How to Pursue a Princess (32 page)

She gulped. “And you’ll do this in front of everyone?”

“Yes. No. I mean, I don’t know. I want it to be memorable, a moment to treasure, yet such a public display seems distasteful.” His gaze locked with hers. “What would you think of such a public declaration? Would you find it romantic or awkward?”

Her stomach was so tied in knots that she felt ill. “I—I wouldn’t wish to be made a part of such a public display.”

He brightened. “I knew it!”

She smoothed her skirts with damp palms. “However you do it, I—I’m sure it will be a night to remember.”

“I hope so. I am working out the details now.” He smiled. “Of course, you’ll hear all about them tomorrow.”

Her heart thudded sickly. She wanted to run away as fast as she could, to jump into a river and swim far away, but she heard herself say in a quiet voice, “I’m sure it will be spectacular, and”—she swallowed so she could speak—“I’m certain you will not be refused.”

He pushed himself from the wall and captured her hand. “Thank you for hearing me out.”

She gave his hand a weak squeeze. “You’re welcome.”

“I’m nervous about this, but talking to you has been reassuring. Thank you.” He pulled his horse to.
“I should return. I’ve things to do before tomorrow night. Are you coming back to the house?”

“In a while. I want to enjoy the sunshine some more.”

“Very well.” He swung up into the saddle and touched the brim of his hat. “Until later.”

She nodded and watched him canter toward the stable.

For the longest time, she stood perfectly still and stared at the path his horse had made in the long grass. The wind teased her hair and tugged at her skirts, but she didn’t move.

Finally, she began to walk back toward the castle. Slowly at first, then faster and faster, until, as she reached the edge of the lawn, she hiked up her skirt and ran.

From the Diary of the Duchess of Roxburghe
So many threads, some of my own weaving, some not; all ready to come together and make a masterpiece. Now, to make certain all of the ends are neatly knotted . . .

The full moon shone overhead, illuminating the clearing in the woods. It was well after midnight and here she was, staring at the prince’s small cottage for the first time. With a thick thatched roof, golden light shining from every window, and a curl of smoke puffing gently from the chimney, it looked as if it belonged in a book of fairy tales.

She swallowed hard. This was her last night as a free woman. Once she agreed to marry Huntley, he would become her focus, her husband, her everything. And Wulf . . . she would have to forget him. Forever.

She untied a small basket from her saddle. Inside was a loaf of fresh bread from Cook and some jams
that Mrs. Cairness had given her for helping to make butterfly costumes for the pugs. And tucked into a corner was the potion Wulf’s grandmother had given her.
I only hope it will work.

After her discussion with Huntley she’d thought briefly about making the tea for herself, but as soon as she held the sachet in her hand, she knew who should get the potion: Wulf. If she knew he wasn’t suffering, then she could face her own future with some peace of mind. He should never hurt because of her.
Never.

So she’d waited until well after dark, then had dressed in her favorite gown of heavy cream silk with a wide gold sash, held beneath her breasts with a bronze Celtic-knot pin, and put on a pearl-and-gold necklace that had been her mother’s. She was ridiculously overdressed, but this was her one and only chance to say good-bye. If the potion worked, Wulf wouldn’t remember their love and it would only exist in her own memory.

Her lips quivered and she pressed her hand against them.

You are only making this harder. Go in, make him the tea, say your good-byes, and then leave.
She tugged her red cloak closer, hoping the ride hadn’t marred her gown, and found a low branch to which to tie up the horse.

That done, she picked up the basket and walked down a newly laid stone pathway that led to a rounded,
green door. The door hung from an obviously new facing, and the shutters had shiny new hinges. The smell of fresh thatch soaked the air, too.

She paused at the door and took a deep breath. Tomorrow night, once Huntley proposed and she accepted, anything with Wulf would be over.
Forever.
Tears prickled her eyes.

