His eyebrow arched. “You do not believe I can have you?” His free hand skimmed across the sheets. Closed over her taut, splayed fingers. His palm’s callused warmth shot invisible sparks up her arm and fired the wanton heat in her blood.
“I believe you will try.” She tried to pull away, but his hold tightened.
“I will try, and I will succeed.” His smile turned blatantly sensual. “I will have you. Body, heart, and soul.”
Her limbs trembled. She began to scoot backward in the bed, but he held her firm. His fingers slid under her wrist. Tightened. Pulled her with gentle firmness toward him.
Her shift drew taut over her chest. The skin across her throat and breasts tingled as though he’d touched her there.
“Come here, wife. I hunger to taste you.”
Excitement buzzed through her like a big, unpredictable bee.
His gaze darkened. Smoldered.
He stared at her lips, then bent his head toward her.
“Fane—” she whispered, an instant before his mouth touched hers. Warm, sure, his lips branded her with his taste, words, and intentions.
He nipped her bottom lip. Sucked it between his lips. She jerked back, but he pursued. Teased. As though she had no say over her traitorous body, her mouth opened like a budding flower worshipping the sun. His tongue glided between her lips. She groaned with the pleasure. With the hunger that flamed deep within her. How could she fight him, when he made her feel like this? How could she resist when, very soon, he would ask her to lie back and yield?
As she drew in a helpless, shuddered breath, he ended the kiss. Drew away. Smiled.
He caught her hands in his. He shook, as though with urgent need, yet he placed a tender kiss on the back of her fingers. “Good night, Rexana.”
“Good . . . night?”
He nodded. Set her hand upon the mattress. Patted her fingers, as though he regretted ending their encounter but had no choice in the matter.
He lay back on his pillow, folded his hands upon the sheets, and closed his eyes.
Rexana shook the bewilderment from her kiss-fogged mind. She stared at his handsome face, then the firm slash of his lips which had plied her with temptation. “You do not wish to couple?” Fie! Her body burned like a May Day bonfire.
His right eye flicked open. “You are disappointed? I thought—”
“Nay, I . . .”
He yawned, covering his mouth with his hand. “I am more weary than I realized. ’Twas an eventful day. Do not worry yourself. I have no wish to take you, after all.”
Yawning again, he turned onto his side. Faced away from her. He exhaled a long breath and lay still.
Rexana frowned. She stared at Fane’s scarred back, and his hair tangled on the pillowcase. Confusion, desire, and disappointment swirled inside her with the force of a spring gale. He didn’t want her. He had rejected her. He had preserved her virginity. She should be delighted, not yearning for him to change his addled mind.
She wriggled back to her side of the bed. The ropes squeaked and groaned. Her shift had somehow knotted itself around her knees so, with a scowl, she sat up, swept aside the sheets, and straightened the garment, eliciting more squeaks and groans. Fane didn’t stir.
Curling on her side, she watched firelight dance on his hair. Admired the swell of his muscled shoulder, limned by golden light. Dreamed of his wondrous kisses.
Thank the saints, he didn’t know how she hungered.
Smothering a curse, Fane listened to Rexana’s fidgeting. He counted each of the bed’s creaks and groans. Wondered, with perverse curiosity, what noises it would make when he thrust into her slick, willing warmth.
God’s teeth, his entire body ached for release.
Fane gritted his teeth. Fought the urge to roll over and kiss her until she gasped, moaned, then begged him to take her. He fisted his hands into the sheets. Fought the longing to touch and taste her satiny skin. He squeezed his eyes tight. Fought to ignore the sensual dance his mind invented between her and him.
Valiantly, he leashed his thoughts to concentrate on the fire’s bright flames and soothing hiss. What he endured was no different than what he’d suffered in Gazir’s dungeon. A different kind of physical torture, aye, but one he would survive. This torment was necessary if he wished to have Rexana body, heart, and soul, and if he wanted to win her love.
He exhaled against the pillow. If only his loins understood that if he took her virginity this night, he might lose her forever. He wouldn’t allow resentment to build an emotional barrier between them, or for her to claim that he had forced her against her wishes.
