by Candace Camp
The prince cast a look around, hesitated, then took a step backward. “I am not through. I will speak to you again, my lady.”
He turned and strode off through the crowd. Rafe turned to Kyria.
“What was that all about?” he asked.
“What do you think?” Kyria responded.
“The reliquary?” Rafe’s brows soared up. He looked at the prince’s retreating back.
“Yes. He offered to buy it from me.”
“So…our friend Habib has a rival,” Rafe commented.
“It would seem so.”
“Well, this certainly makes things more interesting. Do you suppose that he is the one who hired the intruders?”
“He says not, but I have no way of knowing. He fits the description that Sid gave us.”
Rafe nodded thoughtfully. “He could have been the man at the tavern.”
They looked at each other.
“I think I’m ready to leave,” Kyria said.
“Did you get what you wanted?”
Kyria nodded. “And rather more.”
* * *
Kyria had trouble sleeping that night. Her mind kept running over her meeting with the Russian and what he had said. She had felt sure that the Lebanese antiquities dealer had been behind the things that had happened at Broughton Park, but now she wondered. It could have been Prince Dmitri—or perhaps there were even others who wanted the box. Given what she and Rafe had discovered about it, she could understand why many people would want it. But for the same reason, it seemed even more important now that she not let go of it. If it was, as it seemed to be, a scrap of the original battle standard of Constantine inside the reliquary box, then it was a piece not only of great worth and age, but also one of enormous religious significance. Such a thing was virtually priceless, and it seemed wrong for it to be in the possession of a private collector. It should belong to…well, she was not sure where the box belonged, but it should not be locked in the vault of a single person, including herself.
With a sigh, she turned over and plumped up her pillow, then laid her head back down. She felt once again the same overwhelming urge to go look at the reliquary that had afflicted her before. She told herself it was foolish; she had, after all, looked at the box many times. It was pointless to take it out of her father’s safe just to gaze at it for a while. Still, the longer she lay there, resisting the urge, the more she wanted to see it. It occurred to her that it was only practical to make sure that it was still inside the safe, that nothing had happened to it since they had been in London. There was, after all, the possibility that a talented thief could have crept into their house and opened the safe and spirited the box away without their being any the wiser.
Finally, she got up and slipped into her warm, velvet dressing gown and house slippers. She would not be able to sleep until she knew whether the reliquary was still safe, she reasoned.
She lit a candle and left her room, moving quietly along the long, dark hallway, then down the stairs to her father’s study. There, she set the candle on his desk and made her way to the wall safe. It contained the family’s most important papers, along with the more frequently worn pieces of her mother’s jewelry. Most of the Morelands’ gold and silver plate was kept in a much larger safe just off the butler’s pantry, along with the oldest jewelry and other family heirlooms.
Kyria turned the combination lock of the safe and opened it, then reached in and pulled out the drawstring bag containing the reliquary. She took it over to the desk and set it down near the candle, then sat in the chair behind the desk and rested her chin on her hand, gazing at the black diamond that adorned the side. Gently she ran her finger over the stone. It somehow warmed her inside to look at it. It was enough to make her wonder if power could lie in certain objects, influencing people and events.
She shook her head at the fantasies into which she was straying. Firmly ignoring the part of her that wanted to keep the reliquary out and look at it longer, she put the box back into the safe. She closed the door and twirled the knob, then turned to get the candle. Just as she turned, a figure swiftly, silently edged around the door and into the room, a pistol in his outthrust hand.
“Hold it ri—”
Kyria jumped, a little shriek escaping her, and for a moment they stood, staring at each other, motionless, before Rafe dropped the pistol to his side.
“What in blue blazes are you doing?” he asked irritably. “I heard something down here, and I thought somebody had broken in to steal that infernal box.”
Kyria let out a breath. Her heart was racing, and she pressed a hand to her chest as though to slow it. “You scared me. I thought you were sneaking in to steal it.”
They looked at each other a moment longer, then broke into grins. Rafe pocketed his gun, shaking his head, and moved farther into the room.
