Synclair clicked his tongue at her. The sound was warm and full of wicked promise. “Where is your courage, Lady? Have you not frenched men?”
Her blush deepened and her thighs tried to snap shut again. Synclair looked up her body, and in spite of the darkness, she saw the smile curving his lips. His fingers reached her mons and gently stroked over the wet folds. It was a whisper of a stroke but she jerked because sensation shot through her as quickly as a pistol.
“Have you wrapped your lips around a cock and listened to the way a man is reduced to a quivering mass while you suck him?”
“Of course I have ...” Her husband had demanded the service often. “But you can not mean to do that ...”
“To you?” His fingers moved across her folds again, this time making more of a connection. He pushed one fingertip into her slit and stroked her very center until he was hovering over her clitoris, rubbing it gently. She suddenly understood what he meant by being reduced to a quivering mass. Her eyelids closed without hesitation as sensation took complete command of her.
“I assure you, Justina, a lover does indeed return the favor of
frenching,
even if your bastard of a husband was too selfish to give you the pleasure.”
She had wondered what it might be like to be pleasured while doing nothing for her partner. To lie back and do nothing except enjoyâpart of her wondered if that was where true rapture might be found. She quivered, anticipation beginning to drag her down into a swirling vortex of sensation where there was no need to hold onto her discipline.
“Waitâ” She forced her eyes to open and lock with his. She gasped when she saw the determination on his face. He waited until her gaze was locked with his.
“I promised you that I would bend you to my will, Justina. Women are not the only ones who can drive their partner past reason with a skillfully placed touch.”
“I need my ability to reason.”
“No, my lady, you do not. At least not for the rest of this night.”
His finger pressed a bit harder and she felt her back arching, her hips lifting up to offer her clitoris to his touch. There was a steady command in his touch and hard resolution in his tone. Her entire body shivered but she lost the ability to keep her eyes open, her body demanding that she surrender to the bliss that his finger was inducing. Her heartbeat accelerated and her hands fisted in the bedding. She felt him lean closer, his breath hitting the wet skin of her spread sex. He used two fingers to separate her folds even more and lay her clitoris completely bare. Anticipation twisted through her, pulling her between excitement and desperation.
The first touch of his lips was almost too hot to bear. Her head thrashed on the bedding but it wasn't enough, and she heard a thin cry escape her lips.
“Hmm ... I believe you enjoyed that.”
His fingers moved her folds away from her clitoris even more and he lowered his head to place another kiss against the sensitive bead. But this time he closed his lips around it, sucking gently on it. Delight snapped her like a leather whip, drawing every muscle she had taut, to the point that it felt they might snap, but she didn't care. There was nothing but the pleasure filling her from where his mouth was fashioned around her clitoris. His opposite hand joined in the assault on her flesh, one finger gently teasing the opening of her passage.
She cried out, louder and longer while her hips jerked against that finger. Her passage had never felt so empty, so desperately in need of being filled. The sucking on her clitoris was pushing her toward another explosion of pleasure but denying her that final burst of satisfaction. Instead she twisted on the edge of a cliff, lifting her lower body up, seeking enough pressure to send delight flooding through her.
“Shall I give you pleasure?”
Synclair's voice was strained. “Demand it from me, Justina. Use my name and ask me for what you want.”
“Yes, Synclair, yes!”
There was no thought in her mind save gaining release from the twisting knot of need in her belly. He leaned back down, sucking her clitoris back between his lips, harder and faster this time while his fingers thrust smoothly into her passage.
She cried out, her voice echoing off the canopy above the bed, her body contorting and withering while pleasure assaulted her in a storm of white-hot rain. It soaked her from head to foot, so hot, she feared she might be scarred, but she did not care. She clawed at the sheet, hearing it rip where her fingernails punctured it.
“You are mine.”
He rose up, rocking the bed with how much strength he used. His face was pulled tight now, desire causing his nostrils to flare. He covered her, lowering his body on top of hers while she gasped and reached for him. Satisfaction was still shaking her but she ached for complete possession, her passage craving the hard presence of his cock deep inside it.
She clasped his hips between her thighs and sighed as the head of his member pushed through the wet folds of her slit. His body shook with the amount of control he was using to mount her gently.
But that wasn't what she craved.
“Take me, Synclair. Now.”
