The Beloved Scoundrel (22 page)

“Did you think I was going to force you? I’m sorry to rob you of your first battle, but I have no taste for rape. I’m only furnishing a setting where we’ll be close, very close. I’ll let Fate and Nature do the rest.” He nodded to a door leading off the parlor. “Your workroom. I’ve furnished it with tools and glass and paint.”

“So that I can make you a Window to Heaven?” She smiled scornfully. “What are you going to do? Stand over me with a whip?”

“Whips aren’t the thing either. I wanted you to have something to amuse you. I knew you were accustomed to working, and I thought it would please you.”

She crossed the parlor and threw open the door to reveal a low-ceilinged room with exposed oak beams. She assumed the dark green velvet drapes covered a window. The room was not at all like her workroom in the tower.

But a long table occupied the center of the room and on that table were glass and tools and paints.

Relief soared through her, alleviating a little of the
tension that had plagued her since they had left Cambaron.

Salvation. She could work.

“And you, in turn, will amuse me.” He gestured to the large, thronelike high-backed chair in the far corner. “I know you were reluctant three years ago to let me watch you at your craft, but circumstances have changed.”

“Nothing has changed.” She strode over to the window and jerked back the curtains to let light pour into the room, then went to the table and examined the tools. “I’ll ignore you now, as I would have then.”

“You wouldn’t have ignored me,” he said softly. “If I hadn’t been a soft fool, you would have been in my bed before a week had passed. Perhaps that very night.”

She whirled on him. “No!”

“Yes.”

“You would have forced me?”

“No force would have been necessary.”

Heat flooded her cheeks. “I’m not Lady Carlisle or that— I’m not like them.”

“No, you’re not like them. You’re far more alive, and that’s where both temptation and pleasure lie. From the beginning you’ve known what’s between us as well as I have.” He looked into her eyes. “You want me as much as I want you.”

His tone was without a hint of doubt, and his certainty sent a jab of sharp uneasiness through her. “It’s not true,” she whispered.

“It
is
true.” His tone roughened. “Every time I was with another woman, I wanted it to be you. Sometimes I pretended it was you. Wasn’t it the same
with you? Didn’t you ever wonder what it would be like to—”

“No!”

“I think you did. Perhaps you didn’t admit it to yourself, but weren’t there moments when you woke in the middle of the night, and you would catch yourself—”

“I told you, no.” She moistened her lips. “And I suppose you think if you seduce me, I’ll be as weak as those other women and give you the Jedalar.”

“It would simplify matters enormously. Perhaps I even told myself seduction might be a tool of persuasion. Gregor would say I have a tendency to lie to myself to justify taking what I want.” He smiled crookedly. “But you would have come to my bed whether or not there was a chance of convincing you to give me the Jedalar. I couldn’t have waited any longer. It was like kindling a fire and deliberately keeping it too low to warm you. I’ve grown damned cold in the last three years.”

He turned on his heel and strode out of the room.

It was a lie. She didn’t want him in the way those other women did. It was true he had always exerted a fascination for her, but that didn’t mean she was—

She would not think about it.

She crossed to the window and stared out at the stable yard. Jordan was undoing the saddlebags on the packhorse, and as she watched, he turned and spoke to one of the men standing in the deep shadow of the stable. The man hurried forward to help, but Jordan waved him away. His dark hair shone in the cold winter sunlight, and his face was lit by the faint smile that was so familiar. She knew his body as well as his
face, the lean, loose-limbed grace, the deceptively lazy way he moved.

But she did not know it the way Catherine Carlisle did.

She did not want to know it in that way, she thought desperately. Yet why had there been those times when she had awakened in the middle of the night with those shockingly sensual visions? How terrible that he had guessed that sinful weakness. It made her feel as if she had no place to hide.

Well, she must be stronger than she’d been in the past and distance herself from him. If she did not show him weakness, then he would see that bringing her here would gain him nothing.

Y
ou’ve been in that bedchamber all afternoon,” Jordan called through the bedroom door. “Come out and have your supper.”

“I’m not hungry. I’m going to go to bed.”

