her shoulders a shake. “Did you?”

  Her mind swept back over the scene she had witnessed in the garden, her stay at Bram’s manor, her quick dismissal—and the article she had written. Yes. She had believed it.

  “Is it true?” she asked. “If you are proposing marriage to me, I think I have a right to know.”

  “I do not, nor have I ever, wasted my time dispelling rumors about my character,” he snapped.

  Kitty’s heart sank. He was the blackguard she had guessed he was.

  “However,” he began. “You are correct. You do have a right to know the truth.”

  Kitty’s lips parted.

  “The woman sought to entrap me. I never sullied her. The father of her bastard is a stableboy in her father’s employ.”

  She searched his eyes and instinctively knew he was telling the truth. Something inside her twisted into a hard knot. Why had she acted so hastily?

  It was imperative she write her publisher and retract the story immediately. Imperative.

  “You are the only lady I have ever…ruined,” he said, his eyes raking her in blatant appraisal. “And while these are not the most advantageous of circumstances, I intend to make you my wife.”

  “I…I cannot marry you,” she blurted.

  “I do not wish to play games with you right now, Kitty,” he said, a muscle in his jaw clenching. “There will be plenty of time for that later.”

  Her channel twisted. Yes, yes, oh God, yes…

  “No!” she cried.

  “If it’s dominating you want so badly, I will give it to you,” he said impatiently as he spun her around and bent her over the foot rail of her bed.

  Kitty gasped as she felt her skirts being tugged up. This time he did not request she take down her drawers. With one hard yank, he tore them down her legs.

  There was no buildup, no insidious caresses. Instead, he swatted her bottom hard
and fast.

  Kitty did not struggle. She grabbed fistfuls of her covers and buried her face in them, spreading, arching, giving him complete access as the searing heat spread through her backside. This is what she wanted from him. Complete control. To have her will stolen away until she was free to enjoy her body.

  The spanking finally stopped and she felt his hand delve between her legs, felt at least two fingers push up hard inside her.

  She moaned and spread her aching legs even wider.

  “Is this what you want?” he asked. “To push me to this? To reduce me to begging you, Kitty?”

  She wriggled farther back on his hand, willing him to fuck her with it.

  “Marry me, Kitty. Let me take you to the vicar,” he murmured while his fingers teased her below.

  “I do not wish to marry any man,” she whimpered as liquid heat thrummed through her veins.

  “That’s foolish,” he growled and withdrew his fingers, only to rub her cream up and over her most private recess. “You will marry, and you will marry me.”

  Kitty stilled as the heady heat was replaced with icy panic. Surely he would not invade her there.

  But oh—he did.

  She tried to surge upward as his fingertip twisted its way into the tight little aperture, but with his free hand, he pushed her back down on the bed.

  “I will find your breaking point,” he warned. “If I have to shove my cock in your arse, I will coax you to consent to this marriage.”

  Kitty’s pulse accelerated as she felt his finger push inside her until his balled fist was pressed hard against her bottom. Pride caused a hot blush to flame in her cheeks. Shame flooded her—but she was not ashamed because he was doing something so debauched to her. She was ashamed because it felt so good she did not want him to stop.

  The nub between her legs throbbed painfully and she shifted restlessly, as if her movements could assuage it.

  “Please…” she groaned.

  “Will you go with me to the church?” He worked his finger in and out, driving up hard to grind his fist against her bottom. Her hips swayed with the motion, further inflaming her clitoris.

  Her channel clenched with need.

  She cried out when a hard slap landed on her backside. Too much. This was too much. The sensations of his finger up her hole and the sting of his palm on her bottom were overwhelming.

  Her pulse slowed to a steady, thick throb and she wondered if she refused him, if he would shove his big cock in that same sensitive hole. The hand that had slapped her traveled up her back and then his fingers entwined in her chignon. He pulled. Hard.

  Kitty’s head came off the bed, her back arching impossibly, lifting her backside for even deeper penetration. She yelped.

  “I will end this torture if only you will acquiesce.”

  Kitty melted when his free fingers swept her aching folds, teasing her. She tried to rock back against his hand but the way he was holding her prevented it.

  “Say yes and I will pleasure you,” he said, his voice hoarse.

  Her stomach tightened. Her breathing quickened. “Yes, damn you! Yes!”

  At once he released her hair. Her head fell to the bed. But none of that mattered as he shifted between her legs, pushing them wide apart with his knees. One hand latched on to her hardened clitoris and he pummeled her anus with the other.

  Kitty’s knees went weak as she felt that now familiar sensation building, cresting, and then, “Oh God in heaven!”

  Her body went limp as bliss shattered her from the inside out. Peace. She sighed.

  But her peace was short-lived. He hoisted her over his shoulder, jerked her gown down to cover her still-spasming bottom and carried her down the stairs to his awaiting horse.

  * * * * *

  The wedding was a complete and utter disaster. Kitty had never been more miserable in her life. Dressed in the simple, rumpled day gown she had been wearing when Bram had stormed into her room, she had recited her vows, fully aware of the fact her drawers were still lying in a discarded pile on her bedroom floor.

  Her aunt and uncle had looked on, their faces red with shame.

  When the vicar had asked Bram if he had a ring, Kitty had expected him to dispense with that part of the ceremony. Instead Bram had produced a gargantuan ruby, which he had slid onto Kitty’s hand with trembling fingers.

