TemptressofTime (10 page)

But oh, dear God, how she wanted him to. To touch her in all
the ways a man caressed a woman he desired.

He looked away, a curt nod directing her gaze toward a
barely visible structure atop a gentle rise. Even from this distance his home
cast an enormous outline against the sky—a fitting seat for a duke. Walker’s
expression remained impassive but eagerness shone from his dark eyes. Remote
though it was from court and its intrigues, Walker clearly loved his home.

Would she see it through his eyes? Could she grow to love it
as he did? Might she want to remain here and never return to her own time? She
found the idea of staying far less horrible than she should. But then, who was
there to scold her for her feelings?

Me
, whispered in her mind. Urging her horse to a
trot, she ignored her conscience and followed Walker as he raced for home.

Arriving at the outer gate, laughing and breathless, she
heard young voices calling out greetings. Grooms scurried about, taking reins
from the men-at-arms, Walker and her. Walker had a word or two for the lad
leading away his stallion, a warning look for the boy holding on to her mare’s
bridle. The boy froze until Walker helped Diane to the ground and gave the
youngster a small nod of approval.

In moments the courtyard was silent and empty except for the
two of them. Walker offered his arm and she took it, grateful for his support.
After hours of riding, her legs felt wobbly—as if she’d taken a train across
the States and had yet to stop swaying with the cars.

Grateful not to face a horde of servants, she matched his
shortened stride. Her racing heart and dry mouth had nothing to do with fear.
Nothing at all to do with the fact that she couldn’t run from Walker or pick a
fight to save her honor. If she had any in this time and place.

Nothing at all to do with the fact that she didn’t want to
fight. Or run.

Pausing at a narrow opening, Diane looked back. The outer
wall was that of a medieval castle built to withstand sieges. The opening
Walker took her through led into a fairytale world. It reminded her of a scale
model she’d seen of Henry the Eighth’s Nonsuch Palace with its bas-relief of
Greek and Roman mythology. Yet it also had features found in chateaux in
France’s Loire Valley. A covered stone bridge ran from the inner wall over a
massive moat to the castle itself. Towers, too many to count, soared against a
cloudless blue sky.

Walker’s chuckle had her closing her gaping mouth. It fell
open again when she saw the double-helix staircase inside the main entrance to
the castle—or chateau. A reminder of his ancestor’s Continental origins
perhaps? As Walker escorted her to the upper floors, she took in myriad windows
that allowed sunlight to flood spaces medieval architecture left dim or dark.

A liveried footman opened one of two doors. Walker motioned
her through then halted just over the threshold.

“Your receiving room is through there.” He pointed at
another set of double doors, both of which stood open. “Your bed and bath
chambers lie just beyond.”

“Mine?” she teased, fluttering her eyelashes. Not at all
what she’d intended to do. Except…blast and damnation! She felt comfortable
here. Knew in the depths of her bones that Walker’s bedroom connected with hers
through a cunning, painted panel that blended into the wall. Or was all this
familiarity due to the woman whose life Diane seemed to be living?

A smile twitched the corners of his mouth and amusement
gleamed in the dark depths of his eyes. He sketched a bow, saying, “I shall
join you for supper in two hours.”

Wondering what she could possibly do for all that time, she
nodded her agreement and watched him leave. No sooner had the door closed
behind him than two maids emerged from the inner rooms.

They chatted as they took her through her bedroom to a
bathroom that might have graced a twenty-first-century mansion. Fragrant
bubbles floated on the warm air, then burst as they kissed steam rising from
the sunken marble tub. She was so engrossed in the tub, she failed to protest
being stripped of her clothes. One maid invited Diane to get in before the
water cooled.

She struggled to remember when such sybaritic delights might
have appeared in England. Edward the First had tubs with gilt bronze fixtures.
Edward the Third even had hot and cold running water, although his tubs were
wood covered in cloth. Likely to avoid getting splinters in his royal arse.

Smothering a laugh, she stepped into the tub before
submerging as if stepping off the earth and into heaven. Emerging, she sent the
young women away, determined to wash her own hair and body in private. Soaping
herself, she inhaled the lightly scented, finely milled soap she bet came from
France. Imported by the first Duke de Beaumont along with a French architect to
build his chateau?

