Stardust of Yesterday

by Lynn Kurland

  He swallowed with difficulty. Surely she didn’t mean to torture him. Then again, why not? Hadn’t he done the same to her all week?

  “Genevieve, I beg you to take pity on me.”

  “I’ll think about it. Later.”

  She turned and walked toward a bookcase. Kendrick jumped to his feet and blocked her path. “Genevieve.”

  She moved past him. He tried to cut her off at the couch only to have her change directions again. He trailed her over to the desk that sat against the wall to the far left of the hearth. She reached for pen and stationery. He made a flying leap for the surface and managed to plant himself there, on top of her sheaf of writing paper.

  “You could have broken the desk,” she chided.

  “Aye, and had it cheerfully fixed, surely.”

  She regarded him long, her arms folded over her chest, her head tilted to one side.

  “You aren’t being very obedient, Kendrick.”

  “My greatest fault. Punish me by kissing me senseless.”

  The corner of her mouth twitched. “I should punish you by ignoring you.”

  “Nay, love, I adore being ignored. You know that surely. Rather you should pay attention to me. Close attention. The very thought of your scrutiny makes me shudder.” He looked at her hopefully, nodding slowly. She didn’t start nodding with him. Damn, where had his plan to make her desire him run afoul of such trouble?

  She reached out and fingered the collar of his oxford shirt. “You did promise me obedience, Kendrick.”

  “Aye.” Would that she’d order him to strip on the spot!

  “And you agreed to do whatever I asked. Anything.”

  “Aye, I did.”

  “Then I ask you not to touch me.”

  His face, and his hopes, fell. Past his feet, past the floor beneath him, straight to hell. It was all he could do not to weep.

  “If you will it so,” he managed, finally.

  “I do,” she said, unconcerned. She stepped back a pace from him and smiled serenely. “There’s a favorite saying in antique shops back in America.”

  “What?” he asked, unable to muster up any enthusiasm for conversation. Didn’t the woman know she had just broken his heart? His one desire—aye, his fondest wish—had been to love her truly, to bring her pleasure, to possess her fully and by so doing, allow her to possess him in like manner. And now she couldn’t bear the feel of his hands.

  “ ’Look but don’t touch.’ ”

  He lifted his eyes and his jaw hung slack. He watched as the gossamer robe slipped down Genevieve’s arms and pooled at her feet. Nightclothes? What dolt had ever termed what little she was wearing nightclothes? Kendrick continued to gape at her as she moved to stand between his knees.

  “Sit up straight, Kendrick.”

  He sat bolt upright, trying not to flinch at her fingers’ movements against his throat. He gaped some more as he looked down and watched her unbutton his shirt. She pulled it free of his jeans, unbuttoned the cuffs and slipped it down off his arms. It joined her robe on the floor.

  Then he felt the touch of her slender hands on his bare shoulders. He looked up and met her eyes. There was hesitancy there, in direct contrast with the expression of bravado she wore. In an instant, he understood what she was doing.

  His wife was seducing him.

  And in another blinding flash, he realized what she intended to do once he was down on his knees begging her to carry him to bed.

  She was going to turn and walk away.

  Heaven help him, she wanted revenge. Well, she could have it, for about ten paces. Then, assuming she hadn’t tied him up and left him to rot, he would scoop her up, carry her to his bed and love her until they both couldn’t move. Revenge? Ah, what a sweet sound.

  Her fingers brushed down over his chest, over the scars scattered here and there, along the scar Phillip had given him. Her hands trembled. Kendrick closed his eyes and tried to look pained. Genevieve was touching him. How he’d longed for this. He sucked in his breath as her hands smoothed across his belly, then back up over his ribs. Ah, Genevieve, don’t stop!

  She didn’t. She ran her hands over the muscles in his arms, coming down to touch his hands that rested on his thighs. He opened his eyes and watched her look down. He knew the moment her gaze drifted over his groin because color immediately sprang to her cheeks. He closed his eyes and tried to look miserable.

  “Are you enjoying this?” she asked, suspiciously.

  “ ’Tis torture. Plain and simple torture.”

  He peeked out of one eye and saw her frown.

  “You wouldn’t lie, would you?”

