She was her mother's daughter.
"Forgive me," he whispered.
Dominique wondered if he asked it of her... or whether they were her own words... and then she wondered no more, for the hand beneath her back lifted her up, and he moved down on her yet again. With a low groan, his lips found and closed about the peak of one breast, toying with it, lapping it, tugging it gently, suckling as sweetly as a babe.
Dominique cried out, tensing, though only for an instant, for the shock of his intimacy faded at once with the incredible sensations that burst through her, aroused by his suckling. Whimpering, she arched beneath him, writhing, weeping with the inconceivable emotions that swept over her.
Oh, God, but she was wicked... wicked... wicked...
Her hands locked about his head, holding him fast to suckle at her breast, while beneath him, her body began to undulate of its own accord. He moved down slowly, alternately nipping at and kissing her breasts.
In all her life, she'd never felt more confused... more certain of anything...
She needed him.
Blaec groaned with pleasure when she accepted him so fully, raising her breast for him. He suckled her, moving against her in euphoria, knowing he should stop, but unable to force himself to do so.
It was as though his body were not his own.
He reveled in the taste of her flesh—delicious even through the fine linen cloth of her chainse— the warmth of her body, the long length of her legs against his own.
It was too much for him to bear.
His hands, flexing, slid down along her delectable curves, slowly, savoring every inch of her, committing her to memory... for somewhere in his half-consciousness, he understood... this could not happen again.
But this once...
He could not stop.
He could not have torn himself away from her even had someone stood above him with sword in hand, ready to plunge it between his shoulder blades.
Gladly he would die for this moment.
God strike him down, but he would not stop.
Dominique was only vaguely aware that he lifted her chainse, but she welcomed it... wanted to feel his mouth on her bare flesh... his hands... though with a desperation that dismayed her, she fought the separation of their bodies, clinging to him as though she would die with their parting.
And God's truth... she thought she might.
Unable to remove her gown, Blaec gripped the neckline instead, rending it savagely, jerking the offending garment from between them once and for all.
The shock of bodily contact was absolute.
He groaned in torment at the feel of her bare breasts arching against him, her pebbled nipples rising to brush his chest... her warmth, her softness.
Like a man possessed, he rocked against her, losing himself a little more with every mindless undulation. He could not see her, but he could feel her, and she felt exquisite.
"Beautiful," he whispered. The feel of her was ecstasy. "My God, you are beautiful." And if he didn't bare himself at once, he thought he would go mad. He fumbled between them for the ties that bound his breeches, and shrugged out of them, gasping aloud as he freed himself, at last. Reaching down, he hooked his arms beneath her knees, raising her legs.
She was a vixen... her brother's whore... and she incited him to madness—best the truth be discovered sooner than later, he told himself. For his brother's sake. The woman beneath him could not possibly be pure. The fire within her burned too hotly for him to believe it had never been kindled before.
In all likelihood his brother had already discovered that fact, and that was why he'd ordered her out of his chamber.
With that last piercing thought, he positioned himself against her, holding her legs up for his pleasure. He didn't care. He wanted her to take him deeply, sheathe him wholly. She moaned beneath him in abandon, writhing in expectation of his entrance into her body.
Well, she need wait no longer, he thought viciously.
Nor could he.
He slid the tip of his shaft easily within her, and then surged down against her, groaning with the exquisite tightness of her body as it sheathed him.
Dominique cried out with the pain of his intrusion, going still beneath him. Her body began a cold sweat, but she clenched her teeth and bore it, knowing the pleasure would come again. Alyss had told her so.
She knew it instinctively as well.
Above her, Blaec, too, went wholly still.
"Damn you," he muttered. At once he began to withdraw, but the pain was already fading, and Dominique could not bear for him to leave her now.
Now they were just beginning...
Now she was just beginning...
She wrapped her legs about his waist, holding him in that ageless lover's embrace.
"Damn me," he whispered. "Damn me... damn me... God forgive me," he said, and lowered himself against her once more, rocking her gently, letting her adjust to his size, his arms trembling with restraint.
Dominique's fingers skimmed the taut muscles of his arms. Instinctively she wrapped her arms around his shoulders, stroking his back, reveling in the width of his muscled shoulders, the heat of his body. Without thinking, she drew his head down to hers, craving his kisses fiercely.
He responded at once, as though he understood what she needed. His tongue flicked out, brushing her lips, and Dominique opened to him wholly. When he teased her mouth, she suckled his tongue, tentatively offering her own in return. His response was a low, guttural moan.
With that small victory, she whimpered softly, wanting him to move against her again... as he had before. Mindlessly she rocked against him.
"Dominique…" He reached down between them, stilling the movement of her hips with his hands. "Stop," he rasped, and tried once more to withdraw.
Dominique followed him with her hips, forcing him deeper inside her. Crying out when he withdrew again, farther this time, she grasped the sheets, and followed him stubbornly.
"Dominique," he cautioned, withdrawing once more, so that the tip of his shaft was all that remained. "You cannot know..."
