Suddenly he was pushing her backwards, through the door and across the room to the bed. Her hands slid over his back and through his hair, and then she cried out hoarsely as his lips slid down her neck and over her throat and collarbone, grazing her nipples through the thin fabric of her blouse.
One hand was on her hip, the pressure making her squirm against him. Her eyes closed as his warm breath caressed her throat. She felt cool air on her thighs as slowly his fingers pushed up the hem of her skirt. And then his hands moved higher and gently he pulled the silken strip of her panties from her.
He lifted his head and gazed down at her, breathing unsteadily, his eyes dark with passion. ‘You are so beautiful,’ he murmured. ‘And I want you so much.’
Dry-mouthed, she watched him slide down the bed. ‘What are you—?’
But her words died on her lips as he dipped his head and lowered his mouth to the small triangle of damp curls at the top of her pelvis. She gasped, squirming beneath his touch, almost frightened at how badly she wanted him to keep touching her. Her pulse was pounding; her skin felt hot, burning with a fierce white heat. Inside she was tightening, her body tugging her towards the darkness.
Curving her back, she balled her hands into fists, curling and uncurling as she felt his warm, flickering tongue probe and caress. Suddenly her head was spinning. She clutched him closer and a fluttering, dancing pleasure shimmered over her skin, growing faster and stronger, quickening in time to her pulse, until finally her body tensed and she arched her pelvis against his mouth, burying her hands in his hair.
She lay spent and shaken, and then he slid back up the bed. She shuddered helplessly as his tongue found the soft swell of her breast. Moaning softly, she pulled frantically at the buttons of his fly, her breath stuttering in her throat as she felt the hard, straining male flesh as she eased his jeans down.
At the touch of her hand he groaned and, reaching out blindly, she pulled him inside her. His hips lifted to meet hers and he thrust deep inside, then deeper still, his mouth capturing hers. She gripped his arms, her body throbbing in response, moving and shifting frantically against him. His hands tightened convulsively in her hair and his mouth sought hers. Her muscles clenched and, digging her nails into his back, she cried out loud as her entire body jerked against his. And then she heard his own cry as he tensed, arched and drove himself inside her.
Later, their bodies aching and sated, they lay entwined on his bed.
‘I meant to ask you something, earlier.’
His deep voice broke into her thoughts and she tipped her head up to gaze at him. ‘What is it?’
He smiled, his eyes lighting up as they moved over her face and body. ‘I wanted to ask you why you came back. The second time, I mean.’
She frowned. ‘I told you. To get my job back.’
He nodded. ‘But there are other jobs. Surely no job was worth having to put up with me?’ Raising his eyebrow, he studied her face, watching the slow flush of colour spread over her skin.
‘I didn’t want to let my uncle down.’
She looked up at him, her eyes wide with misery and confusion, and he felt a sudden fiercely protective rush towards her.
‘You didn’t. But if you’d told him who I was he wouldn’t have wanted you to stay—?’
She shook her head. ‘I couldn’t tell him. He needs the money,’ she said flatly. ‘Edmund’s stupidly generous with everyone and he’s got in a muddle. Anyway... Your fee will make everything okay. That’s why I had to come back.’
His eyes were warm and clear, like single malt whisky. ‘I see. So you put up with me to make your uncle happy? Despite everything that happened between us, you let it go? For him.’ He shook his head. ‘I think that makes you pretty strong and loyal and kind too.’
Recognising her words, Prudence blushed.
Laszlo frowned. ‘You know, we might be more like one another than we care to admit. I think if we’d concentrated on how similar we are, rather than focusing on our differences, we could’ve made it work.’
Smiling, she slid her hand low over his belly, watching his eyes close with relief—for her sadness was almost too much to bear beneath his gaze. They had wasted what they might have had and yet she knew that one word from him and she would have given their marriage another chance.
But Laszlo was only talking about the past. Words like if and could’ve held no promise of a future they might share. Her throat was suddenly thick and tight with tears, and then she felt his hand curl underneath her and, closing her eyes too, she let the fire building inside her consume her misery...
