Dance of Desire (22 page)

He cursed and strode toward the door.

"Milord?"

Her unsteady voice made him pause. Fane sensed her relief, yet also uncertainty. He dared not turn around. He dared not glance back to see her kiss-reddened lips and tousled hair. He dared not give himself one reason to walk back to the bed, especially to reassure her. If he did, all his honorable intentions would be lost.

"I will not take you now," he muttered, the words painful.
I will think of you though, luscious little fig,
his mind seethed.
I will imagine my hands on your soft white skin. I will envision my body sweating and straining above yours.

"You are leaving?"

He managed a sharp nod. "Get into bed. If you are wise, you will be asleep when I return."

"Where are you going?"

Hellfire! Why did she ask? She did not care. She only wanted the marriage to save her brother. She had not wed for pleasure or love.

Never for love.

Fane crossed the last paces to the doors. He yanked them open. Without a backward glance, he slammed them behind him.

As the solar doors boomed closed, Rexana slid off the bed. She fell to her knees on the lush carpet. Her gown slithered into a pool around her, and she pressed her trembling hands over her face.

Fane had accepted her refusal. He had not forced her to couple with him. Relief rushed through her like a wave crashing upon a sandy stretch of beach.

Tears filled her eyes. Part of her had not expected him to honor her wishes. Was he not a pitiless savage? A man whose morals had been sullied in desert lands far from England? A warrior who took what he wanted, simply because he wished to?

Yet, Fane had been . . . chivalrous.

The confusion that had pestered her earlier grew. She had sensed his intense arousal and his desire. Why had he heeded her? Did he care what she thought of him?

Muttering an oath, she dug her fingernails into the patterned carpet. She deluded herself. He had stopped because he did not want to rouse nasty gossip. He did not want rumblings that he had foully treated his virgin wife, a distant cousin of the king, a claim that might win her sympathy amongst the nobles who distrusted him. Fane did not want to give them reason to take up arms against him or stir the brewing rebellion. If the nobles took their grievances to the king, and the king believed them justified, Fane might be stripped of his status and his lands.

Her hope fizzled like a fire doused by water. Fane left her this eve because he was a master tactician, a man who understood power. He had not left because he cared for her.

Logs shifted in the hearth. The blaze popped, sending red embers scattering across the tiles. She dried her eyes, and weariness weighed upon her. Fane was a far more complex and cunning man than she had imagined.

Yet tonight, she had accomplished what she hoped. She had resisted and won.

Fane is gone for now,
her conscience warned,
but he will be back.
Soon.

Rexana glanced at the mussed coverlet. Crushed violets marked the fabric. The stains might never wash out. Memories of Fane standing over her, his hands caressing and his mouth toying with hers, flitted through her mind. She could not suppress a shudder.

The fire's warmth stretched out to her. It echoed the heat, invisible yet frighteningly potent, coursing in her blood. Fane was fire. He had only to touch her, whisper to her, and the flames inside her roared to life.

He must never know how close she had come to surrendering.

His words slashed through her mind.
I will not take you now.
He had told her to be asleep when he returned. What would happen if she were still awake?

Did he infer that if she were not sleeping, she must accept the consequences—and his lust?

She must be sound asleep. Snoring, even, to prove her oblivion.

With jerky movements, she dried her cheeks and stood. She searched the chamber for a night shift, but found none. A nervous laugh bubbled up inside her. The servants had not expected her to need a sleeping garment. They expected her to be naked in bed with her husband, warmed by his body, heated by their love- making.

Shivering in the ghost of a draft, Rexana crossed to the bed, unfastened her gown's ties and let the garment fall to the floorboards. Only her linen shift, embroidered with tiny flowers, protected her from the chill. From him.

She pulled back the sheets, swept aside the violets, and climbed in. Hands folded together atop the bedding, she lay staring at the ceiling. She prayed for sleep.

I will not take you,
Fane's husky voice seemed to whisper from the shadows.
Yet.

