“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?”
She didn’t answer. She felt as if she were on fire. She had to get away from him.
“Tomorrow night I believe I’ll tell you about the stallion and the mare. We’re in the south pasture watching them, and you turn to me.…” He chuckled. “But that’s another story.”
“I don’t want to hear it.”
“Not even a little bit? Admit you’re curious.”
She was curious, she realized with a sense of panic. His words held a raw power and fascination, the picture he had painted had stirred, mesmerized her and made her feel— Sweet heaven, perhaps he was right. Perhaps she was as lost to lust as he was.
She looked down at him from the landing. Catlike, sensual, he hadn’t moved from his relaxed position on the hearth. Firelight lit the planes of his lean, irregular, face, revealing strength and a beauty where there should have been no beauty.
“Pleasant dreams, Marianna,” he said softly.
The chair!
She woke gasping, her heart pounding.
Her breasts were swollen, the tips sensitive as they brushed the coverlet.
She was shaking uncontrollably, and there was a strange ache between her thighs.
Jordan sitting watching her, his hands on the wide arms of the chair.
Hunger. Heat. Emptiness.
She hadn’t really gone to him. It hadn’t happened. It had only been a dream, an erotic reflection of the story Jordan had told her.
The chair …
Your hands are shaking,” Jordan observed. He shifted in the chair and slung one leg over the arm. “Be careful you don’t cut yourself.”
“I won’t cut myself.” She glanced away from him as she carefully cut a petal-shaped piece of glass. “If you’ll stop talking and disturbing me.”
“You have circles beneath your eyes. Did you have trouble sleeping?”
“No.”
“I did. I didn’t sleep at all. I thought about you lying in your bed down the hall just a few yards away. It was most disturbing.” From the corner of her eye she saw him begin to swing his foot. “To entertain myself, I started thinking about stained glass and the interesting things you could do with it.”
“I’ve been fully aware of those things for a number of years.”
“But you haven’t explored all the possibilities. I’ll tell you what I have planned, if you like.”
“I do not like.”
“Well, it could be a little advanced for you. Later, perhaps. The stallion and the mare will be interesting enough discussion for this evening. Are you looking forward to it?”
“No.”
“I think you are. After all, satisfying your curiosity isn’t dangerous. I’m even permitting you a sense of outraged virtue by forcing you to listen to my scandalous confessions. Every woman enjoys knowing what hell she puts men through.”
“I don’t enjoy it.”
His mockery faded. “My apologies then. You’re not like other women in that respect. You have no malice.” He continued on a lighter note, “But you do have curiosity, and I shall seek earnestly to appease it.”
She didn’t answer, and he fell silent.
The air seemed too heavy to breathe.
He was watching her.
He was thinking about her.
He was waiting for her.
The chair.
• • •
Did you dream about the stallion last night?”
“No,” she lied.
“Did he mount you from behind?”
She didn’t answer.
“Was the stallion me?” he asked softly.
She turned her back on him and pretended to hold the panel up to the window to hide the color flaring in her cheeks.
“What a pretty backside you have. Small and pert and tight. It’s no wonder I have such wicked thoughts.”
“You should not have told me such terrible things,” she said desperately. “You would not say such things to Dorothy.”
“I would not say such things to anyone but you. Dorothy is a fine woman, but she’s bound by the very rules she thinks she flouts. She will never take the final step and tell those people she detests that they mean nothing to her.” He paused. “But you have an honesty and boldness she lacks, an honesty I’ve never found in another woman.”
She might be honest, but she did not feel bold. She was beginning to tremble with the strange weakness that invaded her whenever she was in the same room with him. Last night she had sat, with hands folded in that chair by the hearth, staring at him in helpless thrall as he wove that picture of lust and depravity.
And when he had let her go to her room, the dreams had come.
Her hands were shaking again. She quickly put the panel on the table before she dropped it.
“Your cheeks are flushed. Strange. I didn’t think it was particularly warm for this time of year. It even snowed last night. Do you suppose you’re coming down with a fever?”
“No.”
“One can’t be too sure.” His gaze went to the window where long, thick icicles hung from the eaves. “This evening I think I must tell you at least one interesting cure we could try when the fever comes again.”
