The Queen's Tale (2 page)

“A tight fit feels best on a long ride.” With that, he set his second, still-booted foot against her backside. “Pull!” he ordered, and slapped her haunch with a loud smack.

She jerked upright, the heel caught in her shocked grip.

“That’s the way!” Dante congratulated with a hearty pinch to the same tingling spot. His empty boot thunked to the floor.

Philomena tumbled forward, whirling around to face him. She clenched her hands, too embarrassed to actually rub the spot that stung.

“I beg your pardon!”

“My lady.” Dante’s head tipped forward, but there was no meekness to his bow. “You wished to know how a woman experiences ‘the pleasures of the body.’ A woman is meant to be…touched.”

Philomena stared. What had he meant to say before he’d settled on the diplomatic use of the word “touched”?

“I am your queen, sir. First. Last. And always.” She had never found the words so difficult to say. Without her dressings
and jewels and coiffed hair, she felt oddly vulnerable—but a queen was more than clothes and jewels. “I will not be pawed like a common bar wench.”

He looked straight into her eyes as few men ever did.

Again, she felt that disconcerting ripple.

With the voice that opened Parliament and welcomed enemies of the state to her dinner table, she added, “Make no mistake, Dante. I expect to surrender to a king tomorrow, but tonight, I shall rule here. Do you accept my terms?”

He took her hand and bowed low to meet it. His breath warmed her knuckles. His thumb stroked the skin on the edge of her hand. Turning her palm, he licked the plump curve at the base of her thumb.

“What—”

Before she could speak another word, he sucked that tender morsel between his teeth. Wet warmth melted into a sharp ache, which was suddenly soothed by the press of his lips. Once. Twice.

“What was that?”

“A kiss,” he whispered, hovering over her hand. “Only a kiss.”

“That was not a kiss,” she argued in a girlish voice. “The old king kissed me many times.”

That blue-eyed smile chased after her again. Warmth drizzled down her spine.

“There are many kinds of kisses, Your Highness,” Dante said. “This is a kiss.”

Courtly and charming, he bussed the back of her hand lightly.

“And this is a kiss.”

Cool and formal, he slid his hand up to clasp her elbow, then pulled her closer for a continental touch of cheeks.

“And this.”

Cupping her head with a gentle hand, he slowly, sweetly, pressed his lips to the center of her forehead.

Philomena’s eyes drifted shut.

“This is also a kiss.”

His lips parted, barely brushing hers. Licking became tasting, tasting became toothy nibbles and a hungry growl for more. His fingers massaged restlessly though her hair.

Philomena felt as though her nerves existed in an exaggerated state where he touched her, hand to head, lips to lips, breasts pressed against his chest. She could not pull back.

“Enough,” she whispered. “Enough.”

“More.” He opened wider, breathing his desire right into her, a warm liquid over her crystalline interior. His enormous, burning hand gripped the curve of her behind and hauled her closer.

No petticoats, no corset, nothing but a thin silk chemise—she felt everything. Every seam, every button, every edge of his flesh.

“Good heavens.” Her heart fluttered. “What is that?”

“Your Highness?” he answered with a very unsubtle rock of his hips.

Philomena pulled back. She waved in the general vicinity of his trouser buttons. “
That
.”

He winked. “Evidence.”

“Evidence?” She glanced down, then quickly up again. She took another step back. “Of what?”

“My willingness to serve, of course.” His face was flushed, his breathing obvious. He looked like someone ill with fever.

“Are you certain you’re quite well?”

“Not…quite.” He took a step toward her.

“There does seem to be an excessive amount of swelling.” She kept the words formal, polite, as if she were
commenting on a horse to one of the groomsmen, while she moved to the far edge of the carpet. The old king’s weapon had never achieved quite the same amount of upright vigor, as far as she could recall. “Does it pain you much?”

“‘It?’” he smirked. “Is that anyway for a grown—queen—to talk? Understanding begins with words, Your Majesty. That is not an ‘it.’” His voice dropped, husky and dark. “That is my cock, also sometimes dick, or willie, roger, john thomas—”

“Yes, yes. We’ve met—Richard, William, et cetera.” She waved a hand, stuttering. “Does he, I mean, your—”

“Cock?” he inserted carefully.

“—hurt?”

“You’ve no idea.” He took another purposeful step forward.

