RemissionChapter Ten
Angelus casually handed a few sous to the porter as he collected Ramadevi’s trunk at the door and set it in a corner near the empty fireplace. He glanced back towards the bed where Ramadevi slept on her belly. The demon gazed admiringly at her bare bottom mottled with raspberry welts and the occasional handprint bruise from his rough handling mere hours ago. Then he frowned as he realised the girl shivered in the chilly room, but made no effort to cover her aching ass. The slightest touch of even a linen sheet would doubtless irritate the abused flesh.
It shocked Angelus to realise he’d lost all control of the situation when his recovered treasure had disobeyed his order to undress. He had not beaten her for erotic pleasure or even to enjoy his sadistic sensitivities. He'd been motivated by anger alone, he’d reacted like a child throwing a tantrum, wanting to break her, crush her, *punish her for hurting him...*
*If I continued beating her, I could have killed her...* For the first time in decades, Angelus felt a tremor of actual fear, an alien chill in his belly. The time was past for such games, the vampire thought as he resolutely opened the trunk and began laying out Ramadevi’s clothing. Her response to him at the end had been incredibly gratifying to Angelus: he sensed she wasn’t a woman easily aroused by pain. Clearly her desires for him were every bit as binding and inescapable as his need for her. Even if he was cruel to her.
The truth was he loved her. The truth was he didn't want to be cruel to her.
He despised the fact but the fact remained. Even in his mortal days Angelus had considered such affections pointless and weak. He’d watched his father make a fool of himself, preening and strutting while he courted his second wife. Angelus had enjoyed a bride mere days before she was wed to one of his best friends. He knew what a waste of time love was.
It was the moment of truth and Angelus knew it. He either accepted all of what Ramadevi meant to him or he had to kill her, obliterate her so that he was never tempted by her again. If he did that, he would probably go mad.
No one had ever appeared to light a fire in Ramadevi’s drafty room and Angelus felt a surge of outrage followed by guilt. After all it could very well be his fault, the innkeeper might have warned the maids not to disturb them. Or they might have been frightened away by Rama’s loud crying.
*I don’t want her to be cold or hurt...*
He lifted his heavy wool coat, designed in the new carrick fashion to imitate the caped coats of taxicab drivers. He spread the thick warm wool over Ramadevi and whispered for her to get up. She murmured softly, her liquid dark eyes bleary and tired. Glancing up at him, she cuddled gratefully against Angelus's hands as he tucked the coat around her and lifted her to her knees.
“I’m so tired,” she whispered huskily.
"It's time for us to go." It wasn’t yet midnight. Angelus was determined to make the most of the last few hours they had to travel before sunrise.
The young woman whimpered as she began to sit on her heels, then straightened up with a soft hiss. Her backside was swollen and tender. She felt a stab of fresh shame as the night’s earlier events played through her head. Her blistered bottom was a very current reminder of what Angelus had done and how her body had reacted. Strange that he had not forced her to perform for his pleasure. Except for his coat, hat, and gloves Angelus was still fully dressed.
All that had transpired between them, everything he’d made her feel, had just been kisses, caresses, and cruelty. His mouth, his hands–and the intensity of her own longing.
Angelus watched Ramadevi ease into wakefulness. So many different emotions played along her lovely features. He scowled at the bitterness and shame blended with pleasure, fear, contentment. Was there any love? He cupped her face in his hands and looked down at her intently. Her large wonderful eyes met his, shy and embarrassed as she recalled the intense feelings he’d forced upon her.
“Tell me again.” His voice was deep and dark, sending soothing warmth through her ears. *I’ve missed the sound of his voice,* she thought. She lifted trembling arms to embrace him and winced as the coat slid off her shoulders, the wool brushing her bottom.
“I’m in love with you,” she whispered softly.
Angelus kissed her, slow and firm and sure. His mouth brushed hers softly, drifting over the corners of her lips, sucking the tender pillow of her lower lip, tracing the bow with his tongue. He began a slow path of kisses on her chin, her peachy-soft cheek, her brow, her forehead. She closed her eyes and Angelus touched her satin-soft eyelid with his lips. He kissed the shell of her ear and lightly nibbled her rounded lobe, chuckling as a little shiver ran through her.
