Pink and crimson rose petals floated in the bath, no doubt from the copious bushes surrounding the inn.
Henrietta’s hair, wet and shining had been fastened to the crown of her head with a comb. Silky tendrils adhered to her neck and framed her face. She drew her knees up to shield her body from him.
Her eyes were wide. She chewed on her lower lip as she regarded him in open trepidation.
Gentlemen did not take advantage of such a situation. Lucien knew he should turn away, but he could not. A sea siren could not be as breathtaking as the vision before him.
Henrietta’s satin shoulders glistened with beads of bathwater, and over her knees he could see the tantalizing valley between her breasts.
He swiped a hand through his hair and grappled with a hundred different emotions ripping through him. But he knew the reason his heart beat so rapidly. He knew why it drummed against his chest. Lucien understood the hard ache in his groin.
“Are you angry with me?” she asked.
From either embarrassment or the warm bathwater, her face was flushed, a soft beguiling pink similar to the blush of the rose petals surrounding her.
“What do you think?” he asked. He didn’t mean to embarrass her, but he could not tear his gaze away.
She lowered her eyes and slipped deeper into the water. “I did not mean for you to follow me.”
“At least you did not take to the trees or bushes this time,” he said quietly, attempting to make light of the situation, to relieve her mind.
“I could not stay. I will not be responsible for putting Mila and Jassy and the rest of your people in danger. The raid was far worse than I imagined it would be.”
“Reality often is worse. And then again, sometimes it is far better than the imagination.” His gaze fixed on her mouth.
The rosiness of her lips deepened as she pursed them in thought. Lips he longed to kiss once again.
“I did not fully understand what I asked you to do, when I begged you to take me north, Lucien.” She raised her eyes to his, serene pools of blue that drew him into their glistening depths. “I realize now, and wish to free you from our pact.”
“Since they did not find you with us, they will search in other places now, my lady. Like this inn.”
Her brow wrinkled in frustration. “Noooo!”
He pulled up the straight back chair and sat facing the rungs, resting his arms on the back of the chair. “Yes.”
She shook her head vigorously. “Still, I cannot return with you.”
Masking his concern with a nonchalant manner, Lucien raised a brow. “And what will you do instead, Lady Hadley? It is a long journey from Birmingham to North America.”
“I shall hire a horse and go on to Liverpool by myself.”
“Not a carriage?”
“I shall make progress more quickly on a single steed.”
“And draw double the attention,” he pointed out
“I beg you, Lucien, do not fret over me. I have caused you enough trouble. Return to your tribe. The evening has begun and they need you.”
“At the moment you need me more.”
She raised her head in cool defiance and replied in a clipped tone, “I am not in a position to argue with you.”
Whatever she said, however she said it, Lucien could not leave her. “Have you finished with your bath?”
“Yes.” Her gaze locked on his, wide and wary.
He slanted her a teasing smile. “If I were a gentleman, I would offer to dry you.”
Henrietta’s eyes rounded and her mouth gaped before she composed herself. “If you will only leave the room so that I may get out and dress, I would be most grateful.”
If he left the room, she would most likely bolt the door. “And I would be grateful if you allowed me to help you ... with the drying.”
With her arms wrapped around her knees, she glowered at him long and hard before scolding, “Lucien, you have placed me in a compromising—”
“Don’t get haughty on me now, my lady. You placed yourself in this position when you ran off.”
“Why? Why did you come after me?” she bristled, though she appeared to be on the brink of tears. “Why not let me go?”
“If I believed you would be safe, I could let you go.” Lucien admitted softly. “I have many things on my mind and would rather not be preoccupied with your safety.”
Henrietta dropped her forehead to her knees and did not respond for several moments. When she did reply, she did so without looking at him. “Do not vex yourself over my safety. The worst that could happen would be that I marry the earl.”
The thought of Henrietta in the arms of a wizened old man filled Lucien with fury. It was a situation he refused to consider. “No, that is not the worst scenario. Traveling alone opens you to attack by the vilest sort of rogues. You may be a villain’s prey long before the Bow Street Runners apprehend you.”
Again she was silent. When she spoke, it was a request. “Would you be so kind as to turn, so that I may at least get out of the tub before I am shriveled like a raisin.”
“My pleasure.”
Lucien pushed himself out of the chair and strolled to the window. The night was pitch black, his camp several miles away. He was alone with the English beauty he’d been lusting after for weeks, the woman he wanted more than he had ever wanted a woman before. Desire fired through his veins.
When he turned, she clutched her dressing gown, the palest shade of spun gold, to her body. The scent of sweet roses perfumed her hair and the faintest stain of pink caressed her glistening cheeks. Freshly scrubbed, she was more beautiful than ever. Without heavy kohl lining her eyes or dark streaks of rouge rubbed beneath her cheekbones, she shone more radiantly than the sun rising over a dew drenched meadow. She held him spellbound.
His heart crashed against his chest.
“Even though I am a woman, I am not without intelligence,” Henrietta told him softly as she made a wide, cautious circle around him in her bare feet. “I will reach Liverpool.”
