Her fingers curled around the hard outline of his erection and his breath hissed between his teeth. His bollocks clenched. Her touch moved over him, up and down, creating the most delicious friction between his trews and her delicate palm.
His fingertip discovered her bud and circled it until she cried out once more. She ground herself into the heel of his palm, riding his hand the way he wanted her to ride him. He captured her mouth and drank in the sounds of her passion.
The musk of sex hung in the air and made him nearly mad with wanting. A tug came from the lacings of his trews. She pulled at the soft leather thong with shaking hands.
“Nay.” With an impossible willpower James did not know he possessed, he put his fingers over hers to allay her intent. Once his cock was free, there would be no putting it back, not until he’d had this woman he’d vowed not to want.
“We are to be wed.” She gazed imploringly up at him.
He drew back and let her dress fall over her naked, shapely legs. “We are no’ wed yet.”
Her teeth sank into her lower lip and made him want to kiss her again. Again and again and again, until he lost himself enough to comply with her desires.
She leaned her head back on the door and closed her eyes, slowly and with obvious pleasure. “How can you kiss me like that, touch me like that, and then stop?” Her eyes opened and she met his gaze with a searing challenge. “Does it not make your body burn as it does mine?”
He swallowed and found his throat strangely dry. “Aye.”
“But you will not touch me again.”
He nodded in confirmation. “Ye’re to be my wife and deserve my respect.”
She gave him that coy look once more. “Just one more kiss?”
Against his better judgment, James touched her face and lowered his mouth to hers, this time delivering a chaste kiss, a simple brush of his lips over hers. The scent of her sex on his fingers tangled with her jasmine perfume and left his mind whirling.
“Good night, James.” There was a throatiness to Anice’s voice that sent chills of delight racing over his skin.
He stroked her cheek and drew his finger over her plump bottom lip. “Good night, Anice.” His hand fell away. “Will ye be following me on the morrow?”
A grin pulled at her lovely lips. “If it’s expected, I’d hate to disappoint.”
“Ach, aye, I have many expectations.” He hadn’t meant his statement to be quite so sensual.
“As do I.” The gleam in her eye told him she definitely had meant it that way.
She rose on her toes once more and pressed a kiss to his lips. Her tongue dipped in and swept over his. “Good night.” She drew away from him and pulled open the door, dismissive.
The long, empty hallway held no appeal, especially not when compared with the alternative. Already the pleasant flush of heat to his cheeks and body were beginning to cool. Though he told himself not to, he was already anticipating the following day when he would see her again.
Aye, he would need to mind himself with Anice, to ensure he guarded his heart, so he would not once more be love’s fool.
Anice closed the door behind James and gave a little twirl of elation. Her body was hot with thundering lust, her mind alight with a virgin’s imagination. She flung herself on the bed and closed her eyes to plunge into the decadence of her own desire.
She might have shied from his mouth, if she were meek. But she was not meek; she was curious, hungry, eager. For too long, she’d wondered at the intimacy between a man and woman.
Now blind fantasy was becoming tangible reality.
The wine still humming in her veins pushed aside her inhibitions and allowed her to think of Timothy. Her attempts to kiss him had been disastrous, the awkward moments smoothed away by his protests of decorum and maidenly expectation. As though maidens were immune to passion.
While many women would have swooned over a betrothed as chivalrous as Timothy, Anice had been disappointed. She hadn’t wanted the marriage. She could admit that to herself openly now, with her state of intoxication emboldening her thoughts. Chivalry hadn’t been what she wanted. She desired strength, confidence, and assuredness.
She wanted a man who would cradle her face in his large hands and kiss her until she melted. She wanted those powerful hands on her body, igniting every part of her so brightly that the rest of the world dulled. Exactly the way James had done.
Aye, if maidens were immune to passion, she was the exception. She rubbed her thighs together, a slight movement to increase the delicious pulse between her legs. Thoughts of Timothy were shoved aside. She didn’t want to brood over him and fall prey to the stark chill of guilt. Nay, she wanted to relive James’s kiss, his touch, the way he’d grazed her center with confident skill.
She let her fingertips skim over her breasts as his had done. Her nipples tightened beneath the silk of her kirtle. Tingles spread from the pebbled tips through her breasts and down to the place between her legs that he’d touched with such intimacy.
Rubbing her legs together was not enough. She needed more. Like what James had given her. Slowly, she drew the fabric of her skirt upward. Cool air graced her fevered skin.
In her mind, James slipped his hand between her legs. She gently touched her fingertips to her sex and gave a startled gasp of pleasure. Her intimate place was slick with desire.
What she did was sinful. She knew this and was equally aware she ought to stop. Her middle finger grazed the swollen nub of flesh and a bolt of euphoria drew her back to repeat the motion. Her breath caught. She settled her touch over the spot. Rubbing it sent thrilling ripples of delight across her body and left her panting.
She did not want to stop any more than she had wanted James to. Would he have continued to stroke her if he’d been there? Would he do it on their wedding night?