One of the servants returned to wrap Diane in warm toweling
before guiding her to a small fireplace where she combed her hair. Dry, it fell
down her back to graze her buttocks and over her shoulders to tease her nipples
into rigid peaks that ached for Walker’s touch.

Shoving those tormenting aches out of her mind, she allowed
the other young woman to dress her in a diaphanous gown of deep-green cloth of
gold. A velvet robe trimmed with ermine covered her from her shoulders to her
toes. Matching green silk slippers adorned her feet.

A peremptory rap on the hidden door in her bedroom sent her
maids hurrying away. Diane stood by the turned-down bed, her voice lost
somewhere in the vicinity of her knees. She needn’t have worried that her
inability to speak would keep Walker out. The door swept open and there he
stood—tall, dark and so dangerous to her senses she could scarcely breathe.

His black velvet robe hugged his wide shoulders, its broad
lapels parted enough for her to glimpse his sculpted chest. A smattering of
dark curls arrowed between his bulging pecs to disappear beneath the fabric
that matched his fathomless black eyes.

Part of her wanted to run away. More of her wanted to run
toward him.

“Make up your mind,” he said, his voice a harsh whisper that
almost spurred her toward the door and escape. “Once we begin, we shall not
turn back.”

Her chin rose but began to wobble when he stood in front of
her. His scent—cinnamon and musk—surrounded her. His body’s warmth heated hers
although he had yet to touch her.

“I d-don’t want to turn back.” Despite her nervous stutter,
she met his gaze and held it.

A reluctant half-smile curved his chiseled lips. “Then let
us begin.”

With that he drew her to him and claimed her lips with a
kiss so hot it branded her—body and soul.

Hellfire and damnation!
Walker thought, easing Diane
to arm’s length. He had intended to go slow with her, not ravage her like some
sex-starved sailor ashore for the first time in months. Seeing her dressed for
bed, he had lost his mind. His shaft ruled him, wanting to bury itself in her
hot depths. His tongue demanded he taste her mouth. He had taken her lips like
a savage who had wandered for decades thirsting only for her.

In truth, ‘twas how he felt. As if he had gone for centuries
without her kisses. Judging by her somnolent gaze and parted lips, she welcomed
his assault almost as if she too had hungered for this moment, longed for it
over so many years she was as powerless to resist as he.

Her thick lashes rose, revealing disappointment and arousal
so naked he took a step away. If she continued to look at him that way, he
would forget every vow he had ever made to treat a woman gently—especially the
first time their bodies joined. After that…if the woman consented, he would
free the beast within him.

“You’ve changed your mind.” Even though she whispered, tears
choked her voice. “Will you send me back to Adrian or deliver me to a convent?”

A laugh exploded from his pursed lips. “A convent? Never,”
he vowed, stepping toward her, effectively trapping her between the bedpost and
his body. “You are meant to find bliss in a man’s arms. In my arms, my body.”

She shivered, yet he knew ‘twas not cold that coursed
through her. The same warmth heated his body as if the flames in his grate
flowed through her veins. Her flesh glowed, a faint pink coloring her face and
what he could see of her round breasts between the gap in her fur-trimmed robe.
Just that glimpse and the soft gasps that lifted those lush orbs made his palms
itch and his shaft harden to the point of pain.

Nibbling on the lush fullness of her lower lip, she tilted
her head back and stared up at him. A dare flashed in her eyes before those thick,
dark lashes swept down, hiding her thoughts. Her soft smile, however,
challenged him as if she had pressed torrid kisses along his entire body.

Unable to resist any longer, he swept his hands up her arms
and shoulders, over her slender neck to capture her face and hold her head
immobile. Her soft sigh brushed across his mouth and cheeks like ghostly
fingers beckoning from behind a solid wall.

Struggling not to ravish those ripe lips, he touched his
tongue along the seam. On a soft moan, her mouth opened. Her tongue darted out
to mirror his brief foray, retreated then plunged into his mouth and began to
duel with his. Her hands slid from his shoulders to his waist. His robe opened,
her fingers curled around his painfully rigid shaft and shattered all thoughts
of sweet, languid caution.

Grasping her hips, he took them around the bedpost to fall
onto the plump feather mattress. She shoved his robe off his shoulders, he tore
hers open to expose her body to his gaze and questing hands.

