Maggie was catty, sly, and treacherous; Christian was well aware of her qualities. And he was coming to know Gaithlin well enough to realize that if Maggie provoked her in the slightest, she could very well end up sporting a lovely black eye.
He smiled at the thought of Gaithlin taking her soft fist to Maggie’s eye; certainly, the woman deserved worse. In fact, based on his experience with the physical characteristics of Gaithlin de Gare, it was quite possible that Maggie would end up with more than a bruise for her troubles and Christian found himself wondering if he should casually make his way to Gaithlin’s bower simply to make sure neither woman came to harm.
Aye, paying a visit on the western wing seemed to be an agreeable idea. Anything to discourage Maggie from venting her anger on an unsuspecting victim who might very well turn on her. Christian had no intention of giving Forrestoak’s gossips any more ammunition for their already overloaded arsenal. Running his fingers through his dark blond hair a couple of times, he quit his room in silence.
Eager for the excuse to see his captive.
*
But Gaithlin wasn’t alone. It all began when Kelvin Howard reappeared at her door not ten minutes after he had left her, his arms laden with several of his sister’s discarded gowns. Still wrapped in Christian’s oversized cloak, she had allowed her host into her bower purely for courtesy’s sake.
Kelvin had smiled endlessly at her, offering a blathering excuse regarding the offerings he had strewn across her bed. His sister had grown too fat for them, he explained, and they were simply taking up space within the confines of her already-overcrowded wardrobe. Since Gaithlin’s possessions had been brutally stolen by a band of heartless bandits, he could ask for no greater pleasure than to deliver the gowns to a beautiful woman in need.
Wary and silent, Gaithlin had eyed the selection of gowns with a good deal of distrust and a healthy measure of glee. They were finer than anything she owned, and already she could feel the expensive silks caressing her tender flesh. But Kelvin’s eager expression kept a powerful restraint on her excitement; she couldn’t help but believe he was expecting some form of payment for his gift of charity. And not a monetary payment, to be sure.
Unused to the finer arts of persuasion or lady-like games, she had thanked him stiffly for his generosity and set about explaining her refusal for such a donation. The harder she attempted to refute his “gifts,” the more firmly he insisted that she try on the red gown. ’Twould seem it was his favorite and he was most eager to view her within the striking color.
An uneasy banter that went on for several minutes. Short of bodily removing the man from her bower, Gaithlin was at a loss as to what to do. Certainly he was her host and she felt very uncomfortable refusing his expensive addition to her non-existent wardrobe, but there was something in his earnest manner that unnerved her. A gleam in his eye she was unfamiliar with.
The gentle argument went on for an excessive length of time until she realized Kelvin had seated himself comfortably in a hide-covered chair with nary an intention of leaving until his guest complied with his demand to try on the red gown. Against the wall with Christian’s cloak swathed protectively around her body, Gaithlin had grown weary of the foolish banter and simply remained silent as Kelvin swerved off the subject of her new garments in favor of a first-hand account of his visit to Rome.
Gaithlin didn’t care about Rome. She wanted the man out of her room so she could bathe away the dirt and aches that had constituted her day. Then, mayhap, if he didn’t reclaim his gifts in an indignant huff when she factually convinced him to leave her bower, she might try on the red gown. And the green one, too. Mayhap even the blue wool.
But she wasn’t going to move from her post by the wall until he left her in peace. His childish, arrogant manner was coming to be an irritation far more than an intimidation and she was in the process of summoning the courage to ask him to leave when he suddenly rose from the chair, eyeing her suggestively.
“Tell me truthfully, my lady,” his voice was soft, lingering. “You are not Christian’s cousin.”
She blinked in confusion at the rapid change of subject. He had been speaking of Rome not a moment before and she swallowed hard, making a valiant attempt to compose a believable lie. For the fact that she had been raised isolated and alone, interacting with mature individuals not from her own family was something of a new experience and she felt a certain desperation at her lack of worldliness.
