The Bride Price (21 page)

Something about completing the ritual in the stone said that it would be forever, and he resisted the pull, the longing that rose in him for home and desire-struck love and Caroline. He tugged the hair at her nape, bending her back, and captured her breast between his lips, fingers sliding up her thigh, smoothing glossy curls aside, reaching into honeyed depths. He cupped her in his hand, seating her on his fingers, his thumb free to rub the prize nestled within. Her fingers gripped the back of his hair more fiercely, and it only made him pull harder at the perfect nipple, delve more deeply and stroke more firmly.

She shuddered against him, arching farther into him, pulling harder at his hair, and kneading the back of his neck. “Sebastien.” His name was a breath on her lips and he pressed against her,
all of a sudden out of control with want and need and desire.

He tugged the buttons on his trousers, freeing himself. The whispers of the stone circle taunting him to give in. He pulled hard against her nipple, causing her to give a cry. He pulled her head forward and captured her lips, kissing her as wildly as she was kissing him back, feeling the threads of the spell winding and writhing around and between them. He gripped himself and pulled, one, two, three times, releasing at the same time she moaned uncontrollably into his mouth, her shudders and clenching making him more determined to be inside her.

The threads of the spell slid down, the cries of distant peacocks echoing through the merrymaking, the sounds of which pushed back into his consciousness with a bang.

He gently removed his hand and stepped away, righting himself. Her hair was a riotous mass, her lips swollen and delectable, her eyes heavy and beautiful. Blue-gray eyes grew wide, and a hand reached to smooth her hair, the other trying the same motion on her dress.

The music curled around the stones again, and she froze, mid-smooth. He touched her hand, wrapping their fingers together, and pulled her into an easy dance, swaying to the music, holding her close. “Why do you not dance in the clearing with the others?”

He didn’t think she was going to answer for a moment. The hitch in her shoulders loosened as she swayed with him. “I get lost in the music.”

A riotous mass of cheering rose in the distance. “There were plenty of people lost in the music earlier. There still are if the shouts are any indication.”

“And did you not observe the looks they were given?”

“Envious looks. Were you to dance like you were when I found you, no one would be able to focus on anything else. Wild and free.”

Her expression disappeared from view as her head tipped down. “Most people prefer domesticated and tamed.”

He smoothed a finger down her cheek and lifted her chin so she was looking back up at him. His finger continued its circuit down her neck, over her bodice. Her heart beat erratically beneath her skin, writhing and alive. The flush on her cheeks and across her chest and throat was the loveliest thing he had seen.

“Tame is boring. Wildness speaks of life.”

The wistful lines of her face deepened. “It speaks of a complete lack of discipline.”

His fingers moved beneath hers, lifting her hand and grazing her pulse point. “It speaks of passion.”

“Passion leads to sorrow.”

“Sorrow is a state without passion.”

“But one that first bespeaks deeper emotion. You seek passion without deeper emotion.”

He pulled her hand to his lips. “There are plenty of profound emotions in passion.”

She peered up at him, her eyes more open than usual. “Don’t you wish, just once, to have the
promise of something richer? Something that surrounds you, that crushes you at the same time it sets you free?”

A violent twinge clenched his stomach, and he shoved the tendrils of emotion twining up, threatening to cling to his throat beneath the glass barrier. He continued to kiss her fingers, her wrist, shielding himself from view. “You speak from experience, yet the experience wasn’t a happy one.”

Her head tipped down again, shadows shifting over her eyes as they lowered. “No, but I have been running for so long from fear of repeating my mistake. Letting that dictate my actions. There was something missing with Patrick. Something that I thought was there, but with hindsight I can see only a gaping hole. I did love him. But it was the love of a silly girl overcome by circumstance.”

“And now? You want to experience a deep love?” He thought about how easy it would be to escape from the stone structure, which was getting smaller and smaller by the second.

She smiled somewhat sadly. “No, I just don’t want to be scared anymore. Of my own judgment, of men like you.”

The relief mixed with something else. “I think I should be feeling affront.”

“Men like you don’t feel affront.” Her tone was almost affectionate. He wasn’t sure which irritated him more—that he was lumped into a group or that she accepted his rakish status so totally as to be amused by it.

He could picture her face, younger, but still lovely and wanting, excited and glowing, as she
looked upon the faceless Patrick. Tender and full of crazy ideas and overwhelming emotions. He had seen that expression on each new crop of debutantes when their eyes met his. The picture of Caroline mooning over some faceless man irritated him more than he was willing to admit.