What next? Philomena scrambled behind a chair. “Stop!” She held up a firm hand. She needed to regain control. “Wait. Don’t move.”

“Don’t be ridiculous.” Dante stalked forward.

“Guard!” she called out, instinctively.

The door swung open almost instantly. Joseph and Thomas appeared a second later, swords drawn.

“Get out, you idiots,” Dante said. “We’re fine.”

“Restrain him,” Philomena ordered. She pointed to Dante’s shocked face.

Joseph glanced back and forth between them, seemed to struggle with a grin and then turned to his partner. “You heard your queen. Rope or chains, ma’am? Or you want us to each take an arm and let you have at him? He can be a right pain in the arse sometimes. I don’t wonder you’ve lost patience already.”

“Joseph,” Dante warned.

“No, thank you,” Philomena stuttered. “Use whatever you think best.”

“Queen Philomena,” Dante interrupted, “You don’t want to do this.”

Everyone in the room felt the threat. Joseph broke the tension with a booming laugh.

“Well, she might not, but I know I do. Story to tell the grandkids, you know.” He winked at Philomena. “I’ve just the thing, your ladyship.” He reached behind the flap of his great coat and pulled out a pair of shiny silver bracelets, linked by short length of chain. “Hands out, Captain. Are you going to snap to or are we going to have to tell the lord chamberlain that he should send another man for this job?”

“Philomena,” Dante said.

Embarrassed to the core, she fell back on old habits. “I did not give you permission to use my name.”

“We’d better gag him for you too,” Joseph suggested. “It’s his mouth that always gets him into trouble.”

Philomena touched her lips, thinking of the kisses Dante’s mouth had demonstrated. When she realized he was watching, her face began to burn.

Joseph took advantage of the distraction and locked one side of the wrist manacles in place while quick-stepping the man into a headlock.

“That’s my boy!” he laughed, as Dante swung his head back and narrowly missed slamming the bridge of Joseph’s nose. “Grab his other hand, Thomas! If you’re not too busy just standing there?”

Thomas jumped into the fray.

“Behind the back is better—oomph—ow! Blasted—never mind. That’ll do.”

The handcuffs were snapped into place. Grunts, fleshy smacks and thudding violence had Philomena cringing. A length
of sturdy rope appeared from inside one of Joseph’s bottomless jacket pockets.

“Rope his hands up. No! Top of the bed frame. Watch his knees,” Joseph grumbled. “Little bugger’s faster than he used to be.”

“Perhaps we should reconsider—” Philomena started.

“Not at all! Only another—oof!—moment, your Magesty. We’ll be out of your way.”

“Don’t hurt—”

“Nonsense. Just a bit of roughhouse.”

Joseph and Thomas both stepped back, slightly out of breath. “There you are.”

Dante’s arms were loosely suspended over his head, his manacled wrists roped to the top rail of her bed. The frame was ancient mahogany; the canopy pole thicker than Philomena’s arm. They all watched as Dante wrapped his hands around the rope and swung his weight against it.

The rail held.

“When I get out of here—” Dante lunged toward Joseph “—you’d better hope—”

“The pubs are still open?” Joseph winked at Philomena. “No worries. We’ll all still be celebrating the queen’s special day. Won’t we?” He tipped his head toward the exit, and wrapped an arm around Thomas’ shoulder to lead him out. As he closed the bedroom door, he bowed deeply.

“I don’t like this,” Dante began immediately.

“Nevertheless—”

“Untie me.”

“I think not.”

“You can’t do this to me!”

Philomena blinked.

She was the queen. Of course she could. Point of fact, she could do much worse, if she were that sort.

“You never answered my question,” she realized. “Did you?”

“Question?” he snapped in frustration. “What question?”

“Tonight, it’s queen’s rules.” She walked to the door and picked up the key that Joseph had left on the small table. “That is the question you must ask yourself, sir. If you can not accept that, I will release you. And you will leave this chamber and never return. Answer me now, Captain Dante. Queen’s rules. Do you accept?”

He hesitated. His eyes narrowed. Philomena was certain she heard his breath hiss as he exhaled. But he answered clearly.

“I do.”

A long sigh of relief slipped out. She felt lighter. The queen gave way to the girl inside. She didn’t resist the sudden need to smile.

This beautiful man was hers to play with, feast on, enjoy for the entire night.

