Once Upon a Kiss

by Tanya Anne Crosby

  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.

  It occurred to him suddenly that, while she had fine, new gowns—one less after he’d all but destroyed the one fashioned of his own stolen cloth—the majority of her garments were thread-worn and long outmoded. It implied that, for all his pretty words, her brother did not value her overmuch. The fact that he’d simply left her, without remaining to witness a ceremony, had seemed strange at the time... yet now it began to make sense. Nay, William could not value her, or he would have remained—regardless of the hostilities that lay between them.

  If she had been his own blood, he would have remained by her side, until the last instant, guarding her honor.

  He found himself regretting that he’d destroyed the crimson gown. It was no wonder she’d worn it so oft—and no wonder she’d taken such pride in the accursed thing. It was likely the only thing her brother had gifted her with in years. His gaze was drawn to her coffers—merely two, confirming his suspicions. That she should have so little baggage for all her worldly possessions was inconceivable. His gut twisted with the realization, and he found himself wishing he could bestow other gowns upon her. Found himself wishing that it were his right to do so.

  Forsooth, he found himself wishing she were his bride... that he might shower her with all that her heart desired.

  His gaze returned to her. She stood proudly, though her eyes were fraught with apprehension, and he could not help but recall the way she’d protected her brother, defended him, even when the bastard did not deserve it—nay, he’d not missed William’s bow being lowered in the forest. But he’d not been wholly certain, and so he’d let it pass. Still, while he could bring himself to believe that it had been an accident—and it may well have been, though he sorely doubted it—he knew as he gazed at the woman standing before him that she was innocent of her brother’s treachery.

  A vision of her hastening after him in the bailey when first she’d arrived at Drakewich, defending her brother’s honor against his insinuations and outright accusations accosted him.

  Why was it the unloved fought so hard to gain what could not be held?

  The question tormented him, for he could have been speaking of himself. He cleared his throat, glancing out the window. From this side of the keep, the moon was rarely visible. Once more, the night was black, the stars too far and too few to lend their meager light. He was glad she held a taper.

  Tonight he wanted to see her.

  She stood unmoving, her exquisite sapphire eyes fixed upon him... as though she feared what he would do next... what he would say. Her breasts rose and fell softly. Recalling the way he’d awakened this morn, cradling her soft flesh beneath his palm, he was
undone.

  “Where were you going at this late hour?” he asked hoarsely. His heart hammered against his ribs.

  Her brows drew together and she shuddered, though the chamber was not cold. “I...” She glanced away, closing her eyes, swallowing.

  And he knew.

  Yet how could he blame her for something he could not even control in himself? He thought to put her at ease, to tell her so. “Last night happened by no fault of your own,” he said honestly. ‘The fault was mine.”

  She peered up at him, shaking her head, her eyes welling with tears. “Nay...” She averted her gaze to the bed. “If... if only it were so,” she replied miserably.

  “Last night was inevitable, Dominique.” As tonight would be. He swallowed thickly, for betrayal was no easier the second time around. But he could not help himself. “I...” He, too, glanced away, his heart hammering. “I could not stay away,” he said with no small amount of self-contempt.

  For an instant the silence engulfed them, surrounded them, a silence in which the beating of their hearts ticked the seconds by, drew them out to agonizing lengths.

  Her features screwed with anguish as she faced him again, her eyes gleaming with unshed tears. “I—I did not want you to stay away,” she confessed with trembling lips.

  Blaec needed to hear no more.

  Dominique cried out softly at the intensity in his gaze. He moved toward her with purpose, and God’s truth, she thought she would swoon. Without a word, he removed the candlestick from her hands, placing it down upon the coffer beside them. Its light shone between them, casting their distorted images upon the whitewashed ceiling.

  She gasped in surprise as he knelt at her feet, touching her hem. He glanced up at her as he lifted up her chainse, silently pleading for her consent. She gave him a jerky nod, and her heart pummeled against her ribs as he bent and touched his lips to the bare skin of her calf. Gooseflesh arose and spread, like wildfire, to her arms. Her breasts ached for his touch.

  With a soft cry, her head lolled backward as his lips began a slow ascent upon her legs, first one and then the other. Above her, the orange light of the taper played their every motion against the ceiling. Erotic. Every muscle in her body tautened as he moved up the length of her body, inch by inch, lifting the chainse mere fractions each time.

  Merciful heaven, she thought she would die with the exquisite pleasure!

  His tongue and his lips, they worshiped her, lapping and kissing, nipping at the sensitive flesh of her inner thighs until Dominique swore she could bear it no longer.

  She could not speak to stop him when he lifted the chainse even higher, to the apex above her thighs. Her legs trembled traitorously. Clutching the cloth of her gown within his fist, he held it at her belly as his mouth rose, finding and exploring her most secret parts. She swallowed convulsively.

  All the while she watched the ceiling, seeing their shadows in motion, her heart tripping wildly.

  Dominique felt her legs buckle beneath her, but he was there to catch her. Crying out, she fell to her knees, facing him.

  His arms entwined about her, crushing her. “Shall I continue?” he asked, his whisper harsh and rasping.

  Dominique could not speak Though she was not certain she could bear it, she nodded, and he proceeded to lift her chainse up and over her head, discarding it.

  “I want to see you,” he whispered. “All of you... here by the candlelight.”

  Dominique could not have spoken to refuse him, even if she’d wished to. But she didn’t. Once she was bared to his eyes, he merely stared, without touching her, his hands at his sides. And then he lifted one hand to her breast, touching it, cradling it reverently. And then the other. Dominique swallowed, moaning, unable to speak, unable to think when he touched her so tenderly.

