Authors: Betrothed
“It looks to me as if you are picking flowers.” Guy polished his knuckles on the shoulder of his dark blue tunic. “Why are you not on the practice grounds?”
“I trained earlier this morn with Evard, and I am to lead the south patrol this afternoon. I did not think I would be missed for a few hours.” Thomas shifted from one foot to the other. “If you will excuse me, my lord, I will return to the practice grounds.”
Guy didn’t excuse him. His silent, inscrutable stare seemed to make Thomas nervous. The air between the two men crackled with tension.
“I meant only to renew my acquaintance with Lady Claudia,” Thomas went on. “We worked together in the gardens at Lonsdale on many occasions. I did not think you would object if I joined her here.”
“Did you hear me make an objection?” Guy’s tone was deceptively friendly, his smile dangerous.
“Lenore was with us the entire time. Nothing of an unseemly
nature took place.” Thomas glanced over his shoulder. “Is that not right, Lenore?”
Lenore gripped her hands together and gave him an awkward nod. That did little to ease the worried expression on Thomas’s face. Lenore looked downright frightened. Claudia patted the girl’s trembling hands. “Calm yourself, Lenore. You have no reason to fear your lord’s anger.”
Thomas and Lenore stared at her as if she spoke in a language they could not comprehend. Perhaps her accent had confused Lenore, but why would Thomas look so baffled?
“You are speaking of Lord Guy?” Thomas asked. His mouth snapped shut as if something had escaped it that should not. He cringed at the sound of Guy’s soft laughter.
“Lady Claudia knows I am possessed of a mild temper, Thomas.” Guy’s expression lost some of its humor as he focused on Claudia. “Aye, she knows I would not be more than mildly annoyed if I told her to meet me in the solar but instead find her in the gardens.”
“You said four hours,” Claudia pointed out. “I have plenty of time before the hour I am to meet you in the solar.”
“I said three hours, and you are late.”
“You said four.”
Lenore caught Claudia’s hand and gave it a squeeze, but Claudia ignored the silent warning. She stood up and set her basket aside, then brushed the wrinkles from her skirt. “You know what I wish done with these plants, Lenore. I will join you later.” She turned to face Guy. He still stood in the archway, the lines of his face so taut that they looked carved from stone. “I am ready, my lord.”
He inclined his head in a mocking bow and extended his hand. As she walked forward, he issued orders to Thomas. “You may indulge your newfound love of gardening by helping Lenore in Lady Claudia’s absence.”
“Aye, my lord.” Thomas sounded miserable.
Guy’s hand closed around hers, not in the crushing grip she had anticipated, but in an almost gentle hold. Drawing her forward, he wrapped one arm around her waist to lead her
toward the keep, his manner tender and loverlike. He leaned down to murmur in her ear. “And I do not think you are ready for anything I have in store for you, Claudia.”
A shiver of apprehension trickled down her spine. She caught a flash of blue fire in his eyes, then his gaze moved forward to survey the path before them. Why was he so angry?
A line of tall arbors separated the path from the gardens, the wall of greenery broken by evenly spaced archways that led to different sections of the gardens. The south wall of the keep rose before them, dark and forbidding. Just before they reached its massive ironclad doors, Guy turned and led her through one of the archways.
“Where are you taking me?”
“Perhaps I did say four hours. That means we need not rush to our work with the ledgers.” His thumb brushed back and forth along her spine, and his splayed fingers seemed to caress her waist. “There is something here that I would like to show you.”
He continued forward. More tall arbors separated this section of the garden from the others. The path that ran in straight, precise lines began to curve in lazy, random circles around wooden trellises that were fashioned into clever shapes. Clumps of rosebushes around the base of the trellises were trained to cover the frames with their greenery. They passed a giant green sword dotted with yellow roses, its tip pointed skyward, then a knight fashioned of scarlet roses and his lady fashioned of a pale golden pink, then he led her up a small wooden drawbridge and into a miniature gatehouse.