She must be handled with care, dignity, and honor. With all the courtesies she expected of a civilized English nobleman.
Only one little detail remained. A matter he must settle in the morn, to protect his own manly honor.
He watched the fire for a long time. His breathing slowed. Deepened. The lust in his blood dimmed, but it would never disappear. Not when Rexana lay in his bed. Not when he pictured her lips pursed in slumber and the rise and fall of her breasts.
Dragging up another dose of willpower, he sighed.
He prayed morning came soon.
Someone nudged Rexana’s shoulder. She grumbled, trying to snuggle deeper into the warm cocoon of bedding and savor the remnants of a dream. The vision resurfaced. Her, dancing naked in a verdant meadow that smelled of violets, while in the nearby shadows, a man watched.
“Wake up, love.”
Fane’s voice shattered her reverie. As her eyes flew open, memories of the previous night flooded back to her. His incredible kisses. His refusal. The craving that had taunted her until her eyelids became so heavy, she could no longer deny sleep. She bolted upright. Remembered, at the last instant, to drag the sheets with her and clutch them to her bosom.
He stood beside her, his mouth a taut line. He’d dressed. A hunter green tunic hugged his torso and fell to his thighs. A belt defined his waist, and his legs were encased in snug black hose tucked into leather boots. She cleared an appreciative purr from her throat. Dismissed the renewed tingle of wanting. She had no wish to couple with him.
Not the slightest. Not one.
Not when her brother was a prisoner in the dungeon, and his life depended upon her.
Not when she intended to stay virgin, so that when Rudd was free, she could annul her marriage.
Rexana shoved the inconvenient hunger to the back of her mind, along with stinging regret. Saving Rudd was far more important than dangerous delusions of pleasure between her and Fane. She mustn’t let desire interfere with what must be done.
Raising her lashes, she looked at Fane. Shadows darkened under his eyes. He looked as though he’d slept as little as she. A tiny, foolish thrill comforted her. Mayhap he hadn’t been as unaffected by the kiss as he wanted her to believe.
“Have you looked your fill, wife? If so, I ask that you get out of bed.”
Her cheeks stung. She thought to remind him how long he seemed to spend looking at her breasts, but a sudden yawn curtailed the words. “’Tis dawn already?” she asked.
“’Tis before daybreak. The servants have not yet begun their duties.”
She swallowed an exasperated grumble. A draft chilled her back and she pulled the bedding tighter around her. “Why must we rise so early? Is this some strange eastern custom?”
“I want the sheets.”
Her sleepy mind refused to enlighten her. “Sheets?”
He dragged his hand over his chin. Scowled as though he would rather not have to explain himself. “Little fig, if you do not rise this instant—”
She sighed. “You need the bedding that urgently, milord?”
“Aye.” As though barely restraining his impatience, he shifted his stance. Set one hand on the bedside table. Metal glinted close to his fingers. A dagger. An exotic looking knife with a jeweled sheath and handle. The hair at her nape prickled. She didn’t doubt he knew how to use such a weapon.
Why had he
brought it? Her muzzy mind leapt with possibilities. Had she annoyed him somehow? Would he threaten her with the dagger if she didn’t obey?
Her breathing quickened to nervous pants. She looked from the knife, to him. “What . . . Oh, my . . . Would you—”
“Love?”
She tore back the bedding. Scrambled off the mattress. As her feet hit the cold floorboards, she gasped.
Fane caught her elbow and steadied her with a firm grip. His potent male scent encompassed her. Her cravings revived full force, and her whole body quivered, as though he’d just kissed her with the exquisite skill he had shown her last eve.
Reproach glinted in his eyes. “I have frightened you.”
Her head spun. Frightened? Fear didn’t account for the shivers shooting through her, or the sluggish warmth settling low in her belly.
“’Twas not my intention to scare you.” His thumb massaged her arm through the fabric of her shift. “I would never intentionally hurt you, Rexana. You must believe me.”
