Claire Delacroix (21 page)

She barely had time to note the sharp way he inhaled before Yves bent and kissed her with a vigor unexpected. Gabrielle’s heart sang and she locked her arms around his neck.

Yves lifted his head too quickly and his voice throbbed low against her awakened lips. His bright gaze brought her very blood to a boil and Gabrielle was exultant that her offer had been accepted.

“As always, your desire is my command, my lady,” he murmured. Before Gabrielle could summon a word to her lips, Yves swept her into his arms and strode toward the bed.

She was surrendering to the allure of a handsome man, it was true, and that might well lead to an echo of her dame’s unhappy fate. Gabrielle did not care. When Yves kissed her with such abandon, she could think of nothing but the promise of his touch. If this was the most gloriously misbegotten error of all her days, Gabrielle would regret it later.

In this moment—perhaps for this entire afternoon and evening—she had more important things to do.

Yves had not needed Gabrielle to issue such an invitation twice.

In fact, so surprised was he by her offer that he meant to leave the lady no time to change her mind. He could not reach the pillared bed quickly enough, even if it was only late afternoon.

Gabrielle flushed slightly, her eyes sparkling as she looked up at Yves, but she did not request that he stop.

That she should be so receptive to his touch was something unexpected. To be sure, there were noblewomen who had
teased Yves in the past, but only until they knew his birthright.

Gabrielle knew all of him, yet she did not turn him aside. That she was the sole woman he had ever desired with such vigor was a blessing indeed. It was almost too much to believe that not only was this woman of rare character his own wife, but that she would welcome him to her bed.

He took a deep breath and looked into the lady’s eyes as he laid her on the bed. Gabrielle’s lips curved in a slow smile that wrenched Yves’ heart. They stared at each other for a long moment, then the lady lifted her lips in silent offering.

Yves could not deny Gabrielle’s allure. He stretched out beside her and kissed her deeply, cradling her against his chest. Yves’ desire roared with a vengeance, but this was a mating he would make most memorable.

This would be the consummation of their match, after all, and the first time he and Gabrielle touched each other in truth. This would be a day that would linger in their memories for a long while, if not forever. Yves would make it as leisurely and sweet as ever man and woman together could be.

Gabrielle deserved no less.

“A bath,” he said huskily. “We have need of a bath.”

Gabrielle flushed. “I bathed this very morning,” she protested, but Yves kissed her into silence.

“Cleanliness is not at issue.”

Gabrielle frowned. “Then why summon a bath?”

Yves deliberately let his gaze slide over Gabrielle’s form and linger on every delightful feminine curve. His hand followed suit, and he felt Gabrielle shiver slightly beneath his touch. The very boldness of his plan made his voice husky.

“I would bathe you, my lady,” he whispered. Yves heard the catch in his own voice, but could not look away from Gabrielle’s bright gaze.

Gabrielle stared up at him and her lips parted invitingly. “There is no need,” she argued softly, though Yves could
see the idea had an appeal. “I can do the deed more quickly alone.”

“Speed is not at issue, either,” Yves countered quietly, letting his fingers mold to the curve of her breast. “I would take the cloth to your flesh with my own hand. I would bathe you slowly from head to toe, just so that I might learn all there is to know of you.”

Yves watched as Gabrielle swallowed. She opened her mouth as though she would protest anew, but Yves granted her no such chance. He kissed the ruby ripeness of her lips with a tenderness aimed to reassure her.

She was so soft against him, so demanding in her own caress, yet vulnerable with an uncertainty Yves could not explain. Gabrielle’s fingers slid tentatively into his hair and he savored the combination of her softness and strength.

Indeed, there could not be a woman like Gabrielle anywhere—and she was his bride. This was a lady Yves was proud to make his own.

Reluctantly, Yves lifted his lips from Gabrielle’s, enjoying the way she looked slightly disheveled in the wake of his kisses. Her cheeks were flushed and her eyes bright—that combining with her smile to make her look young and fragile.

It was a side of her few had the grace to see and one that Yves would treasure.

