Quinn retreated to his side of the bed. “The choice is yours,” he assured her, and she knew he would turn away, or even leave, if she so asked.
And that made her decision so simple that it might have been inevitable.
Nine
Melissande nodded then sat up beside Quinn, filled with resolve. She seized the hem of her chemise and lifted it over her head, casting it toward the foot of the bed before she could change her thinking. She looked away from Quinn, uncertain what he would say or do.
She was nude. Exposed. Vulnerable. Her heart fluttered at her throat and she took a quick breath, hoping her instinct had been right. She feared otherwise when silence filled the solar.
“Beautiful,” Quinn breathed finally.
Melissande dared to look, only to find his eyes glowing. His hand moved slowly from her waist and she knew she did not imagine that his fingers quivered.
His uncertainty reassured her as naught else could, and Melissande rolled toward him. Quinn’s other hand rose to her cheek and she reveled in the strength of his fingers tangling in her hair. His hand swept lower in an endless caress, his attention diverted from her face as he avidly watched its progress.
Melissande looked at his lips and considered how she would kiss him. She would take his strong jaw in her hands, just once, just to see how it felt, and press her lips resolutely against his. She would arch her back so that her breasts rubbed in that tangle of russet hair and Quinn would open his mouth to her.
The audacity of the impulse stole her breath away.
Then Quinn flicked a glance to her and grinned mischievously. Melissande did not know what to expect, but suddenly he wriggled his thumb within her navel.
It tickled. She laughed, even as she writhed to escape him. Quinn chuckled and his other hand joined the fray.
“Quinn!”
“Ticklish, my lady?” he demanded, his eyes dancing.
“Oh, Aye! Oh, stop!” Melissande could barely catch her breath from laughing. She twisted desperately, pushing at Quinn’s hands in an effort to escape. “Nay! Stop, please! I beg of you!”
Quinn stopped suddenly, his hands locked around her waist, his fingertips too close to her ticklish spot for her to relax. He loomed over her and Melissande did not trust the unruly twinkle in his eyes.
“I will stop for a kiss,” he whispered.
Melissande’s heart leapt. “You are a devil,” she protested lightly, more because she thought she should than because she had any particular objections.
Quinn laughed and the merry sound tempted Melissande to join him. “A devil?” he demanded with an arch of his brow. “Only a saint would demand so little from such a wife.”
Though he jested, it was clear the compliment was meant honestly.
“One kiss will not make a son,” she reminded him.
Quinn’s grin broadened. “I am at your service, my lady. Take of me what you will.”
The breath abandoned Melissande in a rush. “You do not mind if I make demands?”
“Far from it. I would encourage as much.”
He wished her to be bold? There could be no doubt of it, not when he watched her with such anticipation. Melissande dared to indulge her notion. She reached up, framing his face in her hands. Quinn smiled, just a little, and waited.
The man’s patience made it simple to follow her urge. She leaned closer, brushing her lips softly against his own. She felt his breath and her nipples barely touched the hair upon his chest. His grip upon her waist tightened. She saw him close his eyes, his expression so rapturous that she wanted to tempt him more.
She angled her mouth over his, just as he had kissed her, and deepened her kiss. Quinn moaned, the sound apparently coming from the depths of his soul, and Melissande felt triumphant in her seduction. She touched the tip of her tongue to his lips and closed her own eyes when he shuddered, then he rolled her to her back. His mouth locked over hers, even as he braced his weight above her and Melissande welcomed his touch. Her fingers fanned out of their own accord, sliding over his shoulders to pull him closer.
It was blessedly simple to welcome him. Indeed, it seemed both natural and right.
Quinn’s groan made her smile, for it reassured her that he was as powerfully affected as she. His kiss was everything Melissande had longed for just moments before. His arms enfolded her and he eased his thigh between her legs. His tongue explored and Melissande greeted it with hers. She mimicked him, learning from him, feeling the heat rise to a crescendo between them. That she had the power to entice him, even to satisfy him, was a marvel. His hands slipped from her waist to spread behind her, one at her nape again and one cupping her buttocks.