“Rama.” His whisper was a soft breath on her ear. His hands trailed gently down her bare back and Angelus marvelled at the delicacy of human skin, the supple muscles beneath it and the grace of her vertebrae as he traced her spine all the way to the small of her back. “I’m taking you home with me tonight. I’m not letting you leave me,” he explained unnecessarily.
His hands slid lower to cup her aching rear cheeks and he kissed her as she groaned in pleasure-pain, pushing her body flush against him.
“Please!” she moaned plaintively. “It hurts!”
His fingers were pleasantly cool–Ramadevi wondered why he had put off feeding–as he shushed her with soft words and gentle kisses. She quivered against his firm hard body even as her hands locked over the back of his neck and her mouth sought his.
“It will hurt for a little while,” he whispered. Abruptly, he hugged her around her waist and kissed the crown of her head. “I won’t do it to you again, Egypt,” he promised. “Unless you’d like it,” he added, nipping her ear.
Ramadevi’s stomach lurched drunkenly at the frightening implications of Angelus’s words. Her first urge was outraged denial coupled with the rebellious desire to fight him again. She thought to scream at him that his home was *not* her home and that she *hated* the harsh attention so recently given to her bottom. But none of that was entirely true. Angelus’s home *was* hers, the only home she had anymore. And Angelus’s cruel punishment had roused her desires to the point that she had yielded to the ultimate pleasure while still turned over his lap. It had purged her guilty feelings for lying to Angelus and running away when she had promised to come home to him. Painful, humiliating, and frightening, it had also soothed her in a strange way.
Or had she responded to her own heart’s joy, the pleasure of being near the beautiful demon male again when she had missed him so, that *any* caress from him was welcome? Ramadevi wasn’t sure.
Angelus’s eyes were rich hot chocolate gazing fondly down as the beauty considered his words. He read some of what she was thinking in her troubled, confused expression.
“Raise your arms, precious.” He lifted her silk chemise over her head and Rama slipped her arms into the sleeves while he gently smoothed the fabric over her nude body. Angelus admired the effect of the soft pink-beige, several shades lighter than Ramadevi’s honey skintone. The chemise enhaced her warm colouring, it clung softly to her womanly contours. The shadows of her erect nipples swelled against the silk and Angelus swallowed the urge to taste her beauty again.
She moved to fasten the ribbons at her neckline and Angelus took her hands in his, guided them back over his shoulders.
“Let me.” Quickly, deftly, he tied the ribbons into a neat bow. “Turn around.” He watched as she gave her back to him, kneeling on the bed, and gripped the footboard. *Still not afraid of me.*
Angelus fitted her corset around her body and, starting at the bottom, worked the lacings into a snug fit. He listened to Ramadevi’s calm steady breathing hitch and falter when his nimble fingers brushed her bare skin as he smoothed the laces while he tightened them until she was a curvy, beautifully defined hourglass shape, her full breasts lifted and mounded temptingly at the top of the corset, her hips flaring softly from her trim waist. The black corset slimmed her midsection even further.
He only watched her, not wanting to speak, and drank in her lithe voluptuous beauty until the silence grew smokey with tension and she slowly turned her head to look at him. Angelus’s eyes flowed over her, openly covetous, missing no detail of the sensuous tableau she presented. Her thickly curling hair whispered, shiny and soft against the sateen panels binding her figure. Her legs were slightly spread to help brace herself as he laced her. Her eyes were liquid, glimmering lodestars in the near-darkness, so deep with feeling. Angelus's artist’s eyes trailed over the dainty high arches of her pretty feet, the curved line of her calf swelling sweetly from her slim ankle peeking under her chemise; the soft shadow of her generous cleavage and the thrust of her nipples through the silk. Elegant slender column of a neck, pouting full lips, moist, trembling a little.
The vampire growled slightly as his body clenched and ached, tightening to rock-hard readiness.
*If only I had my sketchbook...* The artist in him pined. Gruffly, he ordered her to sit down, smiling grimly as Ramadevi gingerly lowered her sore bottom until she sat on the edge of the bed, her slim legs dangling over the side.