"I do," she murmured breathlessly. "I do..." Feeling never more brazen, she locked her legs about his waist and surged upward, crying out as he filled her completely. "I do," she whispered euphorically.
Tendrils of heat slithered through her forbidden regions, making her cry out in triumph.
Never had she imagined such sensations possible.
Never had she dreamed.
"I cannot stop," he warned her now. "I can—not!" With a harsh cry of his own, he withdrew and surged forward again.
"Yes!" she cried. She did not want him to leave her. She never wanted him to leave her. She wanted this never to end. She wanted him to fill her this way always.
Just now, there was no world, only the two of them.
There was no betrothal, no brother, no daylight.
Only the two of them. And the darkness.
Tomorrow was soon enough to consider those things.
Tonight she could only think of this. Right now. This incredible sensation that tore through her, pulling her into a whirlwind of unconscious feeling. Clutching the bed sheets desperately as he moved against her, rocked her, Dominique sobbed softly, welcoming him.
Christ... was he mad?
She was his brother's bride.
At the very least, he could not spill himself within her. Do not, he commanded himself. It would be the final betrayal—though God curse him, he could not stop!
She moved against him with complete abandon, and he could not stop.
He was powerless to resist.
Once more he tried in vain to unsheathe himself, and was undone by the silky softness of her. He lost all control then, thrusting savagely, filling her, and withdrawing. When her body tightened and convulsed about him, he arched his head backward, crying out, a guttural, tormented sound.
Beneath him, Dominique sobbed with her own release, her body convulsing, coaxing his seed from him, deman
ding his surrender.
With a last powerful thrust, Blaec spilled himself deep inside her.
And still it was not enough.
He clutched her buttocks, pressing her tightly against his body, undulating once more, and once more, and once more, driving his seed into the depths of her body.
And even then he could not stop.
Tonight, against all morality, he'd made her his own... and he could not blame the wine.
He was weak and without honor.
And the fault was wholly his own.
Tomorrow the price of his sin would be weighed in the full light of day.
But tonight, for the first time since his youth, his eyes glazed with tears. With a low, harsh cry, he collapsed atop her, holding her tightly... burying himself within the silence and the darkness.
God help him, his father had been right.
Chapter Twenty
Morning rays streamed through the open shutters, spilling golden light into Dominique's face. Yet the light was not what first awoke her. From the bailey came the shouts and sounds of men and horses, the chinking and clanging of armor, the neighing of restless mounts.
The next thing she became aware of was the hand cradling her bare breast... and the soreness between her legs. Her heart lurched as sultry images from the night before came back to plague her. She winced, biting into her lower lip, and shielding her eyes with a hand, stole a glance at the other occupant of the bed. Seeing him lying there beside her, she knew it had not been a dream, and she was at once filled with conflicting emotions—too many to recount.
His eyes were as yet closed, and he lay upon his belly with one arm thrown over her, pinning her to the bed. The palm of his hand cupped one breast. Sweet Jesu, even now, without so much as trying, his touch stirred her body. She tried not to note the contrasts of their skin, his dark hand against her pale flesh—tried not to focus on the feel of his battle-hardened hands upon her smooth body.
She looked, instead, at his face. In sleep, his expression lost much of its harshness. Even the scar upon his cheek was less visible somehow. Wondering again how he'd received it, she stifled the urge to reach out and touch it, afraid that the moment would come to an end.
Would he awake despising her once more?
Or would his eyes gaze at her tenderly?
She was afraid to discover the truth. Afraid because she knew that no matter how he felt about her now—even did he loathe her—she could no longer deny her own heart. She'd given herself freely to him last night, and the worst part of it was that now, in the morning light, she could not even find proper regret.
She was no different from her mother, loving a man she could not have.
Yet at least now she understood.
With a sleepy groan, he flexed his hand suddenly, squeezing her breast, a lazy though reverent gesture. Dominique bit down into her lip, suppressing the telltale moan his touch roused.
And then his eyes flew wide as he heard the heavy, grating sound of the portcullis as it rose. Within the space of seconds, he bounded from the bed to the window. Try as she might, Dominique could not avert her eyes from his nude form as he stood looking through the open shutters. He was a stunning masculine specimen, his buttocks and legs as well muscled as his chest—more so.
"Damn me to hell!" he said furiously.
He spun to face her, completely uninhibited in his naked state, his green eyes impaling her. By his expression, Dominique knew the situation was grave.
She sat at once, searching for her gown. Finding it in shreds, she flushed, and lifted the linen sheet to her bosom instead. "What is it?" she asked fearfully. He didn't respond, save to come to the bed. He snapped the sheet about, jerking it from her in his fury as he searched for his clothing.
Dominique could feel the blood drain from her face. "What?" she persisted, scrambling to cover herself once more. "You must tell me! What is it? My brother? Has he returned?"
Finding what he searched for—his breeches— he jerked them up from the bed and tugged them on, glaring down at her as he laced his ties. His green eyes smoldered with contempt—for her? himself? Either way, it pained her to see it, for she knew at once that he regretted what had passed between them last night.
Still, she could not.
