Leigh, Tamara (15 page)

He lowered his face near hers. "Tell me, Juliana."

Across the breath that separated them, she felt his awareness of her as a woman. Was he trifling with her?

Hoping to degrade her? In his gaze she sought the pain he meant to visit upon her. "Juliana?"

Though she could not be certain in so little light, it seemed the blackheart was gone from his eyes. Still, she fought desire, told herself she did not want this.

"Show me," he rasped.

An ache spread from her nether regions to her belly, then to her breasts. With a whimper, she breached the last space between them, slid a hand around his neck, and surrendered the one thing she'd denied him: her mouth. She touched her lips to his, gasped at the brief contact, then more boldly joined with him. Though he stood un-moving, she reveled in the curve of his upper lip, the fullness of his bottom lip, his shallow breath upon her face.

Gabriel loosed a tormented groan, gathered her close, and crushed his mouth to hers. He drank from her, leaving her breathless. "I knew you would taste like this," he murmured.

Juliana clung to him as if he were all there was to hold to in the awakening storm. When he thrust his tongue between her lips and swept the sensitive tissue inside, she thrilled. When he drew her tongue into his mouth that she might do the same to him, she eagerly explored that hidden place.

Vaguely, she heard the scrape of the bar as he lowered it across the door. Then, mouths joined, Gabriel lifted her and carried her to the bed. He laid her back, but rather than push up her skirts and take her there, he began undressing her.

He wished to see her, to look upon her nakedness as he had wanted to do last eve. The realization wrenched Juliana back to earth. A protest rose to her lips, but before she could voice it, Gabriel silenced it with his mouth. He roused her again, made her forget all but the feel of him. As he loosened her side laces, he kissed her neck. As he drew the bliaut and chemise over her head, he roused her nipple rigid between his teeth. As he slid the hose from her legs, he trailed his mouth across her thigh to the arch of her foot.

He straightened and, in the soft glow of the torch, slid his gaze over her. "So beautiful," he said.

No man before him had looked upon her nakedness, and Juliana was glad.

Gabriel lifted his tunic up over an abdomen that rippled with strength, past the thickly muscled chest her hands had known, off broad shoulders she'd held to last eve as pleasure shook her. True, he was not comely of face, but he was fiercely masculine. A warrior. A man accustomed to arms and battle—and conquest.

He removed his hose.

Juliana's breath caught as she looked upon his man's root. Though she had handled him the past two nights, she was overwhelmed by the sight.

Gabriel put a knee to the mattress and slid his body up over hers. He pressed his maleness to her belly, claimed her mouth again.

He filled her to overflowing with his masculine smell, the taste of his skin, his resonant breath, the feel of his muscled body, the sight of him as he straddled her. She closed her eyes and arched her lower body toward him.

"Look at me," he said, voice hoarse.

She met his intense gaze.

"Aye." He entered her.

Pleasure rippled through her like moonlight gilding water. She moaned and met his next thrust, and each thereafter.

Throughout, Gabriel watched her, and she him—until the moment was upon her. With a cry, she flung her head back and surrendered to the violent tremors that coursed through her woman's place.

Shortly, she heard Gabriel's answering shout; then he spilled himself into her.

Juliana quaked as she lay beneath him, thrilled as his breath warmed the cradle of her neck. She didn't wish to open her eyes, didn't want this moment to end. Though he could never love her, he was the lover she'd dreamed of long ago. How she yearned to sit with him awhile, to talk, to laugh over silly things, to hold hands, to ease whatever pain blackened his heart.

Minutes later, he levered up from her.

She felt his searching gaze. Though she dreaded what she might see when she looked into his face, she opened her eyes.

Regret. It was in the draw of his eyebrows, the flat of his mouth, the set of his jaw. He rolled onto his back. "God, what have I done?"

Her heart constricted.
If only things could be different...

In silence, Gabriel cursed his weakness. All these years he had believed there to be no woman who could tempt him from his path, but that was what Juliana had done. As much as his conscience had demanded he send her away, he'd wanted her more. Was it the same for the numerous men Constance De Vere had taken into her bed? Gabriel had hated her lovers for stealing from his father, for making his mother a whore, but now he was among their foul ranks.