You’re proving remarkably resistant.” Jordan’s legs were stretched out in front of him and crossed at the ankle. “It’s been almost a week, and neither of us has been sleeping properly.” His forefinger idly traced the design of the deep floral carving on the arm of
the chair. “If we continue for another week like this, it may be quite detrimental to our health. Put an end to it, Marianna.”
His hands were beautiful, tanned, well shaped, with long, graceful fingers. Lately, she had found herself obsessed with watching his hands as they gestured or merely lay quiet on the arm of the chair.
The chair.
She wished she could forget the images it brought to mind, but they were always with her. Even if she could forget it, she thought bitterly, she now had a store of such erotic pictures. He had seen that she lived in a world where sight of the simplest object would bring memories of Jordan sitting by the fire weaving his tales of seduction.
“Why are you hesitating?” he asked softly. “You once told me that you believed as your father did that a spirit should be free. Why are you letting yourself be bound? You know what you want.”
Her breasts were swollen, her body aching. He had only to be in the same room, and the response came unbidden. God help her, she was like that mare he had described, mindless, in heat, wanting only to be mounted.
But she was not an animal.
“Why else did you come here with me?”
She whirled on him. “You know why. Alex. You forced me to come here.”
“I gave you a reason to come here.”
“No!”
“You knew Alex was not in danger.” He shook his head. “Be honest with yourself. You wanted what I wanted. The fire had been burning too long and too low for you too.” His voice thickened. “It will never end until you take what you want, Marianna.”
“It’s you who wish to take what you want.”
“Have I taken? I haven’t even touched you. I’ve merely opened the doors and let you look in and see what’s waiting for you inside.”
The doors of a room lit with all the dark, exotic colors of desire.
“Come in,” he urged softly. “You’ll like what you find.”
She shook her head.
He sighed. “I suppose it was too much to hope that even you could be that honest. Shall I give you an excuse? Come to me tonight, and in two days’ time I’ll take you to see Alex.”
She turned and looked at him. “You’ll give him back to me?”
“No, but I’ll let you assure yourself of his well-being.” He stood up and moved toward the door. “You see? You’ll be sacrificing yourself for your poor brother held by the evil duke of Cambaron. Even Dorothy could understand such a splendid act of virtue.”
He was leaving, she realized. It was the first time he had left her alone in the workroom since the second day they had come to the lodge. “Where are you going?”
He glanced over his shoulder. “I’m going for a ride. I’m feeling a great need to expend energy, and you’re failing to cooperate. I’ll be back by dark.” He paused. “Unless you wish me to stay.”
She didn’t answer.
The next moment he was gone.
She was relieved to be without his disturbing presence, she told herself. Now she could concentrate on what was important to her. She reached out and picked up her cutting knife and then stopped.
It was too quiet.
Yet it was as if he were still in the room with her.
She slowly turned and looked at the chair.
I suppose it was too much to expect that even you would be that honest.
It will never be over until you reach out and take what you want.
I only gave you a reason for coming here.
Was it true?
She had a terrible sinking feeling she had yielded far too easily when he had told her she was to come here.
The fever of need he had built had come too quickly not to have been smoldering, waiting for a spark to ignite it.
The fascination he had exerted had held her captive for three long years, and even when she had been most annoyed with him, she had never been able to dismiss him from her mind. It was as if he had possessed her from that first moment in the church in Talenka.
She walked heavily over to the chair. She reached out and touched the smooth wood of the back.
A shudder went through her as she felt the lingering warmth from his body.
She had lied to herself.
Sweet Mary, it was true.
He did not return before dark. It was almost midnight before she heard the sound of his horse in the stable yard.
She ignored it and kept on working. From that moment of realization she had thrown herself into a maelstrom of work, trying to block it away from her, trying not to think.
“Go to bed, Marianna.”
She knew he was standing in the doorway, but she didn’t turn around. She had to close herself away from him. “Go away. I don’t want to see you.”
“It’s late. Go to bed.”
So that she could lie awake another night? “Go away.”
“And let you get so tired that you’ll be careless and have more scars on your hands tomorrow?” he asked roughly.
“It’s none of your concern.”
“No, it’s not my concern.” He was standing behind her. “It’s my obsession.” He reached around her and took the cutting knife from her hand. “Go to bed.”
The heat of his body surrounded her, and she smelled the scent of leather and horse and cold wind. She stood there, strained, unyielding.
