Stardust of Yesterday

by Lynn Kurland

  The door burst open suddenly and Genevieve jumped back. She put her hand to her chest, over her pounding heart, and looked at a wide-eyed, disheveled Worthington. Even his normally obedient white hair was standing up all over his head.

  “Am I dreaming?”

  Kendrick frowned at him. “Eggs, ham, bacon, porridge, fresh rolls, some of those pancakes Gen likes so much and whatever else is in the icebox. And be quick about it. I’m starving.”

  Genevieve reached out and caught her butler as he swayed. He looked like he wanted to cry.

  “I think I need a brandy,” he whispered.

  Genevieve understood the feeling completely.

  “After you prepare my meal,” Kendrick barked. “And I want a chocolate milk shake. Make haste, man. And call down to the village and make sure Adelaide’s brother is about. We’ve a wedding to see accomplished.” He shut the shower curtain with a snap.

  Worthington put his shoulders back, dragged his hands through his hair and retreated from the bathroom. Genevieve swallowed nervously. A wedding? So soon? She eased herself up onto the counter again. Maybe Kendrick was teasing her.

  He shut off the water with a curse.

  “These tanks are too bloody small,” he grumbled, flinging the curtain back. “How is a body supposed to enjoy a shower that lasts such a short time?”

  Genevieve would have answered, but the words got stuck in her throat. Kendrick dragged his hands through his hair, leaving his body fully bared and flexed for her perusal. And what a magnificent body it was. His muscles were sleek and beautiful, not bulky and clumsy. Broad shoulders tapered down over a washboard stomach to slim hips and a flat belly.

  She took in the sight of his groin and couldn’t stop herself from gaping. Heaven preserve her if he really thought that was going to fit anywhere on her side of the room. The very thought made her want to bolt.

  Legs. Yes, look at those legs. Sleek, powerful, tight. Covered with crisp, dark hair. In short, a perfect specimen of a man. Evidently wearing that heavy mail for so many years had certainly paid off. Yes, sir, it certainly had. Now if he would just cover up that finely packaged bit of masculinity so she could breathe again.

  “Are you finished yet?”

  His voice was laced with lazy amusement. She jerked her gaze back to his and found that his pale eyes were twinkling with unholy merriment. She jumped off the counter and reached for the door. A brawny arm snaked around her waist and she shrieked in spite of herself.

  “You aren’t going anywhere,” he murmured into her ear. “Sit you back on this counter and wait for me.”

  She pressed her hands against the door and prayed for deliverance. “Hurry and dry off, would you?”

  He chuckled as he released her. She heard him drag the towel across his body, then heard his murmur of pleasure. “Very soft cloths.”

  Genevieve nodded and continued to wait until Kendrick announced that he was finished. She turned around in time to have his towel put into her hands. He looked at her innocently.

  “How does one wear that?”

  She put it around his waist and tucked it securely, all the while keeping her eyes glued to his. “Like that.”

  “Thank you,” he said solemnly. “Now you will give me a razor? And might I use your toothbrush? I’ll send Worthington down for others this afternoon.”

  The toothbrush was produced and used rather skillfully. Shaving was accomplished in just as efficient a manner, with only a nick or two. She watched him, then blushed as he grinned at her in the mirror. Then his grin turned into a lazy smile that made her knees feel mushy under her. She backed away, intending to slip out the door before he noticed what she was doing. Holy moly, she wasn’t ready for this!

  “I’m not finished with you,” he said in a low voice, catching her around the waist. He lifted her onto the counter then put his hands on either side of her. “Indeed, I’ve not even begun.”

  Genevieve wanted to move, but found she couldn’t. Her heart beat wildly against her ribs, but whether it was from fear or nervousness, she couldn’t tell. Little men made her nervous. Men the size of linebackers made her quake. It wasn’t that she’d ever been hurt by one; she’d just never gotten close enough to one to know whether or not he would hurt her.

  She had the feeling she was going to find out the truth of the matter immediately.