“Do not move,” he advised, ignoring the demanding ache in his loins. This could be no petty rutting, but a lovemaking that would tempt every possible nuance of response from the lady’s flesh.

He would make this day fulfill every fantasy Gabrielle had ever possessed.

“I would not dream of it,” the lady whispered throatily.

Yves crossed the room hastily and threw open the door. “A bath!” he cried. “Summon a bath for the lady, if you please.”

“Yes, my lord,” came a chorus of voices from below.

Yves turned back to meet Gabrielle’s gaze and could not
resist the lady’s shy smile. Surely she could not doubt her allure? Yves was drawn back to the bed as steadily as a fish caught on a lure. He sat on the edge of the broad mattress and captured Gabrielle’s hand securely with his own, feeling it tremble in his grip.

An uncertainty lurked in her eyes that he wanted to banish beyond all else.

“I like that you are not afraid to show your desire,” he murmured, and Gabrielle stared up at him. “It feeds my own as nothing else could.” He looked deeply into her eyes, willing her to believe him, a confession he might have once found difficult to make falling readily from his lips before his lady’s uncertainty. “I like that there is honesty between us, in this and all else.”

Gabrielle’s broadening smile lit all the secret corners of Yves’ heart. “As do I,” she whispered. Her hand landed on his chest, those slender fingers pressing lightly against him. Yves captured them within his grip and pulled her yet closer.

“I want this to be good between us,” she added unevenly, as though she was not certain it could or would be.

Yves had no such doubts.

“It will be,” he said with heartfelt conviction. “We shall make it be so, I pledge to you.”

Her smile turned impish. “You do not need to pledge everything to me. I trust you to do as you say.”

The words buoyed Yves as nothing else could have done. The lady trusted him! “It is my way to make a vow when something is of import to me,” he explained quietly, his fingertips brushing her veil away from her cheek. Her skin was so very soft. “Does that trouble you?”

“No.” Gabrielle shook her head, the heat in her gaze making Yves’ chausses tighter by the moment. “I like very much that you are true to your pledge.” Yves could have willingly drowned in the violet pools of her eyes.

The knock at the door could only have been called inopportune, to his mind.

Yves muttered a curse, the back of his neck heating when Gabrielle laughed at him. The merry sound of her laughter filled the solar as brightly as the sunlight.

Yves stalked to the door and she wagged a scolding finger at him from her perch on the bed. “Would you have such language leave Gaston’s lips?” she teased. “Or Thomas’?”

“It is hardly the same,” Yves retorted, hearing the smile in his own voice. The lady let him escape with nothing, and he liked her cleverness well

Yves hauled open the door to find a trio of servants there, led by the indomitable Franz, none of whom could completely hide their delighted grins. Yves’ ears burned with the certainty that all knew what they were about this day, but Gabrielle’s laughter reassured him.

“We bring the bath, my lord,” Franz declared.

“And time enough it took,” Yves acknowledged gruffly, not in the least comfortable with providing fuel for gossip. His words launched a decidedly unladylike guffaw from his wife. Conspiratorial grins were exchanged all around as the bath was hauled into the room and filled with steaming water. Yves stood outside the circle of activity, fighting against his discomfiture.

It was Franz who handed Yves the soap. The tall man winked in the midst of the transaction and gave his lord a friendly nudge. “We shall not expect you at the board this night, my lord,” he whispered, displaying the gap between his teeth as he grinned. His voice dropped to a whisper. “Enjoy!”

Then Franz winked again and the lot of them were gone.

“Do not look so surprised,” Gabrielle chided.

“They are uncommonly bold,” Yves retorted, not certain whether to feel pleased that he had been accepted or insulted that they did not fear his wrath.

Gabrielle laughed anew. “They are happy that all is well within Perricault once more. Do not fear, Yves, you have won
their trust. Franz would not have dared say as much otherwise.”

The specter of the unknown Michel rose at this most inconvenient moment. Yves hated the reminder that another man had touched Gabrielle before him. No, it was not that, but the fact that Gabrielle loved Michel that rankled.

