The relief that came over his face was mixed with a growing amusement. “A snake? Is that all?”
Stung by his reaction, Rowena was for a moment too shocked to speak. Then, with an anger she had not even felt arising, her open hand connected with that lean cheek.
The ensuing stinging in her hand was what finally brought her to her senses.
With horror she watched as Christian’s eyes widened in amazement, even as she felt her own grow round. She covered her mouth with her hand, crying, “I…forgive me! I should not have—”
“Nay, you should not.” He rubbed his cheek.
She frowned with both chagrin and irritation. “You should not have laughed at me. I am afraid of snakes.” The very thought of the creature touching her made her shudder from head to foot once more and she crossed her arms over her breasts to comfort…
Her breasts!
Her eyes widened even further. Dear heaven, she had forgotten that she was completely naked.
And it seemed that Christian realized the fact at the same moment as she. He colored noticeably, his gaze raking her before it flew back to hers.
Their eyes held.
Christian shook his head. “I am sorry.”
Sorry for what, he was not sure. That he had teased her? That he had seen her like this?
Nay, he was not sorry for that. Never that.
His gaze slid back down over her, taking in her smooth white neck and shoulders, the breasts that spilled over her crossed arms. She was as lovely as a woodland nymph, her body lithe and glistening in the dying light.
He felt the muscles in his belly clench. His fingers itched to trace those curves and planes, to move lower, where his view was obscured by the closeness of their bodies.
She spoke so quietly then that he thought for a moment he had imagined the words. “Do you truly think I am beautiful?” But when he looked back into her face he could see she expected a reply.
He could only tell the truth. “More so than I ever imagined anyone could be.”
Suddenly and quite inexplicably Rowena was no longer afraid, could not even recall why she had been. She felt her gaze softening, and her heart began to pound with a very different emotion as her gaze flickered to his lips and back to his eyes.
Christian’s blue eyes darkened. His hand slipped lower on her back, slowly tracing its way to her waist, where he halted, his fingers seeming to curve around that indentation possessively.
A tingling warmth sliced through her body and she shivered.
When his gaze dipped to her lips, Rowena felt them part, her breathing quickening. She dampened them with the tip of her tongue, and Christian groaned softly, deeply, sensuously.
The sound made her shiver again, this time more forcefully, the gooseflesh rising on her skin, though she was not in the least bit cold. Could simply looking at her mouth make him react that way? It was an amazing and strangely powerful thought. Never in her life had she felt more alive, more aware of herself as a woman than she did in this moment.
She studied his mouth—so sweetly formed, inviting, yet stubbornly masculine at the same time. Without thinking she reached up to trace it with a finger.
When Christian had kissed her before it had been out of confusion and anger and, yes, desire. This time it was because there was nothing else he could do.
His mouth found her soft one with unerring accuracy.
The fact that Rowena tilted her head back, appearing to welcome him without reservation, only encouraged him to cast aside the last of his restraint. His other arm closed around her back, drawing her closer to him.
Rowena reveled in the feel of his strong arms about her, but was thwarted in her desire to be closer by the fact that her own arms were crossed in front of her. Determinedly, she pushed away until she could free them, then reached up to pull him back down to her eager lips when he looked at her in confusion. She threaded her fingers in the thick hair at his nape, savored the intimate maleness of the back of his neck.
Christian could feel the press of her breasts against his chest, and cursed the fabric of his tunic, which prevented the touch of flesh against flesh. He reached one hand to the hem of his garment and became aware of the water all about them.
He groaned. They were still standing at the edge of the pond.
Drawing back from her, he leaned his forehead against hers, taking deep ragged breaths as he tried to calm himself. She continued to kiss his cheeks, his jaw and chin, agonizingly erotic kisses that nearly drove him mad with need.
Calling upon all his strength, he held her away, his voice hoarse as he told her, “Not here, Rowena. Not in the pond.”
Her gaze focused on his. Christian could see the desire there—desire she did not try to hide.
Rowena had not known that desire would be like this—this aching, undeniable need. She could no more command it than she could any force of nature. “Where then?”
Fresh needles of hot and aching urgency spiked through him. He swallowed hard.
His gaze holding hers, he raised her in his arms to carry her back to the camp. To the softness of his bed of furs.
Rowena turned her face toward the curve of his neck, her lips gentle but oh so pleasurable as she pressed eager kisses against that tender skin. He looked down at her, his gaze finding a small crescent-shaped birthmark on the curve of her shoulder blade. He bent and touched it with his lips, his tongue, and she shivered, her arms grasping his neck more tightly.
It was all Christian could do to walk on legs that suddenly seemed too weak with desire to work properly. He laid her on his bed next to the warmth of the fire. The rosy glow gilded that perfect skin and made fire dance in the heavy tangle of her damp hair.
Rowena reached out to him, beckoning Christian into the slender circle of her arms, more alluring in her openness to him than she could even imagine. He came into them with a feeling akin to reverence.
Dipping his head, he kissed her lips slowly, lingeringly, before moving down to take the rigid tip of one breast in his mouth.