“I’m sorry I frightened you,” he said.
“Me, too.” Kyria moved to meet him.
He looked down at her. Her hair was loose, curling over her shoulders in a fiery mass. He could just imagine the feel of the springy curls between his fingers. His gaze slipped lower. She wore a dressing gown, as concealing as any dress, certainly more so than the evening gown she had worn tonight. But there was an intimacy about seeing her in the soft, bedtime apparel that stirred his desire. He could not help but think that beneath the velvet robe, she wore nothing but a night rail. He could see the soft white cotton in the V between the lapels of the dressing gown, and his fingers itched to reach out and touch it.
Rafe tried to remember all the reasons that it was not a good idea for him to kiss Kyria. At the moment, none of them came to mind.
Kyria’s heart was still racing. She realized that it was only partly because of her fright a few moments before. It was far too intimate, too casual, to be standing here with Rafe, wearing only her nightclothes. No matter how concealing her dressing gown was, she felt most vulnerable, without any of her usual social armor. Her eyes went to the tanned skin of his throat exposed by the open collar of his shirt. He wore no jacket, and his unbuttoned shirt had been pulled from his trousers and hung loosely over them. He had been about to go to bed, she thought, and the idea made heat curl through her abdomen.
Rafe’s eyes drifted down her body, his face softening with desire, and her flesh tingled as if he had touched her. Her mouth was suddenly dry. Her thoughts were scattered and chaotic, and she could not bring them to their usual order.
The only thing she could think was how it would feel if he touched her. Her skin tightened in anticipation, and she took an unconscious step forward. As if he could read her mind, his hand came out and folded around her arm. His fingers slid upward, and she could feel their warmth through the velvet of her dressing gown. Kyria wished suddenly that nothing lay between his flesh and hers.
With a little sigh, she swayed forward, her hands going up to his chest. His chest seemed to sear her palms through the cloth of his shirt. Unconsciously, she dug her fingers into his shirt. Rafe made a noise deep in his throat, and his arms went around her, pulling her into him, his mouth coming down to take hers.
It was dangerous to feel this way, she knew, just as she knew that she should back away before it was too late, but she could not bring herself to move. She did not want to move, she knew. She did not want to be wise or safe or strong. All she wanted was Rafe.
CHAPTER 14
Hunger flared between them, fiery and voracious. Kyria pressed herself into Rafe, amazed by how his body fit perfectly into hers, hardness into softness. His arms were like steel, holding her up, pulling her into him. She responded on a primitive level, reveling in his strength and power, realizing with some amazement that she wanted him now, hard and all at once, her body virtually trembling with desire.
She scarcely recognized herself as she clung to him, her lips and tongue meeting and matching his, her hands digging helplessly into his back. Kyria was suddenly, staggeringly, swept with passion. She had never felt like this, never even dreamed t
hat she could feel like this. She shivered, hanging on to him as if he were the only stable thing in her world.
When at last he raised his lips from hers, she let out a little moan at the loss. He shuddered at her involuntary sound, his own desire burgeoning at her response. He kissed his way across her face to her jaw and down to the tender flesh of her neck. Her head fell back, exposing her throat to his ravaging mouth, and she panted, hot and eager, aching for a completion she wasn’t even fully aware of. She moved against him and he groaned, digging his fingers into her buttocks, lifting her up and grinding her pelvis against the hard line of his manhood.
“Kyria…Kyria…” he muttered thickly.
The neckline of her night rail stopped the downward movement of his mouth, and he set her back on her feet, impatiently fumbling with the buttons of the garment, popping off a good number of them in his haste. Kyria scarcely noticed as she moved her hands restlessly over him, caressing his chest and shoulders and arms. She wanted to get beneath his shirt, to feel his skin under her fingers.
