by Julia Latham
“So it will be as if you start a new life,” she said softly.
He sat back, his belly full at last, regarding her. “Many people are forced to do so. I’ve seen this in my work for the League. The few assignments I’ve been on have shown me that the world can be a cruel place, and people are often dealt tragic blows. But they survive them, just as I did. Just as you’ll survive whatever happens to your father.”
It was a cruel thing to remind her, and he saw the stunned look she couldn’t hide. But she had not yet told him all of her secrets, and he could not let her forget them—or what they meant to him.
He stood up and began to move about the chamber, pacing from the window to the hearth, from the door to the bed. Although he was not at peak strength, he felt well enough that they would certainly be leaving by dawn on the morrow. His wound occasionally gave him a twinge of pain, but it wasn’t bleeding.
By late afternoon, he was restless and bored. He kept looking at Florrie, who seemed to be plucking out more stitches than she sewed. More and more he was thinking about the bed, and Florrie, and the privacy they’d have for one more night. He really must be feeling better, because she was dominating his thoughts.
He stopped above her to examine her work, and she didn’t lift her head. He looked at the fine hairs curling beneath her ear, and the way her fingers delicately touched the cloth. He’d spent a night with her hands on him, and he couldn’t remember any of it, which was frustrating.
“Do you want something, Adam?” she said, at last looking up at him.
He put his hand on her shoulder, and the silence stretched out between them. Her eyes widened and grew softer, and she glanced at his hand, so close to her face.
Then there was a soft knock on the door, and he stepped away.
Christina entered. As she closed the door behind her, she looked between the two of them curiously, then focused on a blushing Florrie. Adam wondered if perhaps Christina understood her sister more than Florrie ever thought she did.
Christina leaned back against the door. “I wanted to let you know that we have a guest who knows you, Florrie.”
Florrie rose to her feet. “Who is it?”
“Our brother by marriage, Claudius Drake.”
“I thought he was in London,” Florrie said with a growing frown.
“He was, and he returns again on the morrow. He was been visiting people in the countryside, or so he says.”
“So he says?” Adam echoed.
Christina glanced at him, as if surprised he had spoken. Of course, she thought of him as nothing but Florrie’s guard.
Florrie said, “Christina and I never quite trust what Claudius says.”
“He has been caught too often in convenient…mistruths,” Christina agreed.
The sisters exchanged smiles.
“Do not let him stop you from disguising yourselves and sharing the evening meal with us,” Christina said. “There will be dancing afterward. Surely you are tired of being confined here after your exciting journey.”
“Nay, we cannot,” Florrie said before Adam could even open his mouth. “I thank you for thinking of us, Christina, but ’tis imperative that we quietly leave on the morrow.”
“Imperative, why?” Christina asked.
Adam said, “The missive I carry needs to be delivered, Lady Christina.”
“But do you not work for my sister, who needs to recover from the strain of caring for you?” Christina’s voice was a little sharper now.
Florrie walked to her sister and took her hand. “He works for Father, Christina. In London, I will have time to relax and enjoy myself.”
“But will you, Florrie? Do you promise not to allow Father to shorten your stay?”
“I promise.”
Christina glanced at Adam again. “Since you are better, Sir Edmund, perhaps my sister should stay with me this night.”
“I am sworn to protect my lady,” Adam said. “I will not leave her side.”
“’Tis all right, Christina,” Florrie said. “I will be safe with him.”
When a reluctant Christina had gone, Adam said, “It seems you and your sister have come to an understanding.”
Florrie, who’d been staring thoughtfully at the door, now smiled over her shoulder at him. “Amazing, is it not? It seems distance and time do help. Perhaps it will be so with you and your brother Paul.”
He gave her a gentle smile. She was always so concerned for him. Surely she was that way with everyone, he told himself. But he couldn’t believe it. He found himself walking toward her slowly, waiting for her to back away.
But she didn’t. Though her gaze remained confused, it never left him. She looked at his mouth. Did she want him to kiss her? Did she understand that after all they’d been through, all they’d come to mean to one another, he wouldn’t be able to stop with just a kiss?
And then Florrie licked her lips, and it hit him like a kick in the gut. He had no more control where she was concerned. But he had to try, for her sake, even if they had to take a risk to distract themselves.
“We need to leave this chamber, even if only for a while,” he said in a low voice. “Your sister said there was music and dancing. Shall we go watch in secret? Did I see a gallery above the great hall? With a screen?”
She cleared her throat. “You did. I did not think you were so aware.”
He shrugged. “’Tis the training. Shall we go?”
She nodded her agreement, but part of him thought she was disappointed with his suggestion. Did she really want to risk being alone with him—and accept the consequences?
Chapter 18
Florrie did not know what was wrong with her, but this breathless sensation, this awareness of Adam, had been building all day. Or to be honest, ever since she’d known him. Everything was conspiring to make her lose her head where he was concerned: the illness she’d feared would take him from her, their proximity to London, and the end of their adventure. Did she want to end with regrets? Did she want to risk her future for a chance encounter that might have meaning only to her?
