Jo Beverley - [Malloren] Page 17

  “D’Eon served well as a captain of dragoons in the war,” he said, eyes on her, “and in other more secret roles. He once traveled days with a broken leg to deliver a dispatch. He is not a man to be taken lightly. He is also proud and ambitious.”

  He leaned forward and took the glass from her hand. Their fingers touched. Then he turned it and drank from the same place as before.

  Suppressing a shiver with two causes, Diana asked, “What is he ambitious for?”

  “The ambassadorship.”

  “Isn’t there an ambassador en route?”

  “But for some, hope springs eternal.”

  He offered the blossom.

  She took it, drawing it close to her nose to inhale the sweet, spicy scent.

  “I have reason to believe,” he said, “that Monsieur D’Eon thinks that if he is brilliantly successful in his current role, the Comte de Guerchy will be told to stay home, and he will be given the full role and powers. And income. Which would be particularly pleasant, as he has spent some of the ambassador’s funds already.”

  She caught the slight twinkle in his eye. “With encouragement from you, perhaps?”

  “Would he believe anything I said? He has received authorization directly from his king.”

  She laid down the flower. “Forgery! My lord—”

  “Don’t disappoint me, Diana.” His eyes still smiled. “These matters are rarely clean or tidy. I do what I must to confine France and prevent invasion. They have tried to invade twice this century through Scotland. That route is closed to them now the Highland clans are broken or tamed, but Ireland stands ripe for use, and the south coast is temptingly close. I doubt the French will ever give up their hunger to invade England. It will not be allowed,” he added, and she recognized a personal resolution.

  No wonder the French wanted him dead. He stood firmly in their way, and was not an easy man to move. He would not be distracted by personal ambitions, or flattered out of his purpose. He certainly could not be bribed.

  “Don’t frown,” he said, picking up the flower and stroking it against her lips.

  The perfume seemed suddenly stronger, and her lips trembled under the butterfly assault.

  “But they are trying to kill you!”

  “I’m safer now, I think,” he said, still teasing her lips, her chin, her cheeks, with petals. “In Ferry Bridge it should have been an unfortunate duel. Today, a mysterious shooting. Now it’s scandal and mayhem, with four corpses attached, three of them probably French. My suspicious death in the near future would raise altogether too many questions.”

  She gripped his wrist to still the flower. “Your unsuspicious death?”

  “What could that be?” Unresisting, he said, “I’m a healthy man, and I intend to avoid obviously risky activities for the next little while.”

  Still, he could not guard against every possible “accident.” She put both hands around his, and carried it to her cheek. “Today,” she said, “in the middle of chaos. I thought …”

  She wanted to retreat then, but she had already gone too far. Looking down at their hands, at a flower, she finished. “I thought what a waste our restraint might have been.”

  He did not pull away. Instead, after a moment, he drew their clasped hands toward himself. At the brush of lips against her knuckles, she looked up.

  “And yet,” he said, “the dangers have not changed.”

  “Isn’t there a time for danger?” she whispered. “For risk? For casting caution on the flames?”

  Mouth still brushing over her fingers, he let the flower fall. “Toss caution on the flames of passion? A common folly. Burns are remarkably painful, you know.” But his lips still played fire against her skin. “You are speaking under the effect of danger and death, Diana.”

  “And you are not … Bey?” It felt so strange, so wonderfully strange, to use his name.

  “Why are you still here? Why am I touching you?”

  “Touch me more.”

  He pressed the palm of her hand to his open mouth, so her skin felt the hot moisture there. As he had done, so briefly, so naughtily, at the ball last year.

  If you ever change your mind …

  “More,” she whispered.

  Against her skin he asked, “How much more?”

  She longed to cry, Everything! But the cost, the cost was still too high. “I want … I want to touch you, and kiss you. Is that possible?”

  “Of course.” He moved their linked hands toward her lips, and she kissed his hand. The first time her lips had tasted his skin.