All of him was pleasing to her, from the cut and curve of the arching muscles across his shoulders, to the shadowed hollow at the center of his chest, down to his navel, and even there, in the deep vee of his thighs. She squeaked with her next sigh.

“Do your worst, Majesty. Anything you like.”

“My worst?” she repeated.

“As you can see, I’m helpless to resist.” His words pleaded weakness, but his stance shifted as if he were readying for a fight.

“I would like—” Philomena cleared her throat “—to stand closer. And to kiss you. Again.”

He didn’t answer at first. His arms flexed, pulling against the rope and relaxing. “Come then.”

She took one step. Another. Watching him carefully. She’d seen how he’d used his legs when he was fighting the other men.

“A little closer, Your Highness.” He nodded toward the small padded footstool near her chaise. “Bring that—if you like.”

Arms raised and tied, he could not bend to meet her kiss. The stool’s height lifted her to meet him eye to eye, lip to lip.

The heat of his skin went right through her shift, with a shocking stillness.

“What now?” he asked.

“Now…I touch you,” Philomena replied before gently placing her hands low on his waist. She flexed her fingertips testing the muscle over hipbone. Everything in her that had been stiff and dry with nerves suddenly softened, dripping with desire.

“And now, I will kiss—”

“
We
will kiss,” he contradicted her softly.

She brought her mouth to his and tried to recreate the moment before she’d panicked, that rich swirl of lust and play and wonder and…

The chains clinked as he moved to reach for her.

“Remove the rope at least, my lady. Please. I only want to touch you.”

When he spoke, Philomena felt him strain to remain still, forced to wait for her. Her heart beat faster.

“Very prettily said, but no. I think…not.”

Philomena skimmed her fingers down his chest. Young man’s skin…so different from the old king. Dante resembled the marble statues in the castle loggia, expect for the fine, pale hair that softened the curves of muscle.

“You’re blushing.”

“Am I?” She continued touching him, one fingertip, then another, curving down and around, watching his skin react to her touch. A perfume seemed to rise off his skin, a scent unlike anything she’d known. Spicy yet delicate. Her mouth watered, inspired by an unfamiliar appetite. “Have you seen the statue in the loggia, the one titled ‘Hero’?”

Dante did not answer. His eyes had drifted shut; his weight thrust forward. Even his bare toes arched against the floor, his partially nude body strung into one long line of tension.

Philomena’s fingers meandered down past his navel to the buckle of his leather belt.

“It’s a lovely work of art,” she chattered away, distracting herself from the scandalous task of loosening his belt, then unbuttoning the top of his trousers. “Confidentially, the Lord Chamberlain has caught me observing that particular statue more than once.”

“I’ve seen it. A statue to celebrate the human form, as I recall,” he sounded very calm for a man whose body was a bowstring of tension.

Releasing the final button, his pants dropped with a thud. He’d certainly dressed for the occasion—he wore absolutely nothing under his uniform. Philomena celebrated his form with a gasp of appreciation.

“Nude,” he went on gruffly and jerked against the rope. “Free of all restraints.”

“Free of clothing alone, in your case,” she teased. “You bare a—I mean, you
resemble
the statue,” she stammered. “Rather disconcerting, to think how well the Lord Chamberlain knows me. The man’s old enough to be my grandpapa.” At hearing herself babble, her voice crept higher. “Perhaps you’ve not had the experience of being so continually, thoroughly observed…how very alarming it can be.”

“Alarming?” Dante’s voice, by contrast, seemed even deeper. He shifted his legs, stepping free of his pants with obvious relief. His wider stance hollowed the muscle from buttock to thigh that she’d admired earlier. “Do you find it alarming?”

“What?” She tried to focus on the conversation. “Well, when it’s the Lord Chamberlain and my privates—” she choked on the word “—my private
thoughts.
”

“Tell me more,” the handsome stranger tied before her whispered. “Tell me your private thoughts, Philomena.” He jerked his arms downward, reaching for her. The silver cuffs jangled against the rope.

The sound startled her. She stepped back, down off the stool.

A growl rolled in Dante’s throat. He tipped his head and narrowed his eyes as if assessing a target.

“Where are you going? I’m chained. Helpless. Come back, Your Highness. Touch me again.”

“Touch you?” She concentrated on his blue eyes. “Where?”