She was not an accomplished expert when it came to seasoned, adult games. Already, she felt at a distinct disadvantage as Kelvin slowly advanced.
“Why do you question Christian’s word?” she stammered, hating the fact that she sounded off-balance. “He told you that I was his cousin and you will believe him.”
Kelvin’s long, long legs set a slow pace across the scrubbed wooden slats. His green eyes twinkled faintly. “I would believe him except for one factor; you are far too lovely to be a St. John relation. With the exception of Christian and Quinton, all of the St. John’s are fairly short and compact.”
Unfortunately, Gaithlin’s lack of adult experience thrust itself to the forefront with her puzzled, non-thinking, entirely brainless reply. “Who is Quinton?”
She realized she had committed a mortal error before the words were even out of her mouth and she averted her gaze, cursing her stupidity and complete lack of sense. Although Kelvin already had the upper hand in their conversation, his low laughter told her that she had dug herself into a deep well of lies from whence there would be no return. She found herself wishing that Christian would burst through the door and save them both from her witlessness.
A perfectly plausible falsehood dashed to cinder in one swift blow of her reckless tongue and she was concerned for two completely valid reasons; Christian had forced her to promise that she would not reveal her true identity, and she was deeply concerned that she keep her word. She was unable to fathom the reason as to why it was so important that she maintain her honor in the face of a hated St. John, only knowing that she was unwilling to betray her pledge. Unwilling to betray her enemy.
And the second reason for her concern was obvious; Christian had invented the lie to save his dignity after discovering his betrothed’s infidelities with none other than the man attempting to press his company. The Demon of Eden possessed a good deal of pride and honor, and having come across his intended frolicking like a well-used tart had been a rude discovery. St. John or no, Gaithlin didn’t believe anyone should be treated with so little respect.
With those two substantial factors weighing heavily on her mind, she avoided Kelvin’s gaze as he drew close. She was so intent on eluding his piercing stare than she neglected to notice the close proximity of his body until it was too late. Cornered against the wall, she pressed herself against the stone as if to force the cold blocks to absorb her. Fear, relatively unknown until that moment, sprouted a weak seed deep in the pit of her belly.
“So you have no knowledge of your other cousin?” Kelvin’s voice was sickeningly seductive, his tone still laced with laughter. “I find that extremely odd, Lady Gaithlin. If that is indeed your name.”
A blossom of anger joined the seed of fear. “Of course it is my name,” she snapped softly, attempting to move away from him. “Lady Gaithlin de Bl… de Bl…”
He laughed again. “So you fail to remember your surname as well? God’s Blood, you are far too young to find yourself succumbing to the effects of senility.”
Frustrated, Gaithlin’s palms began to sweat. She couldn’t seem to keep her thoughts straight with his nearness, his bold characteristics intimidating her into irrationality. With a final lunge at the rope of control, she pushed herself off the wall in the hope that she could physically shove him back, away from her, thereby emphasizing her imminent request that he leave her in peace.
His presence was an unwanted, tiring bother and she fully intended to tell him so. Charity or no, he had moved past the boundaries of her patience and she was deter
mined to be rid of him before he could manage to inflict more damage to Christian’s fabrication.
“I would ask you to leave, my lord,” she said firmly, plowing into his right shoulder and sending him stumbling back. “I am weary and wish to retire for the night.”
Undeterred but understandably surprised by the tall woman’s apparent strength, Kelvin cocked an auburn eyebrow. Being lord of his own manor provided him with the authority and aggressiveness to put forth his demands without fear of refusal, and gazing at Gaithlin’s lowered head, he was no longer interested in playing games with the lanky wench. He had come for a reason this night; and it hadn’t been to ply her senses with his sister’s new gowns.
Thinking back, he couldn’t recall ever seeing a finer woman. As sup had uneasily continued earlier that eve, and after his fear of Christian’s wrath had subsided, he found his attention completely occupied by the beautiful lady with the cat-shaped eyes. Even as she shoved food into her mouth like a starving soldier, he had been unconcerned with her table manners; in fact, he rather liked watching her pink tongue slurp the grease from her slender white fingers.
