Samantha James

by The Truest Heart

  She sat down again, so hard her teeth hurt. Gareth had already leaned back in the chair. His pose was indolent, almost lazy as his unhurried gaze surveyed the swarm of people. A fresh surge of outrage shot through her. Oh, but he looked every inch the master of the castle!

  “You appear to be feeling rather proud of yourself.”

  His eyes flickered to her, but did not linger. “Why shouldn’t I? I am home, and I have my son back.”

  “And you also have a wife.”

  His hand moved, trapping hers where it rested upon the arm of the chair. His fingers moved, his fingers tracing hers from the tips of her fingers to her knuckles.

  “Do not fear, Gillian. You’ll not be slighted.”

  His tone was almost one of silky menace. To those who might have chanced to look upon them, it might have appeared a tender caress between lovers. But Gillian knew better. It was but a way to goad her. It was not banter, but war—and he played the game far better and with far more subtlety than she.

  She wrenched her hand from beneath his. “This marriage is a travesty!” she hissed.

  “Nonetheless, it is a valid marriage,” he observed coolly. “We are bound as one, and I look forward to the birth of our first child. Indeed, it’s good of you to remind me…I do have a duty to discharge this night if we are to beget that child.”

  Oh, the lout! “Perhaps you shouldn’t have lied,” she shot back.

  “If I hadn’t lied, you wouldn’t have lived. Indeed, your gratitude overwhelms me.” His lip curled. His eyes hardened to green chips of ice. “And now, I do believe it’s time to begin.”

  There was no time to contemplate the comment, no time to rally anew. In one fluid move, he hauled her to her feet and heaved her over his shoulder, like a sack of wheat. Gillian gasped as the world turned topsy-turvy. Loud guffaws and bawdy jests were immediately tossed their way. Gareth staggered in great exaggeration, as if his wife’s slight weight were more than he could withstand.

  Oh, the brute! Gillian shrieked in protest, demanding that he release her, but he kept an ironthewed arm doggedly banded around the back of her legs. With a cocky grin, they left the hall behind. With unflagging steps he carried her up a long, narrow flight of steps and into a room.

  Gillian was still sputtering when he closed the door with the heel of his boot and placed her on her feet. She instinctively scrambled away, not stopping until she backed into something—a chest at the end of the bed. Her gaze darted to the arched door beyond his back, then to every corner. Dozens of candles set into the walls revealed the immensity of the chamber. But it was not big enough to hide her, she thought vaguely. Indeed, the kingdom had not been big enough to hide in.

  Gareth strode toward the fireplace. A small round table stood before it; upon it was an artfully arranged array of fruit, a decanter of wine, and two goblets.

  His manner was relaxed, as if he had all the time in the world. Gillian, on the other hand, felt as if the world were spinning away, out of control and beyond her grasp.

  He regarded her with the veriest lift of black brows. “Something to eat?” he inquired politely.

  Gillian shook her head.

  “Wine, perhaps.”

  Again her wordless denial.

  He shrugged. “As you wish, then.” He poured himself a generous portion of wine and lifted it to his mouth.

  The muscles of his throat worked as he swallowed. But it was his hands that held her spellbound. Curled loosely around the goblet, they had always held a secret, almost forbidden fascination for her, and never more so than now. His fingers were long and lean, bronzed and starkly masculine. Her thoughts were a mad jumble. Would those hands be gentle? Hurtful? Panic lodged in her throat. Would he have a care that this was her first time? Would it even matter? Would it be quick? Nay, she thought with a shiver, for he was a man who would savor his conquest.

  And these were the hands that might have easily stolen her life’s breath from her…and still could. She could not forget that he was the man who would have murdered her without a second thought.

  Her eyes squeezed shut. God, she could not bear it!

  “Gillian.”

  Her eyes opened. A smile lurked upon his lips, a smile that sent a spiral of dread clear to her very soul. His gaze pinned hers.

  Uneasy with his prolonged stare, her tongue came out to moisten her lips. “What? What is it?”