She wasn’t just here to say good-bye, but to show him how she felt. Wulf wanted her, and she knew that in coming here to his cottage alone, she wanted more than a farewell kiss. Just once, before she sold herself as a wife, she wanted to taste pure passion. The memory would have to keep her soul warm for the years to come. And Wulf was the only man to have ever awakened her passion.

Every time he touched her or just
looked
at her, her heart leapt, her skin prickled with awareness, and her entire body softened as if ready to melt into his arms. And things had only gotten worse since the night he’d visited her bedchamber. She still had dreams about him there, in her bed, his hands touching her—

Heat rose through her. After tomorrow, she’d be in no position to answer her own desires again, devoting herself to Huntley. But tonight she was still Lily Balfour, free to do whatever she wanted. And she wanted to feel Wulf, to touch him, to
be
with him. It was madness. It was crazed. Though she shook at the boldness of her actions, she had no desire for anything else.

She knocked on the door.

There was no answer.

She wet her lips and knocked harder.
Where is he? Why doesn’t he—

“Moya.”
The deep whisper came from so close that she could feel his breath.

Mine.
A shiver went through her as she turned to face him.

Wulf stood behind her, his cloak tossed over his shoulders, the neck of his shirt open over the strong column of his throat. “You have found my home.”

“Yes.” She had come to throw herself into his arms. She wished to become a woman in his bed and no other’s.

“Come. Let me show you my home.” To her surprise, he bent and lifted her in his arms, engulfing her in his warmth. Within seconds he was through the door. He kicked it closed and carried her to the fire, which bathed the room in the flicker of old gold, casting the room in intriguing dark shadows.

Wulf set her on her feet, the floor uneven under her boots.

She moved away and set the basket on a nearby table. “I—I brought you some fresh bread and tea and—”

“You didn’t come here for a picnic.”

She moistened her lips. “No.”

His eyes gleamed. “I have wanted you here since the first moment I saw you.” His hands were warm against her throat as he undid her cape and then tossed it aside, the heavy red material pooling onto the floor. Then he slid his hands down her arms. “I hope you have come not just to my cottage, but to my bed?”

How does he know?
Her eyes locked with his, and she stepped out of one shoe and then the other.

His chest rose and fell rapidly. “Moya, I drink of your madness.”

That’s exactly what it was—hot and sinful and delicious madness. Lily untied the wide ribbon that gathered her gown beneath her breasts and let it flutter to the floor.

Wulf’s gaze darkened.

Emboldened, Lily reached for the tie that gathered her gown at her neck. With a few tugs it came loose, and she pulled it down her shoulders to drop to the floor, the cream silk pooling at her feet. Beneath her chemise her nipples peaked, already yearning for his touch. Without hesitating, she removed her shift.

It was the boldest thing she’d ever done, and the most scandalous, yet she felt no embarrassment. Her bare skin prickling from the heated gaze of the man who watched her every move, all she could think about was how she longed for him to touch her.

His gaze caressed her curves, his hands fisted at his sides, his breath seemingly caught in his chest.

Lily was suddenly awash with a sense of power. He wanted her just as much as she wanted him, but he was not the one who controlled what would happen in this room.
She
was. The knowledge thrilled her to the bottom of her bare feet.

The fire crackled cozily, and it was easy to believe that in this moment, no one else existed. She felt safe and protected from life’s expectations and fetters.

She stepped forward and placed a hand on his chest.

Wulf inhaled swiftly, as if her touch had burned him.

Suddenly uncertain, she started to remove her hand, but he captured it and held it in place, sliding it up to rest over his heart. She felt his blood pounding through his veins, the urgency of his breath warming them both.

“You are still dressed,” she said huskily.

It was as if her words freed him from a spell. One moment, he was standing still beneath her fingertips, and the next he was undressing with a haste that made her laugh softly.

When he was naked before her, Lily couldn’t look away. The firelight bathed his body in molten gold, highlighting the curve of each muscle. But it was the sight of his hardened cock that made her breath catch.
He is so beautiful.

Wulf tugged her to him, sending thoughts tumbling. Her heart pounded in her throat as she peeked up at him through her lashes. His face was serious, and more intent than she’d ever seen it.

