Once Upon a Romance 02 - As The Last Petal Falls (10 page)

When he read a story they’d talk about it, discussing the lessons in the fairy stories, dissecting the characters. They liked the same stories, although sometimes for very different reasons, and they disliked the same one, too. After they’d both discovered a hatred for Jack and his magical beanstalk, Fain had read the story to her, making sardonic comments all the while, eventually turning Jack into a nefarious villain and the giant into a hero of epic proportions. Vivi had laughed so hard her head ached, but it was worth it.

It was only natural, she told herself, that she’d started viewing him as more than a nursemaid. That she’d begun wondering what his skin would feel like. What the tiny scars would be like if she traced them with her fingertips. From there it was an easy step to imagine running her hands through his dark shaggy hair, or trailing her fingers through the three days’ beard growth he now had on his chin.

She’d wondered what that beard would feel like if he kissed her. She actually spent a number of nighttime hours, unable to sleep but unwilling to wake him, wondering about kissing him, in general. Which was, she thought, most likely why she turned bright red when Connelly suggested she might do that very thing out of gratitude for a little bowl of water to wash with.

Fain didn’t see her face, because he was sorting through a pile of breeches, but Connelly cackled gleefully. “Ah lass, ye should blush more often. Ye look like the rose they call Black Baccara, all dark on the outside but blushin’ red in the middle.” He chucked her under the chin. “My mother called them ‘Black Beauties’ an’ grew them along her windowsill, for they were her favorite.”

Vivienne caught at his hand with her good one. “You’re a kind man, Master Connelly. Will you still visit me, even though I’m on the mend?”

“Perhaps, or perhaps ye can visit me, an’ help me in my still room.”

“I’ve never done anything of the kind before; what’s it like?” Vivienne was full of curious questions, so while Connelly helped her clean up he told her about drying herbs and grinding roots and steeping tinctures. Once she was as clean as she was likely to get without a real bath, Connelly fitted her for a simple cloth sling, to cradle her arm while she moved about. Then he patted her cheek and moved to the door.

“’tis time I got back ta my still room; I need ta replace my supply o’ prepared teas for fevers. MacTíre can help ye get ready ta face the others, an’ then bring ye down ta the kitchen ta meet them. I’ll see ye there.” And with that he slipped from the room.

Fain cleared his throat. “Well, Belle, I’ve a leather pair of knee breeches that I think will fit you fair enough. Shall we get you dressed?”

Fain had almost grown used to ignoring his body’s intense responses to the lass. Over their days together she had grown careless of her state of dress, and frequently would flash him a large expanse of leg or arm, or would thoughtlessly bend and pull his shirt tight over her breasts or backside. He supposed it was to be expected—she could hardly sit primly for days while recovering—but it had taken him some time to get used to the constant state of arousal he was suffering.

His change in emotion was harder for him to deal with. Once she had lost her petulant attitude, he found her, quite frankly, charming. She had a lively wit and a gift for pretense, and several times had told him a story of her “life as a lady of leisure” that left him in stitches. Her mimicry of the nobility, not to mention her portrayals of the royal family, were devilishly funny. He was growing fond of the lying little lass, and he couldn’t seem to help himself. She frequently caught him off guard with a smile or a laugh, but at least he was used to the impact her sheer physical presence had on him, now.

At least, he thought he was. Now that he was faced with trying to get her bottom half into a pair of breeches, he wasn’t so sure.

“I don’t think I can pull those up one handed.” She sounded doubtful, and Fain didn’t blame her.

“I know, beauty, but if they’re loose enough for you to pull up one handed, you’re going to have a difficult time
keeping
them up. I’ll help you get them on, and then you’ll be decent.”

She looked doubtful, but shrugged. “How shall we start?”

He thought for a moment. “Let’s slip them on while you sit there, and then you can stand up and I’ll pull them up and tie them.” He spoke casually, and she wiggled over to the edge of the bed and trustingly stuck her feet out towards him.

The breeches went easily enough over her feet and ankles, though when he started to glide them up her calves she began giggling. “I’m sorry, it tickles. I’ve always had to put my own stockings on; I can’t let my maid do it or I end up laughing.”

He raised one eyebrow at her. “Are you ticklish everywhere?”

“Everywhere I’ve checked.” She grinned at him. “But if you think to attack my feet, be warned, I tend to kick.”

“I wouldn’t dare. I’ve seen your accuracy with a pillow; I think your foot would do a lot more damage. There, now stand up.” He held the breeches steady while she slid off the edge of the bed, working them up until they were almost to the top of her thighs.

“They’re stuck.” She sounded amused.

“They’re not stuck, they’ve just… encountered an obstacle.” A round, well-shaped, lovely, firm obstacle. “Turn around, I need to pull from the back.”