Shadows shifted over her eyes again as she pulled away from the darkness and stepped into the moonlight, a glow illuminating her skin and hair. A wild night fairy who had just garnered her wings.

A smile tugged her lips, and a heavy lidded promise lit her eyes. She took his hand and walked backward a few steps before dropping his hand, turning, and running from the stone-columned room, laughter trailing behind her.

She was transformed into a different person, pulling stunned villagers into the dancing circle, sharing her light and mirth. No, that wasn’t right, he thought, as he was tugged into moving with the crowd. She was the same person; this was another side of the real Caroline.

It was late when the festivities wound down, everyone looked pleased as they stumbled from the clearing. Even the matrons had been seduced into joining the swaying crowds, as Caroline had encouraged the children to pull them into the dancing. They too had gotten caught in the grip of the night’s spell.

All in all, she had to consider the night an unqualified success. In every way, she thought, still light and breathless.

Sebastien walked her to the door and she fumbled with the lock for a second, her hands uncharacteristically shaking. He took the key from her, fit it into the slot, and smoothly turned it.

“Would you like a cup of tea?” she blurted, staring at his fingers as they fell from the key. Silence greeted her, and it wasn’t until she gripped the knob and opened the door that she dared to look up.

“No, I don’t want tea.” He prowled the last few steps to her, edging her inside and locking the door behind him. “I want you.”

His voice was low and tinged with a gruffness that was unusual. She backed up unwittingly like the chased prey she often felt like in his presence. Chills skittered over the top of the immense heat pressing out from every pore.

All of a sudden, the wall was at her back, a picture digging into her skin at odds with the warm, sliding mouth on hers and the gentle pressure of fingers demanding her surrender.

The moment was upon her—high passion and questionable judgment. Raging sensations and emotions in a package that was undeniably dangerous. Not safe. Not secure. Not wrapped up in a neat little bow for her to hide behind.

A finger quested along the skin revealed above her bodice, questioning. She kissed him back in answer.

He peeled the top of her dress from her in a few smooth motions, and a hot mouth captured her lips, her neck, her breasts as he moved her backward through the hall passage to her room.
Somehow he managed to divest them both of their clothing as he feasted and she pulled his hair, seeking his mouth more firmly against her.

He turned, pulling her forward, and they fell to the bed, limbs and clothing remnants entangling, mouths and hands searching.

She ran a hand down his chest and gripped him, fingers wrapping and pulling, his searching and curving, the emotions from the celebration still running high. Her body responding as if made for him.

He smoothed a hand down her side, down her waist and around her backside, gripping her, flipping her, and pulling her hips up—sliding into her with little effort other than the delicious fullness. She shuddered and dug her fingers into his shoulders. Surely nothing had ever felt quite so good, so perfect.

The last bit of internal resistance melted as he joined their bodies together.

His head dropped to her shoulder, heavy breaths ghosting her skin. He lifted himself and met her eyes. He made a slow circle, then very deliberately pulled back. She arched up, seeking renewed contact, but he held himself still.

His face was a picture of intense concentration and anticipatory delight. His eyes glowed as he leaned on one hand and reached his other forward, pulling fingers down her bare chest, between her breasts and around, pulling one nipple into a hard peak.

Her breath caught and he smiled. He flicked his thumb over the tip of her breast and she arched.
But this time when she arched, he drove straight into her, hard and deep, thrusting her up the sheets and pinning her to the mattress, setting her cheeks on fire and her body into a frenzy.

She curled a hand around his neck, pulling him against her, bringing his lips to hers, each kiss echoing the movements below as he quickly repeated the motions, branding her everywhere. She found herself reaching for the peak that had sometimes eluded her in the past. But here it was, brilliant, seductively taunting her to take hold. She reached for it and found herself rolled, suddenly looking down, instead of up.

“I’ve waited to be in you for too long to have this end so early.”

He pulled her more firmly on top of him, languidly stretching his body as she slid down, seating him in her more deeply. She arched back, gaining the extra bit, feeling him so far in her that her eyes closed involuntarily. Hands gripped her hips and pulled down, and the extra little bit became an extra little bit more. Heat licked straight up, and every part of her body from her toes to the roots of her hair felt delicious and heavy, an even fuller sensation. The peak glowed more hotly. More brightly.

He arched up and pulled down on her hips slowly, an excruciating hairbreadth at a time, making the heat lick again, a dull throbbing starting somewhere in her middle as he touched a spot deep within, then brushed past, surging into a fist of wild need.