A draft swept across her ankles. It startled her back to her senses. Reminded her she stood before him in naught but her thin undergarment. Reminded her that until moments ago, she’d happily enjoyed the bed’s warmth.
She shook off his hold. Crossing her arms, she curtailed his wandering gaze. “I am not afraid, milord, but confused. Why do you need the sheets?”
Did a flush stain his cheekbones, or did her eyes deceive her? Before she could insist upon an answer, he turned, grabbed the coverlet and top sheet, and yanked them off the bed. Withered violets swirled in the air and scattered near her feet. He dropped the bedding into a heap, then whipped the bottom sheet off the mattress.
“Milord!”
“Watch. You will understand.” He snatched up the knife, then strode toward the hearth, dragging the sheet behind him.
He squatted before the fire and smoothed the creased linen until he found a portion near the middle. Unsheathing the dagger, he cut his little finger.
She hurried to him, her feet pounding on the floorboards. “Stop! God’s teeth, are you mad?”
“Nay,” he said calmly. “Determined.”
He set the knife on the hearth tiles. Relief shivered through her. Thank the saints he wouldn’t cause himself further injury. Curse her soft heart, but after seeing his scars, she couldn’t bear to think of him enduring more pain.
Yet, what did he intend? His actions were very deliberate.
The fire’s heat reached to where she stood only a few paces from him. She moved closer. Blood glistened on his cut.
“I will fetch you a bandage and salve,” she soothed. “Then we will discuss what made you take a knife to your flesh.”
Tilting his head, he looked at her. “No need, love. The cut is tiny and will soon cease bleeding.” He glanced back at the sheet and smeared his finger on the linen. “There will be no question that we are man and wife.”
Cold realization struck her. Plunged into her stomach like a chunk of ice. Mocked her moment of sympathy. Her ambitions of freeing Rudd, then annulling her marriage, shattered to bits like an ice-covered puddle smashed by a rock.
“Virgin blood,” she whispered.
Fane nodded. “The servants will look for it when they change the bedding. ’Tis proof our marriage was consummated.”
Her mouth soured with a vile taste. “’Tis not my blood.”
His narrowed gaze shot to hers. “Only you and I know that. The truth will remain between us.”
Angry tremors shook her body.
Grabbing the stained linen in his fist, he shoved it nearer the fire. “I will not have the servants whispering I could not bed my wife on my wedding night.”
“You do this to prove your prowess?” she hissed.
His eyes sparked. “A warrior’s strength is judged not only by his valor on the battlefield, but his skill in bed.”
She threw up her hands. “What a selfish, pig-headed—”
“I do not think only of myself.” He shifted his grasp on the sheet, and his gaze softened a fraction. “Do you wish to become the subject of cruel gossip? To hear the maidservants’ hushed giggles as you walk past? I spare you that indignity.”
She ground words between her teeth. “Our marriage, namely the reasons for it, have already incited plenty of gossip.”
“With any nuptials, there is speculation.”
Frustration heated the skin across her throat. “One stained sheet will not end the speculation about us, milord. Do you really believe that by convincing the servants of our wedded union, that tongues will stop wagging?”
“A naïve hope, mayhap. Yet, one day, ’twill come to pass.” He smiled and in one breathless swoop, his gaze traveled over her shift. “I only prove with a little of my blood what is inevitable between us, Rexana. I will have you.”
His words ended on a velvety growl. Need and anticipation swarmed within her. Even now, she craved him. What wretched weakness. She turned to face him with her back.
Her gaze locked upon the mussed bed, even as soft words warmed her lips. “Your reasoning is flawed, milord. I can visit a physician. An examination will prove I am virgin.”
His boots squealed on the floorboards, her only warning. His hands closed upon her shoulders, and he spun her around. Fury etched his mouth and knotted his brow.
“You will do no such thing. We made an arrangement. You signed the consent to marriage.”
“I remember.”
“Then why speak of a physician?” As though catching the thread of ambition in her expression, his eyes narrowed. “What plot spins through your mind that you have not shared with me?”