He growled and his body flexed, sending his cock into her heated passage. She arched to take him, crying out as his flesh filled her near to bursting once more. His breath was ragged and his skin moist with perspiration. He gathered her hair in his fists while his hips began to move in rapid thrusts. The bed creaked, the canopy jerking and pitching above her head, but all that mattered was the hard flesh filling her over and over.
She felt him begin to give up his seed, the hot spurt hitting the mouth of her womb, and another burst of pleasure clenched her passage around his length. It caught her by surprise and her cry mixed with his deeper one as their bodies rocked through a final few thrusts.
“Sweet Christ in heaven ...”
Synclair's elbows made deep indentions in the bed beneath her as he supported his weight and kept his wide chest from crushing her breasts.
“I cannot breathe.” In spite of his chest not pressing down on hers, her lungs still burned and her heart felt as though it might break through her bones because it was thumping so violently.
He rolled onto his back, lying still while the sound of their rough respiration filled the space between the bed and the canopy. Her mind swam in a mist of satisfaction and exhaustion, her limbs feeling too heavy to move. But she felt Synclair begin to toy with her hair, just a soft motion of his fingers combing through the strands while he continued to draw rough breaths beside her.
“That was delightful, Justina.”
There was an arrogance in his tone that had her opening her eyes. Pleasure was still pulsing through her in soft little waves but her mind was beginning to function once more, thoughts forming where there had been none while he touched her. The hand in her hair sent a little bolt of fear through her because his touch had the ability to make her senseless.
She curled away from him, seeking the edge of the bed.
“The snow is falling, Justina, and there is nowhere for you to go while the sun is gone.”
A hard arm hooked around her waist, drawing her back against his body. He sat partially up and tugged the bedding free from where it was turned down at the foot of the bed.
“Let us enjoy each other's warmth instead of traveling a frozen path that will be much easier to cover in the light of day.”
He covered her with a warm spread and held her tight against his body, even when she wriggled.
“I must go.”
“Nay.”
Firm and unyielding, his voice was as immovable as his body. Her strength deserted her, bleeding away as her heart slowed and calmed. She was suddenly more at ease than she had ever been. The warm body pressing against her back, more secure than anything she had ever felt. His hands smoothed over her, stroking with a tenderness that sent two tears down her cheeks. He pressed a kiss against her neck before breathing out a long sigh.
“I plan to pray that the storm lasts for a week, for that will give me the excuse to keep you in this bed.”
His voice was slow and drowsy and she couldn't even muster enough strength to answer him. Instead she felt the beat of his heart against her back and allowed it to lead her off into sleep. A deep sleep that was free of worry. Warmth and tenderness surrounded her and it was, without doubt, the purest form of perfection she had ever felt.
C
HAPTER
F
OUR
J
ustina moved, rolling over in her sleep, and the man sharing the bed with her followed her. Her mind instantly roused, refusing to relax back into the deep state she had been in. Her eyes fluttered open and she tried to recall where she was.
And with whom.
Fear spiked through her, making her muscles tense. She never remained in bed with anyone that she was sent to entice.
Memory flooded back into her mind. Synclair was curled around her back, his soft breathing telling her that he was still deep in slumber's grip. She turned her head to see him. His features were completely relaxed, making him look harmless and somewhat like a boy. His hair was tousled and lay swept back away from his face. It wasn't truly golden, but had darker streaks in it. One of his hands was resting on her hip and she looked down at it.
Men did not cling to women after bedding them. To be held was a need that was purely feminine and yet, she could not deny that Synclair was turned toward her several hours after he had gained what he wanted from her.
As you did from him ...
She frowned and moved slightly away. Even sound asleep she did not doubt that the man would rouse quickly if she was not careful in how she moved. He was a knight and not one dubbed with the title in the middle of a receiving room for the sake of who his parents were. Synclair was battle-hardened, a fact she had learned to respect because he was never easy to slip past. Of course she found that aspect of him hard to resist. There were far too many people in her life who demanded her respect without having earned it. She was drawn to Synclair for too many reasons, and passion was only one.
She had to leave him.
Pain slashed through her so harshly, she expected to feel blood seeping from her chest. It stole her breath both with its intensity and with surprise. Justina stopped, frozen in place while she looked back at the man sleeping in the bed she had shared with him. A longing to return to his side was strong inside her, urging her to discover if he would be happy to find her still in his bed when he awoke.