She lifted her hips and sank back down just as
slowly, his groan joining hers. She repeated the motion, but it became more jagged as his eyes tightened and his chest heaved, his fingers digging into her hips, forcing her to take all of him and to beg for more of the same.

Hurried motions to connect them more closely became more frantic, and soon she was stuttering her movements, riding him with her hands above his shoulders, her head thrown back, her breasts brushing his chest back and forth in a heavy pendulum of need.

“You can’t even begin”—his eyes tightened and his breath caught—“to understand what you look like right now.”

Despite his taunt of slowing down, the peak galloped wildly toward her, or her to it, spurred by everything about him—the look in his eyes, his words, his hands on her, and movements within her. All their actions had done was to intensify the feelings, slow and throbbing within her as she sank more wildly upon him just in front of the beautiful wave.

Up, up, up, she reached for it, and suddenly found herself again on her back facing the ceiling as she crested and he drove into her relentlessly, over and over again, the waves spreading as she opened her mouth in a silent scream. He shuddered into her, and she felt another peak, the longest orgasm of her life continuing on and on as she wrapped her legs around him, and he shook the foundation of her cottage, of her soul.

Jealousy is a force that can drive one to the extreme. We have seen more than its fair share of drive these last few weeks at Meadowbrook, but surely during the break, the sentiment has taken a well-deserved respite.

S
he woke, stretching and smiling—pleasantly sore, invigorated, and free. She turned to see a piece of paper on the empty pillow next to hers. His scent still lingered in the soft cloth. She lifted the paper and turned it toward her. A sketch of her sleeping peacefully graced the page—all gentle lines and curves. She lightly touched a softly curved arm thrown back, spiky lashes drawn on a cheek, the blanket wrapped around her legs.

She smiled and hugged the picture to her.

On Thursday he left a bouquet of flowers, wild and sweet. On Friday he left a gorgeous sketch of her cottage, homey and comforting. On Saturday he left a fairy ring, delicate and fine.

She touched the ring with her fingertips and smiled giddily. It would be smart to be more careful of her mood—to stay watchful and safe, but
she just couldn’t work up the negative emotions involved. It felt too good to be free. She hadn’t allowed herself to be free in so long.

As the clock struck noon, she turned to see him leaning against the frame of the door. Hair falling in his eyes, looking devilish and delicious. She didn’t know what he did each morning. Just that he was in her bed when she fell asleep each night, and was gone when she woke, a present in his place instead.

“Ready?”

“Where are we going today?” she asked.

“I’m challenging you to a game of quoits.”

“Quoits?”

“A game where you toss circular discs at pins.” He traced the shape in the air.

She whacked him on the arm. “Hush. Why quoits is what I meant.”

“I can have my wicked way with you after I win.” He leaned forward on the frame. “Perhaps right there in the bushes if you are really bad.”

Her skin grew warm as she thought about a similar incident two days ago.

“More people are returning. There are only a few days left.”

He shrugged, but his aquamarine eyes darkened at the reminder. “So? We won’t allow them to play should they ask. I’ll just have you smack them if they try. You do it so well. One of these days I’m going to take you over my lap and return the favor, but to other parts of your body.”

One hand brushed her backside, squeezing. She leaned into the hand involuntarily, and he pulled
her against him, sliding her against his heat. “Or we could simply spend the afternoon here.”

She shivered and thought that sounded like a fine idea. No one would miss—

Drat. “Noah’s coming by to prune the plants. We can’t.”

“When is he coming?”

“An hour.”

“Mmmm, plenty of time.”

It wasn’t until two in the afternoon, after giggling and avoiding Noah, who kept peering toward the cottage strangely, that they finally made it to the quoits courts.

She was an adequate thrower, having played with Patrick before. She let a piece of her past go as she stepped onto the court with Sebastien. Not Patrick. No living in the past.

They started play, Sebastien as fiercely competitive in this as he seemed to be in everything. But he was smiling more than he ever had before the tournament break. Smiling more today than all the previous weeks of the competition combined.

Something cold lifted her dress, rubbing her leg as she tried to throw her first disc in the new game. She squeaked and the toss went wide, his quoit touching between her thighs before she jumped away.

She couldn’t contain a laugh. “What are you doing?”

“I’m cheating. That should be obvious.” He cocked a brow, but the edges of his smile were pure grin. “What are you doing?”

“I
am playing by the rules.” She moved to sidestep him as he reached for her.

