Authors: Betrothed
Guy released a long sigh and his hands fell to his sides. “Fine. I will look at your necklace, but I can only guess at its
worth. The price of anything depends on how badly the buyer wishes to possess it.”
She wondered if there was a double meaning somewhere in that statement, but she didn’t take time to reason it out. She scrambled off Guy’s lap and went to her trunk to fetch the necklace. While she dug through the layers of clothing, she took deep breaths to calm her racing heart. That was a close call. Another moment on his lap and she would have kissed him, regardless of his wishes in the matter. Not that he looked ready to object. She would wager every emerald in her necklace that he wouldn’t make any objection at all. The wretch.
Nay, she was the wretched one, she decided. At least Guy was honest about what he wanted. She couldn’t bring herself to admit that it was cowardice that kept her from his arms, the sure knowledge that he would someday abandon her.
“Well?”
She gave a guilty start. Her hand closed around the necklace and she pulled it from the trunk. Holding it carefully in both hands, she turned to face him, then released a sigh of relief. He had donned a pair of breeks while she searched for the necklace. That did nothing to diminish the impression his bare chest made on her senses, but the breeks helped. She did not think she could manage anything that remotely resembled a conversation if she had turned around to find him still naked. He was seated on the edge of the bed, and her gaze followed the line of corded muscles in his neck, then moved lower to study his broad shoulders. Her voice sounded distracted. “Here it is. I could not remember which corner I placed it in.”
Guy stared at the necklace a long, silent moment, then motioned her forward. “Let me take a closer look.”
She crossed the room to stand before him, the gems strung between her hands like a sparkling green web. The larger stones were cut into faceted oblongs. Strings of smaller emeralds were square-cut and set in an unbroken line on three different strands, each strand braided around the chain
that held the oblong stones. There were an even score of the large emeralds. She had never bothered to count the small ones.
Guy reached out to lift a section of the necklace, one oblong gem held between his fingers. “These emeralds are—rather large.”
“ ’Tis a gaudy piece,” she agreed. “Perhaps someone would see more potential if the stones were unset. The gold chains and mountings would surely be worth something melted down. Or do you think it would attract a buyer as it is?”
“Few could af—” His mouth became a straight line. “There would be more expense to free the stones and melt the mountings. My agent, Harold of Milroy, has an eye for gems. I will ask his opinion of the matter when I next speak with him.” He gathered the necklace in his hands and scowled. “This is not quite the trinket I imagined, Claudia. It would be best to keep it in my treasury under lock and key.” He gave her a sharp glance. “That is, if you trust me to keep your necklace safe.”
“You are not a thief, my lord. I would trust you to keep anything of mine in safekeeping. Well, almost anything,” she amended, thinking her heart would not fare so well as the cold, lifeless stones in his hands. She began to release her hold on the necklace, but he caught one of her wrists.
“I have asked you more than once to use my given name when we are alone. I will agree to commission this necklace to one of my agents, if you will agree to call me ‘Guy’ on occasion.”
She stared down at her wrist, where his thumb rubbed against the pulse point. “Must you bargain for everything—Guy?”
“Aye. ’Tis a habit ingrained in my very marrow, one that serves me well enough.” He turned her hand over and draped the necklace across her open palm. “Why don’t you return this to your chest for tonight, and tomorrow I will take it to the treasury.”
There was a mysterious undercurrent in his eyes, a look that promised he had not forgotten his intention to kiss her. Claudia all but dragged her feet as she returned the necklace to its hiding place in the trunk, feeling his gaze on her the entire time. After she closed the trunk lid, she made her way to the fireplace and retrieved the tunic she had started to sew. She turned in a slow circle, searching for the needle.
“Look on the mantel,” Guy said.
She headed toward a glint of silver and the strand of green thread that trailed down from the mantel. “I am sorry I disturbed your sleep, Baron. You may return to bed if you wish.”
“May I?” His voice was a deep, lazy drawl, what she imagined a hungry wolf might sound like if it could speak. “And what do you intend to do?”
“I thought I would sew for awhile, if you do not mind a little candlelight by the table. I do not think I could get any sleep tonight on those pillows.”