She was relieved when Adam turned from her and began to pace again. He seemed so healthy and strong that it was difficult to remember he was still recovering. She went back to her sewing, trying not to look at him—trying not to look at the bed.
Christina brought them a tray of food before her own supper, looking between them with bemusement, but saying nothing except that she’d see them on the morrow. Adam had told her to come at dawn, or they would already be gone, and Christina nodded almost sadly. To Florrie’s surprise, she thought Christina would miss her—and she’d miss her sister, too. She’d never thought she’d have people she’d regret leaving behind when she went to the convent. But that was no longer true, and it made her feel almost…angry. Anger was an emotion she seldom allowed herself, for it affected and hurt no one but her.
She and Adam ate in strained silence, and she was grateful when he did not change his mind about watching the dancing. Sitting alone staring at each other for the entire evening would prove too tempting. They ascended a floor, then Florrie led him back in the direction of the great hall. The corridors were eerily empty as all enjoyed their meal. Gradually, they could hear a cacophony of voices growing ever louder, and at last they reached the gallery running along the top of the great hall. Part of it was screened in, with peepholes disguised within the decorative front of the screen, so that servants could watch from above and see when their master might need them. But the master had departed, and the servants were all below, enjoying the conclusion of their meal.
Florrie stood almost shoulder to shoulder beside Adam and looked through a peephole large enough that she could watch with both eyes. As the trestle tables were folded away, the musicians began to warm up their instruments on a dais in the far corner.
“Did you dance often?” Adam asked quietly.
She kept her gaze on the people below. “Aye, I did. It was one of my favorite things. My limp makes it awkward,
of course, but sometimes the right partner knows how to help me feel like it doesn’t matter.”
“I imagine with you in his arms, a man wouldn’t care about something so unimportant as a limp.”
Though she shouldn’t pay any heed to his flattery, she blushed with pleasure. He was just being kind, she told herself.
The music began to play, and her toes tapped to the rhythm.
“You said you knew how to dance,” Florrie said. “How did you learn without women?”
“I learned the steps, but I’ve never danced with a woman.”
Her eyes left the peephole then, and she met his solemn gaze. He’d spent his life without so many of the things people took for granted. She ached for him with a sweet longing she could not deny.
“Dance with me?” he asked softly.
She nodded and put her hand in his. They moved together and apart with the steps of the dance, but always their gazes remained locked together. She felt a rising inevitability, knowing that she could no longer deny her complicated feelings for him. To a crescendo of music, he lifted her into the air, his hands circling her waist, and she gasped with the pleasure of it. He lifted her again, and this time he did not put her down immediately, but let her body slide against his. The sensation in her breasts and loins felt shocking and overwhelming, and she wished she could be suspended here forever. Before she touched the floor, he caught her with his arm beneath her buttocks, staring up at her, his customary mask of impassivity gone. There was yearning and tenderness—and hunger in the blue of his eyes. They’d both been denied so much in their lives, but they had this night to share.
Her resistance gone, she cupped his face in her hands, felt the masculine stubble and the lean strength of his square jaw. She kissed him, her desperation making her just as hungry as he was. Over and over she let her lips meet his, each kiss a little deeper. He murmured her name against her mouth, his voice with a husky timber that satisfied her. She’d never imagined being the source of a man’s desperation, and it thrilled her.
He suddenly turned her in his arms until he was carrying her, one arm behind her back, the other beneath her knees. She put her arms around his neck and clung to him, still kissing him passionately.
He lifted his head at last. “If we go back to that bedchamber, Florrie…”
She smiled up at him. “Aye, let us go back, and quickly.”
“You know what will happen?”
“I know.” And she wanted it, every adventure she could share with him.
He grinned and kissed her hard, then walked through the empty corridors carrying her, displaying such strength it was as if he’d never been wounded. But when they were at last alone, the door closed between them and the rest of the world, she could not stop her worries about his health.
“Adam, what if you are not sufficiently recovered?” she asked, gazing up at him.
“You have seen to that, my sweet, in more ways than one.”
He set her down gently next to the bed. Although the window was open, the sun was setting on the far side of the castle, leaving the bedchamber full of gloom but for the lone candle on the table. Suddenly Florrie felt awkward. She wasn’t sure what she was supposed to do.
Then Adam loosened his tunic and shirt and pulled them over his head. The bandage tied about his ribs was yet clean, without the mark of infection. The last of Florrie’s worries about his recovery faded away. She had healed his body; how she longed to heal his soul. She could give of herself this night, and perhaps a miracle would happen.
She reached behind her back for her laces, but Adam was there, tugging at them gently, loosening her gown. She lifted her arms as he pulled the gown up over her head, not even feeling embarrassment, for even her smock seemed like too much clothing. And he’d—briefly—seen her in less.
The smock loosened with a single lace at the gathered neckline, and she swayed against him as Adam spread it wide. It slid down her shoulders, then caught at her breasts, as if for a moment offering her a chance to change her mind. Adam waited, too.
