“Wickedness?” Christina’s lips twitched. “Given where you stand, it might be too late for that.”
Wulfe chuckled, then bade the boys light the fire on the hearth. Christina watched him, aware that the uncertainty she usually felt in this moment was much diminished. He spoke to the boys in a firm tone, giving instruction but not speaking harshly to them. Christina was reminded of Gunther with his brother’s young sons and had to blink back unbidden tears of recollection.
How absurd to trust a man, knowing so little about him. She went to the window and looked out over the city, noting that the shadows were already lengthening.
“If you object, I can extinguish it.” Wulfe had moved to stand behind her and the weight of his hands fell on her shoulders. Christina jumped a little, since she had not heard him move, and he swept her hair aside with a leisurely fingertip.
“I have no objection to the light,” she said, her voice husky.
Desire. She actually felt desire. Christina was amazed. It had been years since this deed had aroused her.
“You only say as much because it is too late,” Wulfe countered quietly. He touched his lips to her nape, sending a thrill through her, and continued in a whisper. “As you noted, I have already succumbed to temptation.”
Christina caught her breath at the vigor of her own reaction, and took refuge in teasing him anew. “This exchange will be complicated, though, should you insist upon remaining garbed until morning.” She glanced over her shoulder at him.
Wulfe nodded, apparently serious, but his eyes were sparkling so brightly that she was tempted to smile. “I believe an exception will have to be made,” he said, clearly endeavoring to sound rueful. His gaze dropped to the front of her chemise and she saw his eyes gleam. His desire for her fed her confidence and made her want to tease him.
“And so you break the rule again,” Christina chided and clicked her tongue in mock disapproval. “Brother Wulfe, are you always so wayward?”
Again, his grin flashed. “Nay, but on this day I am enchanted and know not what I do.” Wulfe spun her in his embrace, then brushed his lips across hers, his touch sending fire through her. His quick kiss was both gentle and confident, a good sign for the night ahead. He considered her for a moment that was long enough for her mouth to go dry, then strode to the door.
“Enchanted?” Christina echoed, guessing what he would do and feeling that cursed trepidation rise anew.
“Surely.” He turned the key in the lock, just as she had expected.
Christina stood as if struck to stone, unable to forget past nights and experiences, though she knew she should hide her reaction. To her amazement, Wulfe sauntered back across the floor. He halted before her, then offered the key to her with a gallant bow.
“You have no cause to fear me, and I will not give you one,” he said, to Christina’s astonishment.
He had noticed.
His protectiveness was not an illusion.
Wulfe closed Christina’s fingers over the weight of the key, his warm hand locked briefly around her own, and her mouth went dry.
She had not expected gallantry.
Perhaps she was enchanted as well.
Perhaps he could be convinced to help her escape.
Wulfe must have interpreted her silence as concern. He went to the boys, checking the fire they had kindled and instructing them to lay out their chess board on the low table between the divans. One unfastened Wulfe’s belt and took custody of his sword, showing much care for that weapon. The other helped Wulfe to shed his tabard, his aketon, and then his mail shirt and coif.
“Tend the fire well,” Wulfe instructed. “Even while you play chess.”
“Aye, sir,” the boys agreed in unison. Christina took note of their manner, obedient but not cringing, and knew they were fairly treated by this knight.
Wulfe returned to her then, in his boots, chausses, and chemise. His hair was tousled and he looked less formidable without his armor. He pulled the curtains on the bed on the side of the door, then across the foot. His choice would ensure that the boys could not see them coupling, and that they two would have a view only of the sea. He came to her side, unfastening the tie at the neck of his chemise.
His gaze was assessing. “And so they call you Christina?”
“And so they call you Wulfe.” Christina’s mouth was dry with a certainty that he had discerned one of her secrets.
He arched a fair brow. “Sometimes even Wulfe Stürmer.”
“Fighting wolf,” she translated easily, believing he likely was a fearsome foe.
“Just so.” He leaned closer and lowered his voice, amusement lifting the corner of his lips. “But neither is really my name.” He surveyed her, as if he sought the answer to some riddle in her eyes. “Do we have something else in common, Christina?” He placed a slight emphasis on her name.
Christina fought the urge to admit the truth. Instead she held his gaze and lied. “I am Christina.”
She was Christina, now, and in this place.
She might be Juliana again, one day, but she could only reclaim that name when her life was her own again—if ever it was.
“I do not believe you were always Christina,” Wulfe said, his hands dropping to her girdle. “Just as I do not believe that Venetian is your mother tongue.”
Christina dropped her gaze to his hands, fighting the urge to step away. “Why ever not?” she asked, trying to keep her tone light. He had fine, strong hands, and though he could have overwhelmed her readily, he unfastened the jeweled girdle slowly.
He considered it for such a long moment she wondered whether he knew its import. “You understood my nickname, which is not Venetian.”
“Many women in my trade understand more than one language.”
“And many in your trade in this city were not born here.” He glanced up suddenly, surprising her with his intent look. “Where did your journey begin, Christina?”