“You could sleep in my bed.”
“Ouch!” She jerked her hand away from the mantel and the needle came with it, stuck into the end of her finger. She plucked the needle out, then pressed the tip of her finger to her mouth to suck away the sting.
Guy patted the bed. “ ’Tis a fine, soft mattress. I promise that no rats will bother you here.”
She arched one brow. “I see something far more dangerous than a rat sitting on your bed right now.”
He smiled. Claudia lowered her gaze to the floor to avoid its affect on her. “I had nothing more in mind than a good night’s sleep. What did
you
have in mind?”
She walked away from him and took a seat at the table, making a great show of settling her wrinkled skirts just so. “I intend to sew until dawn, then I will find Lenore and ask her to show me the herb gardens. I know many fine recipes to tempt a rat to his doom.”
“A witch’s potion for yon rats?” he asked, a teasing note in his voice.
She refused to be baited. “Nay, a simple mixture of yew, apple seeds, and certain flowers. My mother taught me all she knew of herbals and vigors. There is nothing she could not cure nor kill.”
“She must have taken lessons from your uncle.” His grin faded, then disappeared entirely. “I am sorry, Claudia. That was a thoughtless remark.”
“Actually, you are not far wrong. Mother said she learned what she could from Uncle Laurence so she could protect my father when they were betrothed. She feared Uncle Laurence might try to poison him before the wedding could take place.” Claudia expected to see shock on Guy’s face, but he listened without showing any visible change of emotion. His silence encouraged her to continue the story. “After her marriage, she met an alchemist in my father’s hire who taught her even more of the poisoner’s art. My father had many enemies, men who were known to use poisons as a means of dealing with their rivals. Mother insisted that my brothers and I learn all she knew of poisons, and the cures for them.” She stared across the room, seeing a place very far away. “In the end she could not save herself nor my father. Uncle Laurence says my father was cursed, that he passed that curse to all of us. Sometimes I wonder if he is not right.”
She wasn’t startled to feel Guy stroke her hair, even though she didn’t see him cross the room to stand next to her chair. His hand grazed her shoulder and moved down her arm, then he lifted her forgotten sewing and set it aside. He took her hands and gently pulled her to her feet.
She avoided his gaze for as long as she could, not wanting to see pity in his eyes. When he tilted her chin up to force the issue, she didn’t see pity, but something closer to anger. “You are no more cursed than I am, Claudia.”
“Think on what has happened since you met me, Baron. I have brought you nothing but trouble. How can—”
He placed his fingers over her mouth. “I will tell you what happened. I met a woman whose beauty took my breath away, who managed to look a vision even in a grass-stained
gown with a dirt-smudged cheek. Each day that followed revealed some new part of her: courage, a quick wit, startling intelligence, honesty so rare that I still distrust it at times.” He lifted her hand and pressed his lips against the fingertip she had pricked with the needle. “You are not cursed. You are only indulging in a little self-pity. Which is fine,” he added, when she started to draw away. “You have not had an easy time of late. But do not let that pity control you. Yesterday is done and cannot be changed. Let it go, Claudia. Life is today and the next.”
“You make it sound so simple.”
“Nay. ’Tis a complicated affair. But dwelling on past misfortunes does not make life any easier.” His expression hardened. “My own father let the past control his future, and he, too, called himself cursed. That belief blinded him to the good in his life. He saw only what was wrong with everything and everyone around him, never what was right. When one expects nothing but misfortune, those expectations tend to bear fruit.”
“You have cured me of feeling sorry for myself,” she said in a soft voice.
He seemed to mentally shake himself and gave her an apologetic smile. “You must think me morose beyond bearing.”
“I think you are patient and kind.”
And a great deal more
, she added silently.
“Compliments?” The light of amusement returned to his eyes. “Now I know you are overtired. You need to sleep, much more than you need to sit up all night. The rats are probably too frightened by your screaming to return for at least a fortnight.” His fingers tightened almost imperceptibly around her hand. “Come to bed, Claudia. I swear that sleep is all I have in mind. Bring your quilt if you like, and sleep on top of the covers. I will not be able to rest if I know you are sitting up, starting at every small sound.”