  Very deliberately he set aside the wine. That arrogant smile widened ever so slightly. “It has just now occurred to me,” he said softly, “that our wedding day is almost over…and I’ve yet to kiss my bride.”

  14

  FOR THE SPAN OF A HEARTBEAT, GILLIAN WAS INCAPABLE of movement. Of thought.

  There was a protracted silence, as if a tempest brewed within them both. Gillian was the first to let loose of it.

  The angle of her chin conveyed her contempt. “You’re a fool if you expect me to fall into your arms,” she said recklessly. “You have no shame. No conscience. What you want you must take, for I will yield to force and naught else!”

  Her righteous scorn made him laugh outright. Such fire. Such spirit. He had only to channel it, to make her passion flame as brightly as his.

  “You will yield to me, lass—and I promise you, there will be no need of force.”

  Oh, the swaggering oaf! His laughter—his certainty—but fueled her determination to resist him. “Oh, I knew it. I perceived your arrogance even before you awoke at the cottage—and I was right!”

  His laughter waned. He studied her for a long moment, his expression screened behind his eyes. “So you remember that, do you? Well, I have the feeling you forget what else happened at the cottage.” His gaze fell meaningfully to her lips.

  The muscles in her belly contracted. Her heart tripped over itself. “I forget nothing, my lord.” Haughtily she contested his statement. In truth, she had not. In truth, she had only to look upon him to relive every second of the searing heat of his mouth upon hers, the treacherous warmth of his hand upon her body.

  “Oh, but you do.” His eyes bored into hers. “You knew it would come to this, Gillian.”

  “I knew nothing of the kind!”

  “You lie. There was a restless stirring and clamoring inside…the yearning to touch and be touched. I saw it in your eyes. I felt it with every beat of your heart. Regardless of the falsehood you speak now, you felt the same desire that I felt.”

  A little shock went through her, for it was as if he saw deep inside her. She drew herself up proudly. “Lust was all you felt!”

  A fleeting amusement crossed his features. “Well, perchance a bit of that,” he murmured. “Indeed, that day near the beach, had I persisted—had I chosen to—the issue of your maidenhead would have been dispensed with then and there. Aye,” he said again, “you knew it would come to this, and I had already decided it would.”

  Gillian went hot inside. It was true she had wondered what it would be like to experience his hand plying her breasts, taunting and teasing her nipples as he had the night of his dream. Her breasts felt heavy and swollen. She very nearly pressed her palms against them, for they had begun to tingle and ache just as before. But her imaginings—or perhaps her innocence—had never allowed her to wonder what it would be like to…to actually lie with him.

  But his self-assured pronouncement made her see a fiery haze of crimson. She refused to pander to his ego—he was too full of it.

  Hotly she contested his claim. “Had you chosen to, you might have tried, my lord, but you would never have succeeded! Indeed, I allowed you to kiss me only because I’d not yet discovered what a fiend you really are. And if indeed I felt anything, it was because I was lonely!” The words might come back to haunt her, but she would not recant a single one.

  His eyes hardened. “A word of warning—” his voice was as smooth as the finest wine from across the Channel—“this is a battle of your choosing, Gillian, and one you cannot win. Perhaps you should bear this in mind—and retreat before it is too la
te.”

  “Only a coward would retreat,” she said feelingly. “Only a coward would surrender.”

  Gareth’s temper had begun to smolder. He was torn between the need to shake her and tame her reckless pride. “You begin to try my patience, Gillian.”

  “Patience?” she cried. She lashed out furiously. “You dare to speak of patience, when you stood before the king and boasted…What was it you said? Ah, yes. You said you touched me as you pleased, did you not? You said I came willingly into your arms. You had me—but you will never have me! And I promise you, my lord, you’re about to discover just how unwillingly I come to your bed, to your arms! I have a mind of my own. A will of my own. And you will indeed have to keep me under lock and key if you wish to control me.” In truth, it was a desperate bid to delay the inevitable, but by the Cross, she would not repent of her outburst—nor meekly submit to his lust!

  His smile was anything but pleasant. “I would not be averse to that. If it proves to be necessary, I promise I will keep you well occupied.” His expression was almost a jeer. Hands on his hips, his eyes journeyed boldly down her slim form, his evaluation no less than a brazen insult.