As if recognizing the power her body held over his, she
stood and let her robe slide to the floor. One delicate finger traced the
valley between her breasts. Another caressed her areola and the hard nub rising
to rub against the sheer material of her gown.

Lust raged through him. He rent the gown, shoved her onto
the bed, then plunged his shaft deep inside her hot, soaked cunt. Her cry of
pain stilled the beast long enough for her to relax a little. Gentle kisses
over her neck and breasts made her moan and tilt her hips, a silent plea for
him to continue. With greater care he rocked back and forth then in and out
until her eyes glazed and low mews purred in her throat. Her cunt clenched at
his shaft, milking him as they both climbed the highest mountain. Reaching the
apex, they spiraled into exhausted bliss.

Chapter Nine

Tears seeped from beneath her eyelids, stabbing into his
belly like a hundred swords of regret. He thumbed them away, but they only
flowed faster, compelling him to whisper over and over, “I did not mean to hurt
you.”

Her lips curved into a soft smile. Tear-spiked lashes rose
to reveal sated green eyes. Some of his guilt eased away as she stroked his
cheeks with her fingertips.

“It only hurt for a moment,” she murmured, something too
swift to discern flitting through her eyes.

“It should not have hurt at all.”

She laughed. “Have you never made love to a virgin?” Without
waiting for an answer, she added, “Obviously not or you’d know that the first
time is painful. No matter how well-prepared she is.”

“I did not prepare you well.”

“Then next time you shall.” Her smile widened and merriment
danced in her eyes. “You did plan on doing me—
this
—more than once,
didn’t you?”

Her calm acceptance of what he had done washed away the last
remnants of guilt. “If you wish—” Her bark of laughter brought a sheepish smile
that spread over his face. “As many times as you wish.”

“We shall require sustenance, milord. You did say you would
join me for supper.”

“So I did. But first…” He rolled off the bed, then held out
his hand. “I believe a warm bath will help soothe any discomfort.”

“Did I hurt you, Your Grace?”

She sounded concerned yet her eyes showed amusement he had
not expected from her, especially after the way he had taken her. Laughing, he
led her into her bathroom. He promised to return, then left her before the
sight of her lush body tempted him to join her. He owed her a few moments
respite before he settled her in bed and made love to her for the rest of the
night.

Diane watched him leave, sighing only when she could no
longer see him or hear his whistling. She wished he’d joined her, but realized
he might want to bathe in private.

Who’d a thunk it?
she wondered. Her, a virgin. She
supposed even a sophisticated woman like Diane de Vesay—or de Bourgh—knew how
to protect her virtue until she married. So now what?

Walker hadn’t proposed marriage, so where did that leave
her? Did he think that their mating assured his place in her life, in her bed?

Squeezing warm, rose-scented bathwater over her chest,
imagining Walker’s fingers replacing the rivulets slowly sliding over her
breasts and nipples, every muscle softened even as her nipples tightened. Heat
zigzagged from her breasts to her pussy and suddenly need and anticipation
struck like lightning. As if her need had conjured him, he appeared in the
doorway.

She sat straighter as Walker strode to the tub, his gaze
raking over her face and shoulders. She knew that predatory look and welcomed
the sensations it caused in her body. Her nipples furled, preparing to have his
tongue laving them, his lips sucking them into elongated tips that felt
directly connected to her pussy. Her breasts swelled, aching for his hands to
work their magic—fleeting caresses that drove her wild with need. The muscles
in her channel clenched and unclenched as her juices flooded her folds,
preparing her to take his shaft into her body.

Tossing his robe to the floor, he knelt beside the tub then
took the cloth from her hands. No words passed between them as he swept her
hair over her shoulder to wash her neck and back, extending her right arm to
lather it from her fingers to her armpit.

Now. Now he’ll touch my breasts.
Arching her back as
if presenting her breasts for him to feast on, she moaned in disappointment. He
only took her left hand to wash her from armpit to fingers, his eyes seeming
focused on the cloth and not her flesh.

“You have the most elegant hands,” he murmured, taking both
of hers, then urging her to stand while he balanced her.