No, it was that she still
did
love Michel that lay at the root of his dissatisfaction. He looked at Gabrielle, sprawled upon the bed with her veil askew, her lips quirking with laughter.

Michel had undoubtedly seen her in such casual intimacy thousands of times. The very thought was sobering, the ghost Yves had fought to keep in the background forcing his way into the sunlit solar now, when he was least welcome.

Yves wished with sudden fervor that he had had the opportunity to win this lady’s heart, for hers was one he would treasure beyond all else. But it was granted and lost, buried forever with a man who had died in the cruelty of war.

Had they two ever loved here in the afternoon?

Yves could not bear to think of it. In this moment, he loathed Michel as he had never loathed another being in all his days.

And he had not even known the man. His response made no sense.

“Would he have said as much to Michel?” Yves asked woodenly, unable to keep the question to himself.

Gabrielle sobered, though her gaze did not waver. “No,” she said flatly, then rose to her feet to come to Yves’ side.

Yves looked toward the floor and turned the soap in his hands, not knowing what to do with this tide of unruly emotion unleashed within him. Gabrielle looked up at him, even as her fingers landed on his arm. Yves could not look into her eyes and risk seeing her love for Michel still burning bright.

“Let us not speak of Michel again this day,” she urged softly, and Yves could not evade the truth.

Her heart was yet lost to that man and likely always would
be. Though Yves enjoyed some measure of the lady’s charm, still she kept her heart locked away.

But the lady desired
him.
Surely that could only be a good import for the future? He would prove to her that her desire was not misplaced and perhaps, in time, the lady would offer more.

Yves could only hope.

“I will not mention his name ever again,” he pledged, fully meaning the words. Her fingertips rose to his face and desire rolled through Yves with new vigor.

Ye gods, but this woman fired his blood!

He met her gaze, and Gabrielle took the half step remaining between them. She reached purposefully for his tabard, but Yves evaded her grasp.

He grasped the ends of the girdle tied about her waist and hauled her so close that her hips bumped against his own. His fingers made short work of the knot, even as Gabrielle’s hands landed on his chest.

“You wear too much garb for a bath!” he teased, bending quickly and taking his own teeth to the laces on one side of her surcoat.

Gabrielle gasped, but did not move away. She seemed surprised, and Yves took advantage of that rare state. He slipped his hands around the neat indentation of her waist, his teeth making short work of first one lace, then the other. He could smell the sweet perfume of her skin and feel the heat rising from her flesh, the combination feeding his desire.

When the laces hung loose, he could not resist sliding his hands through the open sides of her surcoat. The fine linen of her chemise met his fingertips; the soft warmth of her flesh curved beneath his hands. Yves straightened slowly, looked into the lady’s eyes and let his hands slide upward until he cupped her breasts.

She gasped when the taut nipples came under the heat of his palms. In the same moment, Yves bent and captured Gabrielle’s lips with his own.

He felt her hesitate even as his thumbs circled her nipples. Then slowly she stretched to her toes, her strength curved against his chest in a most intoxicating manner. Yves kissed her deeply, his tongue tangling with hers in an elaborate dance, and Gabrielle, to his delight, did not draw away from the flame they kindled.

Surely she could not be burning with the same desire that consumed him? Would she turn him aside once she knew the strength of his own need? Or would she merely tolerate his caress?

Yves wanted no less than overwhelming pleasure on the part of each on this night. Nothing else would suffice. His hands slipped to the pert curve of Gabrielle’s buttocks and he lifted her against his arousal, so that she could not miss the fullness of his desire. If Gabrielle did not want him, this would be her chance to turn him aside.

But the lady rolled her hips against him without hesitation.

T
he fire Yves kindled beneath her very flesh was a sensation alien to Gabrielle, but still she knew her role well in all of this. She closed her hand over Yves’ arousal when he drew away from her and he caught his breath, his eyes blazing into hers.

She worked his tabard loose and he aided her to lift it away. Gabrielle’s hand fell immediately to his hauberk, with a purposefulness born of the familiarity of this task. But when Yves finally stood before her in loose chemise and chausses alone—the very image of his appearance that first day they had met—he caught her efficient fingers with his own.