His
arms crossed over his tunic
, Fane walked Tangston's windswept battlements. He found the darkest shadows, leaned his shoulder against a squared
merlon
, and stared down into the fire-lit bailey. The cold stone numbed his arm, yet he did not draw away. He watched the squires, musicians, and serving girls who had congregated around the huge fires. Bawdy jests accompanied by laughter drifted up to him. Ale mugs clinked. The merrymakers cheered him successfully bedding his wife, while he stood alone. Aroused beyond belief. Rejected.

Anger surged through him. He remembered the guards' shocked faces as he stormed out of the solar. He had ignored them. They would never know the marriage had not been consummated with quiet efficiency. Only he and Rexana knew what had taken place. Only they knew she had denied him.

Lust still thundered in his blood and tightened his loins. A strong wind gusted. It pummeled his back, buttocks and thighs, yet he welcomed the discomfort. It distracted him from images of tangled linens and Rexana's nude body.

A bitter laugh rumbled in his throat. She had surprised him with her temper. She had stunned him with her reasons for wanting to remain pure. She had bested him, in a way no other woman would dare.

The wind blew again. Hair snarled into his eyes, and he yanked it away. Giggles rose from the rowdy bunch gathered around the nearest blaze. Men and women sat together on the ground, their ruddy faces warmed by firelight. Others sang or danced to a randy folk tune, played on a lute.

His gaze narrowed on one couple. Servants, he guessed from their garments. As they turned, swaying to the music, the woman stared at the man. Sexual hunger etched her features. She swirled closer. Her body and eyes beckoned. Tempted.

Fane's hands clenched on his forearms. He wanted Rexana to look at him that way. With desire, passion, and the wild heat that he knew burned in her soul.

The song soared. As though caught up in the music, the man grasped the woman's hand. Spun her around.

Pushed her out of the light and into the shadows beside a horseless wagon. His face plunged between her breasts. He yanked up her skirt.

Fane watched, unable to tear his gaze away, as the woman leaned back against the cart, then curled her bare leg around the man's waist. He fumbled with his clothing. His hips flexed. Her mouth parted on a gasp. With frantic urgency, she matched the man's driving thrusts.

A strangled groan broached Fane's lips. He turned away, squeezing his eyes shut against a rush of carnal images. Ah, what he would give to have Rexana pliant. Willing. Eager.

'
Twould
never be . . . Unless he undermined her reasons for refusing him.

Unless he made it impossible for her to deny her needs.

Or his.

The faintest smile touched his lips. A worthy challenge. Rexana vowed she would never love him, but she desired him. She had admitted so.

Desire could grow into love.

Aye, she must learn to love him, for their souls shared the same dance. She belonged to him. He would never let her go.

Fane strode along the battlement into the wind. The breeze stung his face, yet his heart lightened. He would woo her. Tempt her. Sway her heart and soul until, of her own free will, she yielded. When at last she gave herself to him, she would hunger with the same fever pitch as he.

Ah, a worthy challenge, indeed.

The fire had burned low when Rexana heard murmured voices outside the solar. She tensed, instantly alert. Turning her head on the pillow, she squinted through the darkness at the chamber doors. She twisted her fingers into the coverlet. Waited.

The doors opened, admitting a seam of light.

Rexana shut her eyes.

She sensed Fane's bold presence even before the door clicked shut and his boots thudded on the floorboards. Tension seemed to reach across the shadowed chamber to touch her, like a prowling hand, where she lay on her side in the bed and faced the fire. She forced her breaths into a steady rhythm. Pretended she blissfully slept, when in truth she had fidgeted, plumped the pillow twenty-two times, and rolled from one side of the bed to the other.

Her mind still tormented her with memories of his sinful smile. The desirous glint of his eyes. The taste of his firm, sculpted lips.

Her heart warned that she would regret the deception she had initiated between them.

His footfalls suddenly quieted. He had stepped onto the carpet. With intense effort, she forced herself to stay still. She sensed him coming closer. Closer.