Virginia Henley (29 page)

Cat followed his glance, taking in the red Turkey carpet, the tapestry wall hangings, the fireplace and the wide, curtained bed.

“Just what we need.”

She blushed, thinking he referred to the bed. She was wrong.

“Wood for a fire. Nothing like a fire for a seduction.”

He read her mind and grinned wickedly. “Not me! You’re the one doing the seducing, Hellcat.”

She lifted her chin. “All this amuses you, doesn’t it?”

“Vastly. Go to the other chamber and search for some cushions and candles while I light us a fire.”

Though the light spilling into the other room was scant, in the dimness Cat found a branch of candles. She took one and lit it from a torch, then carried it back to light the rest. Immediately the scent of roses filled the air, and she realized that the tapers she had lit were perfumed. Quite obviously this was a woman’s chamber, and Cat speculated that the lady must be the Countess of Lennox. The carpet was deep blue, the bed hangings a paler shade, and the cushions were covered in gold brocade. There was an ivory screen and behind it a slipper bath.
The castle might be dilapidated but the furnishings are luxurious.

Cat spied a full-length mirror. When she stepped before it, she was startled to see how disheveled she looked. Her reflection told her that this was not the Lady Catherine of Elizabeth’s Court. That young lady was elegant, always perfectly groomed and dressed in delicate, stylish garments. This young female wore boots and a doeskin riding skirt. Her hair resembled a wild blackberry thicket and her lips were bee-stung from kisses.
I look like a Borderer’s wench!
She almost recoiled. Then she stared into the eyes watching from the mirror. They were no longer golden; they were yellow cat eyes.
A Border lord’s wench is exactly what you will be tonight!
The thought made her so excited, she wanted to scream.

She returned to the other chamber carrying the branch of scented candles, her arms filled with gold cushions. She dropped the cushions to the floor. In the blue room they had looked decorative, but against the Turkey red carpet they looked decadent. She set the candles on a table and noticed that the fire he had lit bathed the chamber with a flickering amber glow.

Patrick got up from his haunches. “The scent of roses lends romance to the atmosphere, but there is something far more alluring that is tempting me to madness.” He waggled his eyebrows suggestively. “I smell food! I’ll be right back.”

She searched for a fitting retort. “Don’t forget the whisky!”

Patrick admired her bravado—all five feet of her exuded it.

He seemed to be gone some time. “The uncouth lout can eat at any time, any place,” she declared to the room at large. A silent voice answered her.
He has a man’s appetite.
The thought made her breasts and belly go taut. She doubted she could eat a bite.

Patrick returned with an iron pot hung on his arm. One hand carried a basket of fresh-baked bannock biscuits; the other held a stone jug of whisky. He set the pot on the hearth. “Mutton and barley stew,” he said with relish. “Ever taste it?”

“I’ve had lamb,” she assured him.

“Lamb!” he said with disgust. “Mutton has a more robust flavor. Most things improve with age,” he teased.

“I doubt if you will, Hepburn,” she taunted back.

He’d be damned if he’d let her have the last word. “True,” he agreed. “Tonight I am in my prime.”

She willed her lips not to tremble. “I’m counting on it.”

Bravado—sheer, bloody bravado.
He laughed good-naturedly. “Touché! The first round goes to you, Hellcat.”

From the basket he took two bowls and filled them with the steaming stew. Cat found the aroma so tantalizing, she suddenly felt hungry. She watched him carry two chairs to the table, and they sat down to dine by candlelight. He took a bannock, dipped it into the stew and devoured it. Cat did the same, breaking her biscuit into pieces, then dipping it. Before she had finished her bannock, Patrick was on his second bowl. There was something compellingly seductive about a man with a healthy appetite.

When he finished eating he poured them both a dram of whisky. Then, no longer able to keep his hands from her, he moved around the table and lifted her into his lap. “Let me feed you.”

Obediently, Cat opened her mouth for his offering, licking her lips after each spoonful. Finally, she shook her head.

He whispered in her ear, “You won’t get your reward.”

She could feel his hard cock beneath her soft bum cheek. “I warrant my reward and my punishment are one and the same.”