Gabrielle looked to him in surprise, but Yves merely planted a kiss in each of her palms. “There is no rush, my lady,” he charged softly, and uncertainty claimed Gabrielle once more.

She knew the ritual she and Michel had followed, but it seemed Yves did not. Mating with Michel had been an effectively managed rite—first Gabrielle undressed her spouse, making sure she touched him
there
at frequent intervals to maintain his interest in the deed. Then she washed herself hastily—and not before Michel’s gaze—for he had been particular that she be pristine before they touched. Finally, she
crept into the bed and Michel rolled atop her and spilled his seed.

The entire deed posed a very short interruption in the activities of the day or night.

Yves’ call for a bath had not surprised Gabrielle, though his insistence that he would bathe her was confusing. And now he did not seem to want to quickly disrobe.

Gabrielle did not know how to proceed. And Yves’ kisses sorely distracted her from what she knew she should do. Indeed, she had to fight every urge to simply lean back in his embrace and enjoy.

But to do so would have been grievously wrong.

While she fretted, Yves discarded her surcoat. His hands shook with an impatience Gabrielle had not guessed he could possess. Could this man possibly desire her for herself?

But no, that was foolish whimsy. Yves must want a son of his own, and desperately so. Did he not share an uncommon bond with Gaston and now Thomas?

When Yves grasped her chemise in two fistfuls and made to discard it as well, Gabrielle suddenly feared his response at the sight of her nudity. She stayed his hands and knew her cheeks burned when she met his questioning gaze.

Heaven knew she was not as finely wrought as he!

“You cannot bathe fully garbed,” he chided softly.

Gabrielle felt her self-conscious flush deepen. “I am not a beauty,” she whispered, her gaze fixed upon the floor. “And I can bathe myself more quickly. Go to bed and I shall shortly be there.”

Yves lifted her chin so that she was forced to look into his eyes. A compelling sincerity gleamed there, and once Gabrielle looked, she could not turn away.

“My lady, is the thought of my bathing you so distressing that you would refuse?”

Gabrielle swallowed as she stared up at him, knowing she could not lie. The very thought of those strong hands sliding over her bare flesh was enough to make her knees weaken.

And they
had
pledged to have honesty between them.

She shook her head, unable to give further voice to her fears, and a slow smile curved Yves’ lips. Despite that smile, Gabrielle’s hands trembled as she reluctantly lifted them away from his own. Yves swept her chemise aside in one gesture, then stood back, the sheer linen spilling from his hands.

He looked upon her nudity in silence.

Gabrielle studied the steaming bath, not having the fortitude within her to face the disappointment that must light his eyes. Oh, this bold proposition of hers had been an error indeed!

“Gabrielle,” Yves murmured, his low voice catching at her heart. “My lady, you have lied to me.”

Gabrielle’s head shot up, for she had never lied to him and she knew it well!

But the glow of admiration in Yves’ eyes silenced her protest before it even began. He met her gaze steadily, then stepped forward, an uncharacteristic hesitancy in his manner. The chemise fell from his grip as he tentatively lifted a hand to her chin.

Then the heat of his hands was in her hair. His fingers worked methodically through her braids, and Gabrielle closed her eyes at the sight of his chest so close to her bare breasts. She inhaled deeply of his scent. She felt all atremble inside, as never she had before in such a moment of intimacy.

The pins scattered about her feet and her hair swung free. Gabrielle felt her hair brush against her hip as Yves spread its mass about her shoulders. He cupped her face in his hands then and smiled down at her.

“You are a beauty, indeed, lady of mine,” he declared softly. “Never imagine otherwise.” Gabrielle blinked in astonishment, but Yves bent to close his lips over her own.

Though Gabrielle knew he flattered her, she could not deny his touch. She wanted him, she loved him, and knowing that he wanted her—however fleeting that desire might prove to be—was a siren’s call she could not ignore.

Gabrielle arched against his strength, feeling shameless but wanting no less than his all.

And now she knew once more what to do.

