Once Upon a Kiss (23 page)

Graeham averted his eyes, wincing, glancing up at
the ceiling. Hoping to stop her tears, as well as to remove her from his line
of vision, he reached out and urged her into his arms. “There, now,” he said
awkwardly. “All is well, Lady Dominique... No harm was done.”

She shook her head frantically. “I was not trying
to poison you,” she swore vehemently.

“I know,” he relented, stroking her back.
“Shhh...”

If he’d wondered of her innocence before now, he
did no longer. Somehow he knew that the woman in his arms was guiltless, no
more than a pawn in her brother’s politics. Her sobs were too sincere to doubt.
The simple fact that she’d been so honest about trying to seduce him, and that
she’d gone about it so ludicrously, only served to prove she was a desperate
bride, ignored and confused.

He wished he could follow through with his promise
to her brother—that he could wed her and all would be well. But he could
not. Holding her within his arms was the final proof. God, he’d avoided her for
naught, telling himself that he did not wish to tempt himself, but there was
nothing there... no feeling at all. Though he could smell the sweetness of her
hair, feel the warmth of her female flesh... he was not stirred.

There was only one resolution now.

And by damn, he would do what was right.

He drew her away from him suddenly, wiped her
tears, and rose from the bed, going to the door.

She
didn’t know he was there.

In the
shadows.

Watching
as she stole by him on her way to his brothers chamber. Her fine pleated gown
had billowed about her with the night draft, her shape gracefully limned
beneath. She was lithe and beautiful, her bosom ripe... high... round. Her
waist small...

A
strangled sound caught at the back of Blaec’s throat at the excruciating
thought of his brother’s hands upon her. God... why? Never in his life had he
begrudged him anything.

Why
her?

Why
now?

He
didn’t think he could bear it.

For
certain, he would have to leave.

He
lifted the flagon he clutched within his hand to his parched lips, and then
drew it away irritably, shaking it. Discovering it empty, he tossed it aside.

Though
deep in his cups, he still could not sleep, imagining her in there... in his
brother’s arms...

Blocking
the vision from his mind, he stretched out upon the pallet within the solar,
staring at the ceiling, his body taut. With a low moan, he closed his eyes,
raking his fingers across his scalp. Already his head hurt, but he didn’t know
whether it was the drink or the tension. Perhaps it was both.

Just as
he wondered, again, what they might be doing, the door to Graeham’s chamber
burst open, and someone bellowed his name. Graeham, he thought. His eyes
attempted to focus upon the figure standing silhouetted in the doorway.
Graeham. Surging to his feet, Blaec swayed slightly, half expecting to find a
blade protruding from his brother’s chest.

“Get her
the hell out of my chamber!” Graeham demanded.

Blaec
shook his head, unable to comprehend, for Graeham stood there unharmed.

Angry,
but unharmed.

“By
God! I don’t care if you have to sleep atop her,” he bellowed, “get her out of
here, and keep her out!”

Dominique
could scarcely believe her ears. Her face flamed with mortification.

For an
instant she thought he might be speaking to a guard, despite that she’d not
spied one on her way into his chamber—certainly not there in the solar.
She would have noticed...

Her
heart lurched when Blaec d’Lucy appeared in the doorway, leaning idly upon the
doorframe as he peered inside. Yet though his appearance was calm, the look in
his eyes was anything but.

They
accused her once more, though he said nothing.

He wore
only his loose breeches, no tunic, and his hair was disheveled as though from
sleep. In the dim light of the room, his flesh was even swarthier, glistening
with a light sheen of sweat, for the night was warm.

Had he
been there in the solar all along?

How had
she missed him?

Had he
heard?

It
didn’t matter, she wasn’t going anywhere with him. He stood there, as though
waiting—well, he could stand an eternity. She wasn’t going anywhere. He
moved suddenly, as though to come for her. “Nay!” she shrieked hysterically. “I
can find my own way!” She bounded from the bed at once, and giving Graeham a
wounded glance, hurried to the door, hesitating there, for she was forced to
slip between them. Her heart began again to pound as she glanced from one
brother to the other, gathering her courage. She bolted past them all at once.

“I’ve
no need of escort!” she informed them both haughtily, and prayed he would not
follow.

To her
dismay, she didn’t get far.

Blaec,
the cur, was behind her within the instant—curse him!—lifting her
up and heaving her over his shoulder. In the space of seconds, Dominique found
herself dangling like a sack of meal down his bare back. Shrieking indignantly,
she pummeled his back with her fists, trying not to note the heat of his bare
flesh.

“I
despise you!” she hissed at him. “Release me at once, you loathsome cur!”
Feeling dizzy, and a little as though she would swoon again, she braced her
palms against his back and felt his muscles flinch at her touch.

Adding
to the insult, he said not a word as he hauled her up the tower steps to his
chamber. No apology—naught! And Dominique found herself seething by the
time they reached the antechamber. To her way of thought, he enjoyed this far
too much! Well, he wasn’t simply going to walk away this time, because she
wasn’t going to let him! Not without gouging his eyes out!

Kicking
open the antechamber door, and then the door to the chamber, he carried her
within and tossed her down upon his bed, again as though she were no more than
baggage. But Dominique vowed it wasn’t going to be so easy as that. She locked
her arms about his neck, refusing to let go, fully intending to scratch his
eyes out when she got them within reach.