Still she wanted more of him.
This time, they seduced each other, and Melissande felt the difference. It was a hundred times more potent, each caress sending her to new heights and tempting her to respond in kind. Melissande wound her fingers into Quinn’s hair; she arched against his strength; she let her hands rove over him; she loved how gently he touched her. She wanted to know him, to touch him, to taste him as she had never before. She wanted to feel his strength within her with a ferocity that astonished her.
Quinn dragged his lips from hers, and Melissande was aware of the evidence of his arousal. She instinctively rubbed the softness of her belly against him.
“My lady,” he gasped. “You must choose now if it will be a kiss or more. Any more and I will not be able to stop.”
But Melissande did not want to stop.
She stretched up and rolled her tongue in Quinn’s ear, savoring her power over him. He shivered, much as she did beneath his touch, and that evidence of his vulnerability emboldened her to new heights. She wanted to disarm him, she wanted to see this supremely self-controlled man surrender to her.
She wanted to feel him explode within her again.
She pushed him to his back and straddled him, capturing his face in her hands again and bending to taste him. “The lady desires another kiss,” she whispered against his mouth, then she kissed him again. She was more demanding this time, echoing his moves when he had kissed and seduced her. Quinn clutched her buttocks with his hands and moaned.
“My lady, test me no further,” he murmured, and the strain of maintaining his control was evident in his voice.
Melissande did not intend to give him any quarter. She was relentless. Her hands moved over him, savoring the warm satin of his skin beneath her touch, until her fingers landed upon that part of him. She shifted to one side and looked up to his face as she closed her hand around him. He was larger and harder than he had been before.
Quinn’s eyes closed and Melissande marveled that he could be so affected by her touch.
“I want you,” she confided.
Quinn’s eyes flew open, his expression rapt as he scanned her face. “Truly?” he asked in evident surprise.
Melissande smiled. “Aye. You are invited, sir.”
It took no more than that.
Quinn pulled her lips down for his impassioned kiss. Melissande felt his restraint fall away like a tangible thing and reveled in the surety of his touch. She tried to change positions, moving toward the bed, but Quinn’s strong hands locked around her waist and held her in place, astride him.
“I would see you,” he murmured, his voice rough with demand. Melissande did not understand until he moved her forward. Her knees were on either side of his waist and his erection nudged against her softness.
“Oh!” Melissande’s eyes widened as he eased within her. There was no twinge this time, just a curious sense of satisfaction. She trembled deep inside and she felt her pulse quicken.
Quinn chuckled. “Oh!” he mimicked good-naturedly. His eyes glinted with a warmth that fed Melissande’s confidence. “It is all up to you this time,” he informed her. “I am your willing victim.”
Melissande recalled Quinn’s rhythmic movement from their wedding night, so she lifted herself tentatively above him, then down again. Quinn’s little gasp of pleasure told her
that she had guessed aright. She sat up and unbound her hair, recalling his admiration of it, and watched him swallow as she spread it over her shoulders. It fell to her hips, touching his thighs and resting upon his belly. It was curious and marvelous to feel that she had the power in this encounter, that she could seduce this powerful man and hold him, even briefly, in her thrall. She moved again, rolling her hips sometimes, rubbing herself against him others, and it seemed she could do naught wrong. Quinn responded favorably to her every move, which only made her bolder yet.
The heat rose between them, desire galloping to new heights. Melissande could not catch her breath and she did not care. A fire burned in her belly, spreading throughout her body, demanding a satisfaction that she suspected only Quinn could give. His gaze was locked upon her, his eyes glittering, and he clutched a handful of her hair at her waist. She moved more quickly, sensing the urgency in him and unable to deny her own.
Quinn caught her close and moved with greater urgency. Their hearts pounded as one, and her breasts were crushed against his chest. Melissande felt the fire beneath her flesh. Quinn’s breath was in her ear and she sensed that culmination of pleasure drawing near.