She wanted him.
Something snapped, uncoiling within her.
She closed her eyes, and her breath released in a long sigh. She leaned back against him.
He stiffened, and she could feel the hardness of muscle and tendon. “Marianna?”
It was over. She couldn’t fight any longer.
“I don’t like this,” she whispered. “It … hurts.”
His other arm joined the first in encircling her, cradling her back against him with a strange tenderness. “Only the wanting hurts,” he said thickly in her ear. “That’s why it has to stop—the rest is beyond anything.”
“Do you promise?”
He laughed huskily. “Oh yes, I promise.” He held her for a moment more and then took a step back and began unbuttoning her gown. “I’ll promise you the world, if you want it.”
“I don’t want the world,” she said. Poor Jordan, she thought dully, he always believed that in the end he had to pay for what he wanted. How terrible to live with a cynicism that deeply ingrained.
It seemed odd to be standing here like a weary child while Jordan undressed her. She was weary, and her body had grown so accustomed to aching with need that she accepted it without question. The gown fell to the floor, and she stepped out of it. “I don’t want anything from you.”
“Turn around.”
She didn’t want to turn around. She wore only a thin chemise, and she felt suddenly shy and uncertain.
“Turn around. I want to see you.”
She slowly turned to face him.
She saw his expression.
She was no longer weary.
“You do want something from me.” His hands went to her hair, hovered, and then brushed the tresses back with a gossamer-light touch. “Come here.” He reached out and pushed the chemise down to her waist and then brought her to lean against him.
She began to tremble. Her breasts were swelling, the nipples pebble-hard as they touched the crispness of his shirt.
His hands were on her bare back, his fingers drawing sensual circles on the smooth flesh. “Lord, you’re soft.”
His hands slid down and cupped her bottom and then pulled her into the hollow of his hips.
Arousal. Stark. Rigid.
Her trembling became a long shudder of need.
“Shh. It’s all right. This is what you want.” He moved her carefully against him, letting her feel the strength of him.
He thought she was afraid. If she could have spoken through the hot mist of need, she would have told him she was beyond fear. She was aware only of what she had to have from him. Her hands clutched his shoulders, and she pressed against him. Hard.
&nbs
p; He froze. “Gently. We have to go gently.”
After a week of tantalizing arousal she could not think of gentleness. “Do it.” Her words were muffled in his shirt. “Now.”
“I couldn’t be more in agreement.” His hand reached up between them and cupped her breast in his palm, his thumbnail flicking the taut nipple.
She arched upward with a low cry.
He slid the chemise down from her hips. “Spread your legs, Marianna.”
She obeyed without question. He had described every intimate part of her body and what pleasure he would bring to it. This was part of it … his hands on her. She held on to him, or she would have fallen as his fingers plucked gently at the hair surrounding her womanhood. She held her breath as he went lower, searching until he found the small nub.
His thumb flicked and then pressed hard.
Her eyes widened in shock. Fire and pleasure. Need.
Her breath was coming in little pants as his thumb pressed, rotated. The muscles of her stomach tensed with every motion. She moved closer, offering him more.
“You like that?” He pressed harder, his other hand holding her at the small of the back. “It’s only the start.” His fingers fell away from her. “I think we’d best hurry. Come, we’ll go upstairs to bed.”
“Here.” Her gaze was drawn to the chair.
He understood at once. “No,” he said firmly. He started to pull her toward the door.
She refused to move. “Here.”
“You’re not ready— I’d hurt you.”
“Here.”
“Dammit!” He whirled on her, his nostrils flaring. “Why are you making this so difficult? Do you think I’m used to being with virgins? It’s killing me. I’m trying to—” He broke off as he saw her expression. “You obstinate woman. You don’t know what’s good for you.”
“Here.”
“Oh, what the devil!” He pulled her down on the floor. “I told you I’d be gentle with you. I don’t like to be made a liar.”
“The chair …” she whispered.
“Later.” He pushed aside her legs and came between them. He made an adjustment in his clothing. “This will be painful enough for you. I wanted a soft bed and clean sheets and the things a woman should have when she—” He was pressing against her. He stopped and looked down at her, his chest rising and falling with every breath. “I didn’t want it to be like this.”
The Beloved Scoundrel Page 18
