Authors: Julia Keaton
“Constance, go
now. We have matters to discuss with young Alex,” Rafael said, crossing his
arms over his chest in a manner that seemed most threatening to Alex.
“Not you as well,
brothers!” Constance cried, hugging Alex protectively.
Alex struggled to
breathe and fight her rising panic. She should be accustomed to this state by
now, but she quite feared she would expire before she could free herself from
their machinations. “’Twill be all right, Lady Constance. You must do as your
brother says.”
Reluctantly,
Constance released her with a warning glare at her brothers as she strode out
the door.
Gray and Rafael
watched Alex, stone-faced, letting her feel their displeasure for long
moments. Alex knew it was useless to do anything but await punishment. She
was almost glad for it. A horrific sense of guilt permeated her. Her
deception weighed heavily on her mind, for she feared what it’s effect would
have on the innocent, as well as herself.
Gray rubbed his
face as though tired, running his fingers through his hair in a frustrated
stroke. He gave her a hard look, as if trying to decide how best to broach
what he wanted to say. Finally, he sighed and asked, “Alex, how long has it
been since you’ve dipped your wick?”
Alex swallowed with
difficulty past the heart which lodged in her throat. She was a horrid liar.
She thought perhaps some measure of truth could aid her in her defense, though
she knew not where this line of questioning could lead. With reluctance and a
great deal of effort, she said, “I have never … uh … dipped my … wick.”
Gray and Rafael
exchanged an unfathomable look with one another.
“It makes sense
then,” Gray admitted. “We must remedy your problem if you are to continue to
stay here.”
Alex’s heart jumped
and choked her. Surely not they too…. “I do not quite understand.”
Rafael leaned one
shoulder against a support beam. “’Tis simple. You would not be … confused
about your … preferences if you’d had your coddles waxed.”
Alex’s head began
to swim dizzily as blood rushed up her face. Certes! They meant to … to … she
shuddered with horror and embarrassment. She could not do what they wanted her
to. “No, no. That is not necessary,” she hedged, wishing a bolt of lightning
would strike her down rather than have this conversation with the men.
“It is necessary.
We will not have our brother ruined by your seductions,” Gray said, frowning as
he came forward and closed a hand around her biceps.
She was beginning
to feel a faint coming on, her breath was coming so fast and hard. Rafael
surged forward and clapped her on the back with a grin. He had every
appearance of being excited. In fact, they both looked over eager.
“Calm down, boy,”
Rafael said, guiding her out of the stable. “There really is naught to it. We
shall find you an experienced whore for your first time.”
CHAPTER TEN
Alex felt like a
hen being chased for a stew. She had to escape. Unfortunately, between Gray
and Rafael taking turns keeping an eye on her and Constance’s concerns, she’d
had not a moment alone the remainder of the day. By the evening meal, she was
worn down to one frazzled nerve. She knew tonight Gray and Rafael planned to
alleviate her ‘malady’, and she still had not thought of an excuse she could
give to get out of it. It seemed she was destined to lose her virginity to a
prostitute.
Thinking of carnal
pleasures immediately brought Bronson to mind, and she wondered where he was.
She had not seen him since the incident. He had not even come in for the
evening meal, and she wondered if he was struggling with his feelings over what
he’d done—and what she’d done. She blushed thinking of how she’d returned his
kiss, even if only on the pretense of regaining her mustache—which was firmly
pasted back into place. She longed to tell him he need not worry over his
masculinity, that she was a woman, full grown and eager for the marriage bed in
necessity and desire. Her courage was not so great, however, nor could she
begin to imagine where he might have stormed off to or how long he would remain
unseen.
It was as the
servants were bringing out tureens of steaming water for cleansing that Bronson
came into the dining hall. It fair stole her breath to see his long, powerful
strides and the fluid movement of his body in motion. She hurt to look upon
him, in that same achy place as before that throbbed to life whenever he was
near. He should not have affected her thusly, but if naught else, she should
have the ability to restrain her physical desires. That she could not refrain
from experiencing a thrill on seeing him boded ill for her continued ease of
mind.
He did not spare
her a look as he seated himself beside his father and Rafael, but as he sat, he
seemed to sense her eyes upon him and gifted her with a heated, angry look. He
was persistent in his anger, and had been since her arrival. When first she’d
met him, she felt like a mewling hound that merely annoyed him. In the past
week, however, he’d seemed changed, more attune to her movements in the castle
and on the grounds. She felt that he watched her always, even when she could
not see him. Pure nonsense, she was certain. He’d even begun stealing into
her dreams….