This would not do. She owed Wulfe no tales of her past and no confessions. Her body might have been sold, but her thoughts and her history were her own.
The door was locked. She had to deliver the service for which he had paid.
And that eliminated any possibility of confiding in him.
“Of what import is that?” Christina smiled, seeing how he watched her mouth. She parted her lips, letting him see her tongue, then leaned closer to whisper. “I am here now, as are you.” She had been taught a thousand arts to seduce a man, and she deliberately recalled her training. She ran a hand across his chest, hoping that a caress would distract him from his queries. “Even names are not of import in this moment.”
“Then what is?”
“Only pleasure.” Christina touched her lips to this throat. He had shaved, which she liked well. He smelled clean, and as a man should. Not perfumed or touched with the scent of another woman. She heard him catch his breath as she let her lips linger against his skin and felt him swallow. When she might have drawn back, he bent and pressed a kiss to the spot below her ear. His lips were warm and Christina was startled that he should be so gentle.
Tender, even.
Wulfe pulled back slightly and considered her, his eyes glinting. “Not always Christina and not always a whore,” he said with a conviction she might have found irksome had she not been so enthralled with him.
She could not confess her secrets so readily, though.
“No woman is always a whore.”
“Most women do not hold their secrets so closely as you,” he countered. “Fear not, for I admire your discretion.” Wulfe smiled and kissed her earlobe, his hands locking around her waist. When he murmured in her ear, Christina shivered, both at his touch and his pledge. “But I find myself challenged. Let us see if I can convince you to confide the truth in me,” he said, his words no more than a breath. “I have all the day and all the night to persuade you. I assure you that I shall make the surrender worth your while.”
He kissed her fully then, before she could reply
, and Christina found herself melting against him. His embrace was persuasive indeed, both tender and potent, so seductive that Christina might have forgotten she was the one charged to provide pleasure.
But she could never forget that.
Christina pulled back to regard him, then guided him closer to the bed. “It is not my place to confide in you,” she warned with a playful smile. She tugged the lace of his chemise free, so that the neckline of the garment opened. His skin was tanned and he was as muscled as she had anticipated. She felt a rare thrill of anticipation. “It is your secrets that must be revealed, to guarantee your pleasure this night.”
She reached and caressed him, then began to unlace his chausses. He caught his breath as he watched her. His eyes were more blue now, his smile more readily won. Whatever vexation had plagued him was already diminished, and she felt glad of that.
A satisfied man was a safer companion, to be sure.
Christina could not afford to surrender to pleasure herself. She had a service to deliver and had to ensure his pleasure at any price. She touched him, knowing full well how to conjure his reaction, but he closed one hand over hers and she glanced up.
“I know what you do in this,” he charged quietly.
“I would not expect you to be innocent,” she replied, softening her words with a kiss.
Wulfe smiled beneath her embrace. “You mean to distract me from this challenge. But be warned, Christina, I am not easily dissuaded as that. I will be your champion this night and unravel all of your secrets before dawn.”
Before she could argue, Wulfe cupped her nape in one hand, pulled her to her toes, and kissed her with new demand. It was a kiss that she could not deny, one intended to make her lose her reservations and her restraint, and it came very close to succeeding.
And it was only the beginning of Wulfe’s amorous assault.
* * *
Wulfe had chosen aright. Of that, he could have no doubt.
Christina was a rare prize, a woman both confident of her allure and protective of her privacy. She was not quick to confess any detail of her life, which only fed his curiosity about her. He liked the glimpse he had had of her quick wits, too.
She was different from the women he usually found in brothels. She was neither so hardened nor so vulnerable. He guessed that she had not come willingly to this trade. She had chosen it, doing what she had to do to survive, and given the tilt of her chin, he would have wagered that her previous life had been such that she might have expected better.
His sense that she had conquered adversity fed his dawning admiration. He found himself interested in learning more of her than in embarking upon the deed for which they were together.
Once she had led him to the bed, though, Christina’s manner changed. She moved with greater purpose yet at the same time, was more elusive. Wulfe could tell by her eyes that she followed a routine, that he might have been any man at all. It was galling to be the next prick who offered coin.
He yearned for the lady he had escorted up the stairs. Wulfe wanted to seduce the woman he had glimpsed, not be coaxed to his pleasure as if he were any man at all.
To be sure, there was no evading her intent. Christina had been well instructed in the arts of the chamber, and he was already aroused. She touched him with a surety of his response that took Wulfe’s breath away—and conjured his desire as surely as a flint touched to a tinder. Her timing was exquisite, her mastery of the amorous skills complete. She undressed him and washed him, caressing him all the while. When he might have protested, she kissed him to silence. He was weak enough to surrender. She pleasured him and beguiled him, her seduction so perfect that Wulfe could not have denied her any thing he had to offer.
The first time was quicker than he might have preferred, but truly, given his vexation with the quest, it could not have been otherwise.