“You are intelligent, clever and beautiful. You are all the things a woman should be, but still no match for ruthless men determined to collect a reward.”
“The reward,” she murmured to herself, as if only now remembering.
“Come back with me.”
She shook her head. “I cannot. I shall take my chances.”
“If anything should happen to you, I would—” he could not go on. He was talking like Steffan again, giving no thought to the words tumbling from him.
“What?” She inclined her head and met his gaze with eyes that weakened his knees. “You would what?”
“I would be distressed.” He took the dress from the hook. “Please put this on and come with me now. You are the most obstinate female I have ever encountered.”
“You mean, the most independent.”
“Which in England is just about against the law.”
“I shall not be ruled by the King of England or by the King of the Gypsies—”
“Say no more, Henrietta.”
“I have not asked you to worry about me. Do you think I wish you to return the ruby broach simply because I do not complete my journey with you?”
“No! It is not a matter of payment.” The runaway bride had managed to stir his ire.
She headed to the door as if she would open it for him. “Then just be on your way and carry my regards and appreciation to Mila.”
He cut her off, drawing himself up to his full height and planting himself in front of the door. “You tell her yourself. I am not leaving without you.”
“Well, I am not leaving this inn.”
“You are a stubborn, foolish—” Lucien stopped in mid-sentence. With her lovely face upturned to his, chin high in imperious defiance—or challenge—he could resist no longer.
She took his sudden silence for victory. “Have you finished?”
“No.” He caught up her face, framing her captivating beauty between his hands. “I have n
ot yet begun.”
Chapter Nine
Immobilized, Henrietta’s gaze locked on Lucien’s ebony eyes. He moved closer. Still, she could not move. His head dipped toward her lips. She dared not move.
Unlike the sharp intelligence she was used to seeing in those dark velvet depths, tonight his eyes glimmered with dusky desire. She had seen such a look before in the passing glances of other men and had felt nothing. But the smoldering need in Lucien’s gaze excited her.
Prickly warm bubbles of anticipation burst up and down her spine. She sucked in a quivering breath, closed her eyes and parted her lips. This time, just this once, she would enjoy his kiss. She would know it as more than a dream.
His mouth came down on hers, warm and delicious. From the instant his lips met hers, Henrietta’s expectations were fulfilled. Lucien kissed her with the urgency of a man satisfying a mighty craving. Oh, such a kiss!
She had never dreamt to have such a kiss. Her lips tingled under the pressure of his. Her head swam in dizzy delight. Lucien’s caress, now soft and tender, caused her knees to buckle. Her heart flew faster than a butterfly swooping and soaring through a spring garden with unbounded pleasure.
Henrietta longed to be closer, an instinctive need claimed her being—to feel his body against hers. As if he had somehow read her thoughts, Lucien dropped his hands from her face and gathered her into his arms.
She responded eagerly, wrapping her arms around his neck. Her yellow dressing gown fell open. And she was glad of it, to feel the heat of his flesh against hers. Henrietta abandoned herself to the Gypsy King as he crushed her against the rock-hard strength of him.
Her pulse raced at an astonishing pace. His tongue plunged into her mouth. She marveled at the taste of him, a strong salty, faintly liquorice flavor. She savored him, wanted more of him.
She was shameless.
Wearing only the flimsiest of dressing gowns she delighted in the kiss of a man destined to wed a princess, a man she would never see again once they reached Liverpool.
But when she arrived in North America, who would ever know of her stolen kisses with a Gypsy King? No one. Who would guess at a blissful night of love? No one.
And she did love him, with all her heart and soul.
The knowledge came as sudden and as certain as a melody to a songbird. Henrietta loved this handsome, noble man more than she had ever thought it possible to love another human being. She loved his strength and intelligence, his sense of honor.
She loved his kisses.
This precious time together would end too soon. In a matter of minutes he would take her back to the caravan. She might never have the opportunity to love Lucien again.
She relished the thick warmth that spread through her body like the honey from a hundred honeycombs. The sensual syrup flowed in a sweet somnolent path from her heart down to the core of her womanhood.
If her own dear mother had once, only once, loved a man she cared for, perhaps she would not have met such a sorrowful end. She might have chosen to live, comforted by treasured memories gathered in one night, memories powerful enough to last a lifetime.
Henrietta did not know what lay ahead of her, but she could predict with utmost certainty she would encounter more obstacles on her journey to North America. In times of distress or despair, she would have this night of love to sustain her.
Would he think her a wanton woman?
Spurred by a need to feel his bare chest, she lowered her hands to the buttons of Lucien’s shirt and grappled with them.
Lucien raised his lips from hers, stepping back without completely relinquishing her. “My lady, I do not know what came over me. Forgive me.”
The timbre of his voice was hoarse and thick with desire. His quiet apology only made her want him more.
“Whatever has come over you, possesses me as well,” she whispered.
“We must not let this go further.”
But Henrietta could not allow these feelings to end. She might never know them again. The alacrity and creativeness of her response astounded even her.
“I suspect we are the unwitting victims of some unknown potion Mila has concocted and slipped to us. We are powerless to prevent what will happen next.”
