Sin and Surrender (22 page)

And as she looked into Alex’s smiling face when he
brought her a goblet of wine, she also had to accept that he did not draw her gaze the way Paul did. She glanced at Paul, to see him conversing with Theobald, of all people. He briefly met her eyes and nodded, his smile knowing.

There was a heat in the attraction between Paul and her, a temptation and a longing to be wicked, regardless of possible complications. Did she want to keep resisting?

Tearing her gaze away from Paul, she saw that Alex had not missed the exchange. He regarded her solemnly for a moment, sympathetically. She blushed, which no concubine should even remember how to do.

And then she saw Margaret, standing alone and watching the festivities with happiness.

“Alex, allow me to introduce you to someone,” Juliana said.

She saw the way his face lit up when Margaret curtsied to him, and Margaret’s momentary shyness and blushing.

Alex would never look that way at Juliana, a concubine in his eyes. And it was just as well.

A brief message awaited them when they returned to their bedchamber that night, and Paul felt a surge of satisfaction as he looked at the parchment, then dropped it on the table.

“What does it say?” Juliana asked.

“They shall be coming for me after midnight tonight, and I’m to be prepared.”

“After the way men stared at you today, I cannot be surprised,” she said.

“Ah, but did you see the way they stared at you?” he reached for her, but she eluded him.

“Not the men who are important to this mission.”

“But what about Alex?”

“What about Alex?” she asked in surprise.

He arched a brow and said nothing. When she laughed, he felt something ease inside him.

“Which of you is jealous?” she asked, her voice still trembling with amusement. “Sir Paul the Bladesman or Sir Paul the Dissolute?”

He caught hold of her and drew her against him. “Both of us,” he said hoarsely, and then he kissed her.

To his surprise, she wrapped her arms about his neck and pressed against him. He lost his reason as he lost himself in her mouth, mating with her tongue, sharing her breath. He felt her hands trace his shoulders, sink into his hair. Her moans aroused him as much as each intimate roll of her hips.

And then she crawled up his body and wrapped her legs around his hips. He held her thighs in his hands, but he needn’t have feared she wouldn’t be able to hold herself up.

“My God,” he said hoarsely, after lifting his mouth briefly from hers.

“I needed to be closer, to feel …” Her voice trailed off as she pressed kisses along his jaw.

He slid his hands along the backs of her thighs, around her hips, cupping them. Pulling her hard against him, he rubbed his erection deep into the warm center of her.

With a gasp, she let her head drop back. Her eyes were closed, her expression one of concentration and passion. It was so beautiful, he could barely keep from losing himself without even being inside of her.

“The bed—” he began harshly.

“Nay, I will not sleep with you.”

He froze, shuddering, as she squirmed against him, her head still back.

“Not tonight,” she amended.

He bent and pressed his mouth to her throat, slowly following the elegant lines down toward the hollow. “Tomorrow?”

“We will be taking our time.”

In two steps, he had her up against the wall, so he was able to free his hands. Still, she rocked against him, her heels against his ass, her thighs cupping his hips. She knew just what she did to him, what felt good. He was kissing her shoulders now, releasing the laces at the back of her neck, sliding the neckline wider so that
he could press kisses ever lower, down to the rising of her breasts, and between. The sounds she made were strangled, full of pleasure, hushed so that no one would hear but the two of them.

Think, he told himself. “Why—why do we have to take our time?”

J
uliana clutched Paul’s head to her chest, silently pleading with him not to stop. His hips pressed hard into hers, exciting her in a way that her teacher had tried to express, but had been impossible for Juliana to understand … until now.

She wanted to move, to squirm, to incite her passion until it reached the peak of bliss.

But he was talking to her, and she couldn’t remember what he’d said.

This
was what they’d warned her of, this loss of control, loss of reason. She’d been prepared, so she’d know what to do. But the urge was so powerful, so overwhelming. She wanted what only he could give her,
had
to have it.

Her consciousness swam briefly to the surface in time, trying to remember what he’d been saying. But he tugged once more on her neckline, and her breasts spilled free right before his eyes.

