Lennox, Mary - Heart of Fire.txt

by Heart of Fire. txt (lit)

  of the bed, he sat up and pulled the shirt over his head, ripping

  stitches in his haste. He was so hard and swollen, he feared

  he’d never peel his breeches from his hips. He rose and made

  the mistake of facing Sera. She stared at him with wide eyes.

  God—he had to get them off before her eagerness gave

  way to virginal fear. He turned his back to her, ripped a seam at

  the ankle and shoved with his feet. He lunged back into bed,

  hiking the sheet over his nakedness before he rolled to face her.

  Don’t stop, don’t stop he thought.

  She was biting her lip. “You are… rather larger than the

  statues,” she said in a voice that trembled just a little.

  “Sweetheart, I won’t do anything you don’t want me to,”

  he whispered just before he kissed her. And prayed he wouldn’t

  be damned as a liar.

  Miraculously, she relaxed against him with a sigh, and his

  tongue swept in to taste her sweetness. She moved restlessly

  beneath him, and he knew she wanted his hands on her, thank

  God. He stroked the soft swell of her breasts and studied her

  face. His touch—his kiss—brought the haze of passion back to

  her eyes.

  “Your skin—it’s softer than velvet.” He traced the perfectly

  rounded contours of her breasts with his fingers, saw the flush

  cover them—pink on gold, like the opening petals of a blushing

  rose. He tasted her and drove her with lips, teeth and tongue,

  pushing her up into the vortex. He wanted her need to match

  his own.

  He had begun this thinking he could redeem himself a little.

  To help her forget. That had lasted for about a minute. Now, he

  couldn’t stop, even if the world ended. In the worst way, he

  wanted to postpone the act until she writhed beneath him,

  screaming with pleasure. And in the worst way, he wanted to

  spread her wide and seat himself to the hilt inside her tight heat.

  “Off,” he said, grabbing gown and shift at her waist as he

  nipped kisses at the underswell of her breast. With one quick

  tug, he had it at her knees, and with another, completely off and

  onto the floor. Nothing impeded his view of long, slender legs,

  tiny waist, and rounded hips.

  “Beautiful,” he breathed. His hand cupped her, stroked

  through the curls between her legs. She shut her eyes and rolled

  her head away from him, moaning and trying to hide from his

  gaze at the same time. Not enough—it was imperative that she

  recognize him.

  “Look at me,” he demanded again, and she opened her eyes,

  her vision focusing on the intensity of his gaze. “Watch what I

  do to you. I am the one making you feel this, Sera. I am your

  first lover. Your only.” He lowered his head, tracing his tongue

  down to her belly. The warmth in the room and her own heat

  gave off her secret scent. He breathed it deeply and rubbed his

  face against her belly, feeling the smooth satin of her skin against

  his cheek.

  She didn’t fight his progress. No, she helped him, lifting

  against his mouth, her hands on his shoulders, kneading, making

  small, helpless cries. He settled between her legs, brushing his

  mouth against the soft curls.

  “Gold here, too,” he said. “Such a beautiful part of you.”

  Sera entered a place where every feeling was magnified

  until it was almost too strong to bear. Oh, the sound of his deep

  sigh, and then the tickle of his fingers as he parted her, stroking

  once up the cleft, showing her the pearly drop of moisture on

  the tip of his finger, outlining her lips with it, and then rising to

  kiss her, his tongue tasting. Oh, the way he lowered his head

  again to that heated core and used his tongue, holding her still

  with his strong hands, commanding her on a rasp of breath not

  to move when she was mad to thrust up against him, to demand

  more.

  And how he entered her—one finger, then two, burning

  and pressure, his fingers thrusting, his thumb circling where

  his mouth had been, his lips covering her nipple and suckling

  in rhythm. She cried out in ecstasy. He made a deep, hungry

  sound, as though he wanted to possess her, to know her so

  intimately, that surely this was more than simple lust. His head

  lowered to her breasts and burrowed in the valley between, and

  she heard his smothered groan, felt his breath, his warm weight,

  and all the while, his fingers stole reason from her. She could

  hear herself coming apart, sobbing to him to give her release

  from this wonderful, maddening pleasure.

  He lifted his head from her breasts. His eyes snapped open,

  riveting her with his gaze. “Let it happen,” he ground out. “Let

  it come.”

  Frightened by the enormity of the urgent spiral building

  and building, she reached out helplessly for him, her anchor in

  the storm that buffeted her body. She rolled her hips, lifting to

  take his fingers deeper, and he stroked her until her legs

  trembled.

  “Now,” he said, and the lightning burst through her, again

  and again, throwing her into space with its force.

  Suddenly, he reared over her. She hung on a pinnacle of

  sensation and felt his hard heat at the juncture of her thighs, felt

  him thrust slowly, inexorably, into her, felt the pain mixing with

  the pleasure. She hurt, but she wanted this entry, this hot,

  complete possession.