  It wasn’t enough.

  “I want to lie with you. Skin,” she breathed, scarcely daring to speak the words, “to skin.”

  His eyes were steady and unshocked on hers. “That too you can have.”

  “I mean … I mean without … more.”

  He smiled, creases deepening. “You can have anything you want as you want it, my dear. I am not a callow youth.”

  “But you?”

  “Will feast on skin, touch, and kiss.”

  She tightened her twined fingers with his and rested her head on them. “Why does it feel like starvation then?”

  He gently drew their hands back to his mouth. “Perhaps we can feast. When did you last have your courses?”

  Idiotically, her color flared at that subject. “Weeks ago. They are almost due again. Why? Oh.” She stared at him, remembering Elf’s pamphlet. “There’s always risk.”

  “Did you not want to cast caution on the flames?”

  Air became scarce. She had come here hungry for this, yet feeling safe behind the fact that it was impossible. That it posed too great a risk to her carefully planned life, and his.

  “There is no need,” he said against her knuckles. “You can have just what you want. You wanted to see me, I believe?”

  He let go of her hand and stood to begin unfastening the cuffs of his shirt.

  Diana gaped. He was going to take her literally, and strip? She hadn’t meant that. She hadn’t really thought how they would get from current state to nakedness. As he pulled his shirt out of his breeches, however, she couldn’t bear to stop him.

  But it was the first step.

  To where? To what?

  Could she finally satisfy all her burning curiosity?

  Here.

  With him?

  If it were only curiosity, however, she would not feel this breathless sense of peril. They really shouldn’t. They were playing with truly perilous flames.

  Her heart raced so unsteadily she feared she would faint, so she picked up the glass and took a deep drink. Too deep, so she choked. When she had her breath back, he was laughing, the sort of gentle, warm laughter that friends share. It melted her, turning her soft as the fat tears of wax sliding down the side of the uneven candle.

  Honesty and friendship. Honest embarrassment. Friendly humor. With this man she could permit herself to be exactly what she was. Even uncertain.

  Trust. Astonishing trust. She’d never realized how little she allowed herself to trust.

  And he, who must live as guarded as she in many ways, was trusting her.

  He pulled the shirt up over his head and dropped it. Then he tugged the ribbon off his hair so it fell loose around his face to his naked shoulders.

  His broad shoulders.

  Did all men look stronger out of their clothes, she wondered, studying him as he paused to allow her to. Paused, perhaps, to allow her to retreat, to run back to her room.

  Oh no. She welcomed this fire, even though it could burn her to a crisp.

  Dressed, his movements spoke of strength, but here strength was clear in long elegant muscles flaring up to those broad shoulders, and in a subtle ridging of muscle beneath the fine line of dark hair down his chest.

  She looked up into his watchful eyes. “You’re beautiful.”

  Perhaps there was the tiniest blush as he smiled. “A delusion, but I’m grateful for it. Shall we go on?”

  She picked up the
abandoned blossom and took strength from the perfume. “Yes, please.”

  He sat on the bed to take off his shoes and stockings, then unbuttoned the bands at the bottom of his breeches. He stood and slowly undid the fastenings at the waist, watching her. When she made no objection—in truth her mouth was so dry she wasn’t sure she could speak!—he removed both his lower garments in one.

  She knew how men were made. She knew about penises soft and hard. She even had colored pictures in some of her books. There was nothing to surprise her here, and yet she turned dizzy at the simple beauty of a naked man in the flesh. So real. So close. She almost felt able to sense the heat of his body, to inhale the scent of his skin.

  A perfect, naked man, partially aroused, and waiting. For her pleasure. “It’s rather unfair,” she said as steadily as she could. “As a standard for your gender, I mean.”

  “I assure you, there are many finer made than I.”

  “I’m not sure I could bear it.”

  When he laughed softly, she put the blossom carefully back into the bowl and stood. “My turn, I suppose.”