Juliana leaned over him. "Forgive me. I did not intend this to happen."

He shifted his gaze from the ceiling to her flushed face. "Did you not?"

Hurt flickered between her eyes. "Why are you so willing to believe the worst of me?"

The answer was simple. "You are a woman."

She sat up and dragged the coverlet around her. "Who taught you to hate women so?"

He had been asked the question before, but had never answered it. And still he shouldn't. He ought to send Juliana away. Were his defenses not in dire need of repair, he would have. "That honor goes to my mother. A man's best tutor where women are concerned."

"What did she do?"

He sat up. "She stole from me."

Juliana shook her head. "What did she steal?"

Bitterness seeped into his every pore. "Everything."

He could see Juliana's mind working, searching for meaning in his words; then, suddenly, understanding swept the confusion from her face. "She is the reason for your lost title and lands?"

He should have said nothing. Should have sent her away. "She is."

"How did it happen?"

Should he tell her that his mother had whored herself the same as she? Nay, it would hurt her, and he had said too much already. "It does not matter. 'Tis done." Now Juliana would press him as women were wont to do, but it was just as well. Anger would drive out the damning desire he felt just looking at her: her auburn hair spilled around her shoulders, her face aglow with spent passion, her mouth soft.

"I am sorry," she said, and averted her gaze.

Gabriel waited, but she said no more.

Juliana wondered at what Gabriel had revealed, but she knew she had no right to ask more of him, nor did she think he would enlighten her further. He had told her more than he wanted to. So how had it happened? Had his mother favored another of her sons over Gabriel? Had she somehow convinced her husband their firstborn was unworthy? Juliana had heard tales of such things. Still, even before Gabriel had been set aside he'd shown little liking or respect for women.

A rattling sped Juliana's gaze across the chamber to the door. Was it Bernart? Her heart straining her ribs, she looked to Gabriel.

Though he was still, his muscles were bunched and ready to spring.

"Lord De Vere?" a voice hissed through the door.

His shoulders eased. " 'Tis only Nesta," he said low.

Only Nesta. Juliana was grateful, but hardly relieved. Though Gabriel had had the blessed foresight to bar the door, soon she must venture forth from the chamber, and do so without Bernart to ensure she made it to the solar with their secret intact. Their terrible, treacherous secret. Juliana met Gabriel's gaze.

Over and over Nesta rattled the door and called to be let in. Finally the noise ceased and was followed by the sound of retreating footsteps.

Juliana dropped her chin to her chest and sent a silent prayer of gratitude heavenward, then lowered her legs over the side of the mattress.

"You are leaving?" Gabriel asked.

She nodded. "I must." The coverlet slipped from her shoulder. As she reached to retrieve it, Gabriel caught her hand.

"Stay."

Struck by the depth of his voice, she looked up. His eyes were dark again. "Gabriel?"

"She is gone." Without further word, he pushed her back and covered her. This time he was not gentle, but neither did he hurt her. He introduced her to a depth of passion that appealed to a side of her she would have denied possessing. They mated—there was no other word for it.

Afterward, with the beat of Gabriel's heart matching hers, Juliana pushed her hands through his hair, slid them over his muscled shoulders, down his back. There were things she wanted to do to him, things she wished to experience before he was gone from her forever....

When she stole from his bed an hour later, she felt a rending sense of loss. Though previously she'd retreated from the chamber as quickly as possible, this night she lingered, moving slowly as he slept.

Remembering Gabriel's caresses, she pressed her hands to her throat, dropped her head back, slid her palms down her breasts to her hips. Never again. Never again. But always she would have the memories of these past nights when she had been made to feel a woman. Through her tears, she smiled.

Gabriel stirred, murmured something, then turned.

Quickly Juliana donned her clothes and crossed to the door. She stood there a long time, listening for sounds beyond the chamber to alert her to the presence of another. Naught. She lifted the bar and eased the door open. The corridor was empty. Heart heavy, she left Gabriel for the last time.

