by Mary Wine
“I suppose toying with you means that I deserve the same in return.”
“I do not know what you mean.”
His lips pressed into a hard line while he considered her.
“Maybe not. Then again, maybe you are an accomplished female when it comes to twisting men.”
She dropped the soap. It sent water splashing up into his face. He shut his eyes quickly to avoid having the strong lye soap burn them. Any other time she would have been mortified to cause such concern to a guest. Yet for the moment, she was quite pleased.
“I have done no practicing on any men. I have never even bathed one before without my mother present, sir. You are the one who bid me enter else wear the title of timid.”
He released her wrists and drew his forearm across his face. But when he opened his eyes they glittered with amusement. A soft male chuckle filled the chamber.
“I suppose I have been in the company of men too long and forgotten that women do not enjoy being teased. Still, I find your tenacity enjoyable.”
“You were being insulting, my lord.”
He laughed at her words. This time it was a full sound of amusement. One hand disappeared into the water and retrieved the bar of soap.
“Possibly. Maybe I was merely admitting that having your hands on me twists my emotions.”
She almost dropped the soap again. Something crossed his face that fascinated her, something hard and hungry. The quiver inside her responded to it and increased tenfold.
He looked down again, but the hands that rested on the edge of the tub were gripping it. She stared at the white knuckles for a moment before drawing a deep breath. So strange. Yet so intoxicating. Reaching over the edge of the tub, she began washing his hair. It was silky-soft and thick. She had to work the soap into a lather and curl her hands to find his scalp. When she poured water over his head to rinse it, he shook like a large hunting hound. He scraped a hand down his face and opened his eyes before she had time to reach for a dry cloth for him.
His face reflected his dislike of being blind. That made sense. A man such as he most likely did not allow his guard down very often. He took the cloth from her hands anyway and dried his face with it. But when he pulled it away from his face, his lips were sitting in a mocking grin.
A second later he stood up. Water ran down his body, glistening in the firelight and turning him crimson. She couldn’t keep her gaze from tracing his long legs or from looking at his cock. It stood tall and proud, thicker than Tomas’s and longer, too.
“Aren’t you going to wash the rest of me, Bridget?”
He was toying with her again. She raised her eyes to his, determination making her bold.
“It is a truth that I have never washed the front of a male guest. My mother would never allow such. Yet who am I to argue with a baron?”
She picked up the cloth and swiped the soap across it with a quick stroke. His forehead furrowed when she extended her hand toward him. But she did not aim for his cock. Marie’s slow motions sprang to mind. She slid the cloth over his thigh, making sure to wash all of it from his hip to his knee. His leg was just as hard as his back, her fingertips communicating how solid he was. Even with her eyelids lowered and her gaze focused on his thigh she caught glimpses of his cock. She simply could not prevent herself from stealing quick looks at his manhood. The thing seemed to swell and grow larger while she worked.
Dunking the cloth in the water, she then applied more soap to it before washing his opposite leg. She refused to look up to see what he thought of her actions. There was the chance that he might consider her glance a plea for reprieve. Her pride forbade her to do anything that might be interpreted in such a way.
Washing his other thigh seemed to take only half the time. She was too aware of what stood between them. That hard flesh was the only thing left to wash. Maintaining her grip on the cloth, she slid it along his inner thigh. Higher and higher until she cupped the twin sacs hanging below his staff. He shuddered. Just a tiny amount, but she saw his powerful legs move. It restored her confidence. She gently rubbed those sacs before gliding the washcloth along the length of his erect flesh.
“You have made your point, Bridget.”
He sat down too quickly. Water sloshed over the edges of the tub. She sprang away, but was too slow; water soaked into her skirts. She landed on her bottom in a pile of wool while the water made it all the way to her legs.
But the scowl on his face made it worth getting wet. He glared at her, his fingers rubbing against one another.
“I don’t know what point you mean. Unless it is that I am bendable to your will.”
Pushing her feet beneath her, she rose. Her wet skirt stuck to her legs and pulled down on her waist. It made the fabric too long in front, so she grasped a handful of fabric and pulled it up.
“I would not say bendable. ‘Tis more like you are challenged by my demands.”
She looked down to avoid his seeing how much pleasure his words gave her. He sounded too pleased by far. Like a boy who had discovered a new game where he could be the victor. Yet she was pleased. There was no denying that she enjoyed knowing that he did not find her meek. If that was a sin, she was guilty.
“Since you have aided me so sweetly, I believe I shall return the favor.”
Her head jerked up to meet his eyes. “What do you mean?” She sounded too breathless. Swallowing hard, she tried to force her nervousness down where it would not be so noticeable.
He pointed at the drying rack. “You came to bathe. A rather good idea since we are to take to the road on the morrow.” His lips resumed that mocking grin she detested. “I will remain and wash your back.”
“That is not the custom.”
His grin faded. “Neither is departing for London to wed another when you have already had the blessing of the church given to you to wed with me.”
“You may say that as often as you like, and still I will not change my response to you, Lord Ryppon. I am not ashamed of being obedient to my father’s will. He is the one who commanded me to kneel beside you.”