Had Christian not been so incensed with the discovery of Maggie’s blatant infidelities, he would have coerced his former friend into sharing his mistress. As it was, Christian was off sulking in his bower and Kelvin was determined to seek his own sport with the tall wench. And the mound of dresses on the bed were to insure her silence in the matter.
“My, my, you are a powerful woman,” his tone was an erotic purr. “Does this hold true in every aspect of your manner?”
Puzzled and apprehensive, Gaithlin met his eyes for nearly the first time since he entered the room. Suspecting he was insinuating something intimately physical, she struggled against the slight flush that mottled her tender cheeks. “If you would be so kind as to leave, my lord, I have no desire to continue this conversation.”
A leering smile joined his erotic tone. “Odd that you should mention desire,” he said. “Certainly, mine must be evident to you.”
His hand moved across his swollen crotch; Gaithlin saw the gesture from just inside her line of sight but absolutely refused to stare at the focus of his intimation. Sickened as well as apprehensive, she stepped away from him, moving around the end of the bed to put distance between them.
“You will leave me,” her voice was hoarse with fear and disgust.
To her horror, he was moving toward her again. “I have no desire to leave you,” his voice was quiet. “Why are you so opposed to sampling my techniques? Christian is certainly no more experienced than I.”
Shaken and baffled, she lost the battle against the deeply-threatening blush. In fact, she was beginning to sweat but utterly terrified to remove the cloak. As if, somehow, Christian’s heavy garment would protect her against Kelvin’s bold approach.
“I do not know anything about experience or techniques,” she replied quietly, her voice quivering. “If you do not leave, I can guarantee you will be sorry. I will not tolerate your advances.”
Kelvin stopped; after a moment, his head tilted playfully and his grin broadened. “A game, demoiselle? Do you intend to fight me?”
Cheeks hot, Gaithlin met his amused gaze. “Until the death, if necessary.”
“I assure you, it will not be necessary. I will surrender willingly.”
He resumed his advance and Gaithlin moved away from him, around the bed. “Get out,” she hissed. “I do not want you here. Go and take your gowns with you.”
She was fully prepared for another suggestive retort. Instead, Kelvin leapt onto the bed and, using it as a launch-board, propelled himself against her. With a startled cry, Gaithlin found herself slammed against the wall by his superior weight. Off-balance and off-guard, she stumbled over her clumsy feet and fell to her ground with nearly two hundred pounds of male flesh pressed atop her.
Horror and fury surged through her veins as she struggled against Kelvin’s weight, heavy and ungiving against her supple body. His hands, large and strong, moved to trap her flailing arms.
“I like this game,” he grunted, catching an open palm against his neck. “You are quite good at it.”
Aghast as well as terrified, Gaithlin’s struggles increased against his supreme male power. She had been able to subdue Christian and his men when they had come for her in the abbey purely for the fact that she had managed to catch them off guard. Unfortunately, the situation was turned against her at the moment; Kelvin’s surprise attack had startled her long enough for him to gain the advantage. He had trapped her.
Gaithlin was fully aware when he pinned one arm above her head, followed very shortly by the other. Although she was strong for a woman, she simply wasn’t powerful enough against Kelvin’s brute strength. As she thrashed furiously, he threw his entire body weight atop her to prevent her from pitching him off. Breathing with exertion and excitement, his flushed face loomed an inch above her own as he gazed into startled deep blue eyes.
“You are my captive, Lady Gaithlin,” he growled, his stinking breath hot on her face. “Surrender to me and I will be merciful.”
Her head lolled away from him, averting her reeling senses from his repugnant sense of excitement. “Get off me, you bastard. I have no interest in playing your demented game!”
He cocked an eyebrow, his smile fading somewhat. “Bastard, am I? I beg to differ. My heritage is long and legitimate,” he leaned sideways, attempting to look her in the face. “Pray, Lady Gaithlin, can the same be said for you? Tell me who you truly are, you delectably naughty wench.”