Later, running her hand lightly over his hair-roughened skin, still intoxicated with happiness at how much he’d wanted her, Prudence buried her face against the hard muscles of his chest.
‘You smell gorgeous,’ she murmured. Tilting her head back, she met his eyes. ‘Like woodsmoke and lemons and salt, all mixed up.’
Laszlo held her gaze and then gently kissed her on the lips. ‘How is that “gorgeous”? It sounds like kippers to me.’
Laughing softly, she cuffed him playfully around the head and then, giving a shiver of pleasure, snuggled against him. She felt ridiculously happy and safe. Outside the sun was shining weakly, and she could hear birds singing, but it was what was inside his room that mattered. Just her and Laszlo: perfect and complete. Here they could laugh and kiss and touch, and the uncontrollable, intrusive demands of the outside world would just pass them by.
Drowsily, she pressed herself against him.
She didn’t remember falling asleep. With a sigh, she rolled over onto her side and, opening her eyes, found Laszlo, fully clothed, sitting on the edge of the bed watching her.
‘You got up...’ she murmured sleepily, stretching out under the sheets.
Smiling, he lowered his head and kissed her—a teasing caress of a kiss that made her feel hot and tense, made her want him all over again.
‘Why don’t you come back to bed?’ She sat up, the sheet slipping down over her body, exposing her breasts, and watched his gaze darken and grow blunt and focused. She shivered with anticipation.
‘I want to....’
He ran his fingers over the smooth, flat curve of her abdomen and she swallowed as a prickling heat spread over her. ‘But...?’
He glanced at her regretfully and then shook his head. ‘But I can’t. I just went downstairs to grab some food and my uncle collared me—now I’ve got to paint the barn with my cousins.’ Glancing from her breasts to her reproachful face, he groaned. ‘Don’t look at me like that! If I don’t go down they’ll come looking for me—’
Glancing towards the door, he frowned and picked up one of his sweaters from a nearby chair.
‘In fact, I wouldn’t put it past them to come barging up here anyway. Let’s get you decent.’
Prudence frowned. ‘I can just get dressed and go.’
She watched his face shift, grow hesitant, and then he shook his head slowly.
‘No. I don’t want you to leave.’
Her heart gave a tiny leap. His desire for her to stay was obviously nothing more than that: desire. But he clearly didn’t want her to leave, which was something.
Feeling suddenly wicked, she leant against the pillow and let the sheet slip even lower. ‘Won’t they knock?’ she asked mischievously.
He glared at her. ‘No. They won’t. Now—arms up,’ he said firmly.
Pretending not to notice how aroused he was, Prudence raised her arms with exaggerated slowness. Swearing softly under his breath, he slid the jumper down and over her head.
‘That’s better,’ he said, breathing out. Grimacing, he shook his head. ‘You are going to pay for that later, pireni.’ His body stiffened painfully as he heard her breath quicken. ‘Damn it!’ Shaking his head, he laughed softly. ‘You have got to stop taking advantage of me. Or at least feed me first. If we hadn’t missed lunch I’d never have gone downstairs and Kajan wouldn’t have collared me.’
Food. Lunch.
‘Oh, no! W-we missed lunch!’ she stammered, staring at him in dismay.
Laszlo shrugged.
‘It’s cool. I saw Papi and told him you were lying down.’
She gaped at him. ‘Up here?’ she squeaked. ‘You told him I was in your bedroom?’ Her cheeks felt suddenly hot, and she felt panic rising like a storm inside her.
Laszlo frowned. ‘I’m thirty, Prudence, not fourteen. I don’t have to ask permission to take people up to my room. Anyway, don’t look so worried.’ He leant forward and kissed her. ‘He was fine about it. He told me to let you sleep. Said that you’d been working far too hard. And Rosa was just worried that you’d starve. Which reminds me...’
Pausing, he stood up and walked across to the chest of drawers, picked up a plate covered with a napkin.
