Chapter 10: Forced Into Love

As soon as Rathbone led Belinda through the arched doors of his sumptuous London home, a figure in blue silk rushed into her arms.

Orchid.

"My lady!" she cried, enveloping Belinda in her arms. Shocked, Belinda limply stood in her grasp, before her brain caught up with her.

"What is the meaning of this?" she asked the fiend standing beside her. He smiled coolly.

"My other means, Belinda. You see, a little birdie came running to me…" Rathbone began, clasping his hands behind his back, as he circled the pair menacingly. "…with a very interesting tale. And a little present,"

He held up the package Belinda had given Orchid, his smile growing at the nonplussed look on her face. She looked at her confidant dumbfounded, betrayal sparking in her eyes. The Japanese woman shook her head frantically, dishevelled hair flying, eyes wide and pleading.

"Oh, not her. Not your precious Orchid, but one of my men. You really should be more careful when planning to evade an enemy. You never know who may be watching," Rathbone explained, stepping close to Belinda so he spoke into her ear. At a snap of his fingers, Orchid was dragged away from her, and into another room.

"Where are you taking her? If any harm comes to her, I swear-" Belinda started, struggling as Rathbone's arms came around her own, but his voice, dangerous and silky in her ear stopped her.

"You'll do nothing. See it like this, my darling. She'll be the leverage I need to ensure your silence…and your agreement to our wedding," he told her, pressing her back against him. Belinda stared at him over her shoulder.

"I…" she trailed off at the triumphant look in his dark eyes.

"Let me explain myself further. If you remain quiet, see through the Jubilee celebrations and our wedding without incident, then Orchid will not be harmed. Do otherwise, and I'm afraid poor Orchid will be having a very unfortunate accident," he told her, with an evil, unholy smile. A cold shiver rippled through Belinda as she stared at the monster holding her captive.

"You're despicable," she murmured defiantly. He inclined his head.

"That as may be, but you will not defy me over this. Not if you wish your precious innocent little friend to remain alive," Rathbone replied cordially, as he led her forward.

Belinda wanted to kill him.

He knew exactly how to ferret out her weaknesses, her code of honour. Orchid was the innocent party, and he knew as well as she did, that she would not put her at risk.

She wasn't ruthless or strong enough to say no, and kill Orchid, to save her Queen.

"You bastard," she snarled under her breath, as his arm pressured her to move up the imposing central staircase. "And I can walk myself, thank you very much!"

"As you wish," Rathbone replied, but still didn't release her waist from his grip.

"You know I could flip you onto your back if you don't remove your arm, kind sir!" she muttered sarcastically. At that Rathbone chuckled and pulled her back into his arms, his hot breath puffing gently on the skin of her throat.

"There'll be plenty of time for that in a moment, Belinda," he purred, as Belinda shivered and sank against him unconsciously. With an amused chuckle, he released her and they walked on.

The corridors of Rathbone House were as luxurious as his country estate, but less traditional. She could have been walking through the corridors of an Eastern palace, with the delicate silk hangings and the arcane artefacts displayed on pedestals at intervals along their route. Crimson red Persian carpets lined the polished wooden floors, reflecting a patina of rich colours, from the candelabras placed on the walls. At last they reached the end of the long hallway, stopping before a pair of carved double doors, as Rathbone juggled her and opened the door. Imperiously, her nerves on edge, Belinda swept inside.

And stopped dead.

She stood in a large, luxuriously appointed room, rectangular in shape, and cavernous in size. A fire popped in a marble hearth not far from the door, around which was stood a comfortable old armchair with carved mahogany wings. Scarlet Persian rugs covered the cold floor, and paintings covered the warm oak panelling of the walls. At the very end of the room, between two bay windows, sat a bed, a monstrous four-poster, covered in emerald green damask and crisp white cotton sheets. A door beside the far left of the bay windows led off somewhere else, presumably to Rathbone's dressing room, whilst another on the opposite side led somewhere else.