When his green gaze locked with hers, her breath caught. Though he didn’t say a word, she heard his thoughts, felt his desire, knew he wanted her just as badly as she wanted him. She twined her arms about his neck, her breasts pressed against his chest as she lifted on her toes and touched her lips to his.

Instantly, his strong arms slipped about her as his
mouth claimed hers with a demanding passion that sent the last thought from her head. All she could do was feel him, taste him, surrender to him, as he lifted her in his arms and carried her to the large bed in the shadows.

He placed her on it and then slipped in beside her, his warm skin on hers, his cock heating a path up her thigh. He stroked her as he’d done before, but this time he only teased, drawing his hand through her thighs and making her gasp and squirm. As he did so, her hands traveled over his broad shoulders, up his muscular arms, over his chest, reveling in the crisp hair that slid under her fingertips. Every touch fanned her yearning, making her gasp his name as she moved restlessly beneath him.

He bent to lave her nipples with his tongue, the hot wetness making her arch against him. She slid her hands through his hair and held him there, pressing her breast into his mouth as he sent waves of fire through her veins.

Finally, she could stand no more. She slipped her hand between them and wrapped her fingers about his cock. Wulf gasped, his arms tightening about her.

She slid her hand up and down his length, marveling at the silken hardness, each touch making him groan in delicious agony.

Finally, gasping, he grasped her wrist.
“Please
.”

She needed no more encouragement, for her body ached for him, her thighs already slick with her own desire. “Yes.”

He rolled to his elbow and placed his thigh between her legs, opening her for him. Then as naturally as water slips through a streambed, he entered her.

The fullness caught her unaware, and she stiffened. He pressed a little harder, murmuring how beautiful she was, telling her how she drove him mad, whispering secrets that made her writhe against him, desperate for more. He began to move, lifting her knees as he did so. Suddenly he filled her fully and a cry of pain escaped her.

He captured her cry with a heated kiss, moving against her, his hands never ceasing. He cupped her breasts, her waist, her bottom, pleasuring her as he kissed her wildly. He rocked against her, filling her and then withdrawing, making her yearn for his fullness with each stroke.

Lily forgot the pain as she met him thrust for thrust. Finally, their passions meeting, they rode the madness until they cried out, then collapsed in each other’s arms.

From the Diary of the Duchess of Roxburghe
Many people feel that words are easier than deeds. In general, I would hold this to be true until one tries to find the
right
words. At those times, deeds can seem quite easy.

It was a long time before Lily could breathe. Why hadn’t anyone told her that lovemaking would feel so heavenly? So enthralling? So
perfect
?

She let out her breath in a contented sigh. Her body hummed with joy, her heart sang with an overpowering sense of freedom, as if she could do anything she wished.

Wulf murmured something deep in his chest, sleepy and satisfied as he spooned her against him, his skin toasty warm. She was wrapped head to foot in sensual male, his arm deliciously heavy over her waist as he pulled her closer, his breath against her neck.

It was wonderful, and she rested within his arms
for a long time before she finally opened her eyes to look around the cottage.
I must soak this all in, experience it all fully.
She suddenly felt as greedy for the details of his life as she’d been for his body a short time ago.

Though the cottage had a dirt floor, it was freshly strewn with rushes. The fireplace blazed with nary a hint of smoke, the windows were firmly shuttered against the night, and the furnishings were well crafted and suited to their surroundings, except for his desk, an ornate secretary that wouldn’t have been out of place in the duchess’s sitting room. Made of beautiful dark wood, it seemed out of place compared to the other plain, serviceable pieces.

“That’s an unusual desk,” she said.

“Hmm?” he rumbled sleepily.

She turned toward him. “Is it mahogany?”

He opened one eye. “Is this how you greet your love?”

She sniffed. “I just asked a question.”

He smiled and, with a sigh, raised up on his elbow, resting his chin on her shoulder to see the desk. “Perhaps. My grandmother was insistent that I have at least one piece of furniture that befits my station.”