But before Gabrielle could reach for the tie to his chausses, Yves scooped her up and dumped her into the steaming tub.

Gabrielle gasped at the shock of his move, even as the warm water closed over her. Yves leaned over the tub and waggled his eyebrows at her in a mimicry of a stern tutor.

“Not yet,” he scolded with mock severity.

Gabrielle splashed the water playfully in his direction. “Coward!” she charged, and Yves chuckled as he danced out of range. “You see me naked but will not bare your own flesh.”

Yves grinned like a young boy and cast his chemise aside. He knelt beside the tub and propped his bare arms along its rim, the soap dangling from his fingertips.

“Better?” he breathed. He was disconcertingly close, the bronze of his bare skin overwhelming. It was not reassuring in the least to Gabrielle that the man was even more superbly muscled and lean than she had imagined.

Yves’ fair hair was tousled as Gabrielle had never seen it before, his smile disarmingly confident. His bright gaze missed none of her perusal, she knew.

She was wed to a veritable Adonis. Surely he could only grow weary of her charms?

Yves leaned closer and his breath fanned in her ear. “What do you think, lady of mine?”

“I think you are as vain as ever a man was,” Gabrielle retorted, feeling decidedly unsettled by her own uncertainties. “No doubt you think no further than your own satisfaction on this day,” she charged, knowing the accusation was unfair but unable to keep it from her lips.

“Oh, no,” Yves murmured. “I mean to see fully to your own pleasure first.”

Her own pleasure? Gabrielle jumped as the wet heat of Yves’ tongue leisurely outlined the curve of her ear. She
might have pulled away from the unfamiliar but delightful sensation, but Yves’ arm had slid across her back. His hand locked on her shoulder, holding her fast against his chest.

If she could not escape, she rationalized, she might as well enjoy this interlude while it lasted. That was an excuse and Gabrielle knew it well, but she did not care.

But, oh, there was much to be enjoyed!

She stretched her neck back as Yves nibbled a path of infinitely small kisses along her jawline. He paused at the corner of her lips, his own mouth but a finger’s breadth away, and Gabrielle felt her head turn that increment toward him.

Their kiss was gentle and languid at first, as though Yves would coax a reluctant response from Gabrielle. Surely he did not imagine that she did not desire him?

Gabrielle knew how to dismiss that thought. She raised her hand from the heat of the bathwater and let it trail up his arm. She traced the outline of his shoulder with her fingertips, before grasping his neck. Then Gabrielle pulled Yves closer, demanding more of his kiss.

Yves hauled her more tightly against his chest with a vigor that made her heart lurch in anticipation. His mouth slanted purposefully over hers, and Gabrielle’s blood boiled as his tongue tangled once more with her own.

She closed her eyes with a sigh and leaned back in his embrace. His arm gripped her shoulders like a safe harbor sheltering a ship in a storm; his other hand cupped her face with a tenderness unexpected. His thumb slid along her jaw in a caress that could melt Gabrielle’s bones, and she forgot whatever she was supposed to do next.

Then Yves’ fingertips slid down the length of her throat. The soap traced a path across her skin in a smooth caress that made each increment of flesh it passed resonate in its wake. Yves’ other hand lifted from her shoulder, his fingers spearing demandingly into her hair.

And the errant hand slid beneath the surface of the bathwater.

Gabrielle arched backward, unable to help herself when those strong fingertips curved possessively over her breast. He worked up a lather with the soap that made his caress all the more gently seductive. Yves swallowed Gabrielle’s gasp as his thumb and finger kneaded her nipple to an aching point.

Gabrielle was powerless against this sensory assault, so far beyond anything she had experienced before.

Yves’ hand slid lower and she thought she would faint at the power of her desire. He abandoned the soap and it bobbed to the surface with a little splash.

But Gabrielle was aware only of the downward spiral of those exploring fingers. He traced the curve of the underside of her breast; he caressed the silhouette of each rib; he encircled her navel, then tickled inside it. Yves’ fingers splayed and his hand flattened against the soft curve of her belly.