At the sight of the bed, Belinda halted abruptly, her eyes wide. Rathbone's arm collided with the small of her back, pushing her forward. Reluctantly she moved deeper into the room, as her senses picked up the scrape of the key in the lock.

Her breath coming short, Belinda moved, her hands gliding over the covers of the bed, and the carved columns of the frame, in a trance-like state.

She swung around, meeting the eyes of her would-be husband, as Rathbone stalked close to her. From a table, he picked up a slender letter opener, sharp and delicate. Belinda's eyes widening, she backed away slightly before the impatience snort he gave stopped her.

"Belinda, as if I would, after all we've been through," he said scornfully, taking hold of her still bound wrists and yanking her forward. Her eyes on the letter opener, she waited with bated breath for him to take his eyes off hers. The ropes confining her snapped free, and she moved.

Her fingers wrapped around his wrist, snapping it back so with a muffled curse, he dropped the letter opener. Rathbone snarled again as Belinda snatched up the knife in midair and swung her arm to his throat. Before the cold metal could touch his skin, he blocked her hand with his wrist and yanked her close, pulling the knife away and to safety. Neither took any notice of the sound of metal impacting against wood as the knife flew across the room and hit the door.

"I expected some paltry gesture of resistance, Belinda," Rathbone breathed menacingly, his lips inches from hers. Belinda inhaled sharply at the feel of him so close to her, his dark eyes gleaming with lust and power, compounding her own vulnerability. A feeling she remembered from her adolescent love for him. Her own body betraying her, his next words were a dim sound in her ears. "…But this truly is foolish. Trying to kill your host and the man you love? Tsk, tsk!"

"I do not lo-" she tried to protest, but the words began to stick in her throat even without Rathbone's growled warning.

"Don't…even try to deny this, Belinda," he snarled, releasing her wrist roughly. Belinda turned her back defiantly, unable to look at him any longer lest her emotions get the better of her.

"The man holds me against my will and is planning to murder my Queen, and he wonders why I want to kill him? How typical!" she muttered sarcastically, rolling her eyes as she struggled to resist the promise of sensuous heat standing not two feet from her. His next words eroded her resistance further, sending seductive shivers down her spine.

"After tonight, I can guarantee you won't have a single murderous thought in that devious head of yours. I can guarantee you won't be trying that again," he whispered, his voice transmuting from hard steel to warm honey, husky and persuasive.

The ultimate tempter.

"What are you going to do with me?" she asked, clearing her throat. To her alarm, she didn't hear him step close, didn't feel his fingers on the laces of her corset until too late. With one arm around her waist trapping her, he used two fingers to work at the knots of her laces.

"I have a suggestion," he murmured in her ear, moving her hair aside tenderly. "Care to hear it?"

Belinda shivered and sank against him unconsciously. Her neck arched back against his shoulder, bringing her head close to his, as he continued to unlace her corset.

"I think it's time we set about the conception of the future King of England," he whispered seductively in her ear, as her corset came loose, and he stripped it away, leaving Belinda in her shirt, trousers and boots. His long-fingered hands slid around her waist, pulling her back hard against him, as his lips ran down the length of her neck. Shuddering, his captive fought to regain enough strength to fight him off, her morality yelling at above normal levels of sound.

The rest of her wasn't listening.

Belinda had forgotten that he wanted to kill Victoria, that he would frame an innocent girl for the crime, and that most likely her partners, Roy and Chon were dead. She'd forgotten that he was exactly as her father had painted him: cold, cruel and ruthless.

His hands and lips were pure heaven, as they explored, and a very unladylike sound escaped Belinda's aching lips. Rathbone's hands slid beneath her shirt, caressing her bare skin, as she sucked in a breath, opening her eyes to stare blindly at the ceiling.

The warmth of the flickering fire and his body was enough to send her head spinning, as she leaned into his arms. His lips tenderly pressed against her cheek, before her head turned so their lips touched.

Brushed, melded, locked…

Passionate urgency filled the pair, as Belinda slid around in his arms, pulling him close. He'd stripped away his coat and cravat, leaving him in his white shirt and burgundy waistcoat. Sliding her hands over the screened planes of his body, she drank in his groan of pleasure, before letting him claim her mouth voraciously, hauling her body hard against his. As if that would appease the ache blossoming in both their bodies.