“We can’t have that.” He stretched, grabbing her waist and pulling her to him. She wiggled and squealed and he swung her around, the second disc arcing from her hand. His foot got caught in her skirts and they went tumbling to the ground, laughing. She giggled and turned on his supine chest.

Her giggles became a full-fledged guffaw to see him spread beneath her, spitting out mouthfuls of fabric, her skirt having lifted just enough to cover a portion of their faces. His hand lazily tangled into the hair at her nape, tugging her closer. The look on his face sent whimpers of sensation through her. She leaned into him and was about to succumb to the invitation in his eyes when a booted foot moved into view.

Caroline followed the leg up to crossed arms and the disapproving frown of Lord Cheevers. Mortification and terror mixed in an unpleasant cocktail. She scrambled to sit up. Sebastien let her go, though his fingers lingered in a caress along her neck as she moved away.

“My lord,” Caroline said.

“Mrs. Martin. Mr. Deville. I see that you are…enjoying…the afternoon weather.”

Sebastien leaned back on one hand, one knee bent, the other hand loosely picking clumps of grass from the lawn. “It’s a fine afternoon.”

“Indeed.” Cheevers looked sterner than she had seen him in some time.

“Mrs. Martin, if you would accompany me inside, I wish to speak with you.”

She turned to Sebastien, whose eyes shuttered. His expression was that of the man she’d known weeks ago. He waved her away, grass blades falling from his hand. “Thank you for the game, Mrs. Martin. I look forward to seeing you at supper.” There was a lazy emphasis on her full name, one he hadn’t used in a while. She was grateful he had decided to use it in front of Cheevers though.

“Thank you, Mr. Deville. I—I will see you at supper then.” She hadn’t planned on taking a meal at the house, but now she would have to unless she wanted Cheevers to think they were having a rendezvous or tryst in her cottage.

The earl tapped a foot in irritation, then turned on his heel. Caroline followed him to his study with trepidation. He slammed the door as soon as she was inside.

“What is this insanity?”

She calmed herself. “We were playing a game is all.”

“A game. A game? One that involves you sating Deville?” There was an unusual screech to his normally steely voice. “Do you have any idea what that man’s reputation is? Do you have any idea who his father is? Do you have any idea what is at stake here?”

“I’m quite familiar with the answers to all of those questions, my lord.”

“Then you know that he runs through women like a beggar through prayers?”

“That seems a mite harsh, my—”

“I can’t believe you,
you
, of all people are falling for his twaddle. What the devil is going through the female head these days?”

“The females that fall for a line and some money, you mean?” she asked coolly.

His eyes narrowed on her. “I expected the competition to involve most or all of the contestants making use of the available mature female guests. I didn’t expect you to be one of them.”

“I’m quite old enough to decide of what
use
I can be.”

“Yes, we all know how well your decision-making process is.”

“That is hardly fair. I’m no longer green.”

“Even worse! You broke your mother’s heart when you ran off with that penniless whoreson.”

“I broke Papa’s too. He died shortly thereafter,” she said bitterly, watching the earl’s eyes go cold. “But I’m hardly going to repeat that mistake.”

“Just dabbling with Deville is repeating your mistake.”

“You don’t know—”

“If Deville wins this competition he will be very powerful. The
ton
’s memory is selective, and he is a man that can easily make them forget his sins with the right incentive. He knows that. We all do. He won’t give that up for anything.” The earl stopped abruptly and pinned her with his worst stare. “And whoever he is married to will share in that power. There is only one person he can marry in order to gain that influence.”

She stiffened, her heart suddenly pounding in her ears. “There are twelve men left vying for the
prize. Deville hardly is running away with the competition. And Sarah’s eyes are firmly on other cont—”

“Foolish girl. The games left all favor Deville. All he had to do was stay in the top half of the field for the first half of the games. He more than did that. He’s tied for first! He will undoubtedly win. And you are out there romping with him. With your”—his lips tightened—“your cousin’s future husband.”

She found it difficult to breathe. Breathe in. Breathe out. She inhaled a stuttered breath. “I can’t believe you.”

“What is there to believe? You think Sarah won’t bend to the marriage clause? You think Deville will give up this competition for you?” He gave an ugly laugh. “Marry you? He would truly be ostracized then. The duke would drop even the minimal support he has given. Deville would gain nothing from the match. The prize has everything he’s ever wanted. The Duke of Grandien made sure of that.”

“You make it sound like this competition already has his name penned as the winner. What about the duke’s other son?”

