Samantha James (18 page)

The glitter in his eyes caused a shiver of reaction in her. With an effort, Kathryn willed the tremor from her voice. "I would know my status here, milord. Am I your prisoner? Or am I a guest here?" Even as she spoke, her heart cried out in angry despair. Did it really matter? Either way, she couldn't leave.

His expression was cool and remote. She could read nothing of his thoughts. "Your actions will dictate the answer, Kathryn."

Kathryn wanted to scream in outrage, but inside her heart was breaking. He gave no quarter... and she would ask none of him. She snatched her hands away and whirled to leave. The sound of his voice stopped her. When she spun about, she saw that he had placed his elbows on the trestled tabletop so that his fingers rested tip to tip. He tapped them together lightly.

"It occurs to me, Kathryn, that there is a way to get what you want."

He had risen to his feet and was coming toward her. Kathryn eyed him, wary of the gleam in his eyes. "How?" she asked, uncaring that he heard the suspicion in her tone.

He stood before her, blocking her path to the door. Despite the tension—or perhaps because of it—she was suddenly overwhelmingly aware of the power of his presence.

'Tell me," he said abruptly, "do you still pine for your Roderick? Do you love him still?"

She couldn't tear her eyes from the tanned hollow of his throat, where a wild tangle of curly dark hairs spilled over the neckline of his tunic. All at once she found it difficult to swallow. "I love no man," she stated unevenly.

A dark eyebrow arched high in amusement. So she scorned love, did she? Somehow Guy was not so inclined to believe it.

"Aha," he murmured. "So you love no man. . . or mayhap you love all men."

That drew her gaze up in a flash. She bristled when she discovered his mouth curled in a mocking smile.

He laughed softly. "In either case, a trifling kiss should be no hardship at all."

It was her turn to curl her lips. "A kiss, milord? Surely you jest."

"Nay, Kathryn. A kiss—and mayhap you'll gain what you wish. That's the way of it, I'm afraid."

God, how she hated his self-satisfied smirk. She wanted to scream that she'd sooner kiss a toad, a snake, the most wretched creature unimagined! Yet when at last she spoke, neither words nor action were what she intended.

She averted her face, her voice very low. "Why do you torment me so?"

Guy's mouth twisted. Perhaps a better question was why he tormented himself so. He hadn't wanted to examine his reasons for insisting she accompany him to Sedgewick. Yet for the first time Guy wondered if he hadn't made a grave mistake. So close at hand, he couldn't forget her. Pregnant or no, enemy or no, she provided a temptation that threatened his good judgment. If he were wise, he'd send her back to Ashbury and forget he'd ever laid eyes on this deceitful little wench.

Her head was lowered, the sweep of her lashes veiling the incredible jade of her eyes—the humble maiden again, he thought, aware of his emotions hardening. Why did she bother, when he knew she was little more than a strumpet? But she was a beautiful one, and there was the rub! With that black mane of silky hair, that lissome young body so enticingly curved to fit a man's hand, she radiated an earthy sensuality that brought his keenly honed senses primitively alive. Like a male animal who'd just caught the scent of female, his nostrils flared wide. An elemental heat welled up inside him.

His hands were on her shoulders, searing her with their warmth. 'Torment, you say? I ask you, what torment is there in this? I merely suggest that if you sheathed your claws, little cat, the lion in me would be less likely to pounce. Men, you see, for all that we claim to be so fierce and warlike, are not so very different than the fairer sex after all." The pitch of his voice lowered, as soft as fleece. "We, too, crave sanctuary, in the soothing touch of a gentle, feminine hand, in the softness of lips warm and willing."

Kathryn inhaled sharply. She went hot inside, then icy cold. Mother of Christ! Was he suggesting that she seduce him?

Her mind raced apace with her heart. He loomed above her—with the prominent angles of his cheekbones, the jutting forcefulness of his jaw, he exuded a ruthless and powerful vitality. And the flame in his eyes—was it desire? All at once she remembered what her uncle had told her—that a man need not feel love to desire a woman. Oh, she knew how thoroughly the earl despised her. Yet when her gaze locked helplessly onto that hard face, she saw no revulsion, no malice, only something heated and intense—something that frightened her.

