Once Upon a Kiss (35 page)

Glaring at her, he drew his fingers across his
lips, finding his own blood, and then he slapped her once more. “You are just
the same as your mother!” he told her viciously, as though they did not share
the same blood. “A lying filthy little whore!”

He backed away, as though the sight of her
disgusted him. “I could have loved you, Dominique,” he told her sullenly. “I
would have loved you with my body and my heart.”

Dominique gazed at him with revulsion. She shook
her head, swallowing, tasting the bile that rose like acid in her throat.
“Wh-What are you saying, William?” She choked on a sob.

“I would have cherished you,” he continued, his
eyes shimmering.

She held her palm against her face, easing the
sting of the blow—yet there was nothing that could ease the sting in her
heart.

God... Blaec had been right. Graeham had been
right. William was a fiend. How could she have been so blind? How could she not
have seen the truth? He’d held her so dispassionately all these years... Sweet
Christ... she had thought him oblivious to her.

She shook her head, swallowing, her eyes accusing
him, glazing with new tears. Yet she made no sound, for inside she was numb.

Just then, he shouted for Rufford, startling her
with the ferociousness of his bellow. Mere moments later, Rufford came loping
into the hall to do his bidding.

William eyed her coldly, and said, “Take her to
her chamber, Rufford, lock her within... then I want you to send a messenger to
d’Lucy.”

“Aye, m’lord.”

‘Tell him he may come for Dominique if he dares.
Though if he does... I intend to kill him with my bare hands for his
treachery—you might tell him that as well. And if he does not come for
her... well, then... I shall simply kill her... and I shall serve her pretty
little head upon a goose platter.”

Dominique thought she would faint at his
declaration. “William,” she croaked, disbelieving her ears. Her knees buckled
beneath her.

“My lord?” Rufford said in obvious shock.

“How can you despise me so?” Dominique asked
brokenly. “How can you do this? William...”

William shook his head in disavowal of her words,
looking even staggered by her remark. He said, almost tenderly, “Nay,
Dominique... you mistake me... I love you.”

Dominique gave a hoarse cry, her hand flying to
her mouth, stifling her sob, lest she burst into hysterics.

“My lord?” Rufford asked again in bewilderment.

“What the hell are you looking at?” William roared
at the top of his lungs, whirling about. He started after Rufford as though he
would strike him down where he stood, his hand gripping his sword. And then he
stopped suddenly, his jaw working furiously, his eyes a violent, swirling blue.
“Get the bloody hell out of here—both of you! Take her—and get the
bloody hell out. Then go tell d’Lucy what I bade you, lest you end with your
arse in the moat along with the rest of the offal.”

“Aye, my lord.”

William closed his eyes, and bellowed again,
“Go—now!”

She gasped in horror as Rufford came toward her.
Dominique could see in his eyes that he would do whatever William bade him, no
matter how long he had known her, no matter that he regretted it. Her knees
buckled with the knowledge, and she fainted even before he reached her.

“I lost her.”

“What do you mean you
lost
her?” Graeham asked, sitting up
within the bed, his expression bewildered. “You found her, then?”

“Aye, damn it all, I found her—and then lost
her again.”

Blaec came into the chamber, slamming the door
behind him, spearing Alyss with a shriveling glance. Though it wasn’t intended
for her, he could scarcely help himself—the image of Dominique clinging
to her brother’s underling tormented him still. Like the picture of her
standing before him, limned by the candlelight, in all her naked glory, this
new image, too, now was ingrained vividly upon his mind. He shuddered with the
potency of his anger, cursing roundly.

“Shall I go?” Alyss asked timidly, her face ashen
as she stood to do his bidding.

“Nay,” Graeham declared at once, meeting her gaze
and holding it fast. “Stay,” he bade her.

Blaec witnessed the exchange between them, though
he refrained from remarking upon it. His mood as black as the maid’s anxious
eyes, he sat himself upon their father’s chair, slumping down into it like a
man whose spine had been broken in two—and it had been, he brooded.

It might as well have been.

She had refused him.

Though he had asked her not to go, she had done so
anyway.

Part of him was stricken ill at the very notion
that she was again at her brother’s mercy. And though he told himself that
William would not harm her, he thought the bastard’s soul black enough to use
even his own flesh and blood if it suited him.

Had he not heedlessly placed her in danger by
abandoning her here at Drakewich? The whoreson had not even cared enough to see
that his sister and Graeham were properly wed. He had left her at the mercy of
Blaec’s suspicions—not to mention his lust.

Nay, such a man could not love, he decided.

Another part of him... the part that she had
rejected by refusing to return with him, felt well and duly betrayed. He tried
to tell himself that he would have done the same... that with her innate
loyalty she could have done nothing more than return to her brother. Aye, he
would have done the same.
But still he could not be eased.

She had refused him
.

“Damn!” Without explanation, he arose from the chair,
gave his brother an apologetic nod, and quit the chamber, unable to speak of
his conflicting emotions even with Graeham just now... for despite that his
brother had handed him everything... everything... he felt as though this day
he had lost it all.

Graeham sighed, frowning at the door as it closed.
“I wish there were something I could do to ease him.”

“If you will pardon my candor, m’lord... it seems
to me you have done so much already...”