“You will eat,” he said pleasantly. “If you prefer, I’d be delighted to bring in your meal and serve it to you in bed.”

She opened the door.

She had seldom seen him garbed so informally. He was without a coat or cravat, dressed only in Hessian boots, a loose white shirt, and black buckskin breeches that clung to his hips, thighs, and calves.

“What a disappointment. I thought I was to receive an unexpected gift.” He gestured for her to proceed him. “Instead, I suppose we’ll have supper before the fire while we talk.”

“We’ve already talked. I see no reason for further discussion.”

“No, that was merely a breaking of the proverbial ice.” He followed her down the steps. “I find seduction is impossible without speech. Now, I realize what a handsome rascal I am, but it’s my eloquence that always carries the day.” He seated her at the table and sat down across from her. “I cooked this delicious repast myself. I know you’ll want to sample the results of my labors. Eat.”

She picked up the spoon, dipped it into the venison stew and tasted it. It was very good.

He was looking at her expectantly.

“It has too much salt.”

“Zounds!” He clutched his chest with both hands as if he had received a mortal blow. “An arrow in the heart.” He shrugged. “Or perhaps only in my self-love.”

Incredibly, a smile tugged at her lips before she could stifle it. She had seen that playful mockery in a hundred different situations over the years and had responded without thinking. It was clear habit was going to be an insidious enemy.

“Ah, you see.” He smiled at her. “Your situation is not so frightening. I’m still the same man. You’re merely seeing another side of me.”

“I’m not frightened.”

He ignored her protest. “You were frightened when you came to Cambaron, but now I think you have a fondness for it. To conquer fear, it’s only necessary to become familiar with the beast.”

“What an apt description,” she said coolly.

He chuckled with genuine amusement. “It is, isn’t it? Gregor claims my soul is part beast, part angel, and has been trying to shift the balance for years.” His smile faded. “He’s wrong about the angel, but I guarantee
you’ll find the beast quite interesting. You have only to stroke him, and he’ll come and lay his head on your lap.”

Her gaze instinctively went to his thick dark hair, which was tied back in a queue. She had seen his hair loose about his shoulders but had never touched it. She quickly looked down at her stew. “That reminds me of a tale my father once told me about a maiden and a unicorn. When that beast put his head in the maiden’s lap”—she took a spoonful of stew—“he got his horn chopped off.”

He stared at her in astonishment and then threw back his head and laughed uproariously. “Lord, what a delight you are. It’s clear I shall have to be exceptionally careful of my ‘horn.’ ”

She flushed. “I didn’t mean—”

“Don’t spoil it by remembering all of Dorothy’s rules and strictures. For a moment you were the girl I knew on the
Seastorm
.”

“Dorothy’s rules were meant to keep me safe from the beasts that roam the world.”

“Touché. Hoist by my own petard.” He picked up his spoon. “I believe I’d best have nourishment before the next engagement.”

She was relieved that he had fallen silent. She was finding that the distance she had sworn to keep between them persisted in shrinking, the past blurring with the present. She had always found matching wits with him exhilarating, and there had been something darker, more exciting, in the exchange tonight.

The silence lasted until she broke it herself. She put down her spoon and said formally, “I’ve finished my meal. May I go to my room now?”

“No.” He smiled as he saw her jaw set mutinously.
“You may work all day, but the hours between dark and time to retire are mine. You can talk or be silent as you wish, but you won’t leave me.” He gestured to a green and ivory patterned Chippendale wing chair beside the hearth. “However, you’ll find that chair is far more comfortable.”

It also had the advantage of being across the room from him. She jumped up from the table and quickly moved to the hearth. Then she sat down in the chair he had indicated, her spine straight, her hands clasped on her lap.

The amusement in his smile annoyed her. “This is foolishness. I can’t just sit here and look at you,” she said in exasperation.

“I realize it’s a terrible burden. But I find it infinitely pleasant looking at you.” He grimaced. “Even in that hideous garment.” He stood up and moved toward her.

She stiffened warily, but he dropped down on the hearth a few feet away and linked his hands over his knees. The movement pulled the buckskin even closer over his thighs, delineating every muscle.

She quickly shifted her attention to the fire. “I want you to tell me where you’ve taken Alex.”