A stone bench awaited them inside the mock gatehouse, set against the outer wall of the garden. Overhead, dozens upon dozens of vines intertwined to form a bushy green canopy strewn with white roses. Dappled spots of sunlight painted the air with bright beams of gold. Claudia felt as if she had just stepped into an enchanted cottage. Guy stood deep in the shadows, then he took a step toward her into a narrow ray of sunlight that bathed his handsome face in a
warm, golden glow so bright that she was tempted to shade her eyes.
“This is what I picture each time I smell roses.” His voice held no trace of his earlier displeasure, or, perhaps she had simply mistaken this rigid expression for anger. Now she recognized the banked fire in his eyes for what it was. Desire. A very fierce desire, from the looks of it.
She flinched when he reached toward her, then felt foolish when his hand rustled the vines above her head and reappeared holding a single perfect rose the color of snow. Her hand moved automatically to accept the flower, but he held it away from her and shook his head.
“I think of these flowers whenever I see you.” He lifted the rose to breathe deep of its scent, stroking his upper lip with the petals, then he held the flower out to brush the velvety bloom along her cheek, beneath her chin, across her lips. “My memory tells me that you are softer than this flower, but there are times when I begin to have doubts.” He rubbed the petals between his fingers until they drifted to the ground like warm snowflakes. The ruined bud followed their descent, but his hand remained extended in midair, hovering next to her face. “Will you let me prove the truth of the matter?”
She felt herself nod, held captive by the smoldering fire in his eyes. His fingertips trailed across her cheek, as light as the stroke of the rose petals, following the same path beneath her chin and across her lips. This time he lingered there, testing the shape of her mouth. She fought down a strange urge to stroke his fingers with the tip of her tongue, to taste the roses she could still smell on his hand, to taste Guy.
As if he could read her thoughts, he drew one finger along the line between her lips. Her lips parted and she heard his sharp intake of breath, or, perhaps it was her own. His hand stilled, his gaze intense as he stared at her mouth, as though he performed some task that required great courage.
The temptation was too great. She touched the tip of her tongue to his finger, amazed when he swayed slightly. Their
gazes met and she saw the oddest look in his eyes, a look of helplessness. This was the power he spoke of, the control he gave no other. It was a heady feeling, one that made her grow bolder. She drew the tip of his finger into her mouth and caressed it with her tongue, as though she were licking sweet honey from his finger rather than the taste of roses.
“Sweet saints.” The whispered words were as much a prayer as a curse. His eyes widened but he didn’t move, didn’t look away from her. Or couldn’t. She felt the heat of the fire she had started inside him reach out to warm her as well, a flame that swirled in lazy circles through her veins, curling in an ever-tightening coil inside her stomach.
At last he drew his hand away, groaning as though it were painful to do so. His breathing sounded rapid and shallow. So did her own. For a long moment he just stared at her, then he captured her hand and drew it to his lips. Fear flashed through her, and a quicksilver rush of desire as she realized that he meant to inflict the same torment.
He cradled her slender hand between his much larger ones, his voice harsh with desire. “Thomas did not lie. Your hands are indeed beautiful.”
His lips brushed across the back of her hand, then her fingertips. He kissed each one in turn, taking the very end between his lips and stroking each tip with his tongue. Claudia felt her legs begin to tremble, and knew what it was to feel helpless. She heard the whimper of a small animal, then realized with a start that the sound came from inside her. “Oh, Guy.”
He gave her a dark look, and even managed to smile around her index finger. “Oh, Claudia.”
He kissed her palm, then her wrist, then pushed her sleeve up to press a line of erotic kisses along the inside of her arm to her elbow. Then he stopped.
Somehow she found herself standing within the circle of his arms. His lips moved and she had to concentrate on the words they formed. His mouth was so beautiful, so masculine, so very sensual.
“Right here, right now, all I ask from you is a kiss.” He cupped her face, rubbing his palm in a slow circle against her cheek. The flame inside her licked higher, even as his hand drew away until only his fingertips stroked her cheek. “A kiss, Claudia. Grant me this boon and I will give you—”
She pressed her fingertips against his lips before he could start to bargain with her. Just this once there would be no bargains between them, no promises made or broken. She drew her fingers over his lips, marveling that they could be so firm yet soft at the same time. “Kiss me.”
