English, Elizabeth (16 page)

Her
face burned and she looked away, words deserting her entirely.

"There's
no need to be frightened," he said, gentling his voice. "I won't
force you, Maude, I promise. No matter what you may have heard, it doesn't have
to be unpleasant. In fact—"

He
took the goblet from her hand and placed it beside his on the table. She
watched him do it, held in her place as though enspelled as he grasped her hand
and brought it to his lips. He kissed her palm, then the soft skin of her
wrist, and the warmth of his lips raced up her arm in tingling waves.

"—it
can be very pleasant, indeed."

"Wait,"
she stammered. "I—I can't—"

"Of
course you can. It's very simple."

And
before she knew what he meant to do, he had pulled her close against him. He
was warm, so warm, and she wanted nothing more than to bury her face against
his chest and let his heat melt the icy fear around her heart.

"No—"
she began, her voice a ragged whisper.

"Hush,"
he ordered softly. "Think of it as a journey to a place you've never been.
But it's all right, you can trust me, I know the way."

If
only she
could
trust him! It was so tempting to believe she could. He
had been kind to Tavis, and surely that meant something. Or did it? Yes, of
course it did, but she couldn't puzzle out what exactly it did mean. Not with
the hard lines of his body pressed so close to her own and the spicy scent of
his skin surrounding her, scattering her wits.

"Wait—"
she said again.

"Shh..."
He put one finger against her lips to stop her words, then traced it gently
across her mouth, his eyes never leaving hers.

His
kiss was just as she had remembered, a feather-light touch that left her aching
with unfulfilled desire. When he bent to her again she rose to meet him, her
hands moving of their own accord to encircle his neck and draw him closer.

His
lips were very soft and supple against hers. He tasted of cinnamon and honey
and something else, something more wonderful than either that belonged only to
himself. When he drew away, an involuntary sound of protest escaped her lips.
She gazed up at him, dizzy with his kiss, but his eyes were cool and watchful.
As though pleased with what he saw, his lips curved in a smile of pure male
satisfaction.

He
has this all planned out, she realized with a cold shock. Oh, he knows the way
of it, all right. No doubt he has made this particular journey a hundred times
before. But if he knew who she really was he would not kiss her so sweetly. It
was only that he thought her Maude, the bride he hadn't wanted but was bound to
nonetheless. He was but doing his duty in the kindest way he knew.

The
warmth drained from her limbs, leaving them cold and leaden. Her arms dropped
from his neck and when he bent to her again, she moved away.

He
gently grasped her jaw and turned her face to his, the question plain in his
eyes.

Even
if she could have found the words to say what she was feeling, she didn't dare
to do it. But he must have read something in her face, for he made the only
response she wanted, though she didn't know it until his arms tightened around
her again.

A
bargain is a bargain, she thought. Even if he didn't understand the bitter
truth he'd spoken, his careless words were no less true for that. Once again
she had the sense that she was being swept along with no more say than a stray
leaf in an autumn wind. She was lost, adrift in a world where everything she
had once believed was turned upon its head, and the only solid thing she had to
cling to was a man who didn't even know her name.

"Please,"
she whispered, her lips against his chest, and if she wasn't sure what exactly
she meant, he seemed to have no doubt. His hands plunged into her hair, just at
the base of her skull, and a long slow shiver racked her body as his lips moved
against her neck.

Carefully,
Jemmy cautioned himself. Go slowly. He felt her shiver and smiled as her soft
hair brushed his cheek, sternly checking his impulse to pick her up and carry
her to the bed. There was no need to rush things. She would taste her pleasure
to the fullest before he sought his own.

I
will be the first, he thought, a little surprised at the rush of tenderness
that moved through him at the idea. The first to show her how it can be between
a woman and a man, the first to rouse her to desire and hear her cry out in
release. The image was almost unbearably exciting but he checked his own need
sharply.

He
brushed her lips with his again, careful not to startle her. She responded with
a sigh and her eyes fell shut. He had never kissed a woman in this way before.
There had never been the need for such restraint. He was intrigued by the
sensation and eager for another taste. As he deepened the kiss, his ordered
thoughts began to unravel like a skein of thread beneath a kitten's paw.

Slowly,
he reminded himself with desperate calm. Be patient. He prolonged the moment as
long as possible, balancing on the knife's edge of desire and restraint. But
when her lips parted beneath his, he was pulled headlong into the rushing tide.

The
past and future vanished, instantly and completely. There was nothing but this
moment and this woman in his arms, the sweet, entrancing play of tongue on
tongue, the wild pounding of her heart against his chest, the silken brush of
small hands running up his arms to clasp his neck. A voice spoke in his mind,
quietly but very clearly. Journey's end, it said. You've made it home.

Maude
Darnley?
he thought, a ripple of incredulous amusement rippling like a
silver stream through the hot tide of his desire. Oh no, it simply couldn't be.
Journeys end in
lovers
meeting, or so the old song went. Whatever was he
thinking? It was ridiculous, totally absurd. But for all that, it was the
truth. He was home at last, where he'd least expected to be, right here in her
arms. What difference did her name make now?

He
trailed kisses across her face, her neck. She melted against him with a sigh
and her lips shyly touched his cheek. The most practiced hands of the most
skillful courtesan had never roused Jemmy as did that feather-light touch. He
wanted to laugh out loud, to sweep her up and carry her to the bed, and see
that glorious blaze of hair spread out across the pillow.

But
when he drew back and looked into her face, his laughter faded. Her eyes were
shining like blue-green crystals, gazing up at him with an expression he
couldn't quite define. It held joy and wonder, but underneath there was
something else, a darker hint of sorrow that twisted the heart within his
breast.