  “I can give you all you want and more as you are, Diana.”

  “Skin to skin,” she reminded him. “Anyway, I want to. It’s a challenge, and I thrive on challenges. You must know that. I just wish I had more layers to play with.”

  Standing there unconcernedly naked, he made one of his beautiful gestures, ruby ring flaring by candlelight, inviting her to compete.

  With a deep breath, she loosened the coverlet as slowly as she could, letting it slide down her arms to the floor. Unfortunately, that left her only one garment, her silk shift. It was a pretty piece covering her to elbow and calf, of fine weave, and delicately embroidered, but she couldn’t think how to draw out its removal.

  “If you move a little to the left,” he said, “you will have the candle behind you.”

  A glance showed her what he meant, and she moved then spread her arms. “Yes?”

  His look was definitely more intense. “Yes.”

  She turned, therefore, slowly, raising her hands above her head. When she faced him again, he was intriguingly more erect.

  “How revealing men are,” she teased, but when she thought how she might not let him complete the act, it seemed cruel.

  “There are ways of dealing with that, without …” She couldn’t say it, damn it. “I mean, I could …” Perdition! Anyway, what an idiot she was. He knew. Of course he knew.

  At his raised brow, she muttered, “I have a great many books.”

  “I should have guessed. Rid yourself of that garment, wench, and come to bed.” He slid under the covers, then lay there propped on one elbow, revelations concealed.

  Come to bed. For some reason she’d not thought of being in bed with him like … like a married couple. She realized that her books never showed couples in a bed. On it sometimes, in chairs, on the ground, on cushions, on a swing, in a tree, even on a rocking horse. But not under the covers of a conventional bed.

  There wouldn’t be much to see under the covers of a conventional bed and that was doubtless the reason, but this unexpected twist almost killed her courage. There was so much more to it …

  Get on with it.

  She grasped the hem of her shift to pull it up over her head.

  “Take it off downward,” he said softly. “Show me your breasts first.”

  She straightened and looked down. The low neckline had a drawstring. She began to tug it loose, then with a wicked smile, she took three blossoms from the bowl and tucked them there, between her breasts.

  Cold water trickled down her belly as she turned back to him, carefully unfastening the tie. She moved the silk down, letting the blossoms slide lower until they nestled between her naked breasts, which were pushed up by the neckline running tight beneath them. The darkness of his eyes and the warm perfume made her sway.

  “I like this,” she said, meaning the look in his eyes.

  “So do I. Come here. Just like that.”

  Chapter 16

  She knew she would feel less wanton naked, but she obeyed, enjoying feeling wanton with him. When she was close enough, he grasped the fullness of the front of her shift and drew her closer, eyes fixed on the flowers between her breasts.

  The still desire in his face, the strong pull of his hand, started the tingle inside that she knew was desire. Desire she could finally satisfy tonight.

  If she found the courage.

  According to Elf’s pamphlet, this close to her courses she was unlikely to become pregnant. But it wasn’t certain. Nothing was certain. It would be an extreme, unnecessary risk to him and to her.

  His lips brushed breasts and blossoms, and she heard him inhale slowly. Her hands rose of themselves to cradle his head there, her rings sparkling among his dark hair. His tongue stroked across to her right nipple, and she inhaled. Their eyes met, and it was as if he read her wonder. He smiled, then licked, then gently sucked.

  She gasped, and he tumbled her onto the bed. His mouth played against her breasts again, teasing and sucking one then the other until her head was swimming and her muscles went limp.

  “This isn’t fair,” she gasped.

  His mouth stilled against her skin. “You want me to stop?”

  “Never. That’s why it isn’t fair.”

  “A potent weapon in the male arsenal. Something a woman can’t do for herself.”

  She knew she was red again, but she wouldn’t deny that she gave herself pleasure. “There are things a man cannot do for himself,” she pointed out.