She steeled herself against the urge to break his gaze. She mustn’t imply her guilt or give away her intentions of an annulment. Her mind scrambled for a convincing answer that would swiftly diffuse his suspicions.
Tipping up her chin, she said, “I do not plot, but think of Rudd. You vowed to do all in your power to save him, if I wed you. I have seen no evidence you intend to do as you promised.”
Fane’s hold gentled. “Ah. You threaten me, so I will begin helping your brother.” He laughed. “You are cunning.”
“Determined,” she corrected.
He grinned at her reminder of his own words, but his smile quickly faded. “Know this, Rexana. Your plan to see a physician would fail.”
Warning flared within her, but she couldn’t halt the rash words. “You could not stop me.”
“I could.” His gaze hardened. “I would.”
He would, indeed. A man of his authority had means far beyond hers. Why had she been so foolish as to provoke his suspicions? When she wished to secure an annulment, she might need to get a physician’s examination.
She forced a careless shrug. “’Twas only a silly remark. Naught more.”
His hands skimmed down her arms and caught her fingers. “I will keep my vows. All of them.”
His touch rekindled the forbidden fire in her blood. “Will you?” she whispered.
“I will.” He leaned close. His hair brushed her cheek. Of its own cursed will, her body stretched to greet his lips. The remembered taste of him flooded her mind and tongue and drowned her senses. How she craved his kiss!
Yet, at the last moment, he drew back, placed a chaste kiss on her brow, and stepped away.
To her shame, she couldn’t halt a disappointed blush.
He shook his head and growled low in his throat. “Later, love, we will explore our passions. Aye?”
Her flush deepened. Before she could reply, he turned and crossed the chamber. He snatched up the stained sheet, tossed it onto the bed, then dropped the remaining bedding on the mattress. Hands on his hips, he swung back to face her.
“I will wake the maidservants and send them with water, so you can bathe.”
A sudden thought trapped the air in her lungs. “Will you also bathe?”
His lips twitched. “When you have dressed and quit the chamber. If we climbed into the tub together, love, we would d
o far more than wash.”
She frowned. “What do you mean?”
A rueful groan burst from him. “One day, soon, you will understand.” He spun on his heel, returned to the hearth, and collected his knife. Shoving it into his belt, he strode for the doors. “I have duties I must attend. Later this morn, we will ride. Be ready when I summon you.”
“Ride? Where—”
The door clicked shut behind him.
Fane strode across the landing toward the stairs to the great hall. He couldn’t move fast enough. His blood pulsed with an earthy rhythm that warned if he’d stayed in the solar with Rexana for one more moment, he would have yanked her into his arms. Kissed her. Carried her to his bed. Made love to her until they both collapsed with exhaustion.
How could he have felt otherwise, when she’d stood before him wearing only a shift? The wispy garment had barely shielded her from his view. The linen’s swells and shadows had tempted him more than if she’d been naked.
His boots thudded on the staircase, and he stifled a raw laugh. She’d wanted his kiss. With the sensual grace of a skilled courtesan, she had raised her lips to him, arching her body to fit against his. How easily he could have slid his arm around her back and drawn her close. Pressed his mouth over hers. Smothered her protests until her virgin passions bloomed.
He scowled down into the darkened hall. Easy to win her body, mayhap. Far more challenging to win her heart.
Snores rattled in the hall. As he stepped down onto the rush-strewn floorboards, he looked across the rows of straw pallets and slumbering bodies. Maidservants. Men-at-arms. Noblemen who had collapsed in a drunken stupor. Dogs.
Sidestepping a hound and a pool of ale, Fane wove toward the hearth. He smiled. One advantage to Winton’s bright red tunic: Fane could always find the steward, even in the dark.
Winton lay on his side, squeezed up against a buxom maidservant, his chin resting on the crown of her tangled brown hair. His face held an expression of utter bliss.
Even the old steward had enjoyed carnal pleasure last night.
Fane nudged Winton with the toe of his boot, a little harder than intended.
Daring Damsels Page 47