Screaming,
she pulled him down with her.

With a
grunt of surprise, he toppled upon her.

Dominique
lost her grip—as well as her breath—with the impact. But that
didn’t stop her. She groped wildly for a lock of his hair, grasping it as
though her soul depended upon it—God curse his own rotten soul! It would
serve him right did she yank every hair out of his head!

At once
his hand shot up, seizing her wrist, gripping it tightly. “Let go,” he snarled.

“Never!”
she replied vehemently. “Arrogant bastard! I’d as lief pluck every strand from
your churlish head. How dare you treat me so!”

His
thumb pressed harder against the tender spot in her wrist, until Dominique
cried out in pain. Still she refused to ease her hold.

He
sounded as though he could not catch his breath, but Dominique could not tell,
for the chamber, despite that the shutters were open wide to the night, was
pitch-black. He emitted some sound, something akin to a snarl.

“What
the hell were you doing in my brother’s chamber?” he demanded suddenly.

“As
though it were any of your bloody concern!” she hissed at him. “Overbearing
bastard!”

He clucked
his tongue at her in the darkness. “Such language... Did you speak this way
with Graeham, too?” he asked. “Is that why he tossed you out of his bed?”

“I most certainly did not! And he did not—”

“He
did,” Blaec countered with deceptive calm. The seductively gentle tone of his
voice sent a quiver of alarm down Dominique’s spine, for the hold he retained
upon her wrist was anything but tender. “You forget I was there, demoiselle,”
he taunted her. “Perhaps your brother failed to inform you, Lady Dominique...
but my brother likes his women chaste.”

“Why,
you!” Catching the gleam in his eyes, Dominique meant to strike him, but he
held her wrists too firmly.

She
twisted and bucked beneath him, and he grunted, as though in pain. “I would not
move quite so, were I you,” he warned her softly, and then rocked his pelvis
suggestively against her, letting her feel him. “As I myself take my pleasures
where they are offered.”

Dominique
gasped in shock and in outrage.

Though
she could not see him in the blackness of the chamber, she could feel his eyes
upon her, burning into her very soul... cold feel his panting breath, warm and
sweet with wine... feel his manhood nestled scandalously against her thigh.

Sweet
Jesu, she felt
that
even through her
chainse
and the cloth of his breeches. It could not be missed!

She
swallowed convulsively, stilling her movements at once.

For the
longest instant, neither moved.

He
laughed softly, the sound mirthless, mocking. He bent to whisper against her
ear. “I see that I have your attention at last.”

Dominique’s
grip tightened upon his hair. Perhaps she could not move the rest of her body,
but she could make him regret every blessed word he spoke to her!

Pain
shot across Blaec’s scalp, but he welcomed it, for it kept him from forgetting
himself entirely. The feel of her beneath him was too potent a distraction by
far. Like some lost soul, he prayed she would not move, and prayed, at the same
time, that she would—prayed that she would release him, and was heartily
relieved when she did not.

Unable
to help himself, he moved against her, and felt himself throb. Christ... he
thought he would lose control... “Dominique,” he rasped, pleading, and then it
was too late. He couldn’t nave stopped himself had he tried. Far too long had
he lain upon his pallet... wanting this... and now she was beneath him... and
it was no dream...

Last
night in his tent, he’d awakened, moving against his pallet, thinking it was
her... needing it to be so.

And now
it was, and he was undone.

One arm
slid beneath her back and he lowered his mouth, unerringly, to her lips.

Startled
by the unexpected warmth of his mouth, Dominique gasped in surprise, opening to
him. At once he thrust his tongue between her lips. With a soft cry, she
released his hair, dropping her arms to his neck, and the helpless gesture sent
a new burst of heat singing through his veins, filled him with a triumph that
was not his right to feel.

From
the first instant, Dominique was lost.

She
could not think, only feel... and the feeling was too exquisite for mere words.
It was as though she had lived an eternity for this single moment. All thought
of denial fled from her head and from her heart... and from her lips... and
from her body.

All she
could think of was the warmth of his tongue, the sweetness of his breath... and
the softness of his lips as he lapped and tasted of her mouth.

Seduced her.

He
tasted of sweet wine, she thought vaguely. Delicious. Of their own will, her
hands wound themselves within the length of his hair... only this time, her
fingers reveled in the softness.

That
feeling... that same incredible feeling that had sparked to life
before—that same feeling that made her yearn so desperately to close her
thighs against him—began to unfurl once more... simmer... burn...

Moaning
softly, Dominique writhed mindlessly beneath him... needing more. He responded
with a low, husky moan, and slid down the length of her body. For an instant,
Dominique thought he meant to leave her. And to her shock and dismay, she felt
only relief when he remained, nibbling and kissing at the heated flesh of her
neck. She arched to give him better access, mindless with the pleasure he gave
her, sobbing softly at her own wantonness.

But she
didn’t care... she didn’t want to let herself care.

She was
her mother’s daughter.

“Forgive
me,” he whispered.

Dominique
wondered if he asked it of her... or whether they were her own words... and
then she wondered no more, for the hand beneath her back lifted her up, and he
moved down on her yet again. With a low groan, his lips found and closed about
the peak of one breast, toying with it, lapping it, tugging it gently, suckling
as sweetly as a babe.