Rafe ran his hands beneath her dressing gown, pushing it back and off her shoulders. The sash at her waist unwound and fell loosely to her sides, letting the robe fall open. Kyria shrugged, moving her arms until the dressing gown slipped off her arms to puddle on the floor so that she was clad only in her white night rail. As chaste as its color, the garment revealed nothing, yet its soft folds clung to the voluptuous shape of her body, outlining hips and breasts in a way that made desire pound through Rafe’s veins. His eager hands had unbuttoned the night rail halfway down her chest, and the two sides sagged apart, hinting at the dark valley between her swelling breasts.
He swallowed hard and reached out to lay his hand flat against the bared skin of her chest. For a long moment, they stared into each other’s eyes, their breath coming harsh and rasping in their throats. Slowly, the passion swelling in them with each breath, each small brushing of his callused fingertips against her silken skin, he moved his hand across the hard plane of her upper chest and down over the curve of her breast. Kyria’s eyes fluttered closed as his hand curved around the soft orb. She sagged a little, her legs going weak at the pleasure, and Rafe’s other arm wound around her waist, pulling her side against his chest.
Gently, sweetly, with a slow touch that was at once pure pleasure and pure agony, his fingers caressed her breasts, stroking and teasing the nipples into hard points. An ache started deep within her abdomen, growing and throbbing. Kyria’s head lolled against Rafe’s chest, and her breath caught on a sob as his fingers tweaked her nipple, vaulting her desire upward into a new, almost unbearable plane.
Kyria had thought she could not want him more, but she discovered how wrong she had been as his hand took her ever more deeply into the dark, pulsing heart of her passion. His hand drifted lower, sliding off her breasts and onto the flat plain of her stomach. Kyria’s fingers went to the remaining buttons, opening them rapidly down the front of her nightgown until they ended below her waist. She sucked in a breath as his hand smoothed down over her abdomen, seeking the nest of curls at the apex of her legs.
She had never imagined such a thing—nor the liquid heat that welled in her at his touch. She moved restlessly, a small moan escaping her. All her being was centered on his touch.
Then he bent his head and began to nuzzle her breast, his lips and tongue moving lazily over her soft skin. And all the while his fingers continued to work their magic, finding and separating the silken folds of her womanhood, opening her to him. Kyria buried her face against his chest, stifling the cry of pleasure. Her fingers dug into his skin as heat engulfed her.
“Rafe…please.” She rubbed her cheek against his chest, then sank her teeth into the cloth of his shirt as the pleasure intensified. Her legs were trembling, and her entire body seemed on fire. She felt as if she might explode from pleasure, and at the same time frustration tore at her, teasing her that she would never reach the satisfaction she sought.
Her voice was low and husky with desire as she murmured, “Take me. Please.”
He groaned and lifted his head. His eyes were glittering with passion. “I can’t. Kyria…it would be wrong to…to take advantage of—”
Kyria’s eyes flashed and she raised her head, her mouth seeking his. He moaned as she kissed him deeply, hungrily. She smiled against his mouth as she felt his flesh throbbing against her, hard and hungry, searching for release.
She pulled back, staring challengingly up into his eyes. “Do you think I am some weak creature who must be protected from herself?”
“No. But you don’t know…you are untouched and…I cannot dishonor you.
“Do you want me?” she asked.
“You know I do. Sweet heaven, woman, you’re killing me.” His voice was harsh and rasping.
“Then show me.”
Kyria thrust her hands into his hair and pulled his head down again for a kiss. His arms wrapped tightly around her and he squeezed her against him as if their bodies could melt into one another. Blood pounded in his head. He could not remember when he had ever wanted a woman as he wanted Kyria now.
When at last he raised his head, he mumbled thickly, “I’ll show you. All right…I’ll show you.”
He grasped her nightgown and yanked it down over her arms. It fell to the floor around her feet. He stood for a moment, his eyes drinking her in, then he dropped slowly onto his knees, his hands skimming down her body as he went. His hands reached around to her buttocks and took firm hold, pulling her hips forward.
“Rafe!” Astonishment laced Kyria’s voice. “What are you doing?”
He merely smiled up at her in answer, a lazy, wicked smile that lanced through her like a white-hot shaft of desire. His fingers kneaded her buttocks and moved caressingly over her hips and legs. Then he moved forward, and his lips and tongue began to work magic on her flesh.
