Conquering Passion (9 page)

Comte
Bernard stretched out his legs and crossed his feet at the ankles. “Don’t you think she’s intelligent?”

“
Oui
—very—but—”

“Would you prefer an empty-headed wife?”

“Well—
non
—”

“Is she not beautiful?”

Ram sank back down into the chair. “She’s breathtakingly beautiful, but—for example—it’s my right to decide what should be done with Alensonne when her father dies, isn’t it?”

Comte
Bernard stood, walked to the hearth and stared into the flames. “Alensonne is her birthright, Ram. True, it’s part of her dowry, but she grew up there. She lost that childhood home when she was a girl.” He turned to face his son. “Why do you want to deprive her of a say in what happens to it?”

Silence reigned. Ram got to his feet again, and resumed his pacing, his arms folded across his chest. His father waited.

“I didn’t think of it that way.”

Bernard put a hand on his son’s shoulder. “Mabelle isn’t a threat to you, Ram, unless you turn her into one. She’s survived worse tyrants than you, and is wily. If you want her on your side, you’ll need to be more subtle, more appreciative of her talents and opinions. If you’re not, she’ll find a way to achieve what she wants, despite you.”

Ram looked up at his father and their eyes met.

“She’ll make a much better ally than enemy. She’s listened to gossip in castles the length and breadth of Normandie and may have a better idea of people’s sentiments than even our Duke. Mabelle is an exquisite rose and roses have thorns, but we tolerate the slight pain they may cause so their intoxicating beauty can enrich our lives.”

Who is this man I thought was my father?

“I suppose I could indulge her a little more.”

***

That evening, in the gallery, Giselle curtseyed when she arrived for her appointment with
Comte
Bernard
,
whose family she’d worked for most of her life.

“Please be seated, Giselle. How fares your lady?”

Giselle made herself comfortable in the upholstered chair. Her feet swung free of the floor. “Just as she has for the last fortnight. She’s frustrated with
milord
Rambaud’s insistence on obedience.”

Comte
Bernard shook his head. “And my son is still complaining about her wilfulness.”

“
Milady
has agreed to be less confrontational, to try to get him to understand she can be a support to him and not a threat.”

Bernard chuckled. “And Ram has agreed to be more
indulgent
.”

There was a silence between them, and
Comte
Bernard sensed Giselle’s hesitation, but he knew this diminutive woman well. Sooner or later she would say what had to be said.

“I hope my advice to her is correct. I’m only a maidservant but I love
milord
Rambaud like my own sons and don’t want to see him destroy his prospects of marriage to this intelligent young woman.”

Bernard nodded. “I’m glad she has you as a confidante, Giselle. My dear wife relied on your good sense, as do I. You’re much more than a maidservant.”

Giselle inclined her head. “
Merci, milord
.”

Comte
Bernard stood, and offered his hand to Giselle to help her out of the chair. “I hope my son will soon understand that love and respect will bind Mabelle to him, not
indulgence
. She’s the kind of woman whose love and support Ram will need in the turbulent times ahead. You and I won’t always be here to guide them.”

Giselle indicated her agreement. “Perhaps they’ll one day see how fortunate they are to have each other.”

He chuckled. “We can but hope, Giselle, we can but hope—and perhaps continue our discreet meddling?”

The maidservant was about to take her leave, but turned back to face him. “Do you ever get a sense there’s something else between them?”

Comte
Bernard frowned. “Such as?”

“I’m not sure. I have the feeling something happened on the day they were to wed. Perhaps I’m imagining it.”

CHAPTER NINE

On the morrow, as the golden streaks of dawn lit the sky, Mabelle stole down to the stables, saddled her mare quickly, a skill born of necessity and learned early in life, and rode out into the fields.