Her words were bravely provocative, yet he suspected that she was more than half afraid of what was to come, though she would rather die than admit it. He held the whisky to her lips and was glad that she took a few sips. Patrick knew that a little fun and laughter might banish her apprehension. He picked up a pair of dice. “Will you hazard a few throws with me, lass?”

“What will we play for?”

“Forfeits.” His black eyes boldly challenged her and he knew her pride would not allow her to refuse.

“We play forfeits at Court,” she said lightly.

“Aye, for handkerchiefs and ribbons. Our game will be for higher stakes.” He began to shake the dice.

“At Elizabeth’s Court it is ladies first.”

“First, last and always from what I saw, and I encountered damn few ladies. At Hailes, Hepburn goes first.” He rolled the dice.

“Eleven! You are cheating!” She jumped from his lap. They were the same height now that she was standing while he still sat.

“What are you going to do about it?” He handed her the dice.

“Double six! I beat you,” she said with glee.

He threw back his head and laughed. “You know as little about a dice game as you know about the mating game. A throw of two, three or twelve loses. You owe me a forfeit ...
of my choosing.
”

“Those aren’t the rules!” As she became engrossed in arguing some of her apprehension melted away.

“They are now. I’ll have your garters and remove them myself.”

She darted away. “You’ll have to catch me first.”

He jumped up from the chair and was after her in a flash. She ran from the room and went into the other chamber, which was filled with shadows. She gasped as she saw a figure loom up in the dark, then laughed with relief when she realized it was only a reflection in the mirror. Her hesitation gave him the chance to grab her.

He carried her to the mirror and held her in front of him. “Watch me closely—I cannot be trusted.” He stooped and slid his hand up inside the leg of her riding skirt. He stroked the inside of her thigh before he captured the garter and removed it.

Cat was glad of the shadows; they hid her blushes. “You devil; my stockings will fall down.”

“What a calamity.” He slid his hand up her other leg, pretended he couldn’t locate the garter, but managed to touch everything else beneath her skirt.

Watching what he did to her in the mirror was both titillating and arousing. “This game is too risqué!”

He threaded his fingers into the curls on her mons and brushed her ear with his mouth. “This game is called
foreplay.
”

Her eyes widened as comprehension dawned. “Foreplay,” she repeated, liking the feel of the new word on her lips.

He captured the second garter and slid them both onto his forearm. Then he lifted her and slung her, like Viking booty, over his shoulder, and carried her back to their own chamber. He stood her on her feet, sat down and handed her the dice. “Your turn.”

Cat rolled a double two.

“Four—the Devil’s bedposts.”

She glanced at the wide bed. “I suspect the Devil and Hepburn are one and the same.”

He rolled a seven. “I do have the Devil’s own luck. Mayhap you’re right. Now what would the Devil ask for?” He leered. “I’ll have the rest of your clothes ...
and remove them myself
!”

She tried to dart away again, but this time he had anticipated her escape and held a handful of doeskin in his firm grasp. He held her captive while he removed her skirt and the divided petticoat she wore beneath it.

Cat looked down in dismay. She had lost one stocking somewhere, and all she wore below her waist was the other one.

He looked at her critically. “You know, in this light your legs do look a wee bit bowed.”

She grabbed his hair and pulled hard. “You monster! You may mock me all you want, but leave Geordie alone.”

He captured her about the waist, dug in his fingers and tickled her ribs. She was laughing too much to hang on to his hair. He pulled her between his thighs and unfastened her bodice. When she was naked they both sobered as the sexual tension stretched taut between them. Their eyes were on the same level and slowly he drew her close so that their lips touched. Against her mouth he murmured, “I want to see your black pussycat.” He kissed her hungrily then lifted his mouth. “Will you walk about for me?”

A refusal sprang to her lips, but she quickly swallowed it. The idea of showing herself naked to him thrilled her. The tattoo hadn’t ruined her body after all; it had made it more alluring. She nodded her assent and pulled away from him. Holding her head high, she walked with feline grace and the pride of a queen toward the fire. She paused and looked at him over her shoulder in the age-old gesture a woman uses when tempting a man to follow.