Kyria’s knees buckled with surprise and the onslaught of intense pleasure, but his arms steadied her and held her up. She moaned, her fingers digging into his hair, scarcely able to believe what he was doing to her. His tongue was like a wild thing, darting, caressing, lashing, rhythmically stroking, and all the while his hands roamed her legs and hips, teasing and caressing, parting her legs to give him greater access to her.
She groaned, her breath coming in gasps, her legs shaking. She felt as if she might fly apart under the exquisite, agonizing pleasure of his ministrations. She could not think, could barely breathe, as desire built in her until it was a great, pulsing, tangled ball. Release remained tantalizingly out of her reach, as Rafe’s mouth worked delicately on her, nudging her gently to greater and greater heights of pleasure, then backing off just at the last moment, only to return an instant later to drive her even higher.
Kyria panted his name. His tongue stroked and teased, then flickered over her, shooting her to yet a new height of sensation. The knot inside her tightened and grew until it seemed that she could not stand it anymore. And then, suddenly, pleasure exploded within her, so hot and hard and intense that she cried out at the wonder of it, and her entire body rocked.
Slowly she sank to the floor, Rafe’s arms supporting her. He pulled her close to him, cradling her, as she drifted in a haze of pleasure, too stunned to speak. He wrapped her dressing gown around her and picked her up, carrying her upstairs. Kyria cuddled closer to him, letting out a little sigh of pleasure.
Rafe carried Kyria into her room and set her down on the bed, pulling the covers over her. Kyria smiled up at him, her face so soft and glowing that all he wanted to do was climb into bed and make love to her all over again, finding his own shattering release. Instead, he dropped a kiss on her bare shoulder, then tucked the covers in around her.
“Rafe…”
“Shh.”
“But I…you…” A faint frown marred her forehead.
He smiled and bent down to her, burying his face in her hair. “Don’t worry. It was my pleasure,” he murmured, then straightened and left the room.
* *
*
When Kyria drifted awake the next morning, she snuggled deeper into her bed, clinging to the sweet contentment that permeated her body. Her eyes flew open as she remembered the reason for her happiness, and a blush heated her cheeks.
For a moment, she tried to convince herself that it had been a dream—a very sensual, highly charged dream, to be sure—but a quick peek beneath her covers assured her that it had been no dream. She was stark naked. Her night rail was wadded up in a ball on top of the covers, and beside it lay her dressing gown.
Rafe had put her to bed. Rafe had…
She covered her face with her hands and sank back against the sheets. How was she ever to face him again? She simply could not, she thought. She would have to send him a note and ask him to leave and…But even as she thought it, she knew that she would not. However embarrassed she might be, the last thing she wanted was to separate herself from Rafe. Truth be known, what she wanted was for the same thing to happen again—and more—and soon.
A small, secretive smile curved her lips as she lay thinking about her experience the night before. After a moment, she sat up and swung her feet off the bed. She stretched luxuriously. Never before had she been so aware of her body; never before had she felt so fully, wondrously alive.
Kyria hummed as she pulled her nightgown on over her head and padded over to the bellpull to ring for her maid. She had no idea what was going to happen now, but she’d never been one to shrink from the unknown. Whatever was to come, she was eager to discover it.
Seeing Rafe again turned out to be easier than she had thought, aided by the lively presence of the twins. They were all three in the breakfast room when she entered, arguing animatedly over, as best as Kyria could tell, whether a diamondback rattlesnake was deadlier than a cobra.
“The cobra’s venom is much more toxic than a rattlesnake’s,” Alex was saying as Kyria entered, buttering his toast methodically as he spoke.
Con, on the other hand, laid down a slapdash swipe of butter on his piece of bread and dipped it in the pile of marmalade on his plate. “But the rattlesnake is far more aggressive, and it also produces a much larger amount of venom. Hello, Kyria.” He saluted her with his piece of toast before folding it in two and cramming it into his mouth.