  “Is that why you wed me? In order to bed me?” Her nails dug into her palms. Her eyes flashed fire. “Tell me, Gareth. Are you so atrocious in bed that no woman will have you? That no woman wants you? That you must trap one into marriage to ease your lust?”

  Even as the taunt spilled forth, in the back of her mind, Gillian realized she’d gone too far. It was a foolish thing to say, for she’d just dealt an arch blow to his manhood.

  There was an inflexible cast to the thrust of his jaw. A storm brewed within him. She sensed it with every fiber of her being.

  Gareth shook his head. “Ah, Gillian,” he said softly. “Lady, that was not wise—not wise at all.” A slow smile crept across his lips—a smile that shivered her to her very bones. “I would have been happy to show you that surrender need not be defeat. But now you add insult to denial, so you leave me no choice but to prove you wrong…for I do believe the way to woo and win a lady is something I’ve not forgotten.”

  A single step carried him forward.

  Filled with trepidation, Gillian edged back. Something hit the back of her knees—the chest at the end of the bed. A band of tightness crept around her chest.

  Her mind was racing, along with her heart. It was just as he’d said…too late to retreat. Too late to turn back, too late to take back the angry exchange that had passed between them this night.

  Nor could she lie to herself. Nothing could change all that had happened, all he had done—all that he was. And nothing could change the way she felt about him, even if they were able to come full circle and start anew.

  Yet she couldn’t just give up. She couldn’t just give in!

  ’Ere the notion revealed itself, Gillian bolted for the door. Her fear lent her an urgent strength, but she hadn’t a prayer. With pitiable ease, he hooked her with one arm and swung her around to face him.

  Strong hands clamped down on her shoulders. She could feel their heat burning through the cloth of her gown. She was caught squarely in the vise of his gaze—and alas, his arms!

  His eyes glittered down at her, burning like fire, glowing like emeralds in the dark. “Resign yourself to this. Resign yourself to me.”

  Her chest rose raggedly. “I can’t! I can’t!”

  “You can, lady. We shared a bed many a night. ’Tis time we shared our bodies as well.”

  Everything within her cried out. Couldn’t he see? It wasn’t just her body. It was her heart. Her soul. She was not a woman to give herself lightly. She had spent her entire life believing that there should be a bond of love; that to share her body in this way was an intimacy that should only be shared in love…

  It was not like this in her dreams.

  Nonetheless, Gareth was the first to kiss you, needled a voice inside. He is your husband. You are his wife. ’Tis only right that he should be the one to take you to the marriage bed.

  But not in love, argued another. Never in love.

  For alas, she was right. She had led a sheltered life at Westerbrook, but she had no trouble discerning the lust that flared in his eyes.

  And then there was no more thought as his mouth trapped hers. For one perilous moment, she sensed in him a hot, consuming demand that was overwhelming. He took possession of her lips with an insistence that left no room for denial. His kiss was not brutal…but brutally thorough. She inhaled sharply, and as she did, her lips parted, and he pressed home his advantage. In some distant place far, far away, Gillian was aware that he had not lied—he hadn’t forgotten how to please a woman. For against all will, against all odds, she felt everything inside go weak.

  With no hesitation he staked his claim, seeking entrance to her mouth. With bold, sweeping strokes, he tasted the hot, honeyed interior with a smooth, seductive rhythm that made reality fall away. She felt as if she’d been pitched into the center of a storm that tossed and raged, much like the storm that had brought him to her.

  Lost in a void of insidious, unexpected pleasure, she was only hazily aware as his hands briefly settled on her shoulders. In one fluid move, he pushed her gown and shift from her shoulders, down past her hips.

  A strangled sound caught in her throat. She tore her mouth free. The scoundrel! Her gown now lay puddled about her feet.

  With a cry she started to reach down and drag it up that she might shield her nakedness. But Gareth gleaned her intent and caught her about the wrists, trapping her hands at her sides.