His face was set into a disapproving mask, but it suddenly broke when he chuckled. “I am pleasantly surprised by how much courage you have, Bridget.”
It was a compliment. She turned and busied herself with taking the used washcloth to the basket for soiled linens. She heard the water swish behind her and his wet feet connecting with the floor. He must have tugged the little cork stopper from the bottom of the tub, because the sound of rushing water filled the chamber. Gravity took the water away from the tub through a hole in the stone floor that led to a carefully maintained gutter beneath the house. Such a design allowed for bathing year-round and was a sign of the more modern construction of the estate. The bathing chamber had only been added a few years ago after her father had seen one at the palace. He’d had to bribe the royal guards to get a look at the king’s newest comfort, but he’d declared it well worth every bit of silver to not suffer stinking during the winter.
She felt a prickle along her nape and looked up to discover Curan within arm’s reach. He moved quickly for so large a man, a length of toweling wrapped around his waist now, but the fabric was wet and lying over the hard shape of his erection.
“I am grateful that you respected your father’s wishes to wed me.”
“We are not completely wed.”
He reached past her and picked up his britches. “Then why did you just stroke my cock?”
He whispered the words, but that did not lessen their impact.
“You should not say such things.”
His hand reached out and captured her upper arm. A moment later she was pressed against him with a hard arm securing her around her waist.
“I enjoyed it.”
Three words had never sounded so enticing before.
She was captivated by the sound of his voice and the flicker of hunger in his eyes. The hands that she’d laid on his chest to push him back flattened. Her fingers spread wide in enjoyment
. His skin was warm and his flesh firm beneath her hands. It was a delight for the senses. Pleasure began seeping past her temper. The sweet sensation produced by their skin meeting swiftly became more important than whatever had upset her.
“And now I wish to see you enjoy my touch.”
He angled his head and pressed a soft kiss against her mouth. She sprang away from it, using her hands to push him back, a soft growl her response. A moment later the arm around her waist slipped right up her back, pulling her toward him again. His other arm encircled her waist, and her hands became trapped between them.
“Accept my kiss, Bridget. It is my right to taste you.”
It was a command, one given in a husky tone. He didn’t wait for her to agree, his lips pressing against hers in a hard kiss that demanded compliance. But it was not unpleasant. Her lips tingled and her belly tightened. He slipped his lips across hers, teasing the tender skin with his own. Pleasure rippled through her when he took instant advantage of her open mouth, the tip of his tongue sweeping along her lower lip before venturing inside her mouth. A soft sound issued from her, but she wasn’t sure if it was distress or delight. She shivered in his embrace, her body twisting as she became overwhelmed by too much sensation. His tongue boldly penetrated her mouth, stabbing deep inside to stroke her own. The feeling was too much to understand. She struggled to pull her lips away from his only to hear her own breath gasping when she succeeded. Her hands strained to push him away. Her strength was nothing compared to his. One of his hands cupped her nape and turned her to face him.
“Look at me.”
She couldn’t seem to resist. Even as her body burned with a multitude of impulses, she was eager to look into his eyes. Drawn there for some reason. The hold on her neck became tender, his fingers stroking the soft skin beneath her braid.
She was not frightened. Bridget ordered herself to meet his gaze. His dark eyes were full of hunger. She understood what he craved. Beneath the layers of her clothing, her passage was heating and yearning for exactly the same thing. She felt empty. Never had she noticed her passage so aching to be filled. She craved the same penetration she had witnessed Marie receiving. Call her wanton, yet she was honest enough to admit her hunger.
“I will not take you here, beneath your father’s roof.” Pride edged his words. “We will consummate our vows at Amber Hill. That is more fitting.”
A muscle jerked on the side of his jaw. His attention dropped to her mouth for a long moment, and his arms tightened around her. But he suddenly released her and turned his back on her. The toweling dropped, and Bridget turned to avoid looking at his naked body again. The sight was too much to resist. She forgot every reason not to touch him when her sight was filled with his bare form. Never had she considered that she would find a male body so pleasing. Curan’s body drew her attention to each hard ridge of muscle and then onto the rigid cock standing proudly between his thighs. Obviously she was too weak to resist temptation.
She heard him dressing, the sounds of fabric being drawn over his body a relief, but it also drew a lament from her.
He turned with his shirt still untied.
“Finish dressing me, Bridget.”
Confusion drew her lips into a frown. He reached out and lifted her chin.
“I enjoyed your hands on me when you did it of your own free will. I would have such again.”
“As you will.”
It was an unpolished response. But her mind was crowded with too many sensations and the impulses they drew from her. She could not seem to sort it all into any manner of logical understanding. But her hands lifted and smoothed his collar into place before tying the ribbons to close it. Part of her raged against the action. But she finished and took up the ribbons that would close the cuff of his shirt. Her fingertips lay against his inner wrist for a moment, and then the contact was severed when she pulled the laces. She bit into her lower lip. Concentration seemed to elude her when he was near—quite bothersome, but exciting, too. In truth, she longed to be out of his sight for a few moments to compose herself.