“Sibell!” she exclaimed gleefully as the mare tossed her head. Urging the horse to a canter across the meadow, she headed for the apple orchards. The wind caught her hair and ballooned in her cloak. Exhilaration swept over her. She too tossed her head and laughed with joy. “I’ve missed you, Sibell. Let’s gallop until we get to the trees. We can’t allow an overbearing nobleman to come between us and our fun, no matter how preoccupied we are with him.”

Once in the orchards, she dismounted and led the horse by the reins, inhaling the scents of late spring, remembering ruefully the last time she’d been in the woods beyond the orchards. “I’m confused, Sibell. I can’t get my thoughts off Ram de Montbryce but I’m afraid to trust him with my feelings. I’m nervous whenever I’m with him, I can’t think properly.”

Sibell whinnied and pricked up her ears. Mabelle looked around nervously. Had the horse sensed someone? Seeing no-one she became calm again. “It’s good to be out of the castle for a while. I feel Ram’s presence everywhere there. He’s a complicated man. Will I ever understand him? Will he ever understand me?”

***

Ram had spent most of the night tossing and turning, the restful sleep he usually enjoyed in his own chamber eluding him yet again. Thoughts of Mabelle’s luscious breasts and beautiful hair kept intruding on his thoughts. If he’d gone ahead with the marriage, he would now be suckling her nipples, wrapping golden tresses around his body, held tight in the grip of those impossibly long legs, as he plunged deep—

Abandoning any hope of sleep, he rose in the predawn darkness, donned a linen shirt, tied his hair back with a leather thong, and pulled on breeches and boots. He climbed to the battlements as the sun rose, hoping the fresh air would clear his head. Looking out over his family’s
demesne
gave him a sense of peace. But he tensed as an unknown rider trotted out of the bailey, waving to the guard.

It can’t be!

He watched in disbelief as the mare cantered and then broke into a full gallop, heading for the orchards. Mabelle’s cloak ballooned behind her and the wind whipped her wheaten hair like a blazing banner, liberating her long legs from her skirts. He remembered the last time he’d seen her hair streaming behind her, down to her
derrière
as she fled him at the lake. She looked back over her shoulder for a moment and he saw the naughty grin on her sunlit face. Then she turned back and bent low, one with the horse.

She looks magnificent.

In less than five minutes he was mounted bareback on Fortis, pursuing her. Once in the orchards, he proceeded more slowly, following her trail. It led him into the woods and he suspected she’d gone to the lake. He dismounted and edged forward stealthily.

She was perched on an outcropping, close to where he’d first found her, feeding something to the horse, crooning soft words. He froze. She looked peaceful and happy, her tangled tresses covering her cloaked shoulders. He longed to bury his face in her hair, inhale the intoxicating scent that was peculiarly Mabelle.

She tucked a stray lock behind her ear and he imagined running his fingertips along the edge of that dainty ear, taking her head in his hands and drawing her lips to his. He stilled, afraid her horse would sense him. She pulled the cloak tighter around her shoulders and glanced around, peering into the trees. Had she felt his presence? Did she know his scent as he knew hers?

What is she thinking? How to be free of me?

Why was he intent on denying her this simple pleasure? Why did he feel such need for control?

She sat for a good while, laughing as the horse nudged her, begging another morsel. Ram wished he could make her laugh. He became rapt in his gazing and when she stood abruptly, it took him off guard. She saw him. He hated the flicker of fear that flashed across her face as she stopped, looking to escape him.

“Don’t be afraid, Mabelle,” he said softly as he stood, holding out his hands to her. “I’ll never hurt you.”

“
Milord
.” She bowed her head briefly and then looked directly at him. “You have a habit of watching me in the woods.” Her eyes raked over his linen shirt and tight breeches and her mouth fell open. He was being devoured and it excited him. Slowly, he rolled the loose sleeves of his shirt to his elbows, braced his legs, pulled the thong from his hair, and put his hands on his hips.

“I asked you not to ride, Mabelle.”

She looked at the ground. “You did.”

“Yet here you are, wilfully disobeying me.”