  His gaze stroked slowly over her, taking in every detail at his leisure—and aye, he took his time about it! There was no part of her left untouched. She felt stripped to the bone. A sound of mute frustration escaped. She knew why he did this. He meant to punish her for daring to oppose him, for her ringing condemnation. By the time he’d finished, her entire body flooded scarlet with the heat of her embarrassment. Awash with humiliation, she railed inside at her helplessness, for he allowed no chance to shield herself.

  But he was not done. A hard arm clamped about her back, bringing her up against his frame. The tips of his fingers slid across her nape, a wispy caress that sent a shiver all through her. Then his fingers were sliding up and into the silken tresses. A few tugs and the long, heavy mass spilled down her back. His head lowered. His mouth against the side of her neck sent a shaft of lightning all through her.

  His palm coursed along her side, climbing relentlessly upward, tracing the ladder of her ribs. It did not stop until it reached the underside of her breast. For a timeless moment, he hovered there…

  Was it to prolong the torment? Would he touch there…or not? A flurry of panic traced along her spine. Her gaze slipped inevitably down, even as he dared to cup the fullness of one breast. Her skin was white against the brand of his fingers, splayed wide now to encompass the jutting fullness.

  The sight of her own creamy flesh was jarring. ’Twas as if those twin mounds ripened before her very eyes, the disks of her nipples pouting and thrusting toward him, a wanton offering. And they felt so strange, all tingly and tight, especially there at the very tips. In truth, she felt so strange, as if another had slipped into her body.

  With a fingertip, he traced a feathery circle around and around one roseate peak. On the second pass, his thumb raked across the very peak. Her nipple sprang taut against his palm. A thousand currents leaped from that very spot. To her horror, the other grew pebbled and hard, as if in anticipation of that very same caress.

  “Come. Do tell me, Gillian.” Her name was a rush of sound across her ear. “Is this to your liking?” As he spoke, the caress came again, and yet again.

  His mockery escaped her. Her breath snagged in her throat. Never had she thought to experience such unbearable sweetness. She dipped her head low, afraid her answer was starkly visible in the depths of her eyes.

  He lifted his head, gazed down to gauge his victory. A soft laugh betrayed his triumph. “Oh, Gillia
n, I not only see it, I can feel it.”

  And indeed, Gareth had already glimpsed her pleasure, reluctant though it was. No matter that she decried him to the ends of the earth. Her body betrayed her. Her body bespoke a far different message than the strident oaths hurled at him from lips that still glistened from the damp heat of his tongue.

  With a ragged breath, Gillian tried to raise a hand to push him away. He thwarted her, trapping it back against her side.

  She was suddenly frightened of the way she felt. As if she had no control over herself, as if she didn’t know herself and her emotions were flying all about with no hope of recapture. Why did she feel this way? She had no wish to give what he would take, as if it were his due.

  She pushed aside the inner voice that whispered what she did not wish to hear. That it was indeed his right—his due—for he was her husband.

  “Stop!” she cried.

  If he heard, he ignored her. His mouth captured hers once more, holding her against him, dragging her tight against him—even into the cradle of his thighs!—so that she was aware of every long, powerful inch of him. Something hard as stone jutted the hollow of her belly. She could feel it stirring, as if restless. Growing…Her heart leaped into a frenzy. This was the part of him that was so different from her own softness—the part of him that would become a part of her. But it felt nothing like what she’d seen at the cottage.

  His kiss was starkly sensual, blatantly bold. His tongue traced the outline of her mouth, then dipped along the seam, a silent demand for entrance to her mouth. Her lips opened. The plunging of his tongue erotically mimicked the act that was soon to follow. She should have been frightened, should have protested anew, but a languorous warmth had slipped over her. Her pulse clamored and her insides melted. When he swept her high into his arms, she caught at his shoulders instinctively.

  The coverlet was soft and smooth against her skin. Yet when Gareth suddenly loomed over her, the reality of what was about to happen swamped all through her.

  Very deliberately he placed his hands near her face, his knees alongside her narrow hips, straddling her. That smile she’d begun to despise crept across his lips, as though to tout his mastery over her. She hated that she was the king’s pawn…and now his.