Lust

by Charlotte Featherstone

  Under his enchantment she obeyed, and lifted her skirts, revealing her quim, the blond thatch that shielded her center. Parting her, he traced her slick sex, bringing the wetness on his fingers. Drawing back, he saw the moisture on his fingers, and heeding Lust’s beckoning pleas, he brought them to his mouth and licked them clean, tasting her.

  A startled sound escaped her, and he smiled wickedly. “Lie back and let me put my mouth to you.”

  Struggling with what she should do and what she wanted, Thane watched Chastity break for him. With a triumphant smile he lowered his mouth to her sex, and brushed his tongue along her. She cried out, grasped his hair as he teased her. His tongue circling her clitoris, he felt her fingers tug tighter, her hips searching, begging for more. So quickly she began to shake. Exploding beneath his mouth. So soon…he could hardly believe it, she was an innocent, yet she shuddered in orgasm.

  Excitement made Lust eager. He could take her like this. Lust wanted that, but Thane didn’t. She was under his enchantment, and he wanted her free of any magic when she gave herself to him.

  Turning away was the hardest thing he’d ever done. Lust protested violently, but he ignored him. Pulling the stocking from her leg, he tossed it aside and lifted her foot. In the moonlight he could see that the skin was torn—but not horribly so. With a nod to Bel, he allowed the animal to come close. First he sniffed the wound, then, with his long tongue he began to carefully lick the cut. Bel was not just any dog. He was a faery hound, and a healer. It was what he was meant to do.

  With a squeak, Chastity seemed to come out of her trance. The sensuality and the afterglow of orgasm he had seen in her eyes was gone, replaced with horror and fear.

  “Shh.” Thane silenced her protests. “He has the ability to heal.”

  Chastity watched in fascination as Bel licked at her injury, which seemed to heal before their very eyes. When he was done there was nothing more than a pink scrape-mark on her ankle.

  When their eyes met, Chastity pulled her foot from his hand and jumped up from the bench. “What are you?” she cried.

  The languid feeling that cloaked her vanished, and Chastity was left horrified by the evidence that was strewn around her. Her shoe and stocking were scattered upon the grass, and her fichu was half hanging out of her bodice, revealing the swells of her breasts in the low-cut gown.

  The man—Thane—had been perched between her thighs, the hem of her skirts raised to her calves. Even as she took in the scene around her, her words came rushing back. Such personal, intimate thoughts, and she had said them out loud. Had admitted to this stranger something that she had not even allowed herself to admit to.

  Rising to his full height, he towered above her, watching her with his strange blue eyes. Eyes that a woman could drown in. Eyes that promised pleasure and seduction.

  “Oh, God,” she whispered as her fingers trembled over her mouth. “What are you?”

  “A man.”

  She shook her head, her hair spilling from her pins. “No, you can’t be. You aren’t a man.”

  Chastity somehow suddenly knew what he was. A fey. A Dark Fey. Those beautifully seductive creatures whose sole purpose was to entice. Defile. Deflower. What had she done by walking through the gate? What sort of enchantment had he put her under?

  His hand reached out to hers, but she jumped back. Frightened to touch him. Horrified that the voice deep inside her pleaded with her to allow it.

  “You’re not a man.”

  His eyes narrowed and he folded his arms across the considerable breadth of his chest. “If I am not a man, what then do you propose I am?”

  “Fey.”

  The word hung heavy and quiet between them. His gaze darkened even further, becoming a thundercloud of swirling tempests.

  “I am Thane,” he said again. This time his voice brooked no argument.

  “A prince of the fey.” She stepped back from him, attempting to put as much distance between them as possible. “You’re a Dark Fey.”

  Deep inside she knew she was right. He was a member of the notorious Unseelie Court. Everything screamed it to be true. Every instinct she possessed warned her to run from this creature and hide before he could carry her off into the night. For that was his intent.

  Lifting her skirts, she ran blindly into the shadows, making her way to the gate, but she was stopped, lifted high off the ground and brought up hard against a body that felt like granite. “What do you want from me?” she cried, terrified of what he would do to her.