She needed a mani-pedi in the worst way, but decided not to
tell him. He probably wouldn’t understand the term anyway, even if she could
say the words. Because what he was doing to her hands was wreaking delicious
havoc on her senses. Who knew that his rough fingertips across her palm could
make her crave his hands on her breasts? Or that gliding his fingers between
hers would cause her labia to pulse, yearning for his touch between them? Or
that his licking and sucking her fingers might make her beg him to lick and
suck her clit? Or that she would curl around him when he lifted her from the
tub without protesting how wet she was getting him. That served him right!
Payback for making her wet and hot and ready.

But the wretch seemed in no hurry as he laid her on the bed,
then followed her down. No matter how she twisted or turned or grasped at him,
he slid free, raking her body with his own. Making her gasp with delight at the
friction and bemoan its loss when he glided away. The lightest brush of his
lips against hers wrested needy gasps from her and a pleased chuckle from him.

“Beast!”

He met her eyes, his so black she thought they would swallow
her whole and she wouldn’t even care.

“I oft wonder what you would give in exchange for pleasure,”
he murmured, his kisses tasting like honey and mead, filling her with warmth
and a desire that went far beyond lust.

As if he’d heard an unvoiced answer, his eyes heated and he
renewed his tender assault upon her senses. A gentle caress down her torso to
her mons had her spreading her legs and arching into his hand. Her stomach
muscles quivered. Her breath caught in her throat. Tears burned her eyes,
making her blink them back as he eased his shaft into her in minuscule
increments until—at last!—he filled her. His eyes remained on hers as if he
could see deep into her soul and knew just what she would willingly give him,
no matter the cost to herself.

She blinked again, willing away all thoughts of what might
lie ahead. Losing herself in his eyes, in the sparks of desire and need his
gentle thrusts built into an inferno until she begged him.

“Harder, Walker. Faster. Oh God, yes!”

What would she give him for this bliss? Anything. Even have
sex with Adrian if Walker wanted her to.

* * * * *

A sennight Later

By the time Adrian arrived at Castle Mornay, Diane had
resigned herself to mating him. It seemed the only fair way to pick one over
the other, create a level playing field, so to speak. After all, the king
himself allowed her to make her choice, although she doubted Henry envisioned
her rutting with both Adrian and Walker.

Sure, Diane. Rationalize screwing two guys so you don’t
have to admit being a slut. A horny one at that.
Pushing
self-recriminations to the back of her mind, she stood at Walker’s side to
welcome their guest while Adrian’s men-at-arms made camp half a league away.

To her surprise, Adrian bowed over her hand without kissing
it and directed his ready smile only at Walker. She sniffed at being left out
of their easy camaraderie, but demanded she show only indifference at the
slight. Yet she couldn’t help gnawing on the idea that they’d changed their
minds about her having sex with Adrian, but had not told her. She had left him
in the lurch, in a way. Why else would the earl come here except to get even?
And what better payback was there than keeping her in the dark?

Typical males!
Then they acted as if their women
should have known all along what they were thinking.
What am I, a mind
reader?

One not nearly as good at anticipating the men’s needs as
Walker’s servants. No sooner had they settled in his spacious study than
footmen appeared with trays laden with food and drink. It seemed to her they
could have fed themselves and Adrian’s fifty men for a week. Feeling like a
fifth wheel, Diane paced to the doors, intending to retreat to her rooms.
Walker’s voice stopped her.

“Adrian thought you might like to witness how an army
trains.”

“Oh?” Images of blood and gore crowded her mind as she
turned to face them. Directing her gaze to Walker’s face, she said, “You do
remember that I’m squeamish, Your Grace?”

“I think you will enjoy this particular exercise,” Adrian
said. He sounded as indifferent as he had when greeting her earlier.

“Don’t ask what he’s planned,” Walker told her, looking sly.
“‘Twould spoil the surprise.”

“Very well. I shall retire and let you plan in peace.” With
a curt nod she left them to themselves. Finding the vast hallway empty of
servants tempted her to press her ear to the door. Fear of being caught
blatantly eavesdropping prompted her to continue to her rooms. She’d find paper
and pen, then record her impressions of this new wrinkle in her men’s
attitudes.

Not that she’d expected either one or both of them to fall
on her like sex-starved beasts the moment Adrian arrived, but
she’d…anticipated—yes, anticipation suited what she’d felt when Walker told her
Adrian would soon arrive—having him in her bed soon. Which now seemed an
unlikely happening. At least not in the foreseeable future.