When the wave broke over her, she reared back and threw her arms toward the ceiling in ecstatic release. She heard Quinn gasp her name and felt his strength surge beneath her. She fell atop him as he panted and held her close, then watched him smile anew.
“Enchantress,” he charged and Melissande laughed.
“Not me.”
Quinn’s glance slanted to meet hers, his eyes glowing gold. “Aye, you, my lady wife.” He kissed her hand in that increasingly familiar gesture, closing her fingers over the burning imprint of his lips upon her palm. “And I am your most willing vassal.”
Melissande laughed at his whimsy and savored this moment of accord. At his encouragement, she nestled against him, liking how he tucked them both beneath the linens. It was still not dawn and Melissande found herself dozing anew. She knew that she smiled, for she was cradled against the solid heat of Quinn as he pressed a kiss into her hair.
Perhaps they would make a good match, after all.
Quinn carefully eased out of Melissande’s embrace.
He had erred.
He had no devious intent, but neither had he intended to seduce Melissande again so soon. He knew that she loved another and that she had a high code of ethics. He had planned to talk to her more about this Arnaud, and endeavor to prove his own merit before they coupled again.
But her exploration of his body had set him aflame. He should have stopped with one kiss, but her delight in her power over his body had given her such satisfaction. He had wanted to see her gain confidence in her own allure, and also to see her pleased. He had been unable to resist her. He stood by the bed, watching her sleep, and wondered in all honesty whether he could have stopped.
He frowned, considering that she had not called him by name in that moment.
Had she imagined herself in the embrace of her beloved, Arnaud?
The notion troubled Quinn deeply.
Doubtless she would regret their lovemaking. That prospect troubled him even more. He washed hastily in cold water and dressed, knowing he had much to accomplish this day. Perhaps a successful routing of the brigands would win her true favor.
He could only hope.
He left Melissande sleeping and descended to the hall. Louis met him at the foot of the stairs, and they conferred about the villeins who had tales of the brigands to share. True to his word, Louis had summoned them all and they awaited him in the bailey.
“There is bread and honey and ale and cheese, my lord,” Louis said. “Unless you have other tastes for breaking your fast.”
“That will be most welcome, Louis. I thank you. My lady wife sleeps yet, but perhaps Berthe should take hot water to her.”
“Of course, my lord. Berthe is already awake.” Louis hurried away and Quinn went to the board. Michel brought him a tankard of ale and he wished the boy a good morning. “I will ride out after speaking with the villeins,” he told the boy. “If they are awake and willing, I would have Bayard, Niall, Lothair and Amaury accompany me.”
“Aye, my lord.” The boy bowed and hurried away with purpose.
“Aha!” Bayard’s voice made Quinn jump.
“What possesses you to startle an old friend so early in the morning?” Quinn asked with a smile.
Bayard joined him at the board. “What kind of newly wedded man are you to avoid the pleasure of awakening with your lawful wife?” He nudged Quinn companionably. “I should not be so quick to abandon such pleasures.” Michel hastily brought more ale and Bayard sipped of it with satisfaction. Then he dropped his voice low. “Does the lady resist your charms?”
“Nay.” Quinn dropped to a seat and sipped his ale. It might clear his head, if naught else. “It is not so simple as that.”
“Nay?”
Quinn spared his companion a suspicious eye. “What makes you so inquisitive this morn? What manner of mischief have you been making in this hall?”
“Surely, Quinn, you must jest. You should know that I have done naught but slumber in this marvel of a hall.”
“Alone?”
Bayard choked slightly. “How could you think otherwise of me? I am as sober a companion as ever you have known.”
“Aye, that is true enough.”
The other knight lowered his voice. “It is another of our comrades who shares his charm with much generosity, to my thinking.”
Quinn took a draft of ale watching his comrade all the while. “And you do not approve.”
“It is not my place to approve or disapprove of another man’s choices,” he said, sounding remarkably prim. Before Quinn could comment, Bayard leaned forward, his eyes glinting with curiosity. “Truly, it is long since we have known such hospitality. You have landed upon your feet, Quinn, to be sure.”
