My Immortal (Seven Deadly Sins #1)(22)
Author: Erin McCarthy

She twittered as he bowed low, too low for an unmarried girl.

I knew his patience with me had completely run out.

That was further confirmed when he appeared one night in my bedchamber. I was asleep, but woke when he pushed the coverlet back, sending cold air racing over my back and shoulders. It was dark, and I could smell liqueur on his breath, hear him breathing as he settled onto the mattress beside me.

"Damien?" I whispered.

"Yes, it is your husband. Were you expecting someone else?"

"No, of course not." I stiffened when his hands landed on my backside, fondling my body and working my chemise up. "Damien, please…"

"Please, what? More? Please, Damien, yes, that feels so good? Damien, please, yes, I’ve missed you so much?" His voice was mocking, harsh. "Don’t bother to ask me to stop, Marie. I’ve waited long enough. I have been more than patient. I have been a f**king saint."

I winced at his language, as I wince even now writing it on paper. It was blasphemous and crude, which perhaps sum up large portions of my husband’s character.

His mouth moved along my ear, nuzzling me, speaking in a hoarse, raw whisper, his hot flesh sending a shiver down my spine. "It is a cruel irony we face. We must do what you hate to give you what you want, but there is nothing for it. You will do your duty and I will do mine, no matter that you are the one woman who seems averse to my touch."

What could I say? What could I do? My wishes had no place in my marriage, and there was no recourse. I was a wife, this was my husband, and I would do what I had been raised to do, what was my duty, to respect the sacred vows I had taken to honor and obey.

Speaking would have been a waste of breath, worth neither the time nor the effort, and would have achieved nothing.

So I said nothing, did not utter one cry of protest, not even when in his drunken roughness, he bruised my wrists, tore at my tender flesh with his urgency, pushed my head into the hard wood of the bed.

I simply stopped speaking altogether from that moment.

When company was present, I managed the necessities, but with Damien, alone, I ceased talking.

It no longer felt worth the effort, and I had nothing to say anyway.

Marley woke up with a headache and the realization that she was virtually naked in a bedroom at Rosa de Montana. Alone, which was a minor blessing.

"Oh, God." Unfortunately, she remembered everything from the night before. The party, getting aroused by the woman on the desk, wishing she could experience that kind of liberation. Having a martini, coming upstairs with Damien, taking her top off.

Throwing herself at him and crying when he said no.

It was a complete and total nightmare. It was mortification in capital letters. Embarrassment with a whole bucketful of humiliation tossed in along with it. She was going to have to sneak out a back door and get the hell away before Damien discovered her. Showing him what a needy loser she was had not been in her plans, and there was no way on planet Earth she could ever face him again.

And had she really blathered on about her family? Her mother’s illness, Lizzie’s problems—those were private. She didn’t tell anyone what went on in her family. It was no one’s business. Yet she had told Damien.

The shame flooded over her in a hot sticky wave.

Marley forced herself to sit up, the room spinning slightly, her mouth dry. With shaky hands, she reached for her bikini top, folded at the bottom of the bed and sitting on top of a white T-shirt and a pair of basketball shorts. Apparently Damien had anticipated her embarrassment and had given her some clothes to wear. She was grateful for the gesture, because she had no idea where her raincoat had ended up, and she could not drive back to New Orleans and walk into the hotel in a bikini and a pirate shirt.

And actually, the pirate shirt was missing. She had been lying on a regular pillow and was covered with a light sheet, the floral pattern faded with time and washing. The night before, she had shoved this sheet off when Damien had tried to cover her, but apparently after she had passed out, he had persisted.

"Oh, Marley," she whispered, fumbling with the bikini top, trying to tie it around her neck. "What the hell were you thinking?" Why would a man like Damien du Bourg—gorgeous, rich, clearly sexually experienced—want to have sex with her?

Duh. He wouldn’t. Doing her would scream entanglement and she was sure he wouldn’t want messy morning afters where women assumed too much.

The knock on the door made her jump. Marley knew her cheeks were burning, and she couldn’t see Damien again, she just couldn’t. There was nothing either of them could say that would erase her embarrassment.

The knock came again. "Marley? It’s Rosa… Damien’s friend you met the other day. Can I come in?"

Marley hesitated, than relented. Maybe Rosa could show her the quickest way out so she could avoid Damien. "Come in."

Rosa entered wearing a yellow sundress, her hair pulled back off her face. "Good morning. How are you feeling?"

Like an idiot. "Fine. Just a bit of a headache." And she couldn’t get her strings tied around her back. Stretching her arms, she tried again.

"Damien feels really bad that you had something slipped in your drink. That sort of shit isn’t condoned at his parties. He wanted me to check on you."

"I’m fine."

Rosa raised an eyebrow and moved toward the bed. "You don’t look fine. You look like you’ll start bawling if I say boo." She climbed up onto the bed and reached for Marley. "Here, let me get that. You need to cage those babies in pretty tightly or your ties will blow when you least expect it."

That had Marley giving a watery laugh. She did feel like crying. The whole situation was ridiculous, and she hated her oversized br**sts. She’d like to give them away and be done with it.

Rosa’s fingers made swift work of the ties. "Look, don’t let it hurt your feelings that Damien has bugged out of here on you. He’s a dog, like all men are. And he never stays long with women he sleeps with."

That Marley would have understood. That she could have lived with. But his rejection was too much. "I don’t want to see him." Rosa had moved away, the bikini top securely in place, so Marley reached for the T-shirt. "I was actually going to ask you where he is so I can avoid him. Is there a back door or something?"

"Yeah. I’ll show you. Damien is in the pigeonnier, so we’ll go around the other side." Rosa got off the bed. "You didn’t find your sister, did you?"

"No. Can you please tell Damien to let me know if Lizzie ever shows up here? He has my contact information." Marley took a shaky breath and pulled the shirt on.