  “Moi? Never.”

  “Good.” She beckoned with her finger. “Come closer. I’m going to torment you with kisses now and I don’t want it hurting my back.”

  It was his pleasure to do whatever she wanted. He hooked the chair behind her with his foot and brought it closer to his love, then rested his feet on it. She was, quite conveniently, trapped between his legs, the desk and the chair, but he pretended not to notice.

  “Close your eyes, Kendrick.”

  He obeyed, dutifully. And he groaned silently when her lips brushed across his. Already his hands were itching to wander purposefully over her body. He clasped his hands behind his back in an effort to behave. And then he stopped thinking about anything but Genevieve’s mouth against his, Genevieve’s fingers sliding into his hair, the faint scent of her soap and skin. She hesitantly parted his lips and began to kiss him deeply. He groaned before he could stop himself, then opened one eye a bit to see how she had reacted to that slip. Her eyes were closed and she wore a look of intense concentration. He felt a smile start in his knees and work its way up. She was distracted. Maybe she wouldn’t notice if he just happened to put his arms around her in a friendly embrace. He unclasped his hands.

  She left his mouth and kissed her way up his neck.

  His fingers twitched.

  She nibbled his earlobe.

  His fingers, and his toes, curled fiercely.

  “Are you suffering yet?” she breathed into his ear.

  “I don’t think you understand who you’re tormenting,” he rasped. “Know you not that I was one of the fiercest warriors of my day?” Aye, that’s why I’m fair ready to weep so you’ll help me to the floor and bed me immediately.

  “You promised you wouldn’t touch me. You’re a very honorable knight, my lord.”

  “Honor be damned,” he squeaked as she gently touched her tongue to his ear. “By the saints, Genevieve, cease!”

  She pulled back and smiled at him. “All right.” She pushed past his leg and walked away.

  “Oh, no you don’t,” he said, shaking his head to clear it. “You vowed to torture me and you’ve hardly finished.”

  “You told me to stop. Kendrick, you promised not to touch me!”

  “What I want to do is wring your neck!”

  “All the more reason to keep your hands to yourself.”

  Kendrick pinned her against a bookcase, holding her captive with a hand on either side of her body. He scowled down at her.

  “I do not like this.”

  “Tough.”

  “You’re making me daft!”

  “You’ve been pushing me away for a week and I’m getting back at you. Now, I want you to suffer! I’m not quite through torturing you, so keep your hands off me until I’m finished.”

  Kendrick scowled some more, then an idea born of sheer desperation came to him. He pushed back from the bookcase.

  “Don’t move.”

  “Where are you going?”

  “I’m taking my hands somewhere where they won’t be tempted to throttle you. But I’ll be back.”

  He stomped across the library, leaving her standing near the fire. So she didn’t want him to touch her, did she? That meant only his bare hands—and he knew just how to solve that.

  Chapter Twenty-nine

  Genevieve watched Kendrick go, then snatched up her robe, wonder
ing if she’d pushed him just a bit too far. Well, he deserved it. A girl could only be expected to take so much before she had to give something back. And she’d taken plenty.

  But the seduction hadn’t quite worked as she’d wanted it to. She’d wanted to have him sweating profusely, begging her to have mercy and let him hold her. Making him want to strangle her had not been the desired result.

  The door behind her slammed and she whirled around to see her husband standing there glowering.

  He was wearing oven mitts.

  He looked so ridiculous that she laughed. Kendrick advanced with the light of battle burning brightly in his eyes. Genevieve laughed again, turning to dart away from him. That lasted only three steps before she tangled her foot in the robe and went sprawling. Kendrick caught her around the waist and pulled her back to her feet, then turned her around in his arms so fast her head spun. She put her hand to her temple and looked up at him, waiting for him to come back into focus.

  “Thanks,” she said weakly.

  “You put your robe back on.”

  “Well, yes…”

  Mitted hands pushed it down off her shoulders.

  “Kendrick, you’re getting stroganoff on me.”

  “Tough.”

  She laughed again, until her back connected with the wall and she realized she had nowhere to run. Kendrick put a crusty, mitted paw under her chin and lifted her face up.

  “You never said anything about kissing,” he growled.

  She could only gulp in response.