  Pressing her up against him, he turned her in his arms until her breasts were crushed against his chest. “I want everything,” he whispered in her ear. “Your heart, your body. The very essence of your soul.”

  “No!” she cried, fearing he would throw her to the ground and take her right there.

  “You’re mine. Created solely for me.” The words were deep and dark in her ear. “I will have you. Take you. But I will not throw you down on the ground,” he said, his voice growing seductive as wisps of hot breath caressed her ear. “I don’t want you quick. I want you long—slow and languid. I want to take my time when I lure you. Defile you. Deflower you.”

  Struggling in his hold, she punched at him, frightened of his masculinity and the fact he knew her thoughts.

  “Soon, Chastity. Soon I will come to you and you will be mine. But this is not how I want it. I do not want you fighting me. I want you—”

  Begging me… His words in the maze came back to her, and she saw how he smiled. He could hear her thoughts!

  “Soon, muirneach, you will come to me, but not now. This has been an ugly scene, and I would not have you remember this moment. This is not how it will be between us.”

  “I will never forget it,” she said with scorn. But he waved his hand over her face and whispered in her ear.

  “The only thing you will remember is that moment when you were intoxicated by my scent, when you wanted something more. When you wanted to be anything— anyone—else besides chaste and innocent.”

  The bluster went out of her and she softened. No longer fighting him, she felt herself clinging to him. “Chaste is what I am. Who I am.”

  “No, it is what you’ve been told to be. It is not who you are. I promise you,” he said hotly in her ear. “I will show you who you truly are. Deep inside, where that voice is trying to be heard. I will answer that voice, give it what it wants, and in the end you will be reborn into what you truly are. Mine.”

  SEVEN

  “DID YOU HEAR? I AM TO HAVE A GENTLEMAN caller this afternoon.”

  From a distance Chastity heard the voice, drawing her away from a garden bench that was surrounded by trees and flowers and the presence of a mystifying stranger.

  “Chastity?”

  Do not awake yet…

  The other voice was deeper; velvety and luring, beckoning her to stay. She wanted to…wanted to lie down upon the thick carpet of grass and run her hands through the long blades and feel the sun upon her face.

  Do not leave…not yet…

  Early-morning sunlight streamed in through the lace curtains. The heat from the rays was glorious and, sleepily, Chastity lifted her face to the sunlight, basking in the spring warmth and the smell of trees in bloom and the freshness of grass.

  Till tonight then.

  The voice faded, as did the image of a garden at night recessing, only to reveal the morning sunlight. There truly was nothing as remarkable as spring, when the world awoke from months of slumber.

  “Did you hear me, sleepyhead?” Prue asked peevishly. “I am a bundle of nerves, and you’re lazing about like a fat kitten.”

  Groggy, Chastity forced her eyelids open. She was no longer in a garden, but her room, her dream wafting away like smoke.

  With a groan, she came awake. She did feel remarkably lethargic this morning. Normally she jumped right out of bed, eager to begin the day. But this morning she wished she could curl up under the blankets and return to the dream she had been having.

&nb
sp; “Chastity, for the love of God, you’re not going to fall asleep on me, are you? I need you.”

  “No,” she murmured, struggling to keep her eyes from closing. “Of course not, Prue.” But sleep beckoned her, along with the elusive memory of a magnificent forest, resplendent with exotic flowers, and the heady aromas of some numinous land.

  The onslaught of the scent that had been present that night in the maze suddenly came back to her. In her dream, she had been held in the arms of someone who possessed that erotic scent.

  If only she could get back to that dream, she might discover his identity. In her sleep she could pull that golden mask from his face and reveal his identity. She would know the true face of the man who had come to her in the maze, and in last night’s dream.

  “What in the world is wrong with you?” Prue asked with concern.

  “I’m tired, that’s all.” But Chastity knew something else was wrong. She had never felt this way before, had never had these thoughts, and certainly she had never experienced such dreams as these.