Lips pressed tight and eyes focused on the wall beside her head, Gaithlin refused to answer. Smiling, Kelvin licked her ear and she shrieked in fear and disgust, her slender body bucking and twisting in a vain attempt to dislodge him.
“Tell me, Gaithlin,” he purred, licking her again. “Tell me who you are.”
She yelped when his tongue stroked her cheek, biting her lip to keep from screaming in full-blown panic. Grunting with the force of his body weight, she made a feeble attempt to shake her head.
“No!”
Kelvin laughed softly, moving to dropping sensual kisses on her neck, kisses that frightened Gaithlin deeply. They were nothing like the erotic gestures delivered by Christian, steamy and passionate and utterly wonderful. They were unnerving, nauseating. Yet the more she struggled, the bolder his kisses became.
Trapped and terrified, Gaithlin struggled to rein her horror. Fighting for lucidity, she forced herself to come to terms with the fact that there was no way to out-power Kelvin; clearly, he was superior in size and strength. Therefore, the only way to disable him or discourage him would be to catch him off his guard, just as he had surprised her by his unexpected attack. And the only way to catch him unaware would be to cease her resistance.
Forcing herself to calm was mayhap the hardest struggle she had yet to face. His kisses were running along the base of her throat, sending chills of disgust down her spine, but she wrestled against the bile in her throat in order to focus on the next step in her deception – convincing him she would accept his onslaught.
Kelvin felt her slender, womanly body relax underneath him and his bold smile returned as he nibbled on her delicate jawline. The tapered fingers that he held captive over her head went limp as he convinced her of his pleasurable intent. Releasing his hold on her wrists as he was assured victory in their adult game, his large hands moved to grip her head. Fingers intertwined within her silken blond hair, he attempted to kiss her lips.
But Gaithlin would not allow him access to her delectably ripe morsels. Turning her head, Kelvin’s mouth came to bear on her ear again. But it didn’t seem to matter to him; moaning with the pleasure of her tender, responsive body, his tongue obscenely stroking the interior of her ear. Shivering in repulsion that Kelvin interpreted as desire, she shifted slightly underneath him and reluctantly brought her hands up to touch his arms. Thick, broad arms, but not nearly as large as Christian’s. Kelvin’s aggressive touch was nothi
ng like the bold onslaught from her captor that had literally melted her senses.
Both attacks had been unexpected, yet one had been so overwhelmingly magnificent that to compare it to Kelvin’s amateur attempt nearly brought a smile to her lips. She found herself wishing it were Christian who lay atop her, searing her innocent faculties with more emotion and sensuality than she ever realized existed.
But Christian was nowhere to be found as Kelvin covered her delicious body with his grunting and writhing. As Kelvin made another attempt to kiss her, she knew what had to be done and she furthermore knew that she would only have one chance. Gaithlin might have been romantically innocent, but she was innately cunning. She had a plan to stop his onslaught once and for all.
As Kelvin’s mouth came close to her lips but again, she put her soft hand over his seeking lips in an attempt to gain his attention. As she hoped, his inquisitive, lusty gaze met with eyes of deep blue and she made an attempt to smile seductively.
“The floor is hurting my back,” she whispered, listening to the quake in her voice and praying he did not take notice. “Might we move to the… bed?”
He kissed her fingers. “Of course.” Pushing himself up, he rocked to his heels, studying her in the faint firelight as she propped herself onto shaking elbows. After a lengthy moment, he cocked his head with thought. “Tell me who you are, Gaithlin. I promise I shall not tell Maggie.”
She looked him in the eye although she was quite aware that his tender testicles were looming directly over her pointed boot. The target she was hoping for.
Her bravery fed, she cocked an eyebrow. “Would you truly like to know?” she asked, her sultry voice sending shivers of excitement down Kelvin’s spine. When he nodded eagerly, she shifted slightly so that her boot was located in a prime spot beneath his parted thighs. When he rose to his knees in anticipation of regaining his footing, she could not have wished for better positioning.
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