“The matter is not secured as yet.”
Bayard studied him. “Do you not make progress in the courtship of your lady wife?”
“There is a complication.”
“So, tell me the whole tale,” the other knight urged. “Your secrets are safe with me. Does the lady spurn you?”
“Nay,” Quinn said again. Perhaps Bayard could help him in this puzzle. “You see—” he leaned forward, dropped his voice and Bayard followed suit “—it seems the lady had pledged herself to another.”
“Nay! It could not be so!”
“But it is so. She insists upon it.”
Bayard looked as shocked as Quinn felt. “Are you certain the tale is true? Surely Tulley would not have forced her to break her word?”
“Apparently that is precisely what he did.”
“Aie.” Bayard leaned back and ran his hand through his hair. “And when did she tell you of this?”
“When she wept, the morning after the match had been consummated,” Quinn admitted grimly.
“This is not good,” Bayard informed him.
Quinn arched a brow. “I thank you for that counsel.”
“And so all rides upon one night,” Bayard said. “Or upon one knight’s ride.”
Quinn shook his head. “Not quite.” He sighed. “She seduced me this morn.”
“Which surely is progress.”
“I fear she will regret it and blame me.”
Bayard shook his head and drained his ale. “But tell me this: does she have any regard for this other man?”
That was a reminder Quinn did not need. “She says she loves him.”
Bayard gave a low whistle. “What do you intend to do?”
“I do not know.” Quinn frowned. “What is worse, Tulley overheard our argument yesterday morning. He demands an heir within the year and that before he invests me with Sayerne.”
“So, should you proceed with honor, you lose all.”
“Aye.”
“And should you claim your due, she may despise you for it.”
“Aye.”
Ba
yard pushed his tankard across the board. “Then, it seems to me that you have little choice.” His voice was low and thoughtful, a tone that gave Quinn hope that he had a plan.
“Aye?”
Bayard looked directly into Quinn’s eyes. “You must compel her to love you,” he said. “You must make her forget this other man and see no one but you.”
The plan was too like his own poorly formed idea to be reassuring. Quinn spread his hands out in frustration. “I do not know how to begin.”
Bayard leaned forward intently. “Did you see her pleasured this morn?”
“Of course!”
“Has she ever called you by name in that moment?”
Quinn could not hold his friend’s gaze. “Nay.”
Bayard frowned and tapped his finger on the board. “It seems you have a daunting task before you,” he mused. “But the prize is well worth the effort.”
“Not to mention that of a marriage without strife.”
His companion studied him. “You already care for this lady, unless I miss my guess.”
Quinn did not meet his companion’s perceptive gaze and when he spoke, his voice was gruff. “We have similar values,” he said stiffly. “I like her wit. She surprises me. And it pleases me to see her smile.”
“Aha!” Bayard was triumphant. “The truth will out!” His voice dropped. “That is an advantage unexpected. It is my understanding that women love to be adored. It flatters their vanity and I cannot imagine that your Melissande is different. Do not worry, Quinn, we shall see the lady enamored of you yet.”
“My lord Quinn!” Berthe’s voice echoed as she entered the hall with a steaming bucket of water. Her expression was grim and her attention fixed upon Bayard. “I should advise you strongly against taking the advice of this ruffian, for Sir Rogue knows naught of what pleases a lady in truth.”
Quinn looked to his companion to find Bayard’s ears glowing a dull red.
“Surely you did not try to make sport with my lady’s maid last night?” he asked.
It was not reassuring that Bayard’s ears turned an even brighter shade of red. Instead of responding to Quinn, he lowered his voice to a whisper, no doubt anticipating that Berthe would hear. He sighed in a most affected manner as she crossed the hall with her burden. “Ah, Quinn, the pleasure of avoiding this lady’s sharp comments buoyed my spirits this morn, but now the day is lost.”
All's Fair in Love and War: Four Enemies-to-Lovers Medieval Romances Page 19