Angelus handed her her stockings and watched her put them on. He found the act delicately sensual, Ramadevi gathering the white stocking evenly in her hands, then drawing it neatly over her pointed toe and up her leg, fastening it with embroidered garters.
Sensing his look, Ramadevi turned innocent eyes up to him and the curiosity in her face made Angelus want to scream. She wasn’t trying to entice him, she were only putting on her clothes and it made him hotter than he could ever remember being!
He knelt down in front of her, holding her pantalettes open so that she could step into them. First her left foot, then her right. Angelus guided the softly worn flannel up her legs and Ramadevi looked down shyly as he fastened the ribbon drawstring into a bow. His hands lingered at her waist and when she looked up at him he lowered his head and kissed her.
“Say it,” he entreated against the corner of her mouth. She answered with a precious little moan.
“I love you.” One of her hands drifted over the aching bulge tightening the crotch of his pants. The vampire growled low in his throat, then he laughed softly and kissed her forehead.
“I’m trying to get you dressed so that we can go home!” His scolding sounded playful, almost boyish and strange even to himself.
She glanced up at him, black opal eyes gleaming saucily. She sank to her knees before him and Angelus felt his belly lurch in anticipation.
“Is my unclothed body the only thing pleasing to you?” She opened the button flap of his trousers and softly kissed his stiff aching sex. She began to caress him tenderly with her lips.
The demon’s eyes shut and a deep sigh pressed out of his dead lungs as the girl attended him with her lips and tongue. She said his name, a husky whisper against his pubis as she rubbed her face against his body like an affectionate kitten.
“Beloved,” she murmured. Her hands crept up his thighs to softly stroke his firm abdomen through his shirt, then reached higher, her familiarity with his body allowed her to seek out his nipples, firm and nubby through his linen. She moaned when she took him in her mouth, and Angelus felt the sound against his hardened flesh, vibrating deeply within him.
*She loved him. She did not fear him, but she feared her love.* The vampire wondered why he hadn’t understood this before. And suddenly it seemed cheap and horrible to let her do this to him, for her to kneel on a cold wooden floor in a tawdry inn and satisfy him in such a special way when she wasn't ready to give her heart to him.
Gently, he drew himself away from her, caressed her hair, ruffling it in his fingers.
“Finish dressing, Egypt,” he told her. “We have to go.” He smiled into her startled eyes and Ramadevi gasped at how his beauty magnified when he smiled.
“But you have not–” she stammered.
He stopped her words with a light kiss on her lips.
“We’ll have lots of time,” he said lightly. “When I take you home.”
She dropped her eyes, truly confused by the demon’s benevolence. His appetite for her hadn’t changed–the proof was being tucked neatly away into his pants as she stood up. Yet he refused her.
A short while later, Angelus smiled, satisfied, when Ramadevi stood before him in a dark blue wool *pelisse* trimmed in slender black silk braid and a betsy, a high ruffled lace collar trimmed with thin black velvet ribbon.
“I don’t suppose you brought hairpins?” She smoothed her abundant hair away from the sides of her face and placed her black top hat firmly on her crown. She located the ripped remnants of her duster and drew her pale grey leather gloves from her pocket.
“No!” Angelus barked.
Ramadevi nearly jumped out of her skin. The vampire had been patiently silent and even helped her with her clothes as she got dressed. Why was he so angry now? She gripped her gloves nervously and watched Angelus lift his heavy carrick coat up from the bed. Her brilliant dark eyes grew murky with dread as he pulled a handful of tangled jewelry from an interior pocket in the coat. Gold chain ropes and glimmering ruby medallions.
She felt frozen with loneliness. Self-loathing flared in her mind as she recalled how easily, how *eagerly* she had succumbed to Angelus’s violence and passion. She had been so glad to see him again, to be physically near him she hadn’t even thought about his inevitable demands for submission. Of course he would want her to wear the slaves’ bracelets. He had always wanted that. Sometimes she wondered if he would have let her alone if she had only worn them without balking when she was still an impetuous young child too proud to humour him.
Angelus would want them on her now more than ever because she had rejected them.
And, gods protect her, the mad weakness in her heart wanted to wear them again since it contributed to Angelus’s pleasure.