As he refused to
break his angry look from her, Alex flushed to her hairline and glanced down at
the platter a servant set before her.
That infallible
look confirmed her suspicions. He was angry at her, and with good reason. If
she was to gain another chance to escape, she would have to appease him
somehow. She supposed the easiest course would be to apologize, even if the
fault had not been entirely her own.
The meal was
miserable for her. Each time she looked up, she would catch a look from one of
the Blackmores. Constance batted her lashes at her, ever smiling, and her
father, Lord Derwin, seemed oblivious to the turmoil that surrounded him. In
fact, he almost looked encouraging to Constance, but Alex knew that had to be
her overactive imagination playing tricks upon her eyes.
She could hardly
bear to tear her eyes away from her meal, little though she ate. Gray and
Rafael intercepted every look with a smile at what was to come, and Bronson
fair hunkered down as he ate, growling at any who attempted conversation,
looking like nothing so much as a beast.
Alex attempted to
eat, but her throat closed on her food, and she could barely swallow in her
anxiety. Her choking drew concern she did not want, and so she merely pushed
her food about her plate until the entertainment began. She did not have long
to wait until her doom, and she still had not thought of a way to escape Gray’s
and Rafael’s clutches.
With morbid
thoughts, she watched as a lutanist came in and sat upon the bottom step of the
dais, strumming a tune as the gathering feasted.
The music appeared
to agitate Bronson. He stood abruptly, scraping his chair as he strode out of
the room. Alex waited a moment until she was certain the attention of the
gathering had redirected to the lutist, and she slipped out, following him.
She had to speak to
him of what had happened while she had the chance. Alex caught him on the
stairs. His pace had slowed, almost as though he meant for her to capture him
there as he ascended.
“My lord,” she
called, near breathless from her race to catch him.
He stopped on the
stairs as if struck in the back by a bolt. He turned as she neared, his body
rigid, his look unreadable.
“What
do you want?” he asked in a stony voice that sent shivers down her spine.
Now that she had
his attention, she was not certain she’d made a wise choice in gaining it. “I
meant to speak to you … of what happened this day.”
He frowned, and his
heavy brows drew down like a thundercloud upon his forehead. Alex swallowed
with difficulty, her mouth suddenly drawn free of moisture.
“What of it?”
Bronson said through gritted teeth, stepping down until he was level with her
on the wide tread. Her heart began pounding with a thrilling rush. Alex
instinctively took a step down, but it leant him advantage over her that did
not sit well.
“I mean to…” Alex
began, swallowing again as he took another step down, “…to apologize for my
behavior.”
He quirked a brow,
crossing his arms over his chest. “You are at fault.”
His words seemed
more a question than statement, by the tone of his voice. “Aye,” she said.
Bronson took
another step, below her, cutting off escape as he leveled himself with her.
Eye to eye with him now, Alex could not miss the heated intensity of his gaze.
“I do as I wish. No one forces my will.”
Alex frowned,
fighting panic and confusion. “I … I do not catch your meaning, my lord--”
“Bronson,” he
growled, grabbing her arms and hauling her against his chest in the space of a
frightened heartbeat. He captured her, complete and absolute, demanding
surrender, and when she would not capitulate, he took it. He slanted his head,
crushing his lips against hers, his mouth a brand that lit her blood on fire
and commanded her submission.
Alex’s heart leapt
in her chest and galloped away. She was too stunned even to attempt to pull
free. Her precarious position allowed her no retreat from him, and she knew
not if she was more terrified of tumbling down the stairs, or being caught by a
passerby with his arms about her.
As his arms
tightened and his mouth opened, her mind closed down to her surroundings. Alex
tasted the fury in his kiss, the absolute longing for sustenance. He seemed
starved for the taste of her. He groaned against her lips, startling her as
his tongue swept across the seam of her mouth and forged inside. Alex gasped
at the hot taste of him, the unyielding press of his body around her. Small
noises escaped from her throat, like the frightened pleas of prey. His arms
tightened at the sound—they seemed to incite him. His tongue grew ravenous,
his hands roaming her backside, squeezing the cheeks of her buttocks as he
pulled her tight to his groin.
Alex moaned as his
hardness ground against her belly. Wetness flooded her femininity, soaking her
with forbidden arousal. Her blood felt on fire, her flesh achy with awakening
desire. The wine on his tongue intoxicated her, made her forget he thought her
a boy. She kissed him back, entangled her tongue with his in a bold move that
left her thighs wet with her daring.
