Suzanne Robinson (18 page)

“Mayhap you’re right,” she said. “But I will have to ponder on this sonnet awhile.” She covered her mouth to stop a yawn and blinked slowly as she watched the fire.

“Ponder in secret,
chère
, for we’ve no way of knowing who might have done in your uncle.”

A quiver of alarm shot through her, and she sank to the floor and clutched at the ends of her cloak.

“I’m sorry, but I’d rather have you frightened than dead.”

She gazed up at him in mute horror. He knelt in front of her and clasped her arms.

“Someone really killed Uncle Thomas,” she said.

“Yes, and it seems your uncle was hiding something of great import. Mayhap he was killed for whatever he was hiding.”

“Someone in this house is a murderer,” she said. Until now it hadn’t occurred to her to be frightened. She bit her lip and wrapped her arms around her waist.

“God rot his entrails, whoever he may be.” Blade took her hands in his and fastened his silver gaze upon
her face. “No one will harm you. I’ll see to it. And no one knows what we’re about.”

“I’ve never worried about dying before.”

Uttering a curse, Blade pulled her into his arms. He pressed his lips to her hair, and she heard him mutter something.

“Who is Claude?”

“Marry, your ears must have frozen. I said it was cold.”

He turned her to face him, drawing her close. She watched him peruse her face. “God,
chère
, I’d rather die than have you hurt”

“Don’t say that. I’d rather be hurt than risk you at all”

His eyes widened for a moment. He put his hands on either side of her face, and she saw that he was staring at her mouth. She could see the pulse in a vein at his neck beat faster, and he grew quiet, as a raptor does before diving for its prey. Then he began to lower his mouth to hers. She tried to move away, but he tightened his grip on her. He said something in French, but it was so faintly spoken she couldn’t understand him. He was so close she could almost feel the straining of his body.

“I should return to my chamber.”

He shook his head. He smiled, but his expression was as intractable as an executioner’s. “Too late,
chère
. Much, much too late.”

He covered her mouth with his, and she felt his lips suck at hers. As they tugged at her mouth, she began to feel that warmth he’d evoked in her in the cellar. She turned her head to free her lips.

“I—I’ve never had a suitor before. I mean, not one I wanted to—”

He put his fingers over her lips “Shhh. Then let me press my suit.”

She looked into his eyes and saw fire barely held in check by his concern for her. She craved that fire. She
would have it. Pulling him close, she pressed against him.

He surrounded her with his arms and bore her down to the carpet before the fire. The light reflected in his eyes, turning them to molten silver as he lowered his mouth to hers again. She felt his tongue slip into her mouth, and he began to suck with his lips once more. That warmth built in her arms and legs while he kissed her and pressed his body down on hers. Gently he settled between her legs.

His hands slid to the neck of her cloak, and it came open. He spread the garment out beneath her without releasing her mouth. When she put her arms about his shoulders, he loosened his own cloak and used it as a cover. One of his legs came up to rub against her thigh, and her gown inched up her leg. She could hear her own breathing as it grew sharper and more rapid, but when he put his hand on her neck, she forgot to be alarmed.

His hand lay still for a moment on her bare skin, then slowly drifted down her neck to her breast. Through her woolen gown she could feel the heat of his flesh as it rested on her heaving chest. His lips followed the path his hand had first traveled, and she realized that somehow her gown had come loose. It sagged at her shoulders, allowing his lips to nudge it aside as he kissed his way to her breast.

Hardly aware of anything but the feel of his lips, she forgot to breathe when his hand moved from her breast, pulling her gown with it so that her nipple lay bare. When his lips fastened on it, she sucked in her breath and arched her back. Her nipple thrust deep into his mouth, and she nearly cried out, so great was the stab of sensation. Her groin began to ache, and to relieve herself of this ache, she began to move her hips.

Now he was breathing as heavily as she. He shifted his body and took her other nipple in his mouth. Painful pleasure shot through her body, and Oriel began to
claw at Blade’s back through his doublet. Frustrated, she tore at his clothing and slipped her hands inside to feel his chest and back. As he moved from one breast to another, he rubbed his hand up and down her leg, each time going higher on her thigh. Finally his hand stroked upward to her hot flesh while at the same time he bit lightly at her nipple.

Oriel started and tried to move away from the invading hand, but he moved with her, pressing and murmuring assurances. Soon she calmed, and when he tugged at her nipple, she uttered a groan. He covered her mouth to quiet her, and shifted his weight, lifting his hips away from her.

Oriel tugged at him impatiently, possessed of a mindless urge to have him on top of her Finally he allowed her to pull him back, and when she did, he shoved her gown up and rested his bare flesh against hers. He swallowed her gasp, then whispered words of reassurance. As he did so, he began to flex his hips and she felt him rubbing against her groin.

That torturing ache built until she thought she would scream. Thrusting her legs wide, she answered the movements of his hips. Suddenly he lifted his body and kissed her at the same time She felt him press against her, and then cried out. There was a sharp sting, and a great pressing invasion. Oriel writhed beneath him, but he held her trapped beneath him

“Shh. Be still and I will help you,
chère”

She opened her eyes and stared into his. Slowly he pushed into her while at the same time he whispered to her. When he stopped, he had put himself into her entirely, and she could feel him quivering inside her. He lay still and took her breast again. With little effort she was aching again, and he began to move.