She rubbed harder and her enjoyment intensified. Her nipples prickled with something she didn’t understand. She imagined James’s large fingers moving carefully over her, bringing such wicked delight. The heat of it burned impossibly hot and something inside her exploded. She locked her legs around her hand and let overwhelming pleasure wash over her until she was happily drowning in it.
When finally the euphoria eased its grip on her, a sense of peace washed over her that left all of her feeling buoyant. A languid smile spread over her lips. If such bliss was to be had in one’s marital bed, mayhap being wedded might not be terrible.
The thought stayed with her through a night of passion-fevered dreams of James and into the next morning when the second calling of the banns would be read. James did not sit with her again, but she discovered she was less repulsed at the announcement.
In fact, she thought of him so much through the service, she’d been compelled to say as much in confession with Bernard later. Not only for the distraction through his sermon, but also for the sinful touching of herself the previous night. The priest had suggested prayer for forgiveness and refraining from repeating such behavior. His recommendation had come out in a stammered speech accompanying a face so flushed, it was almost purple.
Even as she vowed to refrain from her intimacies with James, she knew it to be a lie.
She couldn’t wait to be alone with James again.
As fortune would have it, she did not have long to wait. Following supper that eve, James made his way to the castle gardens. She, of course, had no choice but to follow.
She settled on a stone bench at his side beneath a rowan tree. They stared off in the distance where the sun set in an array of gold and pink amid patches of fluffy clouds cast in gilded light. The air was crisp and tinged with his wonderfully masculine scent. Though subtle, it was enough of a reminder of their intimate closeness the prior night that her nerves tingled with lust.
James shifted his attention from the sunset to her. “Forgive me for last night.”
“Don’t,” she whispered.
His brow furrowed. “Ye’re to be my wife. Ye deserve my respect, especially with ye being
of such fine birth. I shouldna have kissed ye.” He winced. “Nor should I have touched ye as I did, especially no’ out in the open.”
“You caused no offense.” She put her hand on his and the heat of his naked skin burned against her palm. “You are to be my husband. The banns have already been called twice.”
His gaze sifted over her in a slow, careful way, as though he were taking all of her in. She was grateful to have worn the dark blue kirtle, the one which dipped lower on her chest, revealing her smooth collarbones and the swell of the tops of her breasts. He licked his lips and she leaned toward him, anticipating a kiss.
It did not come, though he continued to stare down at her.
“I enjoyed your kisses,” Anice confessed. “And your touches. I could not get them from of my mind, not at all last night, nor even still today.”
A muscle worked in his jaw. “Who was the Lord Clarion?”
Anice flinched away. Timothy. She didn’t want to talk about him. Not when she’d longed for another taste of desire, a tease of pleasure.
She pulled her hand away and settled back in her seat where she’d started, before she’d thought James might kiss her. Such a ridiculous notion now when it had been so plausible an expectation a moment ago. “He was my betrothed.”
James’s eyes tightened thoughtfully. “A man worthy of marrying the daughter of an earl, no doubt.”
“His father was an earl, and he would become one as well,” Anice answered.
“I take it he was chivalrous, aye?”
To a fault. Anice nodded in silence rather than voice the thought.
“Did ye love him?” he asked, his expression unreadable.
Despite it being such a simply stated question, it widened the chasm of hurt in her chest. He might as well have asked her for details on the night her mother had died in childbirth after nine months of emotional torment.
Even now, after years had passed, Anice could still not speak the truth. As though doing so might do some great disservice to the memory of Timothy, who had died so bravely in battle. A man not deserving of the cards life had dealt him: unrequited love and an early grave.
Instead she leaned in close to James once more and gazed up at him in the way she knew men found becoming. “I told you a secret the day we became betrothed, but you have not told me one. I’d like you to do so now.”
He smirked. “I dinna have secrets.”
“I find myself unconvinced.” She leaned closer, further still. “Tell me what you want more than anything in this world.”
At first, she did not think he would answer, but then he drew in a slow breath and regarded her earnestly. “I must confess, I lied to ye.”
11
James did have secrets. Ones he’d declared only to his da, who had promptly disagreed and then ensnared James in this present mess.
Moreover, he knew her question for exactly what it was: a diversion. She had not yet answered him as to whether or not she had loved her former betrothed, which was in itself surely answer enough.
A dull pang echoed in his chest.
“I lied to ye,” he repeated.
The playful look on her face earlier had furrowed into an expression of confusion. “What did you lie about?”
“I do want land.”
She gave a soft smile of bittersweet victory, for he’d proven her correct. “So, you are not immune to the spoils of war after all, I see.”
“Aye, but no’ for the reason ye think.”
“Not to claim vast amounts of coin to burn through on drink? Or keeping a well-appointed whore waiting nearby to attend your every pleasure?”
Her crass speech momentarily silenced him. This amused her, for she laughed then.
“Do you not think a lady ought to know of such things?” She folded her arms over her chest. “My father has taken us to court several times. Ladies are told to ignore such things, aye, but that does not mean we do not see.”