With
gentle hands he traced the sweet curve of her spine and drew her protectively
against him. He caressed her shoulders in soft circles, moving slowly downward,
every sense attuned to her response. When his hand brushed her breast, she
arched to meet him with a gasp of startled pleasure.

"Ah,
Maude," he sighed. "You are—"

The
moment he said her name she stiffened in his arms.

"No!
Stop—please, don't—"

"Hush,
now, it's what must be."

He
wasn't speaking of their duty now, but of what was happening between them. It
was something new to Jemmy, nothing like the forthright pleasure he'd
experienced before when taking a woman to his bed. It was more like the
dizzying joy he felt each time his ship skimmed out of port and headed for the
open sea. And yet it was utterly different, far more exciting, for this time he
was not alone.

"I
know—I understand, I do. But not tonight, I beg you. Please," she cried
desperately, putting both hands against his chest and pushing him away.
"You said you wouldn't force me."

"There's
no need to fear—"

Her
struggles grew more frantic until at last he loosed his grip. She tore free and
stood trembling, her head bent. He put his hand beneath her chin and turned her
face to his. "Whisht, lass, talk to me. Tell me what troubles you."

"I—"
her voice shook and she swallowed hard.

He
took her hand, relieved when her fingers closed trustingly over his. It wasn't
him, then. It was something else that brought that look of hunted terror to her
eyes. "You can tell me," he said softly. "Don't be afraid."

He
thought that he would do anything she asked, set right any wrong, if only he
could see her smile once again.

Her
lips trembled and she drew a shaking breath. His heartbeat quickened as he
waited, barely breathing, for her words.

And
then, before his eyes, she changed. In the space of a single moment the
frightened maiden vanished and another woman stood before him, one whose
existence he had almost forgotten. The pretty softness vanished from her face;
her eyes flashed as she raised her chin in the defiant gesture he knew all too
well.

"Afraid?"
she said, the word light and whipcord sharp with mockery. "Do you really
think that I'm afraid of
you?"

"Of
course not," he said calmly, though he didn't believe her for a moment.
She
was
afraid, he could sense her fear too well to doubt it. That's why
she struck out at him this way. Surely she had not meant to cut him as deeply
as she had. "I don't want you to be afraid, Maude. I think—"

"
I
think you should let go of me, you—you Kirallen," she finished, attempting
to pull her hand from his. "You said you wouldn't force me—is this all
your promises are worth?"

He
stared at her in disbelief, every instinct insisting that she lied. She had
been about to say something else, something very different—before she had
turned into Maude again. But no, what was he thinking? She
was
Maude—and
yet she hadn't been—

Or,
he thought, his confusion deepening, had it really been that way at all? Had
she been just steeling herself to duty, only to find that she could not endure
his touch?

He
released her and walked to the hearth. This wasn't her fault, not really. He
had only himself to blame. She was young and frightened, with no defense but
the sharp edge of her tongue. A rather formidable weapon, he considered with
bleak humor. With it she had pierced him to the heart and reduced his pride to
shreds.

"I
did say that, didn't I?" he said, staring into the dying fire, shamed and
weary and very much alone.

He
sighed and rubbed one hand across his face, starting toward the door. "Get
to sleep. We don't have to talk about this now. We'll give it some more time
and then..."

And
then
what?
he asked himself derisively. Nothing would ever change. What
a fool he was to have believed, even for a moment, that she really cared for
him, that she would bring anything but cold duty to his bed.

"Good
night, my lord," she said quietly.

She
had never even said his name. Not once. He made her a sweeping bow, mocking
himself and her and the whole sorry jest that was his life.

"And
to you, my lady."

***

Alyson
stood, straight-backed, as Jemmy walked from the room. But the sound of the
closing door broke her resolve. She stumbled forward, half blinded with tears,
wanting to cry out to him to wait, to come back, that she hadn't meant it...

Stop,
she ordered herself firmly, one hand upon the latch. You can't. You mustn't.
Just let him go. It isn't you he wants, it's Maude. He isn't yours and never
will be— Then she remembered the happiness that had so briefly lit his eyes
when he held her, the terrible bewilderment that replaced it when she denied
the truth they had discovered here tonight, a truth that swept everything
before it, making mock of birth and rank and all that should divide them. If he
hadn't spoken her
name—Maude's
name—she would never have found the
strength to stop it when she did. But had she done right?

She
didn't know, she couldn't think, and nothing made the slightest bit of sense.
She had known from the beginning she would have to bed with him. She hadn't
liked it, but she had accepted it as inevitable, the price of the bargain she
had made. If she had been prepared to yield herself to a stranger for whom she
had no feeling, why did she rebel at the thought of lying with a man she cared
for?

Ah,
but that's not really the truth, is it? she thought. At least be honest with
yourself. You don't just care for him. You love him. You belong to him as you
will never belong to any other man. And for that brief moment he had been hers
entirely.

How
many times, in how many ways, would she be forced to betray him?

"God
help me," she whispered. "Please help me."

As
the sound of his footsteps faded into silence, she leaned her head against the
door and cried.

Jemmy
shrugged out of the velvet robe and flung it into a corner, kicking the loose
braes after it. He considered just going to sleep, but then seized a wool jupon
from the wardrobe and pulled it on. Once dressed, he headed for the hall. This
would be the perfect evening to get drunk. Enough wine in his belly and he
wouldn't think about what had just happened. A little more and he could stop
thinking of what he would say the next time he approached his wife.