  His lips nibbled at her, soft kisses on her lids, her face, her

  mouth. And all the while he pressed into her, past a place of

  pain where she cried out. When he was deep inside her, filling

  her completely, he held himself still above her, taking his weight

  on his elbows with a tensing of his biceps and a grimace, as

  though he felt the same pain. She waited, caught in that net of

  feeling, wishing he would tell her what to do. And he lowered

  his face and kissed her hard, almost bruising her mouth. He

  lifted his head and held her gaze with his. Finality and a joyous

  triumph leaped into his eyes.

  “You’re mine, now. You belong to me.”

  She looked at him, helpless, but his dusky lashes swept

  down to hide his eyes, and he lowered his head to her shoulder,

  biting her lightly, stallion to her mare. She gave to him, raised

  her arms and put them around his shoulders as far as she could

  reach. That motion released him. He began to move inside her,

  thrust and retreat. There wasn’t much pain, now, but an ache, a

  tension, and she moved restlessly against him, trying to help

  him, to keep him deep at the height of his thrust.

  He must have sensed it, this new emptiness she wanted

  filled. Perhaps he was beyond anything but the demand of his

  body, because he put his hands beneath the small of her back

  and pulled her up against him with every thrust, quickening the

  rhythm, his breathing harsh in her ear. His hands slid lower,

  kneading and lifting her buttocks. She wanted release from this

  overwhelming lust. She could hear his rasping breath, her own

  sobs. He raised himself away from her just a litt
le, still moving

  inside her. He watched her reactions with such an expression

  on his beautiful face. She felt completely naked, far beyond

  shame or self-protection.

  She trusted him. She did. And in that instant of recognition,

  she gave him what he wanted. With a cry of surrender, never

  shutting her eyes, she let him see the earthquake burst free and

  lift her out of herself. He groaned deep in his throat and thrust

  one last time, his back arched, his face drawn in pain or ecstasy,

  she could not tell. He held there above her, and a shudder

  wracked his body. He was as high and deep as he could go

  inside her. She shut her eyes, sighing, and felt his gift, the vital,

  surging warmth of his seed.

  Nicholas gave a ragged sigh and lowered himself until his

  body covered her from head to toe. Still joined, he rolled to his

  back, taking her with him. She could feel heat, the beaded

  moisture where her cheek lay against his chest, and lower, where

  she was slick from lovemaking and him. He said not a word,

  but lay with his limbs relaxed, his heartbeat slower now, and

  steady against her ear. She stared at the fire shadows dancing

  on the wall and despaired.

  Everything was changed. She was no longer Sera, the

  Mage’s granddaughter, or Sera the captive, or Sera, the

  combative friend of a king. All of those Seras had wanted one

  thing above all—to go home. But dear gods, how could she

  ever leave him now?

  Twelve

  Nicholas awoke to the sounds of muffled hoofbeats. “Sera!”

  he said as he leaped from the bed and grabbed the pistol he’d

  placed on the bedside table the night before. But she only

  muttered and pulled a pillow over her head.

  Nicholas peered through the window. The snow had abated,

  giving him a good view of the riders who rounded the corner of

  the barn. They wore the resplendent red tunics and navy breeches

  of Laurentia’s cavalry. Andre rode at the head of the full troop,

  his face drawn and pale with worry. Dismounting with a few of

  the officers, he tried the front door, which Nicholas had locked.

  Andre produced a key and slipped it into the lock.

  Nicholas grabbed his trousers. As he lifted a leg to put them

  on, he saw that his thighs were stained with Sera’s blood. He

  looked at the bed. Sera still slept beneath the quilts. What with

  his illness, and last night…well, he must have worn her out.

  Nicholas knew he ought to waylay the men at the foot of the

  stairs. But an idea occurred to him that would get him exactly

  what he wanted. His Rostov mind seized upon it, quickly turned

  it this way and that to look for flaws, and found none.

  Sera was the most stubborn woman he’d ever known. He

  needed an incident that would clearly illustrate their situation

  to her and the obvious solution to it. And here it was, climbing

  the stairs.

  He tried to keep the grin from his face as he tumbled back

  into bed and took Sera in his arms, slipping the quilt down just

  enough for the men bursting into the room to have an excellent

  view of one pink, naked little shoulder.

  The noise of the door almost flying off its hinges brought

  Sera awake in his arms with a jerk. She struggled to sit up, but

  Nicholas held her fast against him, keeping the quilt well over

  her breasts.

  “What is the meaning of this invasion?” he thundered at

  the gape-jawed men who stood around the bed.

  “Sire, our apologies,” stuttered Captain Oblomov, the

  soldier who had followed Sera about in Selonia. His face wore

  the look of a man who wanted to cry. He bowed stiffly, first to

  Nicholas and then to Sera, who finally grasped her situation

  and burrowed deeper beneath the quilts. The men followed

  Oblomov’s example and retreated from the room, almost falling

  over themselves in their hurry.