Angelus smiled wryly at the low uncertain whine in her throat as he meticulously separated the tangled jewelry he’d carried with him throughout his search.
“Give me your hand.”
Ramadevi flicked a beseeching glance at him. His expression was steely, hard as it had been when he first caught sight of her in the tavern downstairs. There was no room for mercy in that implacable black gaze. He was determined to force his will on her no matter how she resisted.
“It–” she began in a hesitant whisper. “It doesn’t have to be like this.”
His brow arched .
“How would you have it, then?” He sounded gentle, patient, but his eyes glittered dangerously. Ramadevi didn’t know whether to be hopeful or frightened. She swallowed nervously.
“It doesn’t have to be about your power or my power,” she tried to explain. “It doesn’t have to be about ownership.” Sweat dampened the palms of her clenched hands. “We could be together because we wanted it–like a family...” Her voice trailed away uncertainly.
Time seemed to stop in the little corner opposite the fireplace where they stood. Angelus gazed upon her dispassionately, too baffled to speak. He was acutely aware of Ramadevi, his senses eager to refill themselves on all he’d missed of her: the gentle thud of her heartbeat, the whisper of her raven curls against the wool of her dress, the rich perfume of her actual person. The residual human male in him felt every bit as taken aback and frustrated as the demon.
Infuriating longing crept into Angelus's chest, a lost kitten seeking a warm corner to rest. He longed to believe her words! Even though she had deceived him and fled from him–he had had to pursue her from the capitol to the French border!–he wanted to believe she’d like to be with him on her own. But *how* could he believe it when she had run away?
Stupid weak human sentiment...
Without a word Angelus reached for her left hand and glared as the hopeful light flickered and smothered in her beautiful eyes. Her dark lashes swept downward to hide her disappointment. What right did she have to be disappointed in him? Why the hell should he feel any regrets? She belonged to him–even if she never accepted it–and he had the right to do as he pleased with her!
Ramadevi swallowed the hard lump prickling in her throat. His fingers were gentle and quick as he slid the heavy ring onto her middle finger, draped the gold ropes across the length of her hand, and fastened the heaviest gold rope around her slender wrist. She gave a watery little sigh when he released her left hand and reached for her right. In another moment, he fettered it with the matching bracelet.
It was done.
Abruptly he embraced her. The princess pressed her face into the softness of his shirt-front as he sat on the bed and drew her to his lap.
“Angelus,” she whispered sadly, determined not to cry. A bitter thought that she had earned this distrust helped her to bear it. Sensing her sorrow, Angelus squeezed her in his arms. There was no passion to his caress, only gentleness and a desire to soothe.
“Egypt.” He took one of her hands in his and gently stroked the hollow of her palm with his thumb. His fingers found her chin and lifted her face to his. “You *are* my family.” The arm gripping her waist tightened almost painfully as he kissed her quivering sweet mouth. “You’re the only family I have left.” He kissed her again, softly, consolingly. “I killed the rest of them a long time ago before you were born.” A mirthless smile twisted his lips upward. “You were my ward, my child,” he explained. “And I brought you up as I saw fit. Now you are my woman.”
She gasped as he kissed her hard, passion flowing back into them both as their lips molded and played against each other. He moaned, a low softness in his chest, as her lips parted and her tongue reached tentatively for his. They caressed and massaged each other, and just as suddenly relaxed into peaceful warmth of simply being close again.
“You’re more mine than anybody could be,” he whispered into her hair. He rose back up and set her on her feet. “Put your gloves on, precious,” he told her. “We have to go.”
She slept fitfully through most of the drive. Angelus watched her head nodding and drooping. She’d grown accustomed to living in the daylight hours again, she would have to readjust to his schedule. Her full sweet lips were tight with pain and she winced as the carriage jostled and bounced as it sped forward towards the southern countryside. The poor suspension and worn padding in the vehicle’s upholstery was cruel to her well-punished backside and she leaned and shifted constantly, seeking relief.
Angelus drew her to lean against him and rest on her side, spreading a supporting arm over her body to keep her from falling off the seat. That was a little better.