  He smiled. “I love a well-read woman. But not tonight. Tonight is for you, Diana.” He took one of the scattering flowers and stroked her with it, around her breasts, up her throat, across her lips, perfume dizzying her, then back down, to tease her nipples …

  But then he stopped.

  When she looked at him, he said, “You have to tell me now, whether you want to take risks or not.”

  “Or you won’t be able to stop?”

  “I will stop. But you can’t decide this in passion, when you are beyond reason.”

  “I’m already beyond reason,” she whispered, feeling her body’s aching need, and a burning hunger simply for him. To be as close to him as humanly possible. She closed her eyes and savored the heat and hardness of his body against hers, the special smell of him, and her, and perfumed blossoms. “I’ve never felt like this before. Never.”

  “I’m glad. But you must choose, now.”

  She opened her eyes to look at him. “I can’t.”

  “Then we take the safe path.”

  Inside, her body wailed, but she agreed. “The risks are too great.”

  “Yes, they are.”

  He silenced unborn protests with his lips. No handclasp of a kiss this time. A burning, branding kiss that arched her and set the world afire. She hooked a leg over him, feeling his erection hard between her thighs.

  Oh, how she ached to surrender. But she could not. They could not. No matter how she burned.

  She thrust her hands into his hair, and protested when he broke the kiss. But not when he slid down to put his mouth again to her breast. Silk and flowers in his hand slid up to rub against her other nipple and she released a choked moan of pleasure, burning with desire.

  She’d been wrong. The risk was slight …

  No!

  He’d been right before.

  She’d been right before.

  Tangled in fear and desire, she felt his erection stir, and tensed, breaking the wonders that had been gathering.

  He raised his head to look at her, the edge of his handsome features and the wave of his loose, dark hair, both gilded by the guttering candle. Lucifer. But Lucifer before the Fall.

  “Trust me,” he said. “For this brief while, my brave warrior maid, lay aside your burdens of power, dismiss your guards, and surrender in trust to me.”

  Caution clamored, instinctive and well rooted, but she smothered it. This was not just any man. “
I’m yours,” she said, and closed her eyes.

  She kept them closed, living by her other senses. Touch, touch above all. Those hands, firm and gentle upon her as she’d dreamed they would be, sensitive fingers seeming to know just what would pleasure her best. His mouth soft, hard, dry, wet, hot—but then blowing, cold.

  Hearing. The rustle of sheets as they moved together, breath close to her ear, the thick, deep pounding of her blood. His voice, sometimes soothing, sometimes teasing, sometimes merely humming pleasure as she hummed back.

  Smell. Breeze-fresh sheets, crushed flowers, and him. His smell beneath a trace of the soap with which he’d washed. Her own soft perfume turning wicked. A mounting, spicy scent from both of them.

  Taste. His skin against her questing lips, against her tongue, against her open mouth which seemed to hunger for him. His mouth, powerful against hers stirring …

  She shuddered, clutching closer. Knowing. She’d given herself the release often, but this was different. Their coiled bodies made it different, engaging every part of her so she felt whirled into fire, spiraling up and out …

  Rothgar watched her melt by candlelight, her lovely body glowing and sinuous with newfound pleasure and desire. It called him almost to will-break, assailing him with slick satiny flesh, soft murmuring sounds, and perfume of flowers and Diana.

  Controlling every instinct, he gave her, as perfectly as he knew how, what she longed for. And only what she had agreed to.

  She could be his. She would not resist now, he knew, likely would not object later, and it would be as safe as humankind could make it—

  He blocked such thoughts, and slid his fingers between her legs again, into hot, moist readiness …

  That could be his—

  No.

  Shifting, he pushed his fingers deep inside, blocking how it would feel if his erection was easing into her tight, hot vagina. Shuddering, he sweated with that need, but gloried in her responses.

  She was lost in the senses now. She arched and he drank her soft cry in a kiss, moving inside her and against her. He returned to her lovely breasts to drive himself mad driving her to delirium.