His smile was wickedly seductive. "A kiss is all I ask, Kathryn. The merest touch of your lips upon mine."

"Ask?" she cried. "As you are so fond of reminding me, milord, your will prevails, does it not? Nay, you do not ask, you demand! Oh, it matters not that your words are sweetened with honey. I have no doubt the outcome will remain the same. You will have your way, whether I wish it or not!"

She did not trust this unexpected turnabout, not a whit! But if she thought to goad him into anger, she failed miserably. The pressure of his hands on her shoulders increased ever so slightly. She raised her hands to push him away, but he caught her wrists. "Methinks," he said softly, "that you are still afraid of me."

"I was never afraid of you!" she said without thinking.

"Then let it be done," he whispered.

She had no time to prepare, no time to even think, before his mouth closed over hers. Always before when he had kissed her, she sensed a seething undercurrent. His lips had been ruthlessly intent. Yet there was nothing hard or punishing in this kiss. Oh, the demand was still there—she could feel it in the gently coaxing pressure of his lips on hers. But the contact was subtle and persuasive, compellingly seductive.

In a battle of wit and words they were evenly matched. But in this, her inexperience failed her. Against all reason, against all instinct, she longed to succumb, to let this yearningly sweet kiss that promised so much lead where it would, forgetful of all else. But in her heart, she knew this was no sweet seduction. He merely sought but another means of dominion! And so she strained her every muscle against him and kept her lips tightly closed, desperately denying the treacherous warmth that threatened her tenuous control.

But Guy was aware of her resistance. He decided to intensify his assault, but first a change in tactic was needed. He raised his head to stare down at her.

"What!" he mocked softly. "Didn't your Roderick teach you how to kiss?" A hand came up to frame her face. With the pad of his thumb he tugged her bottom lip downward. "Open your mouth," he whispered.

She had no choice but to grant him entrance, and when she did his tongue dipped boldly within, swirling far and deep in a breath-stealing foray that robbed her of strength. Her thoughts scattered. The pressure on her cheeks eased. Hard arms came around her and he was dragging her close—closer!—so close she could feel the sinewed strength of his thighs welded against hers. She began to tremble. There was a peculiar tightness in her middle. Her skin felt hot and tingly all over, as if she were ill with fever, though she knew it was not so.

She gave a tiny little moan of distress, but not displeasure. God help her, not displeasure. The strangest sensation spilled through her, as if someone else had taken over her body—as if he had. She sought to pull away but he allowed no retreat. Caught fast within his binding embrace, he held her captive with the searing pressure of his mouth. Over and over he kissed her, deeper and deeper, until she was breathless and dazed.

The effect of finding her so willingly compliant was heady nectar indeed, Guy thought dimly.

His heart was pounding as if he'd been plunged into the thick of battle. His blood ran hot through his veins, spawning a heavy ache that swelled his loins... and this from a mere kiss yet! He was not a stripling lad whose staff leaped apulse at the mere thought of an easy tumble. He was a man who knew how to master his hunger; a man who had learned the pleasure to be gained from slowly savoring his passion. So why was it that Kathryn made him feel as if he were a forest gone aflame?

Never had he hated a woman as fiercely as this one. Never had he desired a woman as fiercely as he desired her. Yet desire was the one thing he did not want to feel for her, for he could never forget that Richard's blood flowed in her veins.

He released her. Dispassionately, he raised his head and stared down at her. Her eyes opened, heavy-lidded and dazed. The twinge of guilt which cut through him was banished as quickly as if it had never been.

"You must learn to try harder, Kathryn. Perhaps then the next time I'll be inclined to grant your wish."

His cool words seeped in slowly. He was smiling, that arrogant half-smile that never failed to prick her temper. Yet for a timeless instant, Kathryn stared at him, unable—or unwilling, mayhap?—to grapple with the lightning change in him. But then wave after wave of angry hurt swept over her. His rejection left her feeling filthy and ashamed, above all, humiliated. Not because he had kissed her, but because she had wanted it to go on and on.