The carriage was serviceable at best. It lacked the luxurious comfort of Angelus’s private coach and it smelled, too. Angelus closed his eyes and concentrated on Ramadevi’s personal scent. The poor darling hated to go without bathing but Angelus appreciated her aroma undiluted by soap. He hadn’t allowed her to even sponge off with the ice-cold water in the chipped pitcher on the washstand in her room at the inn. He smelled her sex beneath the layers of cloak, gown, and petticoats. Her mouth had only the faintest traces of wine and roasted meat. She was delectable.
Outside was black as pitch and the early autumn winds whistled into the frail joints of the carriage. Ramadevi rolled slightly forward onto her hip and moaned as the coach jostled them, yet again bumping her tender backside.
“There, there,” Angelus soothed, stroking her thick hair tenderly. “My Lion. My love.” He swallowed hard as the words fell out of him.
She snuggled back to sleep without a murmur.
They traveled most of the night before Angelus ordered the carriage to stop briefly and woke the restless sleeper. The demon felt that curious warm tugging in his dead heart when she blinked up at him, then slowly sat up to hug him.
*Are you so glad to see me?* He stood back from her to kiss her forehead and watch her lips bloom into a sweet smile. He loved the golden beauty of her happiness, he would make her smile like that when he finally had all of her. She would smile and whimper pleadingly, he would raise her passion and anticipation until her cries made sensuous melody for their joined bodies.
Victory was within his grasp, the vampire could taste it.
“Come.” His order was softly spoken and he held out his hand. “Let’s walk a bit and stretch our legs.” He smiled wryly and Ramadevi grimaced as she slid along the hard seat to climb out. Angelus was satisfied with his punishment of his high-strung ward. Her aching backside and the uncomfortable coach ride would remind her of his displeasure in her disobedience as well as her own fragile little human heart's desires.
Angelus savoured the moment of quintessential triumph when Ramadevi had screamed his name and climaxed across his lap. He hadn’t thought his proud little goddess would be able to respond to such rough treatment. Although, sometimes, it was the proud high-strung types that most relished violent love-play. He’d had a mistress briefly, an excellent Italian soprano, who’d gone wild when he’d blistered her ass until she rode against his lap. Of course, she’d been properly offended afterward and spit in his face. Of course, Angelus had been very properly offended and had thrown her down the basement stairs and left her to rot in the cool darkness. She was a well-trained singer, and her screams and wails had been very annoying the first week or so.
Ramadevi glanced at Angelus concernedly. It was still nightfall, but the faintest hint of dawn touched the horizon of a wheat-field some short distance from the carriage.
“It’ll be daylight soon,” she said softly. “Perhaps we should not–” A soft gasp rushed out of her lungs as Angelus tucked her gloved hand in the hard crook of his muscular arm and led her forward at a brisk pace.
“Shouldn’t dawdle, quite right,” he agreed calmly. He disliked Ramadevi noticing the approaching dawn and understanding it would harm him. It was a reminder of his otherness, something that separated them. “Come on, Egypt, get some blood running in your veins!” He laughed softly at her annoyed frown.
At first, Ramadevi’s cramped legs fought to keep up with the swift-moving vampire. So many hours of inactivity awkwardly curled on the hard coach seat and the fitful sleep made her feel sluggish and weak. But she soon adjusted and stopped lagging behind Angelus. Glancing about curiously, she was nearly certain she’d stopped here before on her way to Launaye. The deep violet gloom and shadows of the wearying night made it nearly unrecognizable. She inhaled deeply, gulping in the fresh cool air that sharpened her nostrils and refreshed her brain.
Hunger gnawed at her stomach and she wondered if Angelus would permit them to stop for a meal whenever they reached a town. Probably not. The risk of exposure to him in the daytime was too great and she was in disgrace. He would not risk his safety to feed her and he would not trust her to purchase her own food and return to him.
*In disgrace...Out of favour...I think of him as if he was truly my lord husband...*
Her father had never been angry enough with any of his wives or women to order floggings or executions, but Ramadevi had seen more than one favourite find herself ordered to leave the women’s quarters and reside in “the forgotten palace,” the building where those woman who offended were condemned to live out their lives in relative comfort, but without the Raj’s favour or even his notice. To lose the regard of one’s husband was the ultimate loss of status in the harem community.