The second time was more leisurely, as he was determined to see to her pleasure as well. He wanted Christina to be aware of him, not hidden in her own thoughts. He felt triumph when her eyes widened and her gaze flew to his, when her lips parted and her skin flushed in release. She mouthed his name, which made his heart thunder with pride. Though he knew that many in her trade feigned such a response, the surprise in her expression—and the fact that she truly looked at him again—told him of his own success.
That was sufficient to take him over the brink for the second time.
In the aftermath, he was exhausted. He was not a man who trusted luxury or reveled in it, but on this day, he could not resist its allure. Wulfe liked to think it was because he lay with Christina.
The true woman he had glimpsed, not the practiced courtesan.
Although it was not his habit, Wulfe slumbered against the perfumed softness of her skin, the musk of her pleasure giving him tremendous satisfaction. Did he truly trust her? It seemed he did. Wulfe felt her fingers in his hair, and her breasts pressed against his chest, and felt an unfamiliar satisfaction fill him.
“Do not leave,” he whispered and heard only her assent before he dozed.
He liked to think that he would have noticed if Christina had left him there, but in truth, Wulfe slept hard and longer than he might have preferred.
The journey from Outremer had been arduous and he had been vigilant each night since the baggage had been investigated by some soul in Samaria. His dreams were restless, his uncertainties about the quest taking the guise of phantoms and peril. Even as he battled mysterious foes, Wulfe was aware that Christina remained beside him, her fingertips stroking his brow.
She granted him sanctuary and a welcome haven he was already reluctant to abandon.
* * *
Wulfe was startled when he awakened to find that the room was growing darker. There were great bands of color streaking the sky outside the windows and the air had turned cool. He could hear loud music and laughter, undoubtedly from the common room below, and smell roasted meat. His squires bickered quietly over their game at the far end of the chamber—Wulfe discerned that Simon was winning, a rare occurrence that Stephen did not always accept with grace. The fire crackled on the hearth, casting a warm glow over the room.
Christina was nestled against his side, her gaze fixed on the sky over the sea. Unless he erred completely in his understanding of women, the woman he had glimpsed on the stairs was yet in his company.
Wulfe rolled to his side, the better to draw her against him, and braced himself on his elbow to look down at her. He pulled up the velvet to cover her breasts, earning a surprised glance from her.
“Recalling other times?” he asked, then bent to kiss her shoulder. She was soft and sweetly scented, her skin silken against him. The feel of his arousal seemed to encourage the return of the paid seductress, for she dropped her gaze to hide her thoughts.
She smiled and made to rise. “Would you like some wine?”
Wulfe tightened his arm briefly around her waist, not so much to restrain her as to show his preference. How could he encourage her to trust him? “Nay. Not before we make a wager.”
Christina eyed him warily. “Our wager is made.” Her voice was sultry and he heard the seductress in her tone. She leaned back and reached to twine her arms around his neck, but Wulfe caught her hands in his.
He was intrigued by the real woman. He was not sated and would not be so until she shared the moment with him.
Wulfe realized then that Christina had donned a mask to deliver the service he had paid for, hiding her true self as she did what had to be done. Wulfe knew that he did much the same when he rode to war, for killing was not his instinct.
In war, it was his sworn duty, though, and he fought better than most. He disguised his thoughts when he did as much, though, just as Christina hid her own.
“I think we have much in common,” he said and her gaze flew to his.
“Because you are sworn to chastity and I am in the trade of promiscuity?” she said, arching a brow.
Wulfe smiled at her quick response. He liked how cleve
r she was. “We both do what must be done and make our peace with it. You provide pleasure and I mete out death. Neither of us comes to the task with enthusiasm.”
“Perhaps so.” She turned away then, once more hiding her thoughts.
“Tell me how you came to be in this place,” he invited.
Christina abruptly left the bed at that. She donned her chemise, and he recognized that she put a barrier between them with the thin cloth. Instead of returning to the bed, she went to the window, standing there to stare out at the dusk. She might have been alone, but Wulfe was not fooled. He could see that she breathed quickly yet.
He waited a moment, then rose from the bed in his turn. He donned his own chemise before joining her. She spared him a glance when he placed a hand on her shoulder, but her expression was not discouraging. Wulfe made to pull her into his embrace. “You will become cold,” he murmured when she resisted him, and to his relief, she leaned back against him.
She was cold, and he drew her closer. His arms were around her waist, and she folded her own on top of his. He stood behind her, her curves pressed against him, and felt a curious contentment. They fit together well, to his thinking, her height such that he could tuck her beneath his chin. He felt that he sheltered her and liked the sensation well.
“We are both stubborn,” she said softly, and Wulfe could not help but chuckle at that observation.
“Perhaps not such an admirable trait to have in common.”
“But a useful one, to be sure.”
“Indeed.” He watched a shooting star trace its path across the sky, even as the last light danced on the waves of the sea. What an unlikely place for him to find tranquility.
Wulfe guessed that his mood could be attributed more to the company than the location. The boys bickered good naturedly over Simon’s win, then commenced another game. They fell silent in their concentration.
“Do you know that today is the feast day of Mary Magdalene?” Christina asked.
The Crusader's Heart Page 4