Ten years of yearning and need swept over them, leaving them breathless and dizzy in its wake, even as they clung to one another. Frantic, desperate, Rathbone's hands tore her clothes as he divested her of them, feeling no maidenly fluster at being undressed by an unmarried man.

She'd never been very conventional anyway.

Their tongues duelled and entwined, as their passion reached new heights. Linen tore as Belinda's hands ripped his shirt from him, pushing it impatiently down his arms, trapping them, as she wrenched from his mouth to kiss her way down his chest, nuzzling down the line of hair that trailed below the waistband of his trousers. Shrugging his powerful shoulders, so the ruined shirt and waistcoat fell to the floor, he reached for her.

Shirtless, the pair toppled back onto his bed, frantically kissing and caressing each other, making up for a decade of lost time, their minds free from thought beyond that of loving one another.

Belinda's hands drifted down the muscular line of Rathbone's back, feeling the shift and ripple of hard muscle bands beneath her palms as they tensed at her touch, discrepancies in the smooth skin telling her when she traced some old scar, its source long forgotten and long-buried.

Rathbone raised his head, dark eyes glittering with lust and fascination as he looked down on the prize he'd won.

Her long hair spread over the pillows of his bed, warm and imbued with her unique spicy scent, rising with the heat of their bodies and the flickering fire nearby.

The long, graceful limbs that clasped him close, trapping him against her goddess's body.

Her silky soft skin, so sumptuous and heated, it was driving him insane.

Those eyes, like iridescent emeralds filled with fire, that held his gaze, the lust and need in their depths a mirror image of his own, coupled with the pride and the wildness he loved about her.

His Belinda.

His.

On the thought he kissed her ravenously, tilting her head back against the pillows, as he slid into her body and claimed it, branding it his own. She inhaled sharply at his invasion, before exhaling on a shudder, as her body softened beneath his. Closing her eyes, Belinda pulled his lips to hers, her hands clasping his shoulders and back urgently, stopping him from leaving their skin-on-skin contact when he tried to rise over her. He drank in her cries as they moved together, uncertain novice that she was, a natural in this sphere.

A woman made for him, as he was for her. At first he was gentle and patient with her, before he lost control and they lost their minds in want and need. As one they shattered, crying out in ecstasy.

Rathbone's lips tiredly brushed hers, whispering three words before they collapsed into oblivion.

I love you

"Why can't you admit you love me still?" his seductive voice in her ear awakened Belinda from her sated stupor. She stirred, lifting her head from the pillows of his bed to meet his eyes. At the unfeigned puzzlement in his, she looked away, afraid her own turmoil would show.

As she tried to move, Rathbone's arms clasped her closer to him, pressing her against his naked body, sunk in his bed after their passionate lovemaking.

"No," he nuzzled her ear, brushing his lips over her lobe. She shivered, her lids falling. "Just let me hold you."

Capitulating, she relaxed into his arms, resting her head on his shoulder, one hand splayed over the space where his heart beat. For a moment, she could just let him love her, and to love him back.

Just for a moment.

"I love you," he whispered in her ear, making Belinda freeze in his arms. Catching her breath, a vice constricting her lungs, she sat up, pushing away his arms.

"Please don't say that," she murmured pleadingly, holding the bed sheet to her torso. Frowning, Rathbone sat up also and tried to draw her into his arms, but Belinda stiffened and refused to let him. He settled for planting a hungry kiss over her shoulder, nudging aside the curtain of her hair. She shivered but didn't relinquish her tension.

"Why not, when it is nothing but the truth?" Rathbone asked gently, exasperatedly. Her breathing accelerating rapidly, Belinda grasped the sheet even tighter and slid from the bed. Wrapping it around herself firmly, she marched to the window and leant her warm forehead on the cool glass.

Outside it was deep night, in summer.