Graeham said nothing for an instant, and then
stated flatly, “You do not understand.”

“Again, m’lord... if you will but forgive my
boldness... I believe I understand more than you think. You value your brother
highly, it seems.”

Graeham heaved another sigh, nodding. “I do.”

“’Tis plain, m’lord. And I believe he knows. It
seems to me he values you, as well. And pardon my saying so, m’lord, but lest
you wish to give him your guilt, along with everything else you’ve bequeathed
him... you must let it pass, at last... let him live as he must, and do for
himself. He will discover the way. God has a way of providing.”

His brows drew together. “You see all that?”

She nodded, and Graeham considered her an instant.
Alyss had been at his side from the first moment he’d opened his eyes, tending
to his every need. She’d was the first thing he had seen upon waking, and the
last before closing his eyes. Truth to tell, he liked having her at his side,
and thought that perhaps he wasn’t in such a hurry to heal.

“You’re a wise bit of baggage,” he said at last.

She smiled with her eyes, and Graeham found
himself once again entranced by the incredible depth of them, the way they
sparkled so intelligently. “Aye, m’lord,” she said soberly. “Would you have me
continue now?”

“If you like.” His voice sounded strange to his
ears.

She smiled shyly, blushing as she approached the bed
once more. “Then you must give me your back,” she charged him.

Graeham did so, and she sat again upon the bed
beside him. He liked the way her dainty weight shifted the mattress, filled the
space beside him. “By chance, where did you learn to do such things with your
hands?” he asked her casually, lifting his nostrils and breathing deeply of her
presence, of the oil she had heated and placed within a basin upon the floor by
the bedside.

“My mother,” she told him, returning eagerly to
her task. “She taught me much about pleasing a man.”

He listened to the sounds of her dousing her hands
with the oil; it sounded much the way sendal cloth did when rubbed together.
Anticipating the first touch of her fingers upon his flesh, he lay there, still
as a stone.

“Really?” he asked with a sigh of pleasure. He
twisted, turning to meet her doe-like gaze. “Your mother taught you this?”

“Aye, m’lord. My mother.”

“Who is your father?”

She was silent a moment. “My father was lord of
Kester, vassal to William Beauchamp, and vassal, before him, to his father.”
Her eyes, deep, dark, and rich, were as inviting as a shadowy glade. She’d
removed his bandages earlier in order to bathe him, and now she was pleasuring
him in ways he’d never conceived possible... in ways he’d never allowed himself
to consider.

“Your mother taught you well,” he said huskily.

Alyss’ soft laughter filled the chamber. With
lithe, delicate fingers, she began again to massage the warmed oil into the
taut muscles of his back. “Thank you, m’lord,” she murmured.

‘There,” she said. “Now, turn again, m’lord.”

Graeham’s heart staggered to a halt. “You’re not
through yet?” he asked, disheartened by the prospect. He turned as she bade
him, and for an instant, as he lay upon the bed under her scrutiny... he felt
himself stir once more and rejoiced in the sensation. It had been so long...

For an instant their gazes held, and she must have
spied the disappointment in his face, for she asked, sounding as breathless as
he felt, “Would you desire me to continue, m’lord?”

Graeham’s voice turned husky, his breath short,
his mouth too parched for words. “I would like that very much,” he said.
“Please...” He swallowed convulsively.

She nodded, her smile like that of a feline, and
began again to stroke his chest, avoiding his injury, even as she dared to hold
his gaze.

Graeham felt himself harden fully. “Should you...”
He swallowed. “Should you bandage me again?” he asked, shifting upon the bed,
unable to remain still with the blood simmering through him. She knew what she
was doing, teasing him, and that knowledge, too, aroused him.

“Nay, m’lord,” she answered huskily. “The wound is
sewn and there is no infection... It needs the air now to heal.” Her eyes were
still upon his, and Graeham felt himself as breathless and weak as a babe under
her scrutiny.

He raised himself, wanting to be nearer to her,
wanting to smell her, to touch her, and then he grimaced, lying back again upon
the bed, frustrated, unable to do any of those things.

“You’ve lost much blood,” she told him, seeming to
read his thoughts. “’Tis why you feel so weak,” she explained. Her eyes slitted
as she began again to work her lithe fingers down his chest... to his belly...
and then lower...

Graeham flinched slightly, his hand going to hers,
covering it with his own.

Her voice was throaty when she spoke again, and
more than a little breathless, her cheeks flushed. “Shall I continue, m’lord?”
she asked silkily.

For an instant Graeham could not respond, and then
he nodded, his jaw clenching. He closed his eyes, feeling as though he would
burst with the sensations that surged through him in that instant of surrender,
filling his groin with a heat he’d not known in far too many years. His head
fell back as she lowered the sheets from his naked body, revealing him fully to
her eyes.

He heard her soft intake of breath and opened his
eyes to spy the look of appreciation in her gaze. It filled him with
exhilaration. She lifted her chin, and her features softened, and he thought
her in that instant the most beautiful woman he had ever beheld in his life.
She was an angel from God—his angel from God. His salvation. His own face
went rigid with tension, and his jaw worked with emotion. “Alyss...” He shook
his head. “You’ve no idea... Ah, God,” he said when her fingers found him and
closed about him suddenly. Feeling utterly helpless, he fell back once more
upon the bed.