Gabrielle gasped, but Yves granted her no respite. His fingers slid through the nest of curls at the apex of her thighs and slipped into the sensitive flesh hidden beyond. That secret part of her throbbed with insistence, but Gabrielle sat suddenly straight in the tub.

She tore her lips from his. “Yves!” she gasped, certain this could not be right.

“I will not hurt you,” Yves murmured soothingly. “Indeed, you may like this well.” Gabrielle could hardly argue with that, for the weight of his hand, even where it rested now, was far from unpleasant.

“I have never done such a thing before,” she said uncertainly. “I do not know what to do.”

“You have nothing to do but enjoy.”

Gabrielle frowned, for that made no sense at all, and reached for her spouse. “Let me touch you instead,” she suggested, feeling that familiar ground would be welcome despite the temptation of this knight’s touch.

“No,” Yves said with quiet resolve. “A lady’s pleasure must come first.”

“But—”

“But nothing,” he chided, silencing her argument with a quick kiss. Yves brushed the tip of his nose against her own and smiled that half smile that so disarmed Gabrielle. “Trust me,” he urged quietly. “You will not regret this.”

Gabrielle’s resistance melted before his charm. She argued no more and did not protest when his lips lowered to hers again.

And for the first time since they had crossed the threshold, Gabrielle ceased to fight her intuitive response. She welcomed the heat Yves thrummed to life within her and trustingly parted her thighs before his gentle but sure touch.

She was rewarded by a surge of sensation that shook her to her core. The secret spot between her thighs hummed like a busy bee on a summer’s afternoon, and Yves expertly cajoled it to yet greater heights.

Gabrielle moaned, but he did not halt his caress, his fingers coaxing and teasing as she writhed in response. His kiss stole her very breath away and she felt as if she floated in the warm water on a tide of sensation. The grip of Yves’ hand upon her nape was the only fixture in Gabrielle’s world.

The desire that had coursed within her veins ever since the first afternoon they had met rose to a crescendo. Her very flesh heated and she trembled in anticipation of something she could not name. She clutched at Yves’ hair; she gripped his broad shoulders; she twisted and squirmed.

The heat rose increment by increment, each moment taking it yet further beyond what Gabrielle thought she could endure. She ached for something, felt a void deep within her and wanted only to have Yves fill her with his strength.

That thought made everything within her explode in a sea of brilliant light. Gabrielle cried out and felt herself strain ever higher as the tumult of her release swept through her.

And left her trembling in its wake.

Yves kissed her brow as she slipped limply into the bathwater once more. The hollow ache within Gabrielle still demanded
to be satisfied, though, and she reached up to cup his jaw in turn, the soapy water dripping from her fingertips.

“I want you,” Gabrielle whispered hoarsely, not caring if Yves saw the fullness of her desire. “I want you now.”

Yves’ amber eyes blazed into hers for a timeless moment. Then he shed his chausses, the turgid strength of him bare to her view for the first time. Gabrielle reached for him, belatedly recalling her role in all of this, but Yves brushed her hands aside.

“I cannot wait,” he muttered, and she marveled that she could have such an effect upon this man.

Then there was no more time to marvel, for Yves plucked her from the bath. His hands locked upon her waist and he lifted her high above him, impaling her upon his strength as he stood, his powerful legs braced against the floor like ancient trees. Gabrielle quivered against Yves even as rivulets of water ran from her flesh to make a puddle upon the floor.

It was as though she coupled with some pagan god, bronzed and gilded, possessed of an immortal’s strength.

Yves’ gaze roved over her as though he marveled at
her
and Gabrielle’s pulse accelerated anew. She locked her legs around his waist and twined her arms around his neck, determined to grant him as much pleasure as he had given her. Yves gripped her buttocks, then lifted her up and down in that ancient dance of mating.

His eyes glowed. “Gabrielle,” he murmured, her name a caress falling from his lips. “You are my sole desire.”

Gabrielle pressed herself against her knight and kissed him with a fervor she had not known she possessed, rolling her hips against his strength as her own need rose once more. Yves groaned and his grip tightened upon her, but Gabrielle in turn granted him no escape from the primal power of their mating.