As Patrick rose to his feet, she raised an imperious hand to stop him. “You cannot come to the fire unless you are naked.”

“My very thought.” He disrobed in short order, then closed the distance between them. He turned her so that her lovely round bottom was to the fire and the bright flames illuminated the saucy black cat. “If you’re a good girl and please me, I’ll give puss some cream.”

Cat licked her lips. “And if I’m a bad girl?”

Patrick groaned.
Watch out, Hepburn. She’ll have you by the balls, and then she’ll plunder your heart and soul.

“Fetch the cushions to the fire, so I can see you walk again.”

“Spoken like Lord Bloody Stewart, issuing his orders. I much prefer Hepburn, who can get anything he wants without commands.”

He smiled wickedly. “We both intend to have our way with you.”

“For such a promise, how can I resist?” She moved toward the gold cushions in a sinuous way, undulating as she put one dainty foot in front of the other. She made sure her bottom was toward him when she bent over to pick them up. When she turned to face him her most intimate parts were covered by cushions.

Patrick stretched his length before the fire. She didn’t come back until he crooked his finger.

She walked slowly toward him, until her bare toes touched his bare thigh, then she dropped one of the cushions that covered a breast and posed provocatively like Botticelli’s Venus rising from the waves.

She watched the pupils of his eyes dilate with desire before she let the cushion fall from her other breast.

The seconds stretched into minutes, then, finally refusing to wait longer, he plucked the gold cushion that covered her mons. He made love to her with his eyes but with a will of iron made a decision to keep his hands from her. It was a sure way to make her ache with desire and crave his touch.

Cat gazed down at his lithe body, which rippled with powerful, sun-bronzed muscle. Everything about him was big and powerful and hard as granite. He reminded her of a marble Greek statue she had once seen, except he was alive with warm flesh and pulsing blood.

“Satisfy your curiosity. Explore me. Indulge your impulses,” he invited, knowing it would rid her of her last traces of fear.

She knelt before him and reached out her fingers to trace along his high cheekbone, then outlined his bold lips with her fingertip. She brushed her hand down his corded throat and along his collarbone, then tested the texture of the black hair on his broad chest between finger and thumb. She touched his flat copper nipples and her mouth curved when they turned into hard little spears. Then, growing more daring, she flicked them with her tongue, tasting then sucking first one, then the other. As she sucked, she felt a pulsation between her legs that was new to her. She glanced up quickly into his dark eyes and saw that he was completely aware of the sensual sensations she was experiencing.

Something compelled her to explore farther, drawing her inexorably to his male center. Her fingers trailed down his hard belly, playfully encircled and dipped into his navel, then moved lower. She ran a tentative fingertip along the shaft of his cock, from its root to its blood-engorged head. Her eyes widened as a diamond drop of clear liquid appeared on its tip. She touched it then impulsively licked her finger.

Patrick’s groan set up an insatiable desire in her to make him writhe with need. She feather-stroked his granite thigh lightly, and as her fingers inched higher, they moved to the inside, where his flesh was more sensitive. He arched his body up from the floor and she slipped her hand between his legs and cupped his large sac. She squeezed gently to discern the texture and shape, and then rolled the two spheres together with deft manipulation.

A growl erupted from his throat as he came to a sitting position. She was arousing him to the point where he would lose control, and he decided he must shift the focus. He captured her hand in his and brought it to her face. Then, starting at her cheekbone he traced her own fingers along the same path they had taken on his body. Brushing over her lips and along her throat, her fingertips moved down the curve of her breast to her sensitive nipple. When it became ruched, he took it into his mouth and sucked, just as she had sucked his.

She gasped with pleasure and arched her other breast toward his hot, hungry mouth. She wanted more, but Patrick had other ideas. He lifted his head to watch as he drew her fingers down her belly and slipped them between her legs. He dipped one of her fingertips into her wetness, and when she cried out in protest at the intimate thing he was forcing her to do to herself, he withdrew her fingers and took them into his mouth. It was such a seductive gesture that she melted against him.