He stared at them, and she saw that her nipples were tight, aching points. Her uneven breathing made her breasts quiver. She should be embarrassed, she should stop, but—

She found her voice. “We have to … take our time because … I don’t know if I’ll … want to lie with you.”

His narrowed eyes met hers, as he hoarsely said, “Am I to persuade you?”

“Believe me, you’ve already …” And then words faded away as he licked one nipple, his tongue flat and rough and wet. The sound she made was choked and hoarse, and didn’t sound at all like herself. The pleasure was … wondrous, unbelievable.

“Should I persuade you more?” He spoke against her breast, and without waiting for her response, he took her nipple deep into his mouth, suckling while rubbing against her with his erection.

Such a twin assault was her undoing. He sent her beyond herself, beyond rational thought, into a state of pleasure that shuddered through her in waves that crested over and over again.

When she came to herself, he was breathing hard against her neck, and slowly lifted his head to meet her gaze. His deep blue eyes seemed to burn into her.

“Have I persuaded you?”

She realized she was languorous in his arms, unable to even hold herself up; he did it all for her, his hands
beneath her buttocks, his fingers dangerously close to the center of her.

She cleared her throat, tried to let her legs drop, but he wouldn’t allow it.

“Much as you acquitted yourself well,” she began, then felt a spasm when he rocked into her again. “We cannot—cannot finish this. I still have much to think about, and our mission tonight has reached a turning point. The Bladesmen must know what is about to happen.”

“Let me show
you
what’s about to happen.”

When he tried to kiss her other breast, she pulled up her loose garments and held them to her. “Nay, Paul, we must stop. Put me down.”

A long, slow shudder moved through him, and then he straightened and released her. Her legs slid down his body, accentuating the ripples of pleasure that still moved through her.

Gasping, she clutched him for a moment. And then he stepped back. He was still aroused, still so ready, that she knew he ached with it, but she also knew that it would subside, that he could control himself.

“This went farther than I meant it to,” she said, “and for that, I apologize.”

“Never apologize,” he said, cupping her face briefly, his low laugh full of strain. “That felt too good to be wrong.”

She, too, touched his face, felt the day’s growth of beard, the warmth of male flesh. “But I couldn’t stop myself from kissing you.”

He closed his eyes, his expression briefly hard with concentration. And then he looked at her again. “That is a good thing.”

“We have to bring our men together and tell them about the message. Are you … prepared?”

His smile was pained. “Give me a moment. I do believe Michael thoughtfully left me a pitcher of ale.”

He went to the table and poured himself a tankard, then sat down heavily in a chair.

Juliana turned her back, and with trembling fingers, began to retie the laces at her neck. This was the only way to control the passion building between them. To acknowledge it, experience it, dole it out bit by bit. She would consider her future, and make a decision when this assignment was over. She could not expect a future with Paul—he was too independent, a man who yearned for his freedom—but he would be able to continue awakening her passion.

The League had seen to her sexual knowledge to protect her, and she was going to prove them right—she’d be in control, and make the right decisions for her.

By the time the Bladesmen arrived, Paul had mastered his passion, mostly by avoiding looking at Juliana, and trying not to think about her expression when she’d found bliss. When the chamber was crowded with men, he tried to think of her as just another member of the League. Her eyes were back to their cool awareness, her movements the clipped, purposeful strides of Juliana the Bladeswoman rather than Juliana the Concubine.

He pictured her in a man’s tunic and breeches, her favorite garments. Otherwise he would see her face alive with ecstasy, feel her shudders as she found a woman’s ultimate pleasure, with so little effort on his part. She was so sensitive, so receptive … again, he forcibly wiped such thoughts from his mind.

The Bladesmen were adept at reading faces, at reading movements of the body. He refused to betray his thoughts—betray Juliana.

Paul showed the message to Timothy and the others, and they briefly discussed how they would follow him through the castle so that he would not be alone.