But Angelus had not exiled her. In fact, he’d made his determination to keep her clear as water. There was strange comfort in that thought.
*I don’t really want him not to want me.*
Angelus felt the girl’s forlorn wondering gaze upon him. Chagrin flooded his secret pleasure as he led her along a well-defined dirt path past the healthy wheat field. The soil was slightly moist, soft and yielding under his boots, it seemed almost alive. *Oh, little girl! If you would only surrender properly to me you’d save yourself so much suffering!* Not that he really minded her suffering, indeed he thought she deserved it for denying him. But her suffering no longer appealed to him; he was haunted by visions of Ramadevi languid and restless, eyes and lips hot with passion as she pleaded with him to touch her and claim her...Love her?
She cried out, startled, as he whipped her into his arms and glared down into her eyes for a moment. She had just a glance of the dark saffron flames in his eyes before he lavished kisses on her. Angelus clutched Ramadevi desperately and she pressed against him, soft feminine contours flowing against hard muscles. Her mouth opened, warm and welcoming his invasion as his tongue swept over her warm silken interior. The demon groaned as she caught his tongue in her lips and sucked it teasingly.
Angelus’s hands ran fondly all over her, tracing her curves through her clothes. Lightly he petted her hurt bottom, cupped it in his large hands. She flinched forward, pressing herself even harder against his unyielding body and Angelus chuckled softly as her arms tightened around him.
He looked down at her, loving her black opal eyes widened with longing and her full, luscious mouth bruised with kisses. She was beautifully flushed from the combination of pleasure, exercise, and the evening chill.
“Every man between Paris and Launaye is a fool.” He kissed her soft pink cheek. “I’d have had you even if you *were* a boy.” He laughed outright at the shocked sound she made from his declaration and placed a protective arm over her shoulders as he continued to guide her up the path.
Ramadevi was right. The dawn's rosy silhouette was fast approaching and they could not linger. Quickly they skirted the wheat fields and followed a slightly sloping incline that led towards the manor house of the field’s owner.
A corner of Angelus’s mouth tilted upwards as Rama started in recognition.
It was the de Gilles-Chaney house, Ramadevi realised. The family had kindly sheltered her a few nights before she had ridden to Launaye. Angelus had met them as well. He knew of the Baron’s miraculous healing of a lamed foot he’d suffered from a hunting accident years before...Ramadevi’s heart plummeted in her chest as she recalled Angelus’s stone-cold silence when she’d asked about them. Her pulse panicked and sweat softened her palms.
Was this another of the seductive demon’s cruel punishments? Was the whole family dead inside, slaughtered in some unspeakable way? It would be so like Angelus, to pet her and pleasure her, then lead her into a charnel house he had created.
Angelus rapped soundly on the front door and Ramadevi licked her lips nervously. Torrents of fear and dread drenched her armpits in perspiration.
“M’sieu Des Lourdes?” The elderly manservant who opened the door grinned broadly. Ramadevi vaguely recalled his civility towards her when he’d thought she was a young bourgeois boy. “You made your journey quickly, sir! Come in, sir!” And he opened the door wide, holding up a lantern to guide their entry. “M’sieu Le Baron will be so pleased!” He spoke in a lazy country patois, warmer than proper Parisian French.
“Thank you, Etienne. It’s good to be here again. As to my haste–” Angelus lifted Ramadevi’s hand and pressed a kiss hard enough to be felt through the kidskin on her flesh. “–I wanted my wife back at my side! Do you blame me?”
"No sir, I do not!"
It was all Angelus could do not to burst out laughing at Ramadevi’s incredulous expression while he politely thanked Etienne and told him his hired coach had broken down only a short distance away and would be calling for them later in the evening. The servant immediately begged them to accept the Baron’s hospitality and Angelus graciously accepted. They’d been traveling most of the night and Madame was near exhaustion and starving! *Non,* do not trouble to wake one of the young ladies’ maids, Angelus was happy to put her to bed himself.