"I pray with every breath in my body for the day I would be rid of you, milord." Her glare bespoke her hatred as keenly as her taunt. "But there is naught that could make me so desperate I would intentionally suffer your touch again."

She whirled and swept from the chamber, seething as his laughter followed her through the opening. Somehow, she vowed fiercely, he would pay. She knew not when. She knew not how.

But someday he would pay... and pay dearly.

Chapter 8

Kathryn took her meal in her room that evening. She half-expected the earl to demand her presence at the table, but he did not. Nor was he present when she and Gerda departed the bailey to take Peter down to the stream again the next afternoon.

Gerda was appalled when Kathryn insisted she and Peter ride her palfrey. "Lady Kathryn," she blurted, " 'tis not right that you should walk and I should ride." She quickly discovered that arguing with Kathryn was fruitless.

On their return, Gerda slipped down from the horse just outside the gates, but Peter balked. "Ride," he pleaded. "Ride!" Kathryn laughed and clasped his chubby fingers firmly around the pommel. "Hold tight!" she warned. "Do not let go!"

She led the palfrey toward the inner bailey, glancing back every so often to see how Peter fared. She smothered a chuckle, for Peter sat upon her palfrey as proudly as an armored knight. His eyes were shining, his little chest swelled with pride. When they stopped near the stable, Kathryn extended her arms. He looked so stricken she had to bite back a laugh.

"We will ride again tomorrow," she promised. "And mayhap we'll wade in the stream again, too." His face lit up as she lifted him down. He liked that almost as much as he liked riding. Gerda took his hand while Kathryn paused to speak to the groom who had taken Esmerelda's reins. Together the three of them started back toward the hall. But all at once, Peter jerked free of Gerda's hand.

A groom was leading the earl's destrier toward the stables. It all seemed to happen in slow motion—Peter darting back toward the stables, the squawking hen zigzagging across the bailey, crossing in front of the destrier... The huge horse tossed his head and snorted, wrenching the reins from the startled groom's hands. At all the commotion, Peter halted abruptly, perilously near the massive destrier. The hen lurched and charged again, and someone shouted. The destrier lunged and reared. Beside her, Kathryn heard Gerda gasp.

She had no recollection of moving. The next thing she knew she was hurtling through the air, arms outstretched like a madwoman, as if she sought to fly .. . She slammed onto her stomach and shoved Peter clear, the impact knocking the breath from her. She pushed herself up on her hands, gasping for air. The destrier's scream seemed to come from very far away... In the split second it took to recognize the danger, Kathryn flung her arms around herself and prepared to roll away. Above her, the muscles in the destrier's muscular chest rippled with power. Flailing hooves lashed the air.

She almost made it. The ground beneath her vibrated as those flashing hooves came crashing down—one glanced across her shoulder. A terrible, gouging pain ripped through her; earth and sky whirled around her, a sickening kaleidoscope of sound and color. The world receded into a gray mist.

She was only vaguely aware of someone shouting.

"Kathryn... Kathryn!" A strong arm slid beneath her. She felt herself lifted and cradled against a solid warmth. Her head was reeling. She struggled to focus on the lean face hovering just inches above her own. The earl, she realized, staring dumbly. Unbelievably, his features bore no trace of his familiar hard-featured reserve. His expression was so strange—almost frantic.

She felt suddenly weightless, her weight borne upward in a surge of power. She gave a muted sound of protest but the earl paid no heed, striding into the great hall and up the stairs. Kathryn's arms tightened around his neck. She buried her face into the curve of his neck. She was not herself, she decided fuzzily. Held so securely against his chest, she was aware of a strangely pleasurable feeling of contentment, despite the wrench in her shoulder at every jarring step.

When they reached her chamber, he shouldered the door open and kicked it shut with the heel of his boot. Crossing to the bed, he began to lower her. She bit back a tiny moan as her shoulder connected with the mattress. Then it dipped again as the earl sat beside her.