That was pure nonsense, of course, another feminine idea that men only played lip service to when it suited their purposes. Even if Synclair had meant his words of last night, it would not change the fact that she could not choose to be with him.
Justina moved across the floor with silent steps she had learned and practiced while leaving more than one bed. Her husband had often used her after drinking heavily and his temper was always sour when he awoke after such times. Escaping his chamber had been a pleasure.
Unlike today. She had to force her feet forward while picking up her clothing, making sure that the fabric of her dress did not rustle. Her undergarments were scattered across the floor and some rested on the table. Finding her shoes proved time consuming and she looked back over her shoulder more than once to ensure that Synclair was still sleeping. She allowed herself one long look at him before turning her back on him and their night together.
She eased from the room with all of her clothing hugged tightly against her chest. She didn't stop to put her chemise on either. The house was still silent and dark, the hallway held in the grip of night. She heard every breath she drew and flinched when she gently closed the door because the sound it made seemed loud, though in reality was quite hushed.
Early morning was often that way. She could smell the new snow in the air and feel the pinch of winter chill on her bare skin. No smoke tickled her nose yet, telling her that the servants were still sleeping, too. Justina stopped at the bottom of the stairs, gently placing her bundle of clothing on a table there. She shivered, gooseflesh rippling along her skin. She plucked her chemise out of the jumble and hurried into it to chase away the morning chill. Her nipples still drew into hard points and she shivered again while sitting down in a nearby chair to pull her stockings up her legs. Lacing her shoes on was simple with only the thin fabric of her chemise covering her midsection, but there was no way to lace her stays, so she lifted her dress and allowed it to settle around her without the stiffly boned undergarment. The dress wouldn't conform to her curves without being laced as well but there was no time for that. The fabric covered her and that was enough for the early hour.
She ducked out of the door, taking care to close it gently and leave the house sleeping. Outside, the landscape was glittering with fresh snow, all of it lying pristine and perfect without any tracks. The horizon was only beginning to turn pink, slim fingers of light cutting through the darkness. It was a time of day that she saw too often, but peace settled over her with the solace in knowing that she had made her escape once again.
A smile lifted the corners of her mouth, a sense of victory filling her because she had taken her pleasure where she wished, and for once, at the command of no one.
Well, except for Synclair. The knight had enjoyed telling her what his will was. She crossed the yard toward the stable. Her leather shoes were little protection against the snow that broke beneath her weight, allowing her to sink ankle-deep with each pace.
She was thankful that the hunting house was built for easy access to the horses. Inside, her feet didn't need to suffer the snow, and it was slightly warm from the coals lying beneath the ash in the fireplaces. Two stable boys rolled over when the horses stirred, their ears twitching when she entered. One boy lifted his eyelids and looked at her from where he slept near the fire. Justina lifted a hand and placed a finger against her lips. The boy pulled his blanket closer and closed his eyes once more.
Obviously, a tousled-looking woman leaving at dawn was not an uncommon sight to them. Her cheeks flushed when she considered just how the two boys had become so familiar with seeing women leaving the house with their hair unpinned and clothing unfashioned. Henry Tudor had often kept his mistresses at the lodge, and his nobles followed in the King's footsteps, spending the night hours in bed sport before making appearances at service. None of them were faithful to their wives, many more seeking divorces exactly as the King did. It made being a woman difficult and it also allowed men such as Biddeford to use their female dependents like prostitutes.
Synclair had not made her feel like that ...
The thought renewed her lament over leaving and she stiffened, because she had to return to the palace before day broke completely. For all the sordid things that happened by night, the court was a vastly different place during the light of day. She would treasure the memory but return to her place without further delay.
She reached for a mare, one of several that were kept in the stable. Saddles were lined up along the railings of one stall. There was a sense of security in knowing how to saddle a mare with her own hands. She soon had the horse ready for its early morning ride and led it toward the stable door. She stopped and peeked outside before opening the door. The yard was empty and still, only her tracks marring the smooth surface of the snow.
She swung up on top of the horse, gripping the saddle with her thighs while no one was about to critique her. Besides, what did it matter if someone declared that she was sterile because she rode astride? She had no husband to worry by such news.
The mare cut through the snow with little crunching sounds. Justina saw her own breath turning white in front of her while she leaned down low over the neck of the animal. The crisp air flowed through her hair, making her as giddy as a child who had stolen away from her schoolroom tasks.