  Her breath quickened.

  One hand left her breast, traveling down her side, her waist, her hip, as though measuring her, and then he retraced his path upwards, exploring her sensuously, and in that moment Dominique wanted to see him as well, give back to him what he gave to her.

  Her heart pounding, she reached out to touch the hem of his tunic as he’d done with her chainse. Their eyes met, and he nodded, giving her leave. Her heart tumbled at her brazenness, but she would not stop. Following his lead, she lifted his tunic, up and over his head, letting it fall from her hands to the floor to he with her own discarded gown.

  Before she could think to stop herself, before she could lose her nerve, she leaned over and touched her lips to his smooth chest. He groaned, his hands going to her waist to hold her, telling her without words that he approved. As never before in her life, Dominique was filled with euphoria.

  She wanted to please him. Wanted to love him. Wanted him to love her. She wanted to give him anything he desired, everything she owned... her mind, her body, her heart.

  Remembering all that he’d done to her the night before, she sought and found his nipples, lapping them, kissing him, each in turn. Her teeth closed about one peak, and his head fell back, the cords in his neck revealing the tautness of his body. Once again, Dominique felt triumph, even as his response to her touch brought her own body pleasure. Somewhere deep within her, she reveled in the feel of his body, and it roused her as she’d never thought possible.

  Eagerly she explored his chest with her hands and her mouth, rejoicing in the way that his muscles leapt at her every touch.

  “Dominique,” he rasped. “I cannot bear it.” He reached out, seizing her hand, taking her fingers where he willed them most—the ties of his breeches.

  Her heart leaping with the silent request, Dominique obeyed, unlacing them at once. They fell discarded to his knees, revealing him to her eager eyes. Again her heart tripped, but for the longest time, she could only stare.

  He was magnificent.

  Once again, he reached out, taking one of her hands from her side. Bringing it between them, his eyes never leaving hers, he unfolded her fingers, one by one, until she was left with an open fist. Bringing her fingers to his lips, he kissed them one by one, suckling them, wetting them, and then without a word, he lowered her hand to his shaft, guiding her fingers to close about it. She inhaled sharply, the beat of her heart quickening, but she did not resist. She held him, her own body convulsing privately with the feel of him against her palm.

  Nor was he unaffected, for he closed his eyes, and his body jerked slightly, his hand falling away.

  “I’ve yearned for this—” he swallowed visibly “—since the day you bathed me,” he told her honestly, and then he gazed at her once more, his eyes glittering as though with fever.

  Dominique could not find her voice to speak. Nor could she move. She continued to kneel before him, without the first clue as to what he wished of her, her breast heaving. He seemed to understand her dilemma, for he chuckled softly, richly, and the sound was as arousing to her as the feel of his body within her hand.

  Smiling, the first true smile she’d ever spied upon his beautiful lips, he moved within her fist, once, twice, and then again, and Dominique was undone. Her body suffused with heat. “Please,” she cried out, panting softly.

  He withdrew, and reached out, sweeping her up into his arms. He lifted her, carrying her swiftly to the bed. Though unlike the night before, he laid her down gently, and then stood, staring down at her, saying nothing. And then he lay down upon her, slowly, fitting his body against her own. Dominique welcomed his weight, gripping the bed sheets, lifting her knees instinctively. Again he chuckled, and the sound was ambrosia to her senses. He found her, impaled her slowly, embedding himself, and then he stilled.

  “Show me what you want,” he commanded her softly, lifting himself and bracing his weight upon his arms to give her room.

  At first Dominique could not quite comprehend what he asked of her, and then she did. She began to move beneath him, moaning with the extraordinary sensations that burst through her.

  She wanted this to last an eternity, wanted it to never end...

&nb
sp; At first the pace was slow, and then, though she tried to restrain herself, she quickened it, gasping aloud when he joined her movements. Instinctively Dominique wrapped her legs about his thighs, bringing him closer against her, wanting him deeper still.

  She surged upward, impaling herself further, and then the pace was lost to them both as their bodies took over the mating ritual.

  Crying out, whimpering, Dominique met his every thrust, drawing him deeper each time. Until it seemed he touched her very core. In that instant her body shattered into a thousand brilliant pieces.

  And still he did not stop.

  He loved her fiercely, seeking his own release, and Dominique’s heart leapt higher and higher with each stroke. Until she thought she would die. He brought her to yet another release, and then with a last rousing thrust, he cast his head backward, crying out savagely.

  He collapsed atop her, burying his face against her neck, and Dominique held him, stroking his back, running her fingers through the length of his hair.

  With all her might, she fought the desire to tell him that she loved him.

  Chapter 21

  Waiting for his summons, Graeham paced the hall outside of King Stephen’s apartments. Though he’d arrived in London early yesterday, he’d waited until today to seek counsel with the king. He was certain Stephen would never have denied him, but he’d waited out of respect, not wanting to appear before his sovereign begrimed from the journey. Well rested now, and tidied, he was prepared to make his request, unconventional as it might be.

  Well aware that Stephen would think him mad, he was nevertheless determined. Too long he’d contemplated this—since the day of his mother’s death, in truth. Had she lived, he knew she would have approved.

  The door opened at last, and he was beckoned within. Sucking in a fortifying breath, he followed the king’s chamberlain to the hall where the king waited. In a chamber full with the bounty of his twenty-year reign, Stephen stood in plain dress at the window with his back to Graeham, gazing out, his pale hair revealing little of his gray.