  The ring was stunning but Kitty had been absorbed with Bram’s reaction. Why was he trembling? Because he was so angry? Because he had rather been doing anything in the world besides marrying a strumpet who had lied to him?

  Kitty bit her lip, her mind drifting to her article as Bram tersely recited his vows. He would be furious when it hit the papers. Livid. Doubtless he thought she had infiltrated his service staff to ensnare a husband. Nothing could be further from the truth but here she stood, wearing the ring of a man she had sought to destroy.

  “You may kiss your bride,” the vicar said without emotion.

  Kitty turned to Bram and lifted her gaze to his. She expected him to crush her against him and devour her mouth as he had the morning before. Instead, he brushed a hasty, cold kiss across her lips, snatched her hand in his and dragged her from the church.

  There was no carriage to whisk her away. Only the monstrous horse on which Bram had brought her here. He hefted her onto the saddle and then climbed up behind her. Without a word, he dug in his heels and rode the animal hell-bent for leather toward his estate.

  The closer she came to her new home, the sicker inside she became, and by the time he halted the horse at the front steps of his home, Kitty was filled with fear.

  Bram slid her down the horse’s side and she stumbled to right herself as he easily leapt down beside her.

  “She is my wife now,” Bram told the footman. “You will address her as Lady Wiltshire.”

  “Yes, my lord,” the uniformed boy said with a low bow before he took the horse’s reins.

  “Inside,” Bram said curtly as he clasped Kitty by the elbow and ushered her up the stairs and into the open door.

  No one seemed more surprised than Mrs. Bush and, despite her own trepidation, Kitty took wicked delight in the old woman’s sneer.

  Bram gave her the same instructions he had given the footman but Kitty could tell the normally austere housekeeper struggled to hide her shock.

  “I will send one of the footmen for her things,” Mrs. Bush managed to say.

  “That shan’t be necessary. She won’t be needing her things.”

  Kitty gaped at Bram. What could he possibly mean by that statement?

  “Make sure she gets a bath,” he said, and with that, he strode away.

  “Follow me,” Mrs. Bush said and started up the stairs.

  Numbly, Kitty climbed the stairs behind her. Her life had turned upside down in a matter of days and nothing was ever going to be the same. She was married to a man she hardly knew—a man whose reputation she would make worse by her article—a man whose touch inflamed her body beyond comprehension.

  Kitty recognized the door to Bram’s room as she followed Mrs. Bush past to the next door. Mrs. Bush opened it to reveal a suite of such opulence, Kitty could not stifle a gasp. The room was decidedly feminine with its floral wall covering, paintings of sprawling gardens and delicate furnishings. “This is lovely,” she said, feeling suddenly small and inadequate in the luxuriant surroundings.

  “The Duchess of Blakemore had it decorated,” Mrs. Bush said, pinning Kitty with a knowing look.

  Kitty cringed as she recalled Bram’s tryst with the duchess in the garden. Mrs. Bush was baiting her and she knew it.

  “She is…or rather was…a frequent visitor here,” Mrs. Bush said snidely. “But I imagine she’ll be back…once the master tires of you.”

  At first Kitty shrank—but then she remembered she was no longer playing the part of a servant and that she was married to a titled heir. She lifted her chin. “You’ll do well to remember your place, Mrs. Bush.”

  The older woman snorted. “
Did you bring your lady’s maid with you or shall I send one?”

  Kitty had never had a true lady’s maid. She bit her bottom lip, knowing Mrs. Bush was taking another stab at her. “Send Alice.”

  “Alice?”

  “Yes, Alice, from the kitchen.”

  Mrs. Bush laughed. “You’ll not want that little bawd to serve you unless you are looking to keep your husband occupied elsewhere.”

  Kitty narrowed her eyes. “I am not interested in your opinions, Mrs. Bush. Send Alice.”

  Mrs. Bush inclined her head and left the room.

  Kitty hugged her arms to herself and gazed around her rooms. Any woman should be pleased to be in her station. Kitty was miserable.

  Her eyes swept the gold, floral-printed coverlet with its intricate embroidery and matching tester lining. A blush pink settee was situated by the hearth, over which hung a massive painting of white peacocks in a garden.

  The more Kitty took in the decided touch of a woman in her new rooms, the sicker she became inside. This was wrong. She did not want to be married. Not to Bram or anyone else.

  But she was, and there was little she could do about it.

  However, now that she knew he was innocent of ruining Rochford’s daughter, she should pen a quick letter to her publisher to retract the story she had written as Alistair Allenby.

  A quick search of the mahogany secretary yielded pen and ink and Kitty sat to write the letter before Alice arrived to prepare her bath. And then the thought occurred to her that she could not trust this information with a servant. Servants were known for prying and gossiping. Word could not get back to Bram about this. Not ever.

  She would simply have to take it to be posted herself.

  The letter office was less than a mile away. She could make it there and back within the hour—long before Bram missed her.

  After she finished the letter, she stole through the servants’ hallway and out the side door. No one would ever know she was gone if she hurried.

  But Kitty had only made it halfway down the long drive before she heard hooves thundering toward her. She did not have to glance back to know it was Bram. He would be furious if he read her letter—and read it he would!