She shrugged her shoulders and the smock fell down her body to the floor. She stood proudly before him, letting him look at her.
“You are more beautiful than I’d imagined,” he whispered at last.
Finally, she blushed. “You have seen me naked before, when I thought I saw a snake in the river.”
“Before you, I’d never seen a woman totally without garments.”
She stared up at him in surprise. “But—”
“My encounters with women were always hurried. I’ve never even slept in a woman’s arms, as I’ve done with you for so many nights.”
His heated gaze moved over her, and her desperation rose higher. “Touch me,” she whispered.
“Not yet. Lie down.”
With a moan of regret, she did so, lying back against the bed cushions, her knees demurely together. She wanted him to remove his breeches, but couldn’t imagine asking such a thing.
He lifted up the candleholder. “I need to look upon you.”
To her surprise, he came down on his knees beside the bed, then held the candle near her body. The yellow circle of light moved over her, almost as intimate as if he’d caressed her. The light lingered on her breasts, on her belly, then on the hair that covered the deep secrets of her body. She felt admired and cherished, something she’d never experienced before.
“Spread your thighs,” he whispered hoarsely.
She gasped, her head falling back until she could search his eyes. She was shocked by the open need he didn’t hide from her, so without speaking, she did as he asked, feeling the heat of a blush sweep up her body.
At last he rose to put the candle on the table, and without thinking, she began to close her legs. He stopped her. Silently he slid his breeches off, leaving only his braies, the cloth riding low about his hips. And then he removed that, and seemed to hesitate, as if his engorged penis would make her change her mind. But her sister Matilda had long ago confided many details of the wedding night, and Florrie knew what happened between men and women. And she wanted him to know that she would never be afraid of him.
She reached out and touched the smooth head, feeling its heat and strength, and to her surprise, he shuddered.
“I hurt you?”
Giving a rough laugh, he shook his head. “Your touch is so far from hurtful. Let me show you so that you can understand.”
She expected him to climb into the narrow bed with her, but he went back to his knees. Leaning back amongst the cushions, she arched her back, reveling in the hot way he looked at her, wishing he would touch her breasts again as he had so many days ago, before things had changed between them.
To her surprise, he lifted her foot in his hand and placed a kiss on the inside of her ankle, his gaze never leaving hers. She smiled, feeling wicked, watching as he pressed his lips in a trail up her calf, then behind her knee. Her smile faded as he didn’t stop at her knee, his lips following a hidden path ever higher. She couldn’t breathe as he parted her thighs, as his head brushed against her woman’s mound. She moaned softly, trembling, anticipating—
And then his mouth traced up over the outside of her hip and to her waist. The air rushed from her lungs, leaving her feeling weak.
He smiled up at her, and it was shocking to see his face just beyond her breasts.
“Disappointed?” he asked.
“Never. Every touch is…wondrous.”
His smile faded, and that soft look returned to his eyes. He pressed kisses across her belly, dipped his tongue in her navel, moved ever higher, to where her breasts trembled, their peaks hard and tight with wanting.
She groaned as he ran his tongue along the lower curve of one breast, then up between them. He traced little wet paths toward her nipples, but never quite touched them. By this time she was practically writhing beneath him, her breath coming in little pants, trying to hide the sounds of her pleasure. At last she touched him, smoothing her hands over his shoulders, sliding the
m through his dark hair.
Then his mouth hovered over her nipple, and she found herself whispering, “Please, please,” not caring how desperate she sounded. For she was desperate, longing to be one with him.
He suddenly licked her nipple, and the shock of intense pleasure made her convulse beneath him. When he took her into his mouth, suckling her, teasing her with his tongue and lips, she bit her lip rather than cry out. Pleasure suffused her body, moving in hot waves across her skin, but it was centered deep between her thighs. She felt an ache of what could only be hunger, and she wanted more.
He moved more urgently now, spreading kisses back down her belly and beyond. His head dipped between her thighs, and he kissed her there, shocking her, but not embarrassing her. Nothing seemed wrong when they experienced it together. She felt his tongue part her and press deeper, stroking and circling. When his fingers rubbed her nipples, it was too much. Everything inside her rose to a fevered pitch, as she felt the approach of a new bliss. And when it swept over her, it changed everything, shuddering through her body, shocking her with a pleasure she had never imagined.
And then he joined her on the bed, rising up over her, settling between her thighs. Once again, she felt uncertain, but only because she wanted to please him as much as he’d pleased her, and she didn’t know what to do.
As her thighs cradled him, he leaned down to kiss her mouth. She tasted the saltiness of herself on his lips, opened herself up to the thrust of his tongue, enjoying the weight of his body against her. She felt his erection rub along the depths of her, and that set off another wave of pleasure through her body.
And then he was there, at her entrance, and she instinctively lifted her knees to give him better access. She was rubbing her body against his, wanting all of it, wanting all of him. He lifted his head and looked down on her, and she saw his hesitation, his worry that he would hurt her in the end.
“Do not stop,” she cried, clasping his hips in her hands, lifting herself up to him. “I know it will hurt the first time. I have married sisters.”