Never again,
the voice in her head whispered as she pulled the door closed. Even if a child did not take in her, no more would she know Gabriel. Bernart would have to find another. The vile thought gripping her, she turned to the solar. It was then that she remembered the reason she had sought out Gabriel this night. In his arms she'd forgotten what the morrow would bring.

How was she to keep Bernart from his raging? Come the morn, the commotion in the hall would surely awaken him from his stupor, but if he were in the solar... Aye, that might do it. She would bathe herself, then enlist a man-at-arms to carry Bernart abovestairs. God willing, he would not awaken until the tourneyers were gone from Tremoral.

Chapter Nine

A greater fool had not been born, Gabriel acknowledged as he resolved to do the unthinkable. Consequences be damned, he would take Juliana with him when he returned to France. And they were dire consequences, indeed. He did not fear excommunication, for his tourneying had seen to that. Nay, if it were discovered he'd taken another man's wife he could lose everything he had labored for these past years—specifically, Mergot. God knew, he ought to care, but for some reason he did not. That reason was Juliana.

He raked a hand through his hair.
Fool, you are thinking with that which is between your legs, not that which is between your ears!
Cursing his weakness, he leaned over the basin and splashed frigid water over his face, but it did naught to cool his desire for the one woman forbidden him.

Desire. That was all it was. He did not love Juliana—knew the true nature of women too well to waste a moment on so senseless an emotion. But to have her at his side, to taste her sweet mouth and be one with her again, he would risk all.

He wiped the moisture from his face and turned to the bed. Not surprisingly he'd awakened alone, but soon that would change. Within a sennight Juliana would be his, in
his
bed only.

In the morning light that penetrated the window's oilcloth, Gabriel donned the garments that would see him from Tremoral, then gathered the few items he'd brought with him and put them in his leather pack. At the door, he swept his gaze over the room in which he and Juliana had come together, recalled the sight of her beneath him. He stirred. It was a long time since he'd wanted anything as badly as he wanted this woman who bore another's name. He truly was without honor.

Gabriel flung the door open. Commotion in the hall wended up the stairs—raised voices, the scrape of benches, booted feet pounding the floorboards, a woman's squeal of laughter. The guests were readying to depart, but though this day was yet newly born, it would be well past the nooning hour before Tremoral saw the backside of the last tourneyer—if then.

When Gabriel stepped into the hall he was greeted by the familiar sight of disorder that always came with the conclusion of a tournament. Some sat at tables, others sat upon them, some wandered about, others congregated to relive recent victories. Among them moved beleaguered servants and the occasional tourneyer eager to begin the long journey home.

Though the lord's table was without its lord and lady, Gabriel knew Juliana was somewhere among the throng. Unfortunately, she lacked the height needed to distinguish her. He would have to search her out. Intending to do just that, he stepped forward.

"Lord De Vere!" Nesta's hand closed over his arm.

With an inward groan, he looked into the wench's upturned face.

She affected a pout. "Ye barred yer door last eve."

Luckily, else she would have come upon her lady in a most dishonorable state. "Did I?"

"Aye, surely ye heard me call to you."

He touched his brow. "Too much drink."

Nesta's pout lingered a moment longer before stretching into a seductive smile. "There is always now, sire." She pressed nearer, sliding her palm up his manhood.

Gabriel pulled her hand away. "Regrets, but I cannot linger."

She was not deterred. "I would not keep ye long, Lord De Vere."

He looked past her. "Where is your lady?"

"What would ye be wanting with that shrew?"

"Shrew?" Gabriel repeated. It was hardly a word he would use to describe Tremoral's lady. But then, women were a jealous lot, and doubtless Nesta envied her mistress.

"Aye, shrew." The wench made a closer fit against Gabriel and slid her palms over his chest. "M'lady may be fine to look upon, but she is as cold as the night wind. A most harsh mistress. It cannot be soon enough that she is gone from here."

Alarm shot through Gabriel, but there was no way Nesta could know of his plans to take Juliana with him. What did she speak of? "Lady Juliana is leaving Tremoral?"