Ramadevi was too bewildered to do more than go through the motions of nodding and smiling as the courteous servant quietly led them to a cozy bedroom and urged them not to rise until they’d rested from the ordeal of walking from their broken carriage. The Baron and his family would be rising shortly to attend mass but they would be home in time for dinner. Etienne lit a fire and brought them a simple meal of bread, herbed cheese, apples and wine, then left them in peace. Angelus accepted a lit candle from him and nodded cordially as the servant bowed himself out of the door.
Ramadevi fixed Angelus with an expectant look. He said nothing. Setting the candle on a small table, Angelus drew the tired and nervous young woman to his side. Ramadevi stiffened as he began to unbutton her pelisse. Surprisingly, his hands stopped and he met her gaze inquiringly.
“What?” His voice was very soft.
“What is this?” she asked tremulously.
Angelus took in her quivering voice and trembling lips, her apprehensive eyes shadowed with weariness, the fine tension in her body. She waited for the next psychological blow, another unexpected cruelty. The vampire lightly kissed her lips.
“This is my undressing you,” he explained in the same gentle voice he’d used before. “You’ll rest–beside me, my pet, as you’re meant to–and this afternoon we dine with des Gilles-Chaney’s family and you’ll see for yourself how they all are.”
She could not find words to answer him. She let him help her out of her clothes and corset. For some reason, she felt painfully shy when he insisted her chemise come off as well and he tucked her into bed naked. It was as though he was a different man, one she hadn’t met before or only had a glimpse of. Angelus sat beside her and pared the apple, fed her slivers of the moist crispy fruit and the thick delicious cheese on bread. Ramadevi ate everything gratefully. It was not humiliating, to be fed like a child by him, when he treated her like this. At last, she sank gratefully into the downy luxury of a warm comfortable bed. A moment later, he slid under the quilts beside her, just as naked as she, and he gathered her close, so that they lay together on their side, knees bent. Angelus’s body fit behind hers like a spoon. She was drowsily happy, more comfortable than she had been since she first left Paris.
Softly, she murmured his name against her thick pillow and his hard mouth brushed her temple, urging her to rest and relax.
Angelus watched Ramadevi sink away into dreams. Her breath and pulse softened and he allowed himself to take pleasure in the simple sound, drinking in her presence, and sighed his contentment. He felt peaceful, something he could not remember feeling in all his dark lifetime.
“You are my little Lion.” He kissed her again.
*******************************************
“Monsieur Des Lourdes, you make a peculiar husband!” Pierce des Gilles-Chaney declared as he speared a morsel of roasted pork on his fork and relished it before he ate it.
“And why is that, sir?” Angelus smiled politely at the Baron’s eldest son and heir apparent, a rather portly man of thirty with a sulky look to his corpulent face.
“Any man who’d allow such pretty bagatelle to roam the continent alone is a fool!” The man laughed crassly. His younger brothers joined in half-heartedly and their one sister, a rather worn lady in her late twenties, smiled thinly. “Were you not afraid some Spaniard might whisk her far away from you?”
“Not in the least, sir.” Angelus cast a fond glance upon his “wife.” She was lovely when she blushed and that strange emotion built up in her eyes because she didn’t know what to say. “I’d maul an army sooner than be parted from her.”
“Well said!” Baron Auguste des Gilles-Chaney quaffed from his goblet and a servant moved forward to refill it when he was done. He cast a barely perceptible frown, a warning look, at Pierce whose gaze lingered on Madame Des Lourdes too covetously. Angelus was clearly not a tolerant husband, he probably hadn’t noticed Pierce’s lingering glances because he rarely left off watching and touching his lovely young wife. It was almost comical to see the brawny Irishman guiding the young woman, her tiny hand resting on top of his thick arm or his hand at her slim waist.
Madame Des Lourdes herself was graciously civil and modest. The Baron thought she looked almost maidenly, untouched, and *that* was ludicrous. Even a thin-blooded male would not lie beside such a beauty night after night without exercising all the rights a husband was entitled to. Angelus’s blood was certainly not thin. Ladylike, Madame Des Lourdes remained silent as Angelus discussed business with Auguste and Pierce–he was interested in importing some of the family’s cherry crop to Paris and their good herbed cheese. Auguste marvelled at how often the man turned to Madame Des Lourdes and asked her for her opinions on the subject. He marvelled even more when she answered him intelligently while she chatted Parisian theatre and fashion with the Baron’s three spinster daughters.