Belle turned around, and Fain gritted his teeth and slid the breeches up. He tried not to think about the soft skin that his thumbs were gliding over; tried not to look at the little strip of flesh that showed between the waistband of the breeches and the tail of the shirt; tried not to hear her giggles as his light touches tickled her. He tried to keep his fingers from shaking as he reached around her to fasten the laces, but he couldn’t help but notice when she abruptly stopped giggling and leaned just slightly back, so that he was holding her in his arms while he tied the breeches closed. He managed to fasten them securely, and he intended to take his arms from around her and back away, he truly did; but she let her head fall back to rest against his chest, and turned her face so that her cheek was resting against his rough shirt.

His hands slid over her stomach as his arms tightened around her, pulling her more firmly against him. She gave a little gasp as her lovely, firm obstacle met the front of him, and doubtless felt the effect she was having on him.
Had
been having on him. For days. She didn’t pull away, though. Instead, she reached up with her left hand and ran it lightly along his chin. When he looked down and met her eyes, she whispered up to him.

“I’ve been wondering what that felt like.”

Fain was trapped, mesmerized by this violet-eyed witch. When he didn’t respond she grew bolder, running her hand up to clasp his neck.

“There’s something else I’ve been wondering, as well.”

Gently she drew him down, and arched her neck back so that she could meet his lips with her own. At the first touch, Fain felt his hard-won control dissolve, and one hand rose to cup her face, while the other crushed her body back against his own, deftly slipping beneath the loose-hanging shirt. As his palm came to rest firmly against her smooth stomach, she gave a small gasp.

“Fain!”

The sound of his name recalled him to himself. What was he doing? He abruptly released her, and without his arms supporting her, she staggered forward a step. Without her body pressed full length against him, it was easier to think. He back away and put both his hands behind him, not trusting himself to leave them free.

“None of that now, lass.”

“Oh gods.” Her face was bright with embarrassment. “I’m sorry, I thought you… I thought I… I mean, I guess I…” She ran over to the bed and buried her face in the pillows. “Please go away so I can die of mortification in private.”

Fain started to laugh, but it had a bitter sound to it. He sank down on the chair that had been his post for the past three days. The lass tried to wiggle deeper into the pillows, as though she might find an escape route buried beneath them.

“Come out, Miss Wellesley, there’s no call for your blushes.”

Suddenly she sat up. “And why shouldn’t I blush? It seems a natural response to rejection.”

He looked at her, a slow anger burning in his stomach. “You mean I should just fall at your feet? Sorry, lass, but if you intended to seduce me into unwariness I fear that plan will fail.”

“I don’t have the slightest idea what you’re talking about, but I’m almost positive that if I did it would make me terribly angry. Why should I want to make you unwary?”

“I don’t know,
Miss Wellesley
.” He ground out the name. “Why would you lie about who you are? Why did you come to my keep in the first place? I have no sure response for either question, and I have no intention of letting my guard down until I have the answers to both.”

“Perhaps you’d prefer if I just left.” Her eyes flashed fire at him, full of anger. Fain felt the heat from his own rage mix with the burn of thwarted desire, until he could hardly tell them apart. He stalked close to loom over her, and the mixed emotions racing through him made his voice harsh.

“I think not, lass. Until you can prove you’re not out to harm me and mine, you’ll stay right here.”

She looked outraged. “That’s ridiculous! What if I
can’t
prove it?”

“Then I guess you’ll be staying right here with me for quite a while.”

Vivienne stood with her feet spread wide and one fist planted firmly on her hip. She stared belligerently at that ridiculous mountain oaf, MacTíre.

He was driving her mad.

First he’d declared his intention to keep her here, permanently. Like she was a pet, or a child, instead of a grown woman with her own will. No one but her father had ever dared to curtail her freedom, and she’d spent most of her life defying his attempts to keep her safe behind walls. If she didn’t obey the king of Albion—her sovereign lord, a man to whom she had pledged both life and fealty—there was no way she was going to obey some backwoods, ill-bred, hulking lout with delusions of authority.

It was outrageous, but he refused to listen to any protestation. He’d practically dragged her out of the room and down to the great hall. Few of the men were there at this hour of the day, but she had been introduced to the Shapherd brothers and Billy Notter as “the supposed Miss Wellesley,” which had done nothing to quell her temper. Still, she had tried to be gracious, even as Fain stood there and glowered. The Shapherd brothers had been pleased when she thanked them for their fine cooking, and little Billy Notter beamed at her when she complimented the cleanliness of his tables.

Then Connelly arrived and announced that he was going to need help making soap today, and Fain had volunteered Vivienne for the job.

“I was going to ask Connelly to help you find a room of your own, but it can wait until this afternoon. You can give him your time this morning to help with the soap.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” she said tightly. “I don’t know the first thing about making soap.”

For some reason this seemed to amuse him, and his obvious temper eased. “Neither did most of my men when they arrived. You’ll learn.” He gave her an infuriatingly charming smile. Vivi felt her knees go a bit weak, but she stiffened them, and while she was at it she stiffened her spine, as well. What right did the man have to be charming? She was furious with him, and didn’t want to be charmed. She made no attempt to hide how angry she was.