She gasped, her hips arching.
He ran a hand down her body, spreading his fingers over her lower belly and feeling it flutter beneath his touch. But when he slipped his fingers lower still, dipping them into her damp sweetness, she gasped and cried out as she made to pull away. “What are you—”
Softly, he whispered against her temple, “Let me please you.” For some reason giving her pleasure meant more to him than anything he could recall.
Trembling, she eased back into his arms. Christian had to close his eyes to control the rise of his hot need.
Gently he plied her softness, and her breath came more quickly, her arms held him more tightly. And then she cried out again, this time with joyous release.
Christian held her until her body grew still in his arms. Though his passion lay like a coiled snake inside him, he was more concerned with her, holding her quivering form close against him. He pressed another gentle kiss to that crescent-shaped birthmark, and she shivered.
Realizing that she must be chilled, Christian murmured against the curtain of her hair, “When we reach Avington we shall have a proper bed, as befits The Dragon’s daughter.” He could hear the husky yearning in his tone.
Her words were barely audible as she said, “I may not be she, Christian.”
He continued to hold her tightly, his desire for her infusing his voice with certainty. “I know that you are. I have wanted you from the moment I saw you, knew you for who you were even then.” He punctuated the words with fierce kisses on her neck and shoulders. “This is only the beginning, my sweet. Our pleasure will grow over time. Once you take your rightful place I shall come to you at Dragonwick whenever I can. We will—”
He became aware that her body had gone completely rigid.
This reaction, following so quickly upon the ripples of desire that had just gripped her, caught him by surprise. It took a moment for him to realize that she was pulling away from him.
“T
ake your hands from me.”
Christian could hear the dazed tone of his voice as he gasped, “What say you?”
“I said take your hands from me. I will not be used as your pawn.”
He shook his head, his body going cold as he saw the anger in her expression. “What are you talking about?”
“Sean had the right of it from the beginning. You are not above seduction in order to get what you desire.”
He reached toward her and she shrunk away from him. Christian lowered his hands. “That is not true. Do you really believe I would…that this happened because I think it will make you want to stay in England?”
“What am I to think? Clearly your lying with me will not be allowed to interfere with what is of import to you.”
He took a deep breath. “I did not—”
She lifted her chin, her gaze challenging. “Are you saying that I misunderstood? Are you offering me a proposal of marriage?”
He felt his face drain of color. “I…nay, I cannot do so.”
Rowena pulled the edges of the fur about her with surprising dignity, considering the circumstances, and he could not help a grudging admiration. It only made him want her afresh.
But marriage?
He could not offer that. His destiny lay at Bransbury. Never would he have the time or the fortitude to do what he must for his father, while at the same time wresting hold of the chaos that reigned at Dragonwick.
Yet he would not have Rowena think he had only been using her. He stretched out a hand. “You do not understand.”
She glared at him. “I understand better than you might think.”
Christian stopped himself. He realized that to attempt to explain would be a mistake. He had to go home to his family, and even discussing it was fruitless. Better to let her be angry. Perhaps if she were angry enough, her outrage and resentment would act as a wall to this unreasonable desire. For despite his knowing that it was nothing short of madness, he wanted her still, even more desperately now that he knew what response she was capable of.
Rowena looked up at the high wall of the castle with some trepidation. They had passed such places from a distance. As they drew closer now, Rowena was shocked at the sheer immensity of it.
Into her mind flashed that old, but not forgotten memory of looking up at such a high stone wall. Clearly this was not her first glimpse of a castle.
She said nothing of this to Christian, who rode in heavy silence before her. She had said not one word to him since the previous night, and he had seemed content with her demeanor, except for when she had deliberately climbed astride this morn. Knowing this was the last day of their journey, she had decided that she could well afford to risk injury. Anything to keep from having more contact with the blackguard than necessary.
How it galled and humiliated her each and every time she recalled just how far he was willing to go to win her over to his cause. Yet if the truth were known—and she prayed that it would never be—she was most outraged and horrified by the fact that she had been such an easy victim. That a part of her still desired this man was more painful than words could ever articulate. But he had awakened a depth of passion inside her that nothing could have prepared her for.
Even to touch his cloak, to hold it in her hand to steady herself as they traveled, made her skin burn. But that was nothing compared to the unrelenting ache in her heart that had begun the moment she realized what Christian Greatham was doing.
He thought that by taking her as he had, he would mark her so completely that she would never go back to Ashcroft.
Well, he was wrong. She had made no commitment to remain in England, and would not do so. She would not have her feelings used by this man in his quest to avenge an earl long dead, no matter how justified it might appear to him.
All her mother had told her about nobles and their desire to protect their lands above everything came rushing to the forefront of Rowena’s mind.
Why had she agreed to accompany Christian? What could ever come of her having done so? She knew so little of him, or the people he was taking her to.
Again she looked at the high stone walls.
Christian slowed the stallion. “Rowena?”