He lowered his head very slowly, his gaze holding hers until their lips met, then she closed her eyes. His warm breath coaxed her lips to part, as though he were a breath of sunlight. She gasped at its brilliance. All the tense muscles in her body relaxed at the same time, but she did not tremble or lose her balance. He held her safe, his arms wrapped around her as securely as the rose vines all around them. She could feel the strength in him, the power that was his now and could crush her with its will, yet he held it in check, coaxing her closer to it, tempting her with the notion that he might share that part of him.
His kisses became caresses, each one deeper, more erotic; sandalwood and exotic spices, the spices of a man’s desire. His tongue traced the outline of her lips, then retreated, then returned again for more of the torment. He made a sound deep in his chest, that suggested impatience, and she finally recognized the invitation. She touched her tongue to the corner of his mouth, then drew it slowly over his upper lip. He pressed her against the length of his body, as if to teach her that he was hard everywhere she was soft. She shuddered, the lesson learned.
His mouth taught her the meaning of carnal. He took a full taste of her, his tongue stroking and teasing until she felt light-headed, then he drew the tip of her tongue into his mouth and began to suckle as he had one of her fingertips. She collapsed against him.
They were kneeling on the floor of the mock gatehouse.
She couldn’t recall how they came to be in that position. She had lost all control of herself. Nay, she was still losing control. Summoning the last of her willpower, she tilted her head back, then to one side, desperate to escape, desperate to save herself.
“Guy.” His name sounded more a harsh croak than an actual word. He was kissing her neck, the most sensuous kisses she had ever imagined. “Please. You said … only …” She tilted her head back again. Surely his lips were leaving brands against her skin. When she looked in a mirror at her reflection she would surely see burns all over her neck, each the perfect shape of Guy’s mouth. “You said …”
What had he said? For that matter, what was she talking about? Her hands tangled in his silky hair, drawing him closer, but his lips slid away and he pressed her head against his shoulder. Her arms were still around him, their bodies pressed together. He felt like a powerful stallion, winded after a long run. It could only be her imagination, but for a moment she thought he was trembling as much as she was. His arms tightened around her as if trying to prove her mistaken.
“I cannot kiss you again,” he murmured. His voice sounded as harsh as her own and he rubbed his cheek against her ear, a caress to smooth the roughness of his words. “Sweet Mother of God, I am lost. Do not let me touch you again, Claudia.” His hand cupped the back of her head and he held her even closer, a silent denial of his own orders. “Not unless …”
She had not thought it possible, but his body grew harder against hers, all warm, deadly steel. Her own body responded in kind and she tried to lift her head, but he held her fast. His unspoken question frightened her. Given her response to his kisses, she was afraid of her reply.
“Do not answer,” he whispered. “I know it already. I can feel it in you as surely as I feel your passion.” The restraining hand on her head curved into a lover’s caress against her hair. “Roses. I should have known better.” He took a deep, unsteady
breath. “Return to Lenore. Now, before I change my mind. Before I try to change yours with more kisses.”
“ ’Tis not that I—”
“God in heaven, Claudia. Do not argue with me now.” He took her shoulders in a firm grip and thrust her away from him, his gaze averted, unable to bear the sight of her. “Leave me.”
She stumbled to her feet. Tears blurred her vision, but not enough that she couldn’t see the look of disgust on his face. Disgust with her or with himself, she wasn’t certain. Mostly with her, she imagined. She turned and fled.
“Where is she?”
The two soldiers who stood before Guy took a step backward. The shorter man looked around the bailey, as if searching for the best path of retreat.
“W-we have not seen her, Baron,” the other managed.
“And Thomas?” Guy demanded. “If that miscreant—”
“Lord Guy!” Evard rode through the gates of the lower bailey and held up one hand to hail Guy.
As Evard rode toward him, Guy dismissed the two soldiers with a flick of his wrist. “You have found her?”
“Lady Claudia?” Evard asked. “Have you misplaced her?”
“Do not taunt me,” Guy warned. He began to walk toward the stables. Evard turned his horse and followed. “We had an ar—a discussion that upset her earlier this morn. I have searched for her to no avail. She is not in the gardens, nor my chamber, the solar, or the seamstress quarters. ’Tis likely she mistook something I said to her and fled the castle. We must mount a patrol to—”