He groaned with
approval as she advanced and tasted him. He suckled her tongue in his mouth,
fingers massaging her cheeks, spreading them as he crushed her against him.
The bud hidden in her folds throbbed to life, ached for his touch. She felt
like crying out in frustration, wanted to wrap her legs around him and ease the
hurt clenching her insides in a vice.
“Bronson,” a deep,
angry voice called behind them.
Bronson released
her like he’d been struck with a brand. The suddenness of his withdrawal hit
her with a force that stole her breath. Bronson faced the voice’s
owner—Gray—with a murderous look. His chest visibly rose and fell with his
harsh breath. “Why do you interrupt, brother?” he ground out, his hands
clenching as though he wanted to strangle something.
Alex watched them
both, eager to flee but rooted in place. She shuddered, hugging herself. She
would have claimed innocence of wrongdoing, but knew they would not believe
her. She couldn’t seem to work her tongue, regardless. Her lips felt bruised
from his kiss, tingled with the lingering pressure of his mouth, and her blood
raced, making her lightheaded. She placed a hand on her heart, unsure if it
would continue to beat with the shocks she’d been gifted this day.
Gray propped on the
bottom step. “Be glad Rafael intercepted father. Do you want him to see you
this way? Do you want
Constance
to?”
Guilt assailed
her. Her apology lay like ash in her mouth, burned away by the molten fire of
his tongue. She could not see reason when faced with Bronson. His presence
addled her wits, made her careless. It was pure miracle that they continued to
believe her a boy, but then, they were too concerned with Bronson’s soul to
consider other possibilities.
And Bronson … he
seemed not to care, either way.
Bronson shuddered,
raking a frustrated hand through his hair. Alex longed to ease the worry on
his brow, the tension in his muscles, but she didn’t dare move and draw attention
to herself. The men felt on edge, as if one wrong turn would set them on a
irreversible, dangerous course.
Bronson turned away
without a word, giving Alex a last, heated look before he trod up the stairs in
angry silence.
After he’d
disappeared from view, Gray came up, grasped her arm, and pulled her down the
stairs with a scowl. “Were you more than a child and capable of withstanding
it, I would beat you, young lord, for tempting my brother in sin. His will is
weakened from want of woman flesh, and you are too comely by far for his mind
to seek ease. A serpent cares not which hole it sleeps in.”
Rafael ran up to
them from a branching hall as they came off the stairs. He gave Alex a look,
as well as Gray’s hand upon her arm, before turning his attention to his
brother. “All is well, Gray?”
“I came none too
soon. Young Alex is too curious by far to feel Bronson’s serpent climb up his
arse,” Gray said with a scowl.
“Then it is good we
go bawding this night. I have had the horses prepared. Naught stands in our
way but the road.”
Alex felt faint.
Her feet tripped over themselves, and Gray barely righted her. Her blood
seemed to boil. She would have placed a hand to her head to feel for fever,
but Rafael grabbed her free arm to escort her outside to the stables.
She was gone to her
doom and there was naught to stop it.
* * * *
The old battlements
were tranquil this night, allowing Bronson reprieve from the company of others
and opportunity to allow his blood to cool. Flames whipped in a cool breeze,
ruffling like sails filled with air in the quiet. The landscape was dark, and
he followed the movement of torch bearing riders as they crossed the creek and
rode to their own homes. He did not puzzle over their lingering at the castle
overlong. He breathed deeply, forcing himself to relax, pacing the battlements
as though it would clear his thoughts the more he walked. He came here when
troubled, and indeed, the girl toyed with the calm of his mind like no other.
Long moments
passed, and still, the sensation of her in his grasp did not abate. His flesh
felt imprinted with the touch of her.
He could still
smell her scent, impressed on his skin. His hands burned with the feel of her
buttocks, round and firm, each cheek sized to suit the length and width of his
hands like he was meant to hold her. He’d felt her arousal seeping through his
hose, and he’d near gone mad with it, imagining the scent, the taste, how it
would feel to plunge his engorged length into her silky wet depths.
He groaned,
increasing the arousal that tormented him. Bronson felt near to bursting. His
groin throbbed with the heavy beat of his heart, aching like a starved beast. He
felt like a man possessed by some demon, intent on rending and ravishment.
Carnal thoughts did
nothing to ease the turmoil of his mind—they merely enhanced it. He would gain
no surcease if he did not turn them from the temptation of her woman’s sheath.