“That is what some men do,” he replied hesitantly.
“But you are not most men,” she surmised.
Piquette ambled toward them, bumped a clumsy wet nose against both their hands and settled in a snoozing heap at Anice’s feet. Her face warmed with affection and her hand reached down to absently stroke his golden red fur.
“Aye, I’m no’ most men. I dinna prefer a life of stealing and theft.” Though James had lowered his voice, Piquette’s ears flinched at the sound.
Anice raised her brows, but her skepticism was not as sour as it had been when they were first betrothed. “What do you want land for then, pray tell?”
“I want it for my people.” His pulse ticked up a notch merely saying the words aloud. “A place for them to be safe, to stay out of harm’s way. To have the opportunity for a life without theft and lies.”
Silence met his confession and the cool air filled with the tinkle of voices and chatter wafting from the castle. James gritted his teeth.
Clearly, she did not agree with his plan, the same as his da. Mayhap it was a foolish hope, and there was no place in his life for a living built on honesty and fairness.
Anice lifted her large blue eyes up to him. The golden light from the setting sun washed over her and turned her loveliness into something ethereal. “Do you know the lands you will acquire from my dowry?”
He shook his head. In truth, he’d felt too guilty to see everything he would get with their marriage, like a thief pawing through his purloined treasures.
“It is a prosperous estate, befitting the daughter of an earl.” She lifted her chin up a notch with a note of pride. “The lands are in Carlisle, excellent for farming.”
He didn’t know England well enough to gauge if the land were good or not, but if the soil were rich, his men could learn to tend it.
“It would appear in your solicitous appeal to your father for our well-being, you have been delivered exactly what it is you were seeking.” Her smile held no weight to whatever emotion played behind her eyes. “You are fortunate.”
The final rays of the sunset went all at once bright, before being snuffed out as it lowered into the land beyond.
“I hope ye’re right.” He reached down and rubbed behind Piquette’s ear. The dog didn’t stir.
“Do your people know how to farm?”
“Some.” James got to his feet and held his hand out to Anice. “It grows dark, Lady Anice.”
“Call me just Anice when we are alone.” She put her small hand in his and rose gracefully to her feet. “Please.”
Her pulse tapped quickly against the heel of his palm where their skin connected. “You said some know of farming. What of the others? What of you?”
James guided her to his side and threaded her hand in his arm, for he too could be chivalrous. Mayhap not as much as her former betrothed…
He hated the rise of his jealousy.
“I confess I dinna know much of farming,” James replied. “Half my people were once farmers, men so heavily taxed, they took to raiding for survival. They were forced into it.”
“My brother-in-law was a reiver.” Anice stopped at the stairs leading into the castle. “I’m aware of more than you think. I also know something of farming.”
His lip quirked in an unbidden half-smile at this surprising woman, whose milky white hands did not appear to have ever come into contact with any amount of land work.
“Don’t act so shocked.” She ducked her head in a way suggesting she was pleased by his reaction.
“Ye dinna seem the type of lass to be digging about in the dirt.”
She laughed, and the light spilling from the castle played over the delicate lines of her neck as it flexed around the sweet, joyful sound. “I confess I am not the most adept of us all. Leila has always been the one with true skill when it comes to planting and harvesting.”
He thought of the small, dark-haired girl with the somber expression and his heart flinched, a reminder of what his clan had done. Did the population of Werrick Castle feel the same way?
Was wee Leila a reminder of all that had gone wrong between their people?
Anice turned away from the staircase and pulled him back to the garden with her. “I am not ready to retire as yet.”
He let her lead him, content to walk the paths a thousand times over with her at his side. She leaned into him, sharing body heat in a way that was quietly intimate.
He stroked her hand at his elbow. Most likely not the thing a chivalrous earl’s son might do, but certainly the thing he would do. “I get yer land, and yer knowledge on how to farm it. I have the chance to draw on an opportunity that might never have been extended to me otherwise.”
She turned her hand upward and allowed him access to the softness of her palm, while her fingers stroked against his. The trail they followed took them down a darkened path. Heat fired in James’s veins. There were many things one might do by cover of night on such a path.
“It seems unfair.” His steps slowed to prolong their time in the dark, to continue the silly act of petting one another’s hands. It was ridiculous how the graceful sweep of her fingertips over his made his stomach tighten, or how circling his middle finger over her palm drew a similar sexual energy as when he’d circled the bud of her center.
“What seems unfair?” she asked in a breathless voice.
The way she spoke was far too alluring. She was far too alluring.
“I gain much from this union.” He faced her with their hands still joined. “Yet aside from having saved yer people, ye get nothing.”
James’s words sank into Anice with the weight of a stone. He was right, of course. He did have the better end of the bargain, but in times of desperation, there was no room for fairness.
Her fingers stilled against his, and the heat of desire cooled. “My people are safe and will remain thus. Our marriage will end the Grahams’s persistent threat against Werrick.”
“What can I give ye, Anice?”
Anice's Bargain Page 9