She shrugged then looked right at him. “I
am
wilful, as you’ve often said. I’m not suited to be a
comtesse
. You should free me from our betrothal so I can seek another husband who will think my dowry
is
suitable.”

My father was right. She’s wily and knows her worth.

He strode towards her. She still looked nervous but obviously determined not to let it show. She raised her hand and tucked the errant strand behind her ear again, never averting her eyes from his. Her courage excited him. He wanted to touch her, to gather her up in his arms but that might alarm her. He put his hands on her shoulders and felt her shudder. Her lashes fluttered and she closed her eyes but didn’t pull away as he’d feared.

“Mabelle, you infuriate me, yet I find myself longing for your company, for the touch of your hand in mine. I want to know how your lips will feel as they open to me.” Her face reddened and the heat rolled through his own body. He could feel her trembling.

“Please don’t make fun of me,
milord
.”

“My name is Ram,” he breathed, pulling her body to his. Her spine went rigid. Her sensuous mouth enticed him. Would her lips be warm or cold? How would she taste?

“You rouse me, Mabelle. You are my betrothed, yet we’ve never kissed.”

He brushed his lips over hers. The moist warmth made his skin tingle. She moved her mouth away from his lips, but he held her against him, his arms now around her shoulders.

“Please don’t tease me—Ram.”

She seemed more afraid now than when she thought he was angry. He held her away from his body and rasped, “Are you wishing it was Antoine and not me kissing you?”

“
Non
,” she murmured, shaking her head, tears welling. “Why do you torment me with this?”

He kissed her again, more deeply, his tongue coaxing her to open to him. He sucked her lower lip, bit it gently, then darted his tongue once more over her lips, whispering, “Open your sweet mouth for me.”

The fight seemed to go out of her. She opened her mouth and twirled her tongue around his. A deep groan escaped her that reverberated through his body. His hand went to the back of her head and he raked his fingers along her scalp. She groaned again and then sucked his tongue into her mouth.

“Mabelle!” he rasped when he could breathe again, “You certainly know how to kiss a man.” As soon as the words were spoken he regretted them.

She stiffened. “Of course I do. Have you forgotten? I’m a whore.”

His grip on her shoulders tightened. “Don’t utter that word. You’re not a whore. I didn’t mean—aagh!—by the saints, Mabelle, why is it that when I’m with you—?”

He shook his head, and moved away from her. He paced, running his hand through his hair, unsuccessfully willing his arousal to abate. “I’m a decorated cavalry commander, a counselor to the Duke. One day I’ll be the
Comte
de Montbryce. I’ve faced many dangers, and yet I can’t say or do the right thing when I’m with you.”

She swayed and leaned against Sibell, her eyes closed. “It’s the same for me. I’ve survived all manner of trials and tribulations but you—make me—quiver. I’ve—never—I’ve never kissed a man before.”

His mind struggled to reconcile the idea he was the first to kiss her with what he suspected to be true—that she was no longer a maid. But, the taste of her had excited him. She looked vulnerable, leaning dejectedly against her horse. What had happened to the spirited woman he’d seen ride out from the castle? He liked the idea of the feisty Mabelle better. He wanted to reignite that flame.

He strode towards her, captured her mouth again and kissed her deeply, his hand at her throat, his thumb caressing her neck. He swirled his tongue around the inside of her mouth, feeling the warmth, the textures. Then she drew his tongue into her mouth, welcoming him. He felt her breasts rise and fall as her breathing became more rapid. His hand moved down slowly until he cupped her breast, lifting it, feeling the weight of it.

“I’ve wanted to hold your lovely breasts from the moment I first saw you,” he whispered. “You fill my hand.”

“Ram—” she breathed, as his thumb and forefinger fondled her nipple through the fabric and he felt it harden. Were her nipples pale or dark, their haloes large or small? He shook his head and gently pushed her body away from his. He would soon lose control of his arousal.