His eyes clouded to the darkest slate. A frown creased his forehead. “Do you know what will happen next?”
“Yes,” she lied in the softest of breaths. “And I shall remember it for the rest of my life.”
His frown deepened as he searched her eyes. He spoke in an urgent, anxious tone. “Do you understand the import?”
“I understand that I shall never regret ... whatever happens next.”
“You are willing to give yourself up to Mila’s spell?”
“More than anything else in this world, I wish to give myself up to this ... quite exceptional magic.”
“Magic,” he repeated.
Smiling, she tugged his fine white linen shirt upwards from his trousers. With his gaze still on hers, he pulled the shirt over his head.
“Ooooh.” It was a breathless sigh, an instinctive reaction to the broad, muscular chest before her as solid and beautiful as a sculpted work of art.
She reached out tenuously, spreading her palms gently against his chest, feeling his iron strength, exhilarating in the power emanating from him. His wide shoulders could carry the weight of the caravan, perhaps the whole of England. His well-muscled arms were capable of fighting off fire-breathing mystical dragons and dangerous, dirty Bow Street Runners.
Her wondering gaze followed the mat of crisp curls that narrowed to a trail moving down the tight muscled plane of his abdomen. She felt the simmering fire in her own lower regions, grow warmer.
Henrietta slowly removed her arms from her dressing gown. Closing her eyes, she let the yellow robe fall to a shimmering pool at her feet
She heard Lucien’s swift intake of breath and opened her eyes to find his gaze raking her body. The silver light glimmering in his midnight eyes warmed her as they skimmed from her breasts to her ankles in reverent appraisal. Streaks of white-hot heat ricocheted down her spine.
She brazenly stepped forward, stopping only inches from him.
Shameless! Bold beyond words.
Perhaps she was under some sort of magic spell. But the astonishing thought did not deter her. Acting on the demands of her heart and other arousing sensations that she did not fully understand, Henrietta rose on tiptoe and gently kissed the hollow of her king’s neck.
“Oh, God!” Lucien’s exclamation seemed to erupt from his very soul. The groan that followed unleashed a world of torment.
Alarmed, she whispered, “Tell me what to do. Show me how to love you, Lucien.”
Her breasts rubbed against his chest as she reached up to circle her arms around his neck once again. The searing touch sparked the flickering embers burning within her.
Lucien crushed her against him and smothered her with kisses. His hungry kisses covered her eyelids, nose, mouth, and throat as if he were about to devour her. Her heart beat wildly, she could not breathe.
Henrietta’s body trembled with excitement as wave after wave of tingling desire crashed over her. Moments before her legs gave way, Lucien picked her up and carried her to the bed.
She closed her eyes, reveling in the unfamiliar fever of passion that coursed beneath her skin. She heard him pull off his boots and toss them aside. She listened to the excited hum of her body.
Henrietta felt him standing by the bed. She looked up. He towered above her, a Goliath without his golden earring, a man of power and determination. He dropped his breeches where he stood. She could do no more than sigh, marveling at the perfection of his masculinity, the strength of his desire, evident even to an innocent’s eye.
For a moment Henrietta feared her heart would burst.
He drew in a ragged breath as his gaze settled on her, swept down to her toes. His chest swelled. Rock-hard from shoulder to manhood he stood before her a proud leader and passionate lover.
&n
bsp; She reached out her hand to him. Lucien paused for a breathless moment, but then enveloped it tightly in his own. Henrietta drew him down.
Never before had she imagined such bliss. Lucien’s lips caressed her, tasted her, licked her, savored her from her lips to her toes. He cupped her breasts, stroked her thighs. He kissed her deeply, loved her thoroughly.
When the pads of his thumbs lightly brushed her nipples, she moaned with the joy of it. When he sucked the taut buds of her swollen breasts, she feared her body would explode into flame, for the fire within her raged deeply.
She could think of no words to say, she knew no words to describe the yearning, the exquisite ache he stirred in her. Words did not seem adequate to his magic.
When at last Lucien raised his mouth to seal her lips once more, Henrietta reached down. She rolled to her side, and felt his hardness. She held him, gently explored the size and texture of him, and thrilled to the proof of his passion.
On a ragged groan, her noble lover cupped her bottom and pressed her tightly to him. He nuzzled the sensitive hollow in the base of her throat.
Awash in flames and fire she could not control, Henrietta’s hips undulated against Lucien in an intuitive, insistent dance.
The fiery blaze rushed through her veins. Now. A gnawing emptiness deep within her soul yearned to be filled. Now. She could not name it.
Instead, she crooned his name, “Lucien ... Lucien.”
Now! Now!
At his gentle prompting, a prodding knee against hers, she parted her legs.
“We shall be one, sweet Henrietta,” he rasped in her ear, in a hoarse declaration. “Now.”
“Now.”
“One with you.”
One body? One soul? One love? One for all time? Her mind could not hold a thought as she felt his weight shift and he rose above her.
Henrietta held her breath, preparing for whatever came next, surrendering to the swirling, burning need for Lucien. Her bones were melting, as swiftly and surely as butter left too long in the sun.
He entered her slowly.
The Gypsy Bride Page 11