“Care to hazard—” Adrian began as soon as Diane closed the
door behind her. Walker’s raised hand cut him short. Puzzled, he watched his
friend cross to the door, place his ear against it before crouching to peer
through the keyhole. His frown deepened when Walker opened the door, looked in
both directions, then closed it again. “What?”

“If I’ve learned nothing else about Diane, I’ve discovered
her unending curiosity.”

Adrian laughed. “I cannot imagine her spying through
keyholes.”

“While I can. Not that I’ve caught her doing so. Just that I
wouldn’t put it past her.”

Shaking off impending gloom, Adrian said, “What do you
suggest I do? Pretend I do not see her?” He glanced at his tented breeches.
“Pretend I no longer want her? In short, ignore her?”

“In a manner of speaking, yes.” Walker grinned. “Women
dislike being ignored. I propose we see how far Diane will go to gain your
attention.”

Adrian grunted. “While you continue to have all mating
rights.” Quirking one brow, he added, “I can tell you have bedded her. She has
that sated look.”

Ignoring the jibe, Walker said, “We shall involve ourselves
in manly pursuits that leave me too tired for anything else.”

“Won’t I be equally tired?” Adrian drawled, suspecting some
trick Walker was planning to spring upon his partner in seduction.

Cocking one brow, Walker scanned him from head to
pointed-toe boots. “Since you are a decade younger than I, you shouldn’t have a
problem with endurance. Once Diane sees you as a virile leader of men rather
than a fop,” he glanced once again at Adrian’s boots, “the field should be
yours to plow.”

Walker’s grin only increased Adrian’s unease with the whole
situation. Deviousness did not sit well with him and he disliked feeling
uncertain.

“Do what you must,” Walker told him. “The goal in all of
this is to make Diane realize what she wants—namely, both of us.”

“Do
we
know? Have we asked her?”

“Not yet. Nor will we ask. The point is for her to know and
go after her heart’s desire.”

“Even if it isn’t us?”

A sigh greeted Adrian’s question. “We’ve been rejected
before,” Walker said at last. “We may be rejected again.”

“You don’t believe that. Not really. You think Diane will
embrace us—warts and all.”

“
Warts and all?
” A sly smile tugged the corners of
Walker’s lips. “Yes, acceptance is one lesson she must learn. ‘Tis another
small step toward her keeping us both.”

“And if she doesn’t?” Adrian jutted his chin, daring Walker
to deliver the knockout punch.

“You know the rules as well as I,” Walker told him. “She
either accepts us both or we shall all remain here, at Castle Mornay, until she
does.”

* * * * *

Having decided to bed Adrian at the first possible moment,
Diane dressed with that goal in mind. Despite her maid’s protests, she borrowed
a set of Walker’s trunk hose to protect her bottom and tender parts should they
ride to Adrian’s encampment. In lieu of corset and farthingale, she selected a
lightweight
basquine
that plumped the tops of her breasts over her
bodice’s low-cut neckline. She then hid everything exposed under an easily
removed jerkin. She also demanded that her shorter maid loan her a skirt so she
could avoid a bum roll without having her hems drag in the dirt should they
walk. Her sheerest hose covered her feet and calves, secured just below her
knees with a pair of embroidered garters. Not her best garters, but almost.
Unwilling to suffer more outrage from her maid, Diane let her bundle her
waist-length hair into a silk thread net, but refused to have adornments added
to the snood-like bag.

She wouldn’t risk losing a precious gem should her mating
with Adrian turn frantic. Which she hoped it would—if only to help her beyond
reluctance or embarrassment at seducing him.

Descending the wide, stone steps, she encountered her groom
holding the reins of a gray palfrey much like the one she had ridden in her
previous life. It irritated her no end that neither Walker nor Adrian was
anywhere in sight.

She growled at the lad, something she hadn’t done in ages,
having vowed to be less critical when things weren’t exactly the way she
thought they should be. But she couldn’t help feeling piqued when her men
weren’t standing at the foot of the steps, their expressions that of longing
and lust. They should jostle each other in their haste to reach her first,
then…

Vain and selfish too. No matter how she or that other female
in her mind might wish it, the world did not revolve around them. She had
resigned herself to giving Walker what he wanted. Given her state of arousal
when she pictured Adrian above her, in her, she was ripe for achieving that
goal. Now all she had to do was get the earl alone.