  Genevieve watched as Kendrick took her hand in his, then slowly and carefully touched every part of her skin, starting with her fingers and finishing with her wrists. No scar was overlooked, no burn dismissed. He trailed his fingers over her palm, over knuckles, over the bones in her wrist. Then he brought her hand to his cheek and held it there, closing his eyes and rubbing his face against her palm. He reached for the other hand, then brought her fingers to his lips. He opened his eyes and looked down at her.

  “You have beautiful hands.”

  It was the most astonishing compliment she had ever been given, made all the more remarkable by the fact that for the first time she felt it might be true. He put her hand on her legs, then urged her knees apart until he was standing between her thighs. Her instant protest died when he reached up to touch her hair. And then she forgot everything but the look on his face and the gentle touch of his hand. He fingered a lock of her hair as if he had never before touched anything like it, brought a handful to his nose to inhale the fragrance, then to his lips to taste it.

  “Very soft,” he murmured as he rubbed several strands against his cheek. “Very beautiful.”

  Genevieve couldn’t move as he put his hands on her shoulders and trailed his thumbs along her collarbones, then up to her throat. His large, warm hands were gentle as he moved them up the sides of her neck and back under her hair. She held her breath as he bent down toward her. She forced herself to keep her eyes open and see him, instead of closing them and perhaps missing part of what was the most astonishing experience of her life.

  Kendrick kept one of his hands at the base of her neck while the other came back to cup her cheek. He trailed his fingers over her face, looking intently at her, missing no detail. He traced her eyebrows, her nose, her cheeks, her jaw, her lips, touching her as if he feared he would break her.

  “So beautiful,” he whispered. He bent closer and smelled her hair again, then dipped his head and inhaled at her neck. “So sweet.” He placed his smooth cheek against hers, then turned and pressed the softest of kisses against her ear. “You don’t wear perfumed oils, do you?”

  She shook her head, mute.

  “Don’t start,” he said, nuzzling her neck with his nose. “You smell too good as is.”

  Shivers went down her spine at his touch. He kissed the hollow of her cheek, her cheekbones, the corner of her eye. He worked his way down her nose, then over her other cheek and down to her jaw.

  “Tilt your head back,” he urged softly, putting the flat of his hand behind her head to support it.

  She obeyed him, too caught up in his spell to do anything else. “Will you vamp out on me and suck my blood?” she asked, attempting a joke. She knew she would faint soon if something didn’t give. His gentleness was completely unnerving her!

  He chuckled as he pressed his lips against her throat. “You read too many horror novels, my sweet. And you know I’ve given up my ghoulish status for good. I’m but a simple man now, held captive by the beauty of his lady.”

  “I see.”

  And then words deserted her at the feel of his firm lips against her skin. He left not an inch of her throat unkissed. His hand supported her head while his other arm came around her back and pulled her closer to him. Genevieve felt like a rag-doll in his arms, mindlessly reveling in the strange sensations his kisses brought her.

  “How sweet your skin tastes, my Gen, and how salty from your tears. Forgive me for frightening you earlier.”

  “Forgiven,” she breathed.

  “Only tears of joy from now on,” he murmured as he lifted his head to look down at her. He smiled, then slowly lowered his head a
nd pressed his lips against hers. She closed her eyes and surrendered without a fight.

  His exploration was slow and leisurely, but no less thorough. He tasted each part of her lips, nibbling at their fullness, then pressing his lips and the tip of his tongue against the corner of her mouth. When he traced the inner part of her lips with his tongue, she couldn’t stop from opening her mouth to him.

  He only ventured in far enough to taste the parts of her lips he hadn’t reached before. She held her breath as he touched her teeth, then slid his tongue fully into her mouth. That was when the first moan escaped her. The nerves in her stomach sprang to life, making her feel the same jolt as she might have had she been in an elevator dropping down thirty stories. So this was the French kissing her mother had warned her about. Good grief, no wonder! Genevieve felt the soles of her feet begin to tingle.

  Kendrick groaned deep in his throat, but his assault became no more forceful. He caressed her tongue with his over and over again, as if he simply could not taste her enough to satisfy himself. Genevieve put her arms around his neck simply to hold on. She opened her mouth further under his, urging him to take more, to give her more of that sweet, seductive heat that flowed so thickly through her veins.