  Strange, everything had started to change that morning in Glastonbury when she and her sisters had been taking a stroll. First, she had seen the golden-haired man atop his horse, and then another man, dark as sin. And then, their hasty departure to London.

  No, nothing was as it should be—as her life usually was.

  “How can you be so sleepy? You went to bed before ten o’clock last night.”

  Had she? Her body felt as though it was much, much later. When she had ventured into the garden it had been before twilight. The sky had been pink with the setting sun. But upon her return, the moon had been high and the sky drenched in black velvet. Yet she had the feeling that she had not been gone long, otherwise her mother would have been worried, would have commented to her about the length of time she had been strolling the paths. But Mama had said nothing. In fact, it was as though Mama hadn’t realized that she’d even left the salon.

  The garden… Chastity struggled to recall her walk through the paths, but could bring to mind nothing. Her memories seemed to stop after the moment she picked a posy of lily of the valley. What had happened to make her forget?

  “What is this?” Prue asked, reaching for Chastity’s hand, which was hidden beneath her pillow.

  Chastity watched as Prue pulled a pressed flower from the palm of Chastity’s hand. As her fingers uncurled, the most alluring scent wafted up, dragging her back to a fuzzy recollection of a man whispering into her ear before pressing a flower into her hand.

  I will answer that voice, give it what it wants, and in the end you will be reborn into what you truly are. Mine.

  The jasmine dropped from her fingers, landing on the blue satin coverlet where Prue picked it up and examined it.

  “’Tis night-blooming jasmine, is it not?”

  Chastity nodded, trying not to stare at the flower in Prue’s hand, or recall the words that suddenly filled her thoughts. Had she heard them in her dream? It had to be, but the memory was too visceral for a mere dream.

  She could actually recall the heaviness of his body pressed against hers, the warmth of his breath caressing her ear, the tremor of fear and excitement as he whispered those words to her.

  Was it possible for a dream to be that real?

  “Wherever did you find this?” Prue asked. “The garden is terribly overgrown. I can’t imagine that some thing as delicate as this could survive.”

  No, it couldn’t, Chastity mused. The climate was too harsh here for jasmine to grow. It needed a hothouse or an orangery. Jasmine was notoriously fragile. So where had she gotten it?

  “What does your herbal say of jasmine?” Prue asked as she sniffed delicately at the tiny buds. “My, it’s intoxicating, isn’t it?” she whispered, sniffing once more at the delicate little blooms. “The scent quite goes to your head.”

  Indeed it did. Chastity knew about many flowers, and she knew that jasmine was purported to turn even the most pious of women into wantons, and men…it turned the opposite sex into slavering beasts. Culpeper’s herbal said that dreams in which jasmine appears are lucky for lovers. Had she dreamed of jasmine?

  Gently, she took the flower from Prue and set it on the commode beside her bed. She would think on its appearance later, once her head was cleared. It was only a dream, she reminded herself. But never had her dreams been so vivid, so…sensual. Never had she dreamed of a man, a small voice inside reminded her, but she ignored it. That voice, she realized, was becoming louder, more insistent to be heard. She mustn’t let it win out over good reason, and above all, her chasteness.

  “You said something about a caller?”

  Flushing, Prue began to nibble on her lower lip as she nodded. “Mama came to me this morning. Papa has arranged it. A Lord Arawn. He’s from the north.”

  Chastity frowned. “For what purpose?”

  Prue glared at her. “You know what for.”

  “No.” Chastity felt her cheeks drain of blood. “He has not arranged a marriage for you.” Chastity suddenly felt the fear of losing her sister. All four of them were inseparable. To have Prudence taken away…she couldn’t bear the thought of it.

  Terror clouded Prue’s blue eyes. “I do not know about marriage,” she whispered anxiously, “but Mama told me that I am to join them for tea this afternoon in the salon, and that I am to have a gentleman caller, so I am to wear my best day dress. Oh, Chastity,” Prue cried, clutching at her sister’s hand. “I am afraid of men. I…I don’t know what to say to them. I’m…I’m not Mary. I don’t converse easily, and I’m so…restrained.”