‘I made us a picnic.’ He grinned, his eyes gleaming. ‘Oh, and there are cherries. Unless you want to wait till I get back for dessert?’
She rolled her eyes at him and laughing softly, he sat down on the bed beside her.
While they ate he told her stories about the castle and explained some of Hungary’s complicated history. Then, when they’d finished, they fed each other cherries until there was nothing but stones and stalks left. Finally Prudence looked up and kissed him softly on the lips.
‘Thank you. That was delicious. Some quite surprising taste combinations. I like that.’
She was teasing him and he grinned.
‘I know you like to mix your flavours up.’
She shivered as his warm hand touched the bare skin of her leg.
‘But what if I could only give you bread and cheese? Would you be happy with that?’ he asked slowly.
‘Yes,’ she said softly. ‘If you were there I’d eat old shoe leather.’
His eyes were dark and unreadable and then, glancing away, he looked round the room speculatively. ‘Maybe you should just stay here in the tower? You could be my very own Lady of Shalott.’
She looked at him levelly, trying to ignore the steady, soft touch of his hands. Trying to stop herself from reading too much into his remark. She smiled. ‘Doesn’t she die alone and heartbroken?’
Laszlo frowned.
‘Yes, she does. I’d forgotten that part. I wasn’t really thinking about the poem. I just remember the painting by Waterhouse.’ He smiled at her mockingly. ‘Okay. What about Rapunzel? She saves her prince and they live happily ever after.’
Not trusting herself to speak, Prudence glanced away. Could she save Laszlo? Would he ever let her get close to him? She felt a flicker of hope. Maybe they could live happily ever after—maybe that was why fate had thrown them back together.
Her breathing slowed. Wrapped up in his bed sheets, it was easy to forget that none of this was real, for his words were so seductive. But her relationship with Laszlo would end soon, and there would be no happy-ever-after. And his words were designed to captivate and ensure that he got what he wanted. She sighed. What she had wanted too, at the beginning. Only now she wanted more.
And then, remembering how he’d held back from her just yesterday, she felt her stomach tighten. There was no point in hoping for any kind of reconciliation. What kind of marriage could they really have without trust and openness on both sides? Not that Laszlo had any interest in rekindling their relationship anyway. To him, this was and had only ever been a finite fling. Any seduction on his part was simply a means to an end. She needed to remember that when his poetic words started making her believe in fairy tales.
Composing herself, she smiled. ‘I’m not sure. I don’t remember Rapunzel throwing suitcases at her prince,’ she said teasingly.
He gave her a crooked smile. ‘That’s because her pointy hat got in the way.’
She giggled as he reached over and pulled her closer.
‘Not that you’ve thrown anything at me for days. Except the odd insult!’ His eyes moved across her face slowly. ‘I meant what I said. About you staying. I mean, why does all of this have to end?’
His arm tightened around her waist.
‘I admit when you arrived it was difficult. We had a lot of things to sort out. But that’s done now.’
His face was tense with concentration; she knew he was choosing his words carefully.
‘We could just carry on doing what we’re doing, couldn’t we? We both want it. And I want you more than I’ve wanted any other woman.’
She felt a twitch of longing between her thighs, but it was tempered with sadness. It was flattering to be so desired, only she wanted so much more. But the thought of leaving him was so dreadful to contemplate that there was really no point pretending that she would refuse a relationship on whatever terms he offered.
‘Just you and me? Just the two of us?’ she said lightly.
He nodded, but his expression was suddenly serious. ‘Just the two of us,’ he echoed. ‘That could work.’
Silence fell and then abruptly, Laszlo stood up.
‘I’d better go. But you’ll stay, won’t you?’
She nodded slowly and watched him leave and then, sighing, she fell back onto the pillows.
* * *
She hadn’t meant to fall asleep again. But somehow she had. It was the second time she had woken up in Laszlo’s bed. Only this time she was alone in his room, and she felt his absence like an ache inside. Hugging his jumper against her body, she drew some comfort from his scent, and then rolling over, she gazed around the room.