  A banging on the door almost sent her through the roof. She jerked back from him so quickly, she smacked her head against the mirror.

  “Oh, Genevieve,” Kendrick said with a chuckle of miserable laughter, pulling her close and rubbing the back of her head. “Come you here and hold on while I kill whoever has disturbed us.” He held her to him with one arm and opened the door. “What do you want, busybody?”

  Worthington was once again impeccably groomed. He took in Kendrick’s appearance, looking down and clucking his tongue disapprovingly. Genevieve followed Worthington’s eyes and more heat flooded to her cheeks when she noted, and who wouldn’t have, the prominent bulge beneath Kendrick’s towel. The sight gave her the strangest, most unnerving sensation in her stomach. No, that sensation was quite a bit lower than her stomach. She pushed back against the mirror and tried not to squirm when Worthington looked her way. She was certain she looked dazed. Worthington must have agreed because he gave Kendrick a reproving look.

  “Your repast is almost prepared, my lord. I think it highly improper that you keep young Genevieve captive while you are so scantily clad.”

  Kendrick slammed the door in his face.

  Worthington’s hrumph could be heard clearly through the wood. “Ten minutes, my lord, and not a moment longer.”

  Kendrick looked at Genevieve with a scowl. “I’m going to send him on holiday. Tomorrow.”

  Genevieve felt a grin creep out. It was the first time she had seen that beloved scowl on those mortal features, and the sight delighted her. Then his scowl turned into a slow, lazy smile and she shook her head quickly. She ducked out of his arms, but Kendrick stopped her before her feet touched the floor.

  “Oh, no you don’t,” he said huskily. “Just where do you think you’re going?”

  “I need to dress and so do you.”

  “We have ten more minutes.”

  “Your eggs will be cold. Let me go, Kendrick.”

  He took her face in his hands and lifted her eyes to his. A gentle smile curved over his lips.

  “Thank you. You have given me great pleasure this morning.”

  She blushed and tried to pull away but he shook his head. He bent and brushed his lips across hers. “I am in earnest.”

  “I haven’t even showered yet, or washed my face—”

  His expression sobered. “You don’t desire me, then?”

  “Kendrick,” she squirmed.

  “You’re just nervous?”

  She nodded.

  “Gen, I haven’t changed.”

  “You’re a bit more substantial than you used to be, Kendrick.”

  “Call me my love, as you used to,” he said softly. “Unless it no longer pleases you.”

  She hesitantly put her arms around his neck.

  “I love you and I’m not afraid of you. My love,” she added.

  “Maybe you’d like to have me take a turn on that counter you’re sitting on after breakfast?” he suggested politely. “Just to give me a closer look, of course.”

  “If you want.”

  “Don’t sound so enthused,” he said dryly.

  “I didn’t mean it like that.”

  “I did but attempt a poor jest. Come with me, my love.”

  She followed him out into the bedroom. They had kept clothes in his size in a trunk for appearance’s sake, and Genevieve dug through it until she came up with things she hoped would fit. Kendrick had lost his towel somewhere between the bathroom and the bedroom and stood waiting patiently by the bed in all his glory. Genevieve blushed as she shoved the clothes into his hands.

  “Good luck.”

  She retrieved her own garments and bolted for the bathroom. After a quick cold shower, she hastily put on underclothes, then washed her face and brushed her teeth. She had just pulled her jeans up over her hips when Kendrick opened the door, still naked, with a pair of jockey shorts in his hands. Whatever question he’d had died on his lips at the sight of her. He looked at her bare feet, then let his gaze roam over her legs, linger for some time at the fly of her jeans, which she hadn’t gotten quite buttoned up, and then stop at her lacy bra. Genevieve crossed her arms over her breasts but he was instantly standing before her, pulling her arms away. He reached out hesitantly and fingered the elastic of the strap, then trailed his fingers down until they lightly brushed over the lace covering the top of her breast.

  He pulled his hand away suddenly and turned. “Hurry,” he said hoarsely.

  Genevieve yanked a T-shirt and sweater down over her head, buttoned up her jeans and dragged a brush through her hair. Shoes would have to wait. The sooner Kendrick was covered up, the better she’d like it. She left the bathroom to find him sitting on the bed. He caught sight of her, then held out the briefs. And he scowled.