  “Prue,” Chastity asked with a small laugh, “what are you trying to say?”

  “What if he doesn’t like me?” Prue blurted out as she clung tightly to Chastity.

  “Prudence, you’re being silly.”

  Gazing up from their locked hands, Chastity saw the glimmer of tears in her sister’s eyes. “It is no secret that men find me boring and insufferably proper. ‘Cold and indifferent,’ I have heard them whisper about me. But I do not know how to be anything other than what I am. I cannot be fun and light like Mary. Or smile and be benevolent like Mercy.”

  Chastity squeezed her sister’s hand. “I am not so sure that Mary is like us—a virtue. She is very different in her thoughts and manners. I have often wondered how she can be one of us.”

  “I have often questioned the same thing, but we were conceived at the same time, born minutes apart. How can she not be?”

  “I do not know. I only know what I feel. Oh, Prue,” Chastity whispered, flinging her arms around her older sister, hugging her tightly. “You’re beautiful just the way you are.”

  “You have to say that. We’re sisters.”

  “I have to say no such thing. I speak the truth. Always. You know that.”

  “What am I to do?” Prudence asked. “I…I…I…” She paused, and Chastity knew that Prudence was trying to speak her innermost secrets.

  “It’s all right, Prue. I won’t tell a soul.”

  “I want to make him like me,” she gasped. “I want to have a man look at me and…and desire me. I wish to be like any other woman, courted and loved.”

  Yes. Chastity knew the pain of that confession. She had admitted the same thing to herself—finally. But she had not realized that her sister felt the same way, too. The discontent that had been steadily eating away at her was gnawing at Prue, as well. She wondered if Mercy and Mary also suffered.

  “Just once,” Prue murmured, “I would like to be…normal.”

  “Oh, Prue.” Chastity was unable to find the right words to ease her sister’s worries. How could she, when she felt the same thing, feared the same things? Finally she said, “It will happen. We will have a normal life. The life of a woman.”

  But they weren’t customary. None of them were. They were destined for something other than a life for a lady of good breeding.

  “We have a higher purpose,” Chastity reminded her. “In time, we will learn what this purpose
is. If this man is your destiny, then it will be all right, won’t it?”

  Prudence had always believed, as Chastity had, that their lives and destiny were not theirs. That their path had been preordained from the moment of their conception. If they were to believe what they had been told, and Chastity did, they were infused with the power of the fey. And where there were faeries concerned, nothing was normal, or as it should be.

  Nothing was ordinary now. It was as if, on the Eve of Beltane while strolling through Glastonbury, they had been drawn from a long slumber. Awakened by seemingly innocuous events—the dark beautiful stranger who spoke to them on the path, the gorgeous golden god riding atop his horse. All very innocuous proceedings that had the veneer of innocence, but Chastity knew that if that veneer was rubbed away, it would unveil something completely different.

  Everything had changed that day. Therefore there was only one conclusion—the actions that had unfolded were by no means happenstance. She and her sisters had been awakened that day by something they could not name.

  “You know that our lives are not our own,” Chastity reminded her. “We belong to the fey.”

  “Perhaps they have forgotten us,” Prudence said as she pulled away from Chastity’s embrace. “The faeries, that is.”

  Glancing at the sprig of jasmine, Chastity felt a little tremor race down her spine. “Perhaps,” she answered, but she didn’t believe so. While she couldn’t remember a large chunk of last night, she knew that something had happened. One simply did not forget hours at a time, or awake with flowers beneath their pillows.

  A click of her chamber door drew Chastity’s gaze away from the flower. With a bright smile, her mother peeked around the door.

  “Good morning, Mama,” Chastity said.

  “Ah, good, you’re awake. I assume Prudence informed you of her good news?”

  Chastity shared a look with her sister. “She has.”

  “Well, you have cause to celebrate, too, my dear, for Lord Arawn is bringing with him a friend. You are to wear your best dress also and join us for tea.”