“Somewhere safe.”

“You have no right to do this to—”

“I don’t wish to talk about Alex.” His voice was lazy as he leaned his chin on his knees. “I want to tell you what you can expect of me.”

“I can expect arrogance and a complete lack of humanity.”

“Oh, I’m very human. I’m not used to virgins, but I’ll try to be gentle the first time. It won’t be easy. I’ve wanted you too long.”

Heat flooded her cheeks as her gaze flew back to his face. His expression was impassive and his tone almost casual, as if the act were a forgone fact.

“After you become accustomed to me, there are things I can teach you, ways that will increase both our pleasure.” He smiled. “I was steeped in decadence from the time I was a lad, and you might as well benefit. For instance, do you know how sensitive a woman’s breasts can be? How cold and heat can bring pleasure or restraint? How a strange and different position can bring a pleasure so intense, it will cause you to cry out?”

She swallowed. “You know I don’t. I don’t wish to know such things.”

“Because you’ve never experienced them,” he said softly. “What if I told you that what you feel when you’re working is nothing in comparison, that it can be every color, every texture that you can imagine.”

“I wouldn’t believe you.”

“Then I’ll have to convince you, won’t I?” He leaned back against the stone fireplace, his lids half-closed, his lips curved with sensuality. “I’d like to show you, but you’re not ready for that yet. Instead, I’ll tell you what to expect.” His tone suddenly sharpened. “No, sit back down. If have to touch you, I won’t be able to control myself.”

He was tensed, an animal about to spring. She was suddenly aware that his outward laziness was masking a tension that held an element of violence.

She slowly sat back down in the chair.

The tension gradually ebbed out of him. He leaned back again. “I’ve imagined how we’d come together a thousand times, in a thousand different ways. I even
dreamed about them. The one that nearly drove me mad involved the chair.”

She stared at him, unable to look away.

“Do you remember the cushioned chair I was going to have brought to the tower room?” He nodded toward the door across the room. “It was going to be exactly like that one in the workroom here. Big, high-backed, strongly built, with wide arms. I could see myself sitting in it, watching you as you worked, watching the way your hands moved, caressed the glass. Your hair is hanging down your back as it is now, and I want to jerk you to your knees and bury my hands in it.” His voice became hoarser. “I’m hurting, I’m in a fever to touch you. I want your hands around me, to caress me as they do the glass.” He closed his eyes. “But I can’t move. I have to sit in the chair and wait for you to come to me.”

Her breasts were lifting and falling with every breath. Dear God, she could see that scene as if it were before her.

“The wind is cold blowing in the windows, but I don’t feel it. I’m
willing
you to look at me. Finally, you do. You turn and you see the expression on my face and you know.

“You’re afraid, at first, but then you turn away from the table. You walk slowly across the room and stand before me. You reach and touch my mouth with your fingers.” He opened his eyes, but she knew he wasn’t seeing her, he was seeing the woman in the tower. “I can’t wait for you to take off your gown. My hands are in your hair, pulling you down on me. I’m inside you and your legs are over the arms of the chair and I hear you gasp.” His hands clenched into
fists. “You’re small, but you take all of me, and your hands are on my shoulders and your nails are—”

“Stop it.” Her voice was strangled. “I won’t hear any more.”

He drew a deep, shuddering breath. It was a moment before he spoke again. He said in low voice, “I’ll be sitting in that chair tomorrow, watching you work.”

A wave of heat scorched through her. She felt as if even the tips of her fingers were burning. “I’ll pay no attention to you. I won’t even realize you’re there.”

“Then it will be exactly like my dream, won’t it?” He smiled. “And perhaps you’ll look up and see me and know I’m waiting for you.”

She shook her head and jumped to her feet. “I won’t stay here any longer. I’m going to my room.”

He nodded. “That would probably be best. I find I have even less restraint than I thought. Perhaps we’ll have a longer time together tomorrow evening.”

She moved quickly toward the stairs.

“Do you remember the legend of Scheherazade?” he called after her. “She told the caliph a tale each night for a thousand and one nights. Shall we see how many of my dreams I can recall for you?”