But all too soon Whitehall came into view. The guards were diligent at the gates but they allowed her through without question since the saddle was marked with the arms of the King. She turned a corner and rode down to the stables where the King's horses were kept, before slipping from the back of the mare and handing the reins over to a boy wearing the colors of the Tudor household.
“Feed her well and warm her feet.”
“Yes, ma'am.”
Justina dug into a tiny pocket on the side of her gown and pulled a small silver coin from it. The groom's eyes brightened, and he took the money, pushing it deep into his doublet.
“Remember me not.”
The boy nodded, casting his gaze at the mare. Justina hurried up the stairs that would take her inside the maze of hallways that made up the palace. She knew them well, turning and covering the distance to her chambers through the smaller hallways used by the servants.
But she was not the only lady walking along the corridors this morning. Other women, whose hair flowed down their backs, made their way, too. They didn't look up, did not make eye contact with her, but kept to their side of the hallway when she passed them. There were no words spoken but an undeniable feeling of regret permeated the stone hallways. Justina forced herself to not think of it as hopelessness for she wasn't ready to become so jaded. She resisted thinking about the other women who were but hollow shells of what they had been when they first came to court, drunk on the stories of grandeur and royal majesty. Each of them had learned that marriage was for the gain of the family and their bodies a treat for the men to enjoy. While the horizon continued to brighten, more of her sisters made their way to their chambers and the role of respectable ladies.
She was no different, no worse, but at least she had truly come from a lover this morning. She would hold that thought close to her heart and hopefully keep it from turning to stone.
At least for a little bit longer.
Â
“Did he have you?”
Justina pressed her hands over her mouth to smother a cry of surprise. Biddeford was sitting in the chair again, only this time hidden in the dark. She heard him snap his fingers and then there was a scuff against the floor before sparks flew out from a flint stone being struck. The groom had to strike it several times before the candle's wick caught fire and light illuminated the viscount.
Justina preferred the darkness, for his expression chilled her. Displeasure was showing clearly on his face and there was a warning in his eyes that she had suffered only a few times in the past.
“The maid claimed that you rode off with Baron Harrow last night after he fought with Francis de Canis.”
Of course the maid had told him. For a bit of silver any servant might be encouraged to recall where nobles went and with whom, even if those same servants had been paid to remain silent. One never knew; the only thing certain was that if one failed to bribe, the servant would most definitely talk.
The viscount's eyes narrowed as he raked her from head to toe. “You look well and truly tumbled.”
Justina forced her enjoyment of the night down deep inside her, into a place that only she knew of. Reality had arrived, just as she knew that it would.
“What else would he have taken me with him for?” She turned to hide her distaste for how her words sounded. Synclair did not deserve to be talked about in such derogatory tones; however, it was better than allowing Biddeford to know that she admired Synclair. The viscount might decide to make an example of him, just to prove his power over her. She would not take the chance. “But I am returned and no one the wiser.”
The viscount slapped the table, the sound drawing her back around to watch him. The man didn't have any qualms about striking women so it would be wise to keep him in sight.
“Francis de Canis knows and he is most displeased with you, madam.” The hand on the table began to tap against the hard surface. “De Canis has powerful friends who enjoy his work enough to want to see the man happy.”
A shiver crossed her face. She failed to suppress it and Biddeford noticed it.
“Letting de Canis use you might have been advantageous.” He tapped the table again. “Then again, he is the sort of man who likes what he is told he cannot have best of all.”
Justina watched the way the viscount contemplated her. He was weighing the amount of gain to be had, peddling her like a moor did a slave girl.
“Continue to tell de Canis no. Let him nurse a swollen cock when you walk by him. Dance with him if he asks and tease him, but refuse him anything further.”
Justina felt like a weight had been lifted off her chest. She drew in a deep breath but knew that it was far too soon to celebrate anything. The viscount was merely attempting to drive up the price before he made a bargain.
“We'll see how much he desires your sweet flesh and more importantly how much he will give me to take you away from Baron Harrow.”
“The Baron Harrow is on close terms with the Earl of Hertford.”
The viscount made a soft sound of reprimand beneath his breath. He stood up and closed the distance between them. He raised one hand and stroked a single fingertip across her cheek.
“Be very glad that your worth is in your beauty, else I would strike that insolence from you.” His hand trailed down to her arm. “A pity that I cannot even mark you where your clothing will hide it but I will not lament it very much. There are many who will give me a great deal to possess your body.”