The Wolfe (46 page)

“Jordan,” he said with quiet
firmness. “Look at me now.”

She sniffed and wiped at her eyes,
turning dutifully as requested. Her pink-flushed face was so lovely and pitiful
that he had to clasp his hand behind his back to keep from pulling her to him.

“Do you understand what I am saying?”
he asked pointedly, but gentler. “Everything I do, I do to keep you safe and
free from harm. You must help me accomplish this.”

She nodded, her lower lip trembling.
“I wasna thinking,” she whispered. “I simply wanted to swim.”

He gazed down at her, hoping she
indeed understood what he was saying. But enough was said. He fought off the
natural instinct to enclose her in his arms because he wanted her to know just
how deadly serious he was. She had placed herself in jeopardy and if he were to
turn soft now it would probably ruin all that he was striving for to make her
understand her position here at Northwood. He hated being strict with her for
any reason, but in this case he must or the consequences could be severe.

“I must go,” he said after long
moments.

When he turned for the door, she
called out softly. “Will I see ye later?”

He paused and turned. Her face was
upturned to him and he wanted to kiss every tear from it. He felt himself
weakening.

“Aye, you will, you know that.”

He blew out, closing the door much
softer that he had opened it. She stared at the door before sagging onto the
bed, emotionally spent.

Welcome home, William,
she
thought dully.

***

She supped with Jemma later that
night and went to bed early. She didn’t want to listen to Jemma complain that
Kieran had not yet come to see her. Hell, she didn’t want to do anything but
sleep and forget this day ever happened.

She thought she was dreaming.
Something was tickling her neck, calling her name softly. She tried to bat it
away, burying her face deeper in her pillow, but it was quite persistent. She
gradually became aware when she realized she was slapping at a hand, gently
touching her face.

She rolled on to her back, knowing
it was William even before she saw his face in the dimness. Light from the full
moon streamed in through her open windows, oil cloths pulled back to allow for ventilation
in the humidity. The entire room was cast in a soft silver light as she smiled
sleepily up at him.

“‘Tis late, English,” she remarked.

“Aye,” he answered, leaning over
with his arms braced on either side of her body. His face was gentle and sweet,
nothing like the enraged man she had seen this afternoon.

She promptly rolled away from him
and hugged her pillow. “I wish to go back to sleep now,” she said, feigning
disinterest in his presence.

“Like hell,” he growled and rolled
her back over, falling into bed beside her.

She giggled with delight, snuggling
against him with great contentment. He held her tightly, kissing the top of her
head or any other bit of flesh that was close to his lips.

“The last time I saw you, you were
pitifully weak,” he said. “Who was that wild woman I saw running from the
bailey today like she had never seen a sick day in her life?”

She groaned and buried her face in
his tunic. “Did ye have to bring that up again?”

He chuckled. “I take it, then, you
are feeling better?”

She was wide awake now, her
movements energetic and quick. She snapped her head up to look at him, her hair
askew and a twinkle in her eye. “Aye, that I am. I have been going insane the
past few days staring at these walls. Now that ye’re back, can I go outside
more often?”

He cocked an eyebrow at her. “We shall
see,” he said. His mind turned to Analiese. He had been surprised to learn from
Ranulf that no one as much as even approached Lady Jordan’s door. He had
expected an attempt of some kind in his absence.

Jordan was leaning on his chest
looking down at him. He lay on his back, his arm tucked behind his head.

“Oh, English, dunna make me beg,”
she pouted. “I want to go outside and live as normally as I can, I canna holed
up here in my rooms while the world goes on about me. What will happen after I become
countess and certain things are expected of me? I canna stay a prisoner
forever.”

He ignored all of her statements
except one. “I want to see you beg.”

She caught the flash of passion in
his eyes and she was lost. A smile crept onto her lips and before she realized
it, she was kissing him with intense desire. She had been cooped up for days, pacing
and worrying. Her energy, much to his delight, was finally finding a release.

Jordan always slept in the nude, so
the only matter of concern at the moment was removing William’s breeches and tunic.
It was an agonizingly wonderful process he was to discover; with every stay that
was released, she would kiss the exposed skin underneath. When she finally
removed his tunic, she proceeded to drag her mouth all over his chest until he
thought he might die from the sheer pleasure of it.

She was being aggressive and
incredible intuitive with him, he thought, but in truth she was following her
natural instincts. She wanted to touch him, taste him, everywhere.

But he wanted the same of her. As
soon as his breeches were off, he flipped her over on her back and furiously
attached himself to her breast. She cried out softly, arching against him,
pulling his head to her. His hot mouth was ecstasy, arousing her everywhere it
touched until she was panting with shameless need. His kisses were forceful and
the harder he pushed, the harder she wanted him to push.

Minutes blended into one another
until there was no concept of time, only their needs being sated. He lay
between her legs, his mouth dragging down her flat belly, licking every inch of
her satin skin. When he descended on the mound of dark-blond curls, she nearly
jumped through the ceiling. He was so forceful, so insistent, so damned skilled,
that she began to see stars behind her closed lids. Nothing in her life had
ever been so sweet or so gratifying.

She knew that if he kept going she
would find her release within seconds. Yanking him by the hair, she pulled him
up to her mouth and kissed him hungrily, tasting herself on him. She gradually
became aware that his intensity had slowed a bit and opened her eyes to find him
looking at her.

“What is it?” she whispered
breathlessly.

Much to her disbelief, his eyes
appeared moist.