Inside, Belinda shivered in the stifling atmosphere as her apparent fiancé's words sank in. She closed her eyes to block out the sight of him, in all his glory, lying naked on the bed, not even bothering to cover himself up with the coverlet.

His words rang too true, for Belinda. The truth was that she hadn't stopped loving him since the day she had told him so, in the mews outside her London home, ten years ago. Not even when she had confirmed all her father had tried to make her see about him.

With a sigh, Rathbone sat up and left the bed, padding barefooted across the floor to Belinda, pressing as close as he could without touching her, so the heat of his body burned through the thin sheet covering her body.

"Belinda," he breathed, urging her to turn around with his eyes. She shivered but didn't face him. "Why must you be so difficult?!" he muttered through gritted teeth impatiently.

"Why did you have to turn out to be a traitor? Nelson, you're betraying everything I've ever believed in; how can you expect me to just…accept it?" she muttered. Rathbone exhaled against her hair, sliding his arms around her waist. She gasped as he pressed her back against him.

"Let me go," she demanded quietly.

"No," Rathbone shook his head, turning her around so she faced him. He backed her against the window, the cool glass pressing into her back, the window ledge into her legs. "I will never let you go. Do you remember those words I spoke to you, the night you poured out your heart to me, ten long years ago?"

Belinda stayed silent, her eyes blankly fixed on his. Of course she remembered. She could never forget.

"Well, I do, Belinda," Rathbone continued fiercely, his teeth bared in a bestial snarl. "You begged me to never let you go, and I vowed I would not. That is a vow I intend to keep, no matter what happens."

His lips crushed hers before she could reply, taking advantage of her already open lips to ruthlessly smother her resistance with passion. Helpless, Belinda returned his passion, sliding her hands into his hair as her body came alive once more at the feel of his hand brushing away the bed sheet and sliding up her thigh. He relentlessly claimed her mouth over and over again, holding her against the window. The chill glass sent shivers down her spine, contrasting against the insidious heat rising under her skin.

Giving into her body's need, she pulled him closer, as he pushed her back to perch on the window ledge, her legs splayed and her body open to his.

Knowing what was coming next; Belinda tried to put off the inevitable. With each time he took her, he only bound her to him ever more securely. She couldn't allow that to happen.

She wrenched her lips from his, and turned her head to the side, but that didn't deter Rathbone in the slightest, as he just proceeded to lave her neck in hot caresses.

"This isn't right, we're not even married," she breathed, knowing it was ridiculous even as the words left her aching lips. She could feel his amused chuckle against her sensitive skin.

"That wasn't what you were thinking earlier, when you were screaming my name. And I'll make you scream my name again, and again, my love," he murmured, leaning into her slightly. Belinda's breath hitched as he thrust into her body again, filling her so completely. Shuddering, exhaling shakily, she gave in and pulled his lips back to hers; clinging to him as he continued to claim her body, driving her into insanity with want and desire.

Her hands splayed over his back, and she watched in a mirror hanging directly opposite them on the wall over his shoulder, taking in every tensing and relaxing of his sleek muscles as he undulated into her body, her own limbs curled around his. With the sight came awareness of what he was doing to her, as she felt her body give in fully to his pleasure, and her dazed eyes met his dark ones. They searched her for a second before he kissed her again, refocusing her attention on their duelling tongues.

An interminable time later, Belinda did cry his name in ecstasy as she broke from his lips and collapsed into his arms. With a shudder and reciprocal cry he followed her into satiation, as she felt warmth fill her. His arms came around her supportively, holding her as he picked her up and carried her to the bed, where they lay together, soothing one another with gentle kisses and caresses, before they succumbed to sleep.

The last words Belinda heard before her mind spiralled into darkness were these.

"I'll never let you go, my love,"

As she clung to his arm, she couldn't help but think the same.

Thank you diggydawg for reviewing. Until I got your review I was on the verge of giving up on this story, so thank you. I love you, in a non-creepy way, and if you know anymore Rathbone fans, tell them about this story.

And I have to agree with you, Rathbone is hot!!!!