  “Are these what I think they are?”

  She nodded, biting her lip to keep from smiling.

  “Well, they’re too small. I’ll be gelded by noon if I wear them.”

  She laughed, then jumped away as he reached out to swat her. “You stay there. I’ll see what else I can find.”

  A few more minutes spent rummaging in his trunk produced a pair of boxer shorts. Kendrick nodded approvingly and put them on. Jeans and a sweatshirt completed his outfit. He wanted to go barefoot but she convinced him tennis shoes would be a better choice.

  He caught her hand as they left the room. “You needn’t make me sit on the counter in the bathroom this afternoon.” He dropped her hand and shoved his hands into his pockets as if he’d been doing it all his life. “If it does not please you.”

  She looked up at him solemnly. “You think entirely too much, Kendrick de Piaget.”

  “I’ll stop thinking if you’ll stop fearing me.”

  “I’m trying.”

  “I love you, Gen. I’d never hurt you. How can you think that?”

  She had the feeling that little-boy pout was going to get her every time. She gave in and put her arms around his waist, albeit hesitantly. When he didn’t move, she took her courage in hand and snuggled a bit closer to him. He was all muscle, but comfortable enough. She laid her head against his chest, then relaxed as he put his arms around her and began to gently stroke her back.

  She was just starting to get the hang of the hugging business when Kendrick’s stomach growled loudly. She pulled her head back and found that he was blushing.

  “I forgot you were hungry,” she said, feeling his blush somehow begin to plaster itself to her cheeks.

  “That’s a very good sign.”

  She blushed some more and nodded, feeling utterly foolish.

  Kendrick only smiled gently and kissed her quickly on the forehead.

  “Food first, then perhaps we’ll come back to this very spot and I’ll pout some more for you.
You liked it, didn’t you?”

  Genevieve wasn’t about to tell him what she liked, as she had the feeling he’d know it anyway. She took his hand and let him lead her down the hall. Her gallant ghost was hungry and she wasn’t going to stand in the path of his breakfast.

  Chapter Twenty-three

  Kendrick’s mind reeled. Smells assaulted him from every angle: the shampoo he had used, the soap Genevieve used to wash her face with, the fabric of his sweatshirt, the charring wood in the hearths below, the delicacies Worthington was cooking. He had to force himself not to bolt down the stairs and fall upon the food like a savage.

  And the feel of things! He trailed his fingers along the smooth stone as they walked down the curving staircase. He smiled in appreciation of the softness of Genevieve’s hand curled in his, their fingers laced together. The sweatshirt was smooth against his chest, the jeans a bit rough as they pulled at the hair on his legs. The rubber of his shoes squeaked as he walked down the steps.

  A gust of cool air hit him full in the face as they rounded the last of the steps. He gasped and pulled up short.

  “Kendrick?”

  He looked down at Genevieve. “Drafty old pile of stones, isn’t it?”

  “I suppose you hadn’t noticed before.”

  He grinned as he scooped her up into his arms. “Nay, saucy wench, I hadn’t noticed before.”

  She put her arms around his neck. He noticed her hesitancy, but pretended to pay it no heed. She would accustom herself to him in time.

  “Don’t drop me.”

  He smiled. “A knight never drops his lady. It’s bad form.” He winked at her, then descended the remaining steps to his great hall. Already Genevieve came more readily into his arms. Aye, she would grow accustomed to him soon enough.

  There was so much to touch and smell, he hardly knew where to begin. He let Genevieve slip down to her feet, then took her hand and dragged her along behind him. First there were the tapestries. Faintly rough under his fingers, a good woolly sort of feeling. So delightfully musty smelling. Then the stone of the hearth. Aye, it was well cut and well laid. He put his hand to the cold stone of the mantel, then smiled as the warmth from the fire hit him. How much he had missed even such simple pleasures. What was more soothing than a hot fire and warm wine after a morning in the lists in the dead of winter when a man’s body heat never quite warmed up his mail? And how refreshing it was to spend hours under the hot sun, fighting or training, then find a cool barrel of rainwater handy for dunking the head?