But he wanted to wash her back.
She continued to worry her lower lip. There was no way to leave without turning coward. Maybe she should. He liked her courage. If she showed him weakness, the man might very well turn his back on her.
Every fiber of her person rebelled against that thought. Whether it was because her pride refused or her body, she didn’t know.
But she stood back and reached for one of the pins holding her braids to her head and tugged it free. He watched her. Her stomach tightened with nervousness. But Marie’s lessons surfaced above the tension. Taking a few steps away from him, she peeked over her shoulder and drew another pin. His face became hard and unreadable, but his gaze followed her hand with absolute devotion. A few more pins and her braids loosened before falling down her back. She placed the pins aside before turning and slowly untying one of the ribbons that kept her hair braid from unlacing.
Heat filled her once more. She could feel his eyes on her, watching her every motion. This knowledge bred another form of excitement in her, a new understanding of her own attractiveness. She had never been vain, but this was different, having nothing to do with the dress she wore and everything to do with how she looked without fashion’s creations. Her fingers began to tremble, making it harder to untie the second ribbon. But she finished loosening her hair, and a shaky breath rattled her when she finished. She had to force herself to look at him. But once she did, she was hypnotized by his dark eyes. Hunger blazed there, a deep appreciation that was very male and very intimate.
He moved forward, reaching out to finger a lock of her hair. For such a simple touch, her body responded violently. She shuddered and drew a rough breath. Her hair slipped over his fingers, and his eyes narrowed.
“I regret that I am going to fail to repay the kind service you did for me, Bridget.” He pulled his gaze from where her hair was draped over his fingers to look at her face. What blazed in his eyes unsettled her. He had appeared so strong and disciplined. At that moment, though, something wild lurked in his eyes. “But I must confess that I doubt my own ability to keep my word on not taking you beneath this roof if I remain.”
He lifted a handful of hair to his face and drew in a deep breath. His eyes closed and his face became a mask of enjoyment. It was mesmerizing. Bridget stared at it and still found it difficult to believe that she might inspire such a look, especially on such a man. Perhaps a boy might appear so enthralled but not a mature knight such as Curan. Her hair looked delicate against his fingers. Her head did not reach to his chin, and she felt small next to him.
“Until later, Bridget. No one will disturb you.”
He turned and left with that final warning spoken. Her arms came up to hug her body as all of the heat he’d inspired left her. Her body became chilled, and the need pooling in her belly made it ache.
It was by far the most confusing thing.
Curan didn’t sleep very much. His discipline failed him. After only a few hours of rest his mind became too crowded with thoughts to sleep. He knew better, had served too many days on hostile soil to not take sleep when he might.
His bride was a distraction.
Of course that was not something to be lamented. Most men battled to find enough interest in their negotiated wives to beget their heirs. His cock throbbed softly with unsatisfied hunger. It would seem that he would not have to suffer that difficulty.
Bridget’s mother descended the stairs at the first sign of light on the horizon. Lady Connolly clearly was not content with his intention to claim her daughter. The woman strode straight up to him without flinching. It was clear where Bridget learned her courage from.
Jane did not lower her eyes.
“You should understand that these times call for adjustments.”
“What I understand, madam, are things that you do not know of.” Her demeanor softened, allowing Curan to moderate his tone. “Your husband is a compatriot of Chancellor
Wriothesley.”
“I am aware of that.”
“Are you likewise aware of the fact that Lord Oswald is another compatriot of the chancellor?”
Jane clasped her hands tightly together. “Your tone implies that you are angry with my husband’s choices.”
“I am certainly not happy to discover my bride being readied to travel to another man’s bed.”
“My daughter was heading to the marriage her father arranged for her. Not to be anyone’s mistress.”
Curan drew himself up in the face of her outrage. He did not suffer such a tone from many men and even fewer women. Yet the woman was insulted on behalf of her daughter, and that was a just cause. He had spent his entire adult life serving honor. A mother was right to defend her daughter’s name.
“I should have said marriage.”
Jane looked ready to argue further, but she paused and bit back her reply.
“The king sent me here to claim my bride. With full knowledge that I plan to take her to my border holding and settle into family life.”
Jane’s face became one of confusion. “Yet my husband writes of a very different course for Bridget. I cannot ignore his summons.”
Curan drew in a stiff breath. “Court is a place full of men trying to achieve their own goals.” He paused for a long moment, clearly weighing his next words. “The chancellor is rumored to be seeking evidence against Queen Catherine Parr.”
“What? That is madness. I hear nothing but good tidings concerning our queen. She is a devoted wife.” Jane’s eyes went large.
“Yet she would not be the first queen brought low by men seeking to install some other in her place.”
Jane’s face drained of color. “You should not say such things. I shall not have such things spoken of beneath my roof, be you noble or common.”
“A wise rule to keep.”
She shot him a hard look. “I do not understand what you are hinting at, Lord Ryppon. It still remains that I was doing only as instructed by my husband. You should understand that being dutiful is not something that may be questioned.”