They all knew that the traitors would most likely forbid Juliana from accompanying him, although he knew she would try her best to be included. She took her duties seriously as the guardian of his body—and she had his body at her beck and call.

At last the Bladesmen retreated, and he and Juliana were alone again. From opposite sides of the room they regarded each other, and the air between them could have burst into flames.

“We need to try to sleep,” she said calmly, and went to the coffer where she kept her clothing. “We know not what time they will come for you.”

Sleep? he thought, exhaling slowly. He was supposed to lie beside her and relax enough to sleep? It would take everything inside him not to pull her beneath him and finish what they’d started.

But she was counting on his ability to control himself, to play by her rules. And he could do that.

She disappeared behind the changing screen, and he sat down, remaining clothed so he would be prepared for the night’s work. Methodically, he checked every weapon hidden on his body, the ones he would allow them to find, and the others so skillfully made a part of his garments that they were undetectable.

She emerged all wrapped up in her dressing gown. There were candles lit about the chamber, and one by one she blew them out until she reached the bed. He was still sitting on the edge, and he looked up at her.

“I’ll sleep on the outside,” he said.

Unable to help himself, he slowly looked down her body, at her breasts covered in two layers of silk, down the length of the sheer gown to her toes peeking out from beneath.

He put his hands to the tie at her waist, and she covered them with her own.

“I will not lie with you, Paul,” she said softly.

“I know. But you’ll lie beside me, and you can no longer wear a dressing gown to bed.”

He loosened the belt and let the dressing gown part. He held his breath at the sight of the silk molding to her breasts, outlining the hard peaks. Panels of lace decorated the bodice, stopping just before her nipples would have been revealed.

He gently pushed the dressing gown from her shoulders, and it pooled onto the floor.

“You are so beautiful,” he said, his husky voice full of regret.

She smiled. “You merely praise me for a purpose.”

He looked up at her, searching her face. “Nay, never think that.”

She briefly cupped his cheek, and the warmth of her hand was almost as arousing as her near nudity. And then she knelt beside him and slid under the bedcovers beyond him. He lay on top of the coverlet, linked his hands behind his head and stared at the dark ceiling.

Normally he would have slept; he’d always had the ability to completely relax before a mission and get needed rest. But after that rousing kiss, he knew neither of them would sleep, but both would pretend to.

When the door opened at last, there was no announcing knock. He felt Juliana’s brief clasp of his arm, and then he sat up.

Two men entered, one bearing a shuttered lantern, which let out only a faint light.

The lantern carrier intoned soberly, “Sir Paul, you will come with us.”

As he rose, he heard Juliana’s cry of distress.

“Paul?” she began, her voice changing from sleepy to indignant. “Does this have to do with the missive you received?”

“Go back to sleep,” he ordered.

“Nay, I cannot. I do not wish to remain here alone. Let me come with you.”

He could hear her movements as she sat up, although he never took his eyes off the strangers.

“She will remain here,” the second man said.

“I accompany Sir Paul everywhere,” she said indignantly, lacing her tone with cool intelligence.

She was trying to let them know that she was more aware than Paul was of what was going on. But it didn’t work.

“Remain here and tell no one,” the lantern carrier said, “or it will mean your deaths.”

Juliana sputtered, but her protest faded into mutinous indignation. As Paul followed the men to the door, he gave her one last look. In the gloom of the fire, he could see the angry thinness of her lips, and the way she crossed her arms over her chest. But she would remain behind and allow the other Bladesmen to follow him.

The lantern carrier walked in front, then Paul, then the second stranger. They went down to the first level using the circular staircases built into the corner walls.

And then the man behind put his hand on Paul’s shoulder. “You will be blindfolded now.”

Paul tensed, yet the man didn’t release him. “You said nothing about that. And why should it matter?”

“We meet in a place of great secrecy,” the lantern carrier said. “You can understand our concern.”

Paul allowed the blindfold, and the search of his body for weapons, then concentrated on the path they walked, even though his escorts retraced their steps once or twice to confuse him. He wasn’t confused.