“That Irishman is too damned lucky,” Pierce remarked to his father as they stood together in front of the house that evening and watched Des Lourdes’s carriage pull away, headed back to Paris. “He’s married quite above himself.”
The Baron repressed an annoyed urge to thump his firstborn with his walking-stick, then he recalled delightedly he couldn’t thump him because he no longer used the walking-stick. Such good fortune had become his family over the last three weeks. The wheat harvests had seemed doomed by unfavourable weather, but remarkably a healthy portion of the crop had been saved, and about the same time the gnarled twisting muscles in his leg seemed to straighten and heal of their own accord after he’d applied the poultice that young gentry boy had recommended when they’d put him up for a night on the way to Launaye a few weeks ago. And now Angelus Des Lourdes offered to pay well for a good portion of the cherry yields and cheese! An unfortunate year seemed to be ending with the promise of better times to come.
“You’re too much like your mother,” the Baron finally replied. Madame la Baronne had been an effete snob, truly despising the subdued obscurity of life as a simple country squire’s wife. *Although she was probably thankful enough to be far away from Versailles and her beloved Paris when the bulk of the French nobility was massacred in the Revolution.* The Baron tried to bury his old bitterness towards his late wife. She had done her duty and given him several strong children, and she had never shamed his house even if she’d never been happy there. But her ideas of nobility’s privileges and rights had been ingrained into Pierce who resented his loss of status. Without his rank, he was simply an impoverished gentleman farmer and the thought that an Irish merchant should enjoy a lovely refined lady was galling to him.
“Anyone can look at her and see she isn’t bred to be a tradesman’s wife,” the jealous man insisted resentfully.
“And anyone with sense could see that rich and influential tradesman is besotted with his bride and would avoid showing excessive interest in her.” The old nobleman met his son’s eyes squarely. “More importantly,” he added. “A wise gentleman would note that the lady herself is quite taken with her partner and does not seek–diversion.” He smiled with reluctant sympathy at Pierce’s sulkily twisted lips. The man had been raised to expect so much more than his lot and he lacked the ambition to get out and seek a better portion for himself in the new order of things. All he could do was resent the success of others. “An unwelcome lover is just an enemy. Come, *mon fils,* let’s go back inside.”
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Angelus watched Ramadevi silently as the carriage drove on into the new evening. He wondered what she actually thought of the whole situation. She had closed herself off from him, her expression blank and guarded. Angelus refrained from smiling, knowing it would only annoy and confuse her even more.
Ramadevi didn’t know what to think. As always, Angelus had done the reverse of what she expected him to do. He had not killed the old man or even harmed him or any of his family. He’d even turned a blind eye to that overbred piglet of des Gilles-Chaney’s eldest son’s flirtations towards her. When he had met them earlier, on his way to find her, Angelus had even told them he was collecting his wife from a visit in Spain so that he would have a credible excuse to return with a lady. He’d treated her deferentially, lovingly, and Ramadevi felt her heart and mind opening, longing to respond honestly to those gestures.
His dark eyes met hers without guile, daring her to ask questions she couldn’t bring herself to voice lest the answers only confuse her more than ever. For all she knew this was another of Angelus’s horrible games, a perverse effort to lull her into thinking there was hope for them to be together without the shame of slavery.
What to believe in? What to hope? That Angelus had any real goodness or softness in his heart, that he could love her truly? *He’s monstrous, unnatural, undead...* Ramadevi struggled to make her old mantra sound believable to herself. *For all you know, your maid has been dismembered and waits for you in a bucket at home after you embrace Angelus freely and love him...*
“Come here, my Lion.” Her night vision was not as piercingly clear as Angelus’s but even she heard the soft depth entering his tone. He sounded regretful, disappointed–*for what?* “You’re cold,” he remarked quietly as she obediently crept into his lap. Angelus drew her into the generous folds of his thick coat and she sighed, nestling gratefully against him. “Let me warm you,” he murmured, his cheek pillowed in the blanket of her abundant hair.