Slowly at first, and then faster and faster he moved. With each stroke the sensations in her body churned and grew until she could resist no longer and fastened her hands on his buttocks. As he moved, she tried to
shove him deeper inside herself, her fingers digging into his flesh. Finally she felt a great explosion, and cried out. He covered her mouth again, and his own cry was smothered as well. He rammed into her harder, then arched his back and gasped. In her madness, she tried to lift her body off the floor and nearly succeeded.

Blade pressed her down with his body as he collapsed. His head fell to her shoulder, and she cradled it. Her flesh still ached, and it burned, but the pain was slight compared to the glorious feeling of union that was its reward. This was right. This was what they both needed. She wanted this creature who beguiled and seduced without meaning to. She wanted him for the rest of her life. She put her hand to his cheek. It was hot. He lifted his head, and she found him staring at her and frowning.

“I am undone.”

“I don’t understand.”

“God’s blood,
chère
, I mean I succumbed to mortal lust. I’ve taken a virgin.”

“Is that all?”

“Is that all!” He gaped at her with his mouth open, then began to smile. “I expected laments and tears, you addled fairy witch. It was your hair. It caught the firelight, and seemed to burn a black-red flame.”

“But my lord, since you’re my suitor, it matters little. Does it not?”

He hadn’t heard her. He’d closed his eyes and was pressing his body against hers again. She hugged him close.

“After all,” she said as he moved inside her, “we’ll exchange betrothal vows soon anyway.”

He stopped moving. His eyes flew open, and he started to say something, but a noise in the gallery made them both jump.

“Quick,” he said. “Your gown.”

He rose and pulled her upright. He was righting his own clothing when George burst into the library. Bundied
into a dressing gown and carrying a sword, he stopped just inside the chamber and gaped at them. Oriel turned, her gown hanging open at the neck. George glanced at her and roared.

“By all the devils in hell, Fitzstephen, I’ll skewer you to the wall for this!”

Blade put himself between Oriel and Lord George. “I do wish you would forbear from making threats that might get you killed.”

George waved his sword at him. Blade glanced at the weapon with little interest.

“By God, Fitzstephen, you’ll answer for this. I thank the Almighty that Nell had the good sense to come to me when Oriel was gone from her chamber so long.”

“What’s amiss?” Robert came in huddled in a dressing gown and cloak. He looked from Blade to Oriel. “Oh.”

“I’ll challenge you and have your heart on a plate,” George said.

He would have smiled if he hadn’t been so disgusted with himself for succumbing to his lust. Before he could reply, Oriel darted around him.

“George, you mustn’t harm him. He and I, we, oh, fie. He is my suitor.”

Blade cursed under his breath and tugged at Oriel’s cloak, but she ignored him.

George’s sword lowered. “Your suitor. Mean you that you’re to exchange vows? Then, why didn’t you say so?”

“Wait,” Blade said.

George went on as if he hadn’t spoken. “Still, there’ll be no more of this until the vows are said. The betrothal will take place tomorrow morning. I’ll tell the chaplain to arrange for publishing the banns, and the marriage can take place after that.”

“Wait.”

Raising his sword again, George said, “Is there any reason why the betrothal should not take place? Mayhap you prefer a duel.”

Blade opened his mouth, but Oriel turned and caught his arm in both of hers. He glanced down at her and hesitated, for she was gazing up at him as if he were more necessary to her than food. She smiled at him, and he closed his mouth.

“Fie, George,” she said. “He’s remained in this house of gloom for weeks in order to press his suit. We erred, it’s true, in anticipating our marriage, but surely our transgression can be amended upon the morrow.”

Lowering his sword again, George glared at Blade. “What say you, my lord? Will it be a betrothal or a duel?”

Blade was still gazing at Oriel’s face. She was in love with him. God forgive him, he hadn’t taken heed, hadn’t realized how innocent she was in spite of her learning and her age. His years among women hardened
by licentiousness and court intrigue had made him callous. Oriel had assumed that his seduction was intended to seal their vows, and now he couldn’t deny her belief. If he did, he would have to kill her cousin, and his search for Thomas Richmond’s secrets would end. There was no choice. He must agree and then delay the marriage.

“Duel,” he said. “Why, my lord, how could I fence with my betrothed’s own dear cousin and guardian?”

George lowered his sword for the last time and nodded. Robert smiled at them in satisfaction while shivering in his nightclothes. Reaching for Oriel, George tugged her away from Blade.

“No more familiarity,” he said. “I shall remain silent about your great sin, mistress, but you will conduct yourself as befits a Richmond lady until your marriage.”

“Yes, George.”

“To bed,” George barked.

Oriel darted away from her cousin and kissed Blade on the cheek. She floated out of the library followed by her bear of a cousin and his brother, leaving Blade to flounder in the shipwreck of his intentions. He covered his face with his hands and uttered every foul oath he had ever learned from Jack Midnight.

He’d gone mad with lust. She’d tricked him with her innocence. Any other girl of her station would have known that a bedding didn’t necessarily mean a wedding. Curse her honesty If she weren’t so honest, she wouldn’t have expected him to be what he appeared to be. Those aunts were at fault too. If they’d sent her to court she would have learned how to play at love, and then he wouldn’t be forced to spurn her once his task at Richmond Hall was completed.