Her cheeks grew warmer, for she watched him shamelessly despite that he glowered at her. Despite that her brother might very well be riding through those gates, and might soon discover her perfidy.
His eyes narrowed with displeasure. "They are leaving," he apprised her.
For an instant Dominique could not think clearly. She shook her head, uncomprehending. "Who is leaving?"
"Graeham," he snapped. With his laces bound, at last, he turned to go. "Your betrothed, lest you forget."
Dominique's heart twisted with the unfair accusation. God's truth, but she'd not participated alone! She wanted to shout at him, rail at him, but was too stunned even to speak. He didn't bother to glance back at her, and slammed the door as he left the chamber.
Choking back a sob, Dominique found her regret the instant he left. Springing from the bed, she flew at the door, striking it once with her fist, and crying out in anger. Yet her rage was directed more at herself than at Blaec, for sweet merciful Christ, how could she have been so witless last night?
Turning her back to the door, she leaned against it, her limbs shaking. Never had she despised herself more than she did in that instant—never had she felt more the fool.
She loved a man who could not love her back... and in loving him, had betrayed the man she was bound to wed—not to mention her brother, who would be enraged when he discovered what she'd done.
Aye, she was a fool.
How, in God's name, had she embroiled herself so deeply? Had Graeham come upon them this morning whilst they slept? Dominique could not help but wonder. And fret. If he had spied them in just such an intimate lover's embrace as she'd awakened in this morn, she could not blame him for despising her. Aye, and she could well understand why he would go.
Jesu, what would William say? Perhaps that was where Graeham had gone—to William. That possibility both dismayed her and filled her with hope. For even still she prayed the alliance could be salvaged. It had to be salvaged, for else wise... well, she could not bear to think of else wise.
It seemed Blaec took great pains to avoid her the rest of the day. Dominique knew very well he'd not accompanied Graeham to London. She discovered that he'd been commanded to remain at Drakewich—an edict that had enraged him beyond reason, she knew, because his angry bellows had reached her all the way into her chamber.
Returning the courtesy, she avoided him too—as well as Alyss, for she was in no mood for companionship. She busied herself with any diversion she could find—nothing of consequence, of course. If ever she became lady of Drakewich, she would assume the duties of chatelaine. Until then, she had no right to the keys—nor was Drakewich in dire need of her direction. It seemed the seneschal performed his duties all too well. She was not needed here, nor was she wanted, it seemed.
With little better to do, she wandered to the mews to gain another glimpse of the birds Graeham kept, and was astounded once again at the wealth hoarded therein. But standing there, staring at the gyrfalcon, she was accosted anew with every memory and emotion she was trying so hard to forget.
Abandoning the mews, she visited her palfrey within the stables, making certain the animal was getting proper care, and then, with nothing more to explore, she closeted herself within her chamber—waiting, though she knew not for what.
Perhaps she hoped Blaec would come to her—and then again it was more likely she simply feared being faced with his wrath if she faced him unexpectedly. As of yet, she wasn't certain what to say to him.
Surely he could not blame her for what had happened between them last eve? Dominique blamed herself, but he had no right to place the blame solely at her feet—nor would she receive it wholly.
With every hour she spent alone, her fury grew.
So, too, did her anguish and her confusion. She missed the evening meal apurpose... yet she wanted nothing more than to see him. She tried to sleep, but could scarcely close her eyes. Whenever she did, the previous night's memories came back to torment her.
At last she could bear it no longer, and she arose from the bed, tossing off the coverlet, fully intending to seek him out once and for all. She found and lit a taper against the darkness of the tower chamber. As she lifted it up, she startled suddenly, nearly dropping the taper when she heard the antechamber door open, and then close.
For an instant Dominique froze, uncertain what to do. Holding the candlestick before her with trembling hands, she turned to face the door, her heart racing.
It was impossible to keep his distance.
Even knowing it was wrong.
Even knowing the price they would pay—might have already paid—for he was certain Graeham had spied them together.
Like a drunkard after taking his first swill, Blaec was forced to seek another, and another... and another.
He had fully intended to spend the night within Graeham's chamber, as far as he could from her—but his feet had continued up the tower steps, defying him even as he commanded himself to go back.
God damn him to hell, but he could not.
And tonight he had not even the wine to use as an excuse. He went with a clear mind, and free will, and a leaden feeling in the pit of his gut that was the essence of his betrayal.
Upon opening the door to his chamber, he found her standing barefoot before him, dressed only in her chainse. Her auburn locks were loose, her curls wildly disheveled as though from slumber. He tried to speak, but the sight of her staggered him, rendered him speechless. He'd expected to find her abed—had hoped to, or so he'd told himself—so that he could see her, satisfy his curiosity, and then turn and go.
But she was not. And he knew damned well he would not have left her, even had she been deep in slumber.
She said nothing, though her lips parted to speak.
If she asked him to leave, he wasn't certain he could comply.
The light of the candle illuminated her beautiful face... her brilliant sapphire eyes, and her bosom, clad in the most diaphanous white cloth he had ever beheld. Fine from use, and unpleated, it fell short of her ankles, telling him that the garment was far from new.
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