“Lord Benedict? Deville would throw himself from Blackfriars before letting him win.”

“Sloane then? You make it sound as if none of the others has a chance. Everly, Parley—”

“They all have a
chance
. The competition was a joint project between us, and every son’s strengths were taken into consideration. But only the strongest, the most cunning, the ones who want it most
will prevail to the end. Only one will win. And in our diabolical need to make the prize as seductive as we could, we have entrusted too much to the winner. You haven’t read the contract. The winner will have power beyond all of us if used properly. The other fathers can believe their spawn will win, but mark my words, Deville will be standing in front of the contract in the end. And he’ll sign.”

Her heart seemed to beat in every part of her body—her ears, her legs, her stomach.

“Sarah doesn’t want to marry him. It would be disastrous for both of them.”

“Disastrous? Power, undeniable power, and wealth? A new title?”

“Sarah—”

Cheevers suddenly made a sharp motion. “Go. I can’t stand the sight of you. Play with Deville. See where it gets you.” He walked to the door and yanked it open. “But don’t come crying to me”—he hissed as she walked past—“when Lady Sarah marries him and you are left in that little cottage. Alone.”

The door slammed behind her. Caroline strode through the manor, angry and upset. She wondered if Sebastien was still sitting in the grass, destroying a small patch of green, or if he’d wandered off to different pursuits. He could have wandered off to another woman. There were still a handful at the house. Harriet Noke had surprisingly left, but there were a number of women remaining who would grasp the opportunity to strike up an affair with him.

The earl’s words ran through her head. Sarah and Sebastien? The idea made her nauseous, not only for the fact that she was currently involved with him, but also because she knew Sarah would be miserable with him. Sarah had a quiet strength buried deep, if only she would trust herself enough to bring it forth, but she’d never handle someone as wild as—

A hand spun her into a chest, pressed against a small indentation in the wall. No servants were in the hall, a small miracle.

It was immediately identifiable who held her by both his grip on her and the erotic scent. His hands clasped her waist as he nuzzled her neck. “Were you Cheevers’s mistress?”

“What? No!” she barely choked out, shock mixing with horror as she turned in his arms. All her thoughts jumbled together in a chaotic mixture. Cheevers’s words, her doubts, the way her body reacted to Sebastien’s, the slight pining that she felt in his presence, terrifying in its existence.

He cocked his head, studying her. “You are actually quite his type. And you live on the estate.”

She couldn’t even gurgle an answer.

“It is fine if you were. I have to admit the idea makes me want to strangle him, but far be it from me to deny you a partner before. I can still be the one to untame you.”

“No, not his mistress. Definitely not.” The horror was the defining element, completely overcoming the shock, until she thought about his statement. “You are jealous?”

“Terribly. I am horribly possessive when I have something I’ve wanted.” He tipped her head back and sucked her pulse point hard enough to leave a bruise. “I’ve never been possessive over a woman before though,” he whispered against her neck. “I wonder what spell you cast?”

Her lingering horror and chaotic confusion was replaced by pleasure and a small spike of reassurance that maybe the earl was wrong. He’d been wrong before. Plenty of times. And the thought that maybe there was something more here was too seductive to lose. There would be plenty of time for second guessing and recriminations when the tournament restarted. Right now she just wanted to bask in the freedom and heedless pleasure Sebastien had awakened.

She met his eyes. “A closely guarded fae spell to make you fall madly in love.” She had meant it to be lighthearted and teasing, but it emerged far more seriously than she’d intended.

“Mmmm.” Something twitched in his eyes. The same mask that had dropped at Roseford those many phases of the moon ago, when he had talked about the lonely peak, dropped now. “I think I will have to punish you for it.”

“Your forfeits have been collected.”

His lips dropped to her neck again. “Oh now, Caro, are you really going to hold me to that? Not until the competition restarts, I don’t think.”

He opened the door behind him, one that led to an old study that the earl used to use. It had been mostly empty the last time she’d been in the room.

Hands ensnared her, and his scent surrounded her once again as he pulled her to him, pulling her inside. The falling sun shone through the partially covered windows, but the grounds were in view between the opened fabric. Something jangled, and he turned from her to inspect the door he was trying to lock.

He turned back to her, pulling her close, branding her with his lips, his hands. “No key, Caro. You are going to have to be very, very quiet.”

“What?” she asked, a little dazed.

“You are going to have to be quiet, because I’m about to have my wicked way with you right under the earl’s nose. Under the other guests’ noses. In this room with no lock.”

“I don’t think—”