Not wanting him to know how agitated she was, she raised her chin. Then she answered with as much aplomb as she could manage, feeling pleased at the evenness of her tone. “Why do you hesitate?”
She felt the motion of his wide back as he shrugged, and she wished she could see his face. “I just…Simon and Isabelle are very good people. Pray do not allow your anger toward me to prejudice you against them.”
Rowena spoke haughtily. “You give yourself too much importance, sir.” She felt him stiffen, but ignored it. “I do not know these people or if they will welcome me, but I assure you that I will treat them with civility.”
He frowned. “They will accept you.”
She continued to hold her head high. “You cannot know what their reaction to me will be. You told me yourself that you mentioned to no one why you had gone to Scotland. They may not share your certainty that I am Rosalind.”
“That is true,” he replied reasonably. “Yet they will hear me out without rejecting you out of hand.”
Rowena could only marvel at his certainty, as well as wonder about the nature of such friendships. She sighed heavily, momentarily forgetting her resentment of him. “Can you be so very sure of that?”
He nodded and started forward again, his attention on the castle ahead. “I can.”
Now that she had raised the question, Rowena could not quite capture his assurance concerning the matter.
How, indeed, would his friends react to her?
The stone edifice seemed to loom above them and a strange sense of unreality overtook her. It grew increasingly more pronounced as they passed through an arched gate, entering into a greensward with many out-buildings and more people milling about than she had ever seen in one place.
She was so overcome when Christian halted his stallion at the foot of a set of wide stone steps, outside a high wide inner structure also made of stone, that she allowed him to help her down without guarding herself from his touch. Nor did she take much note when he stepped away from her instantly and led her up the steps and through an enormous oak door.
She followed him, her eyes raw from not blinking, as he led the way down the center aisle of a wide room with a high, wood-beamed ceiling. On either side of them were castle folk setting up tables. Clearly the evening meal was not far off.
Christian spoke to an older woman, who was garbed in a clean woolen gown with a clean white apron pinned to the front, as she came through a smaller door at the far end of the chamber. “Beatrice, where is Lord Simon?”
The woman’s brown eyes shone as she curtsied. “Lord Christian, welcome back to Avington. The lord and his lady are in their solar.”
Christian cast Rowena a quick glance before starting toward a narrow stair that opened on the opposite wall. “Come.”
Rowena hesitated.
He swung around, his gaze finding her again. When he spoke once more she realized even through the fog that enveloped her that his tone had softened. “Please come.”
She nodded, moving past him. After only the briefest of hesitations, Christian followed her up the stairs.
It seemed to take no time at all to reach another wide door at the end of a long corridor there. Christian knocked firmly.
“Come!” answered a deep male voice.
Christian opened it and she hung back with reluctance, watching him stride forward. Angry as she was with him, he was at least known to her.
From the doorway she saw that the chamber was large, but not overly so. She had a quick impression of tapestry-covered walls, high windows and heavy furnishings. A cheery fire burned in the hearth, and a man and a woman sat on either side of a chessboard.
She was able to glean no more than an impression of fine garments and regal bearings before the man stood. “Christian! Dear God, where ha
ve you been?”
Christian strode across the lush carpet with a smile of gladness. “Scotland.”
The man came forward to accept his ready embrace. “Scotland?” He pushed back quickly. “We have been dying for news of you. Do you have any idea what a ruckus you have caused, going off like that without telling anyone? Your sister wrote and—”
“Aislynn wrote?”
“Aye. She said that you had pledged to be gone no more than a fortnight. She wondered if you might perhaps be here at Avington. Or if Jarrod or I might know something of your whereabouts.”
“Jarrod? Is he here?”
“Nay, he has gone off to Bransbury to search for you.”
Christian ran a weary hand over his face. “Dear God, I have made a mess of it, haven’t I?”
The dark man, who could be none other than the oft-mentioned Simon, said, “That you have. And I expect your explanation to be a very good one.”
Christian turned to where Rowena hesitated in the doorway. “It is, I assure you.”
Rowena saw that the other man was now watching her, too. There was a perplexed expression on his lean, handsome face.
Rowena turned to the woman, who seemed to study her closely from a pair of unusual black-lashed, violet eyes—eyes as remarkable as her other arrestingly beautiful features. A cap of scarlet velvet covered her hair and seemed a perfect foil for her ivory skin.
They all waited in silence as Christian beckoned her forward. “Rowena, would you please come in? I would like to introduce you to my dear friend and his wife, Lord Simon and Lady Isabelle of Avington.”
Rowena could feel the lovely woman’s gaze upon her. She forced her feet, which felt so heavy that she could barely move them, to take her toward them.
Christian continued. “Forgive my rudeness, Isabelle. For the concern I have caused you I am deeply sorry. I can only tell you that in a moment you will understand why I would behave so thoughtlessly.”
Rowena saw that the lady was not looking at Christian, but at her, as she replied, “Your apology is well met. It is indeed a very great relief to see you hearty and whole, but my curiosity has been piqued. We have never known you to be accompanied by a lovely young woman.”
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