“I would not start at every sound.” She knew that was a lie, but hoped it sounded convincing. This latest offer was as
tempting as every other he had made. And he had always kept his word. They would do nothing more in his bed than sleep. She looked toward her unappealing bed on the floor. “I would not like to disturb your sleep any more than I have.”
“Good.” He released her hand to retrieve her quilt, then tossed the satin cover on the bed. “Make yourself comfortable. I will douse the candles after you are settled.”
Claudia hesitated. This was a bad idea. There was no way to back out of it now without looking cowardly and distrustful of his motives. She stared at the bed. It looked enormous. She could pile the quilt between them and they would still have plenty of room on each side, but that would appear suspicious on her part. Her feet felt made of lead as she forced herself to take a step forward, then another. She folded the quilt in half and placed it on one side of the bed, then climbed between the two halves, making sure her skirts stayed modestly in place. She brushed her cheek against the pillow and breathed deep of Guy’s clean, masculine scent that clung to the linens, then released it very slowly, savoring the forbidden pleasure. The mattress was indeed soft. It was her body that felt as stiff as a board.
Guy doused the candles one by one until the room was blanketed in darkness. The embers of the fire had turned to ash while they talked. Through the window, the clouds obscured whatever light might linger from a moon that set hours ago. Her eyes were useless in the pitch-black room, but her other senses tried to compensate for the loss. Her heartbeat sounded deafening, her rapid, shallow breaths as loud as they might be after a hard run. Somewhere in the distance a dog or a wolf howled, a lonely, plaintive sound that made her shiver. The smell of snuffed candlewicks drifted to her just as she felt the bed shift beneath Guy’s weight, then the rustle of covers as he settled beside her.
Every nerve in her body tingled, as if she radiated some invisible force, a sixth sense that focused itself on the man next to her. A good foot separated them, but she felt his every movement, as if they lay touching each other, heard each
deep, steady breath as if her ear were pressed against his chest. Sleep was as far from his mind as it was from hers. She would wager any amount on that sure bet. The silence between them became intolerable. “You did not tell me that I had a smudge of dirt on my cheek.”
His tone was alert, with no trace of sleepiness. “What?”
She wished she could see him. “I knew there were grass stains on my gown the day we met, but you should have told me if my face was dirty.”
“Ah, that.” His voice reflected the smile she could not see, and she knew that he was lying on his side to face her. She turned toward him, seeing nothing but inky blackness, imagining the incredible blue color of his eyes. “It was a very well-placed smudge, too charming to let you wipe off yourself. I brushed it away when I kissed you.”
The memory of his kisses made a tendril of warmth uncurl inside her. She sounded breathless. “I do not recall that.”
“You cannot recall my kisses?” His voice was deep and seductive. “Do you not remember how I touched you? How I held you in my arms and caressed—”
“I remember,” she whispered.
His voice dropped lower, to the tone of a confession. “Your skin was so soft, like the petal of a rose. You smelled like roses, too. And sandalwood. The roses are in bloom at Montague, and every time I smell them I think of touching you. And kissing you. In my mind I have kissed you a hundred times, in a hundred different ways.”
Claudia didn’t breathe, afraid she would break the spell between them if she made the slightest sound. His revelations were as shocking as they were thrilling. She had never guessed that she plagued his thoughts as completely as he plagued her own. Never guessed the effect those revelations would have on her. It took a conscious effort not to move, to keep herself from melting into his arms.
“Few men would admit such thoughts,” he went on, “especially to the object of their affections. That kind of knowledge tells a woman that she has a certain power over a
man, an element of control. I always swore that I would let no woman control me in any way, yet I have never thought about a woman as much as I think about you, never wanted a woman so much that I dream of her when my eyes are wide open.” The bed shifted as he rolled onto his back. “I control everything in my life with an iron fist, Claudia. Everything but you.”
She waited for him to say something more, to tell her how he intended to gain control of her. He remained silent. Did that mean she truly had some unbreakable power over him? Something he knew he couldn’t control?