It was a beautiful room, with high ceilings and deep, wide-set windows. Unlike all the other rooms she’d seen at the castle, there were no paintings or mirrors on the pale grey walls and it was sparsely furnished. Just an armchair, the curved wooden bed she was lying on and a chest of drawers.
And then she noticed the photograph.
For a moment, she stared at it blankly, wondering why she hadn’t noticed it before, for it was the only ornament in the room. Then, pushing back the sheets, she walked across the carpet and, feeling slightly guilty, reached out and touched the framed black and white photograph.
Her mind was humming. Thoughts and feelings were buzzing through her head. And then she breathed in sharply. The two people in the photograph were Laszlo’s parents. She was sure of it. The family resemblance was there in every line and curve of their faces. They were so beautiful, so young. But what drew her eye was not their youth or beauty—it was the intensity of their focus. They literally seemed to have eyes for no one but each other.
Prudence swallowed. She had never seen a photo of her own parents together. In fact, the only picture she had of her father was from a newspaper. Someone—probably Aunt Daisy—had cut out the report of a trial involving her father. She’d found it, yellowing and fading, hidden inside a book.
She was gazing so intently at the photograph that she didn’t hear Laszlo come in.
‘Pick it up, if you want.’
Jumping slightly at the sound of his voice, she turned round, a faint blush colouring her cheeks. ‘You always seem to catch me snooping,’ she grumbled.
Watching her worry the soft flesh of her lower lip, he felt a sudden twitch of desire. Even wearing his tatty jumper, with her hair tousled from sleep and her pink mouth bruised from his kisses, she looked sexier than hell.
He gave her a faint smile. ‘Snooping...breaking and entering? Prudence, I have a feeling you’re not in Surrey any more!’
There was a short, tense silence and then he reached out for her as she stepped towards him and they kissed fiercely.
Lifting his head, he dragged his mouth away from hers. ‘I missed you.’ He felt her arms tighten around him.
‘I missed you too,’ she murmured, burying her face against his chest.
Finally she gestured towards the photograph and frowned.
‘Sorry...’ She hesitated. ‘They’re your parents, aren’t they?’
He nodded slowly, his golden eyes
studying her warily. ‘Yes.’
‘Is that before or after they were married?’
‘After,’ he said shortly.
She wanted to ask more, but the brusqueness of his tone seemed to discourage any more talk in that direction, so instead she glanced around the room and said lightly, ‘It’s not how I expected it to look. Your room, I mean.’
‘What were you expecting? Shawls and knick-knacks and bargeware?’ Seeing from her guilty expression that she had, he grimaced and shook his head. ‘I’ve had my fill of castles and roses—excuse the pun. But why do you care what my room looks like?’ And then he frowned. ‘Oh, I get it. You think it somehow reflects my soul.’
His earlier tension seemed to have shifted and his eyes were laughing down at her.
She blushed. ‘I did an Art History degree, remember? I can find tragedy and torment in two squares of maroon and red.’
Grinning, he took her hand and held it against his lips. ‘So what do you think my room says about me?’
She lifted her head. ‘I think it says you ran out of picture hooks. Either that or you’re a philistine.’
She yelped as he made a grab for her.
‘Just because I don’t want a bunch of Old Masters cluttering up my walls, it doesn’t make me a philistine.’
He spoke flippantly, but there was an edge to his voice and she turned to face him.
‘I was joking. Truly. I know you’re not a philistine,’ she said slowly.
She watched his face grow taut.
‘Because of my grandfather?’ He shrugged. ‘That’s rather a simplistic point of view. I would have thought you’d be the first person to understand that blood can be no thicker than water.’
He looked away, and her cheeks burning, Prudence stared at his profile helplessly. There was something pushing to get out from behind his anger. Something that he’d wanted and failed to tell her yesterday and she needed to find some way—some words—to reach him.
Holding her breath, she followed his gaze. He was looking at the photograph of his parents.
‘What were they like?’
Vows Made in Secret Page 14