“God, Jordan…,” he said huskily, his
eyes devouring her. “When I thought I had lost you…I didn’t want to live
without you. I never thought I would be touching you like this again. ‘Tis the
sweetest thing I know, to feel your skin beneath my hands, to hear your voice in
my ear. When I think how close I came to never experiencing it again….”

She cut him off by attaching herself
to his mouth once more, slowly but insistently to let him know that indeed she
was alive and well. He groaned deep in his throat and wrapped his arms around
her, thrusting full-bore into her hot, slippery flesh.

‘Twas a night neither one would
forget. Their passion peaked within mere seconds, sending them both into the
spiraled oblivion of primal satisfaction. His touch said a thousand words to
her, and she answered him with a symphony of lyrics.

They continued to make love for the
rest of the night, all night, until the pink haze that signaled the dawn kissed
the eastern sky.

She didn’t want him to leave but knew
he must, and he was reluctant as well. ‘Twas the day of the engagement party
and he didn’t know when he would see her next.

“‘Tis been a most wonderful night,
English,” she murmured into his shoulder. “I am sorry to see it end.”

“As am I,” he kissed the top of her
head. “But I will be here to escort you to the party tonight, have no fear.”

She propped herself up on an elbow. “The
more time passes, the more I dunna want to go through with this wedding,” she
said softly.

His smile faded and he reached out
to wrap a tendril of satin hair around his finger. “There is nothing either one
of us can do.”

She sat up in bed. He supported
himself on one bent arm, watching her rigid, creamy back.

“What we do between us, here in the
privacy of my chambers, is all to me. ‘Tis the most wonderful expression of
love and commitment we can express to one another,” she turned to look at him
over her shoulder. “I only hope that I dunna vomit when the earl touches me the
same way ye do.”

He looked at her a long moment before
bolting from the bed and grabbing his breeches. She watched him, his abrupt
movements, and she felt his pain. She would go insane at the thought of him
touching another woman.

“English?” she whispered.

He stood tall, fastening his
breeches and she felt herself go warm and liquid inside at the sight of his
magnificent, broad chest. It brought warm, erotic feelings flooding into her
veins all over again. But his mood was changing.

“What is it that you want me to say,
Jordan?” he asked bluntly.

She shook her head. “Nothing,” she
murmured, lowering her gaze. “Except…except that ye will love me not matter
what happens. That yer feeling for me will not change simply because I am
forced to bed with another man.”

He continued to look at her another
moment before his shoulders slumped imperceptibly. With a heavy sigh, he sat on
the bed beside her.

“Jordan,” he began, his voice heavy
with emotion. “We both knew full well what we were doing the first night I
bedded you. We knew that, eventually, the earl would become your legal husband
and therefore entitled to all its privileges. If I told you that the knowledge
that he will be touching you as I have doesn’t eat away at my soul, I would be
lying. It pains me more than you can possibly know. But there is nothing we can
do except go beyond that and focus on our devotion to one another.”

“But ye spoke of fleeing once,” she
pressed. “Do ye remember? Ye said we would flee to Flanders or Normandy. Have
ye changed yer mind, then?”

He sighed heavily. “Nay,” he muttered.
“I spoke of it in haste; I was only thinking of myself, and of my wants. I was
thinking of what should happen if the earl discovered our relationship and the
lengths I would go to in order to protect you.  But the truth is that to run
away with you, simply to be selfish, would cause far more harm. Your father and
Lord de Longley would be back at each other’s throats and men would die.  All
because of my selfish wants, too many men would die.”

Her throat was tight with tears. “Then
ye dunna love me enough to take me away?”

He looked at her. “I love you enough
to do all that and more. But at what cost? Men’s lives against our selfish
desires? I am not sure I can reconcile that.” He sighed heavily. “Nay, love,
unless you are in mortal danger, I fear I cannot simply take you away from
here, at least not now. Too many would suffer.”

Jordan understood even if she didn’t
like the answer.  He was strong, noble and virtuous… and she was not.  She
fought back her sobs.

“Then tell me then one thing,
English, and I shall never ask it of ye again,” she whispered.  Will I ever become
Lady de Wolfe?”

His chest was being squeezed so hard
he could scarce draw a breath. He looked deeply into her eyes, his hand
helplessly touching her head. “Aye,” he whispered. “De Longley cannot live
forever. On the day he dies, you will be my wife. I swear it.”

She was satisfied with that and it
gave her an immense boost of strength. With that knowledge, she would be brave
enough to face whatever the future held because she knew he meant it. The simple
answer to the not-so-simple question would be her rock.

Somewhere a cock crowed. He turned
from her and hurriedly donned his tunic and boots. Then he bent to kiss her and
promised again he would see her at dusk. Quickly, he quit the room, leaving Jordan
sitting on the bed, dreaming of that day when she would indeed become Lady de
Wolfe.

***

They began arriving shortly after
the sun rose. Jordan had finally drifted off to sleep when she heard the
trumpets on the wall heralding an approaching caravan of guests. She rose
sleepily to see what the commotion was and was instantly awake at the sight of
a group of richly garbed riders.

Excitement and apprehension surged
through her. The women, riding beautifully decorated palfreys, were clad in the
latest fashion from London. Jordan watched with great interest, realizing that,
although her surcoats were lovely, they were not anywhere as stylish as the
ones the women wore.

A strange obsession settled over
her. With all of the other worries she had, the one foremost on her mind was
the fact that she did not have a trendy surcoat. Wrapping herself in her blue
satin robe, she tore into the antechamber.

Jemma, seated in front of the loom,
looked up and smiled broadly.

“So yer up, slug-a-bed?” she
announced. “‘Tis about time, although from what I heard, ye should not be
walking so easily.”