  Andre, giving Nicholas a fierce look, was the last to leave.

  “They’re gone,” said Nicholas as he went in search of Sera.

  He found her halfway down the great bed. “Come out,” he

  coaxed, gently tugging her up against him. “You’ll suffocate

  under there.”

  She batted his hands away, but he was insistent and stronger

  than she. When she finally surfaced, he took her into his arms

  and held her there for a long moment.

  “I’ve ruined you,” she said dully.

  He did grin, then. “I think it’s the other way around, love.”

  She shook her head against his chest. “Not with your court,

  it isn’t.” He hated the bleakness in her voice. She actually

  believed that nonsense.

  “Most members of my court are full of praise for you.

  However, it’s also true that I’ve ruined your reputation, not mine.

  I’m afraid there’s only one solution, Sera.”

  She looked so trusting, worrying her lower lip and staring

  up at him, that he had a real pang of conscience—for

  approximately an instant.

  “You’ll have to marry me, sweetheart. I believe it will take

  a few days to make all the arrangements. Obviously, we cannot

  wait much longer. The gossips will have quite enough on their

  plates when this gets out.”

  “Couldn’t we simply ask the men who entered the room

  not to speak of this?” She sat up in the bed, not even aware in

  her agitation that the quilt had dropped to her waist. Her nipples

  tightened in the room’s cold air.

  Nicholas pried his gaze off her breasts. “I’m afraid it’s too

  late for that.” He put both his arms around her and leaned toward

  the window beside the bed. Safely shielded by his back, she

  could peek out and see an entire regiment of cavalry shaking

  their heads and muttering.

  “I believe they all want to call me out for this,” said Nicholas,

  feeling extraordinarily cheerful.

  “No.”

  “Well, of course they can’t actually do so, but their faces,

  love. They’re positively grim.”

  “No, I won’t marry you.”

  “What do you mean, ‘no’?”

  “I won’t do it to you, Nicholas. Many powerful nobles

  already doubt your good sense in making me your friend. If

  you marry me, they will begin to ridicule you. A few will whisper

  that I bewitched you. Then someone will hear about your illness

  and call me a witch in all seriousness. And then you will no

  longer be safe from your own people. Believe me, I know what

  I’m talking about.” She scurried out of the bed and grabbed her

  shift, pulling it over her head.

  “How can you think for one minute that my people would

  react to you—to me—that way?”

  “Don’t treat this lightly, Nicholas. It has happened before

  to kings who were just as kind and just as clever.” She finished

  buttoning her gown as she spoke and bent to the floor to slip on

  stockings and shoes. She threw him a dressing gown and went

  to the door.

  “Hurry,” she said. “I shall wait in the next chamber while

  you dress and go below to speak to them. Perhaps they will
>
  accept your taking me as a mistress, Nicholas. But they will

  never accept me as their queen.”

  “Damn!” Nicholas muttered as the door quietly shut behind

  Sera. It took but a moment for him to dress and take the stairs.

  He had not expected this amount of resistance. It was evident

  that she wanted him as much as he wanted her. And she cared

  about him, damnit. She did. How long would it take to change

  her mind?

  ***

  After their return to the palace, Andre poked his head into

  Nicholas’s study late in the day. Nicholas glanced up from the

  book of jewelry illustrations he was perusing. “Where is Sera?

  Still hiding?”

  Andre shot him another of the black looks he’d been giving

  him all morning during the ride back to the palace. “She won’t

  even let Katherine in to see her. How could you do it?”

  “Oh, do let off, Andre. Even if she’d been sleeping in another

  bedroom, she would still have been utterly ruined. I simply

  wanted to clarify the issue for her.”

  Andre let out a whistle. “My God. You’re going to marry

  her.”

  “On Saturday next, to be precise. I’ve seen to most of the

  arrangements.” At Andre’s grunt, he looked up quickly. “You

  don’t disapprove of the match, do you? The people love her.

  She has an extraordinary gift, Andre. What she did for me was

  truly—well, she’ll be Laurentia’s secret weapon.”

  He grinned, full of satisfaction over the outcome of their

  adventure.

  Andre frowned. “It’s just that, well, I assumed that you

  would be more…. I don’t quite know how to say this, but it

  appears that you’re approaching your wedding without a whit

  of sentiment.”

  Nicholas raised his brows in surprise. “Obviously, I desire

  Sera. I respect her. Laurentia needs her.” He glanced down at

  his book again, then slowly raised his gaze to Andre’s perplexed

  face. “You don’t expect me to blather some poetic nonsense

  about love, do you?”

  “Something on that order might be nice for Sera to hear,”

  Andre said.

  “I wouldn’t insult her with such a lie. Kings can’t love.

  Why, what if something happened to her, and I fell apart? What

  would become of Laurentia?”

  Andre gave him a long look. “Sounds to me like you’re