  He bent his head and boldly captured her lips with his, as a good warrior would. Genevieve closed her eyes and opened her mouth to his searching tongue, then made a grab for his shoulders once passion tackled the backs of her knees. He caught her to him and wrapped his arms gently around her. His kisses turned as gentle as his embrace.

  “This is madness,” he whispered against her mouth.

  “I wanted to get you back,” she said, opening her eyes. “You teased me unmercifully this past week.”

  “I was trying to make you want me more than you feared me.”

  “I never was afraid of you, Kendrick.”

  “You have no reason to be. I’ll take you gently, Genevieve, as gently as I know how.”

  Genevieve looked up. Kendrick merely stood where he was. Waiting. Genevieve swallowed. Well, it looked like the war was coming to an end.

  “Now?” she asked.

  He nodded.

  “Here?”

  He shook his head. “Nay, not here, my love. Upstairs.”

  And still he waited. Genevieve didn’t have to give it any more thought. She took a deep breath and nodded.

  “Upstairs, then.”

  Kendrick tossed the oven mitts onto a chair. He put one arm under her shoulders and the other under her knees and lifted her off the ground. Genevieve wrapped her arms around his neck and closed her eyes as he carried her through the great hall and up the stairs.

  As they passed down the hallway, Genevieve remembered the times Kendrick had frightened her there. Never in her wildest imaginings had she entertained the thought that someday he would be hers, that he would be carrying her to their bedroom to make love to her.

  He paused in front of the door and met her eyes. “You’re certain?”

  “Kendrick, whatever happened to the ruthless warrior who took what he pleased, when he felt like it?”

  He shook his head. “Not tonight, Genevieve. Tomorrow, if it amuses you, but not tonight.”

  She’d seen the teasing side of him, the tormented side of him, the infuriated side of him, but she’d never seen the quietly determined man holding her in his arms. She wasn’t sure how to treat him.

  “Kendrick, smile for me.”

  He pushed open the door and carried her inside. He walked over to the fireplace and let her slide to her feet. She watched him build the fire, then rise and turn to her.

  “Genevieve,” he said gravely, putting his hands on her arms, “I want to love you well. I feel like I’ve waited seven hundred years for this moment and now that ‘tis come, I find myself feeling as clumsy and callow as a squire.”

  “You didn’t drop me on the way here. That’s a good sign.”

  “I suppose it is.”

  “I think you’ll do a great job.”

  That made him laugh softly. He took her hand. “Come lie with me, my love. I want to hold you in my arms, in my bed, in my bedchamber.”

  She walked with him, then shivered as he picked her up in his arms and laid her on the quilt. Genevieve watched as he kicked off his shoes, pulled off his socks, then stood over her in nothing but his jeans. Genevieve looked at him, remembering the first time she had faced him, the night he had come to her with the knife. She smiled at the memory. How beautiful he had been, all muscle and strength. And now that gorgeous man was flesh and blood and he was going to make her his. Kendrick stretched out next to her and drew her close.

  She lay with her head on his shoulder, her hand resting over his heart, for several minutes. She relished the feel of his hand skimming over her hair and the warmth of his body driving away the remaining chill in her body. And when he rolled her over onto her back, she went willingly.

  “I love you,” he whispered.

  “I love you, too.”

  “Let me make you mine, Gen. Let me love you truly.”

  In answer, she put her arms around his neck and pulled him down to her. He kissed her, slow, lingering kisses that left her breathless. His hands traveled over her body, cautiously at first, then more boldly as he realized she was stiffening only with passion. Genevieve blushed as their remaining clothing somehow found its way to the floor, then other things clamored for her attention.

  It was the oddest sensation, having his naked body pressed against hers, but she soon grew accustomed to it. She couldn’t breathe when he moved on top of her, but she didn’t mind that much either, being far too caught up in knowing that the moment of truth had finally arrived.

  And then she froze.

  “Kendrick, the door is open.”

  “What?”

  She looked at his face. He was flushed. And he looked a bit dazed.

  “The door.”

  “Aye?”

  “It’s open.” She looked pointedly at the door, hoping he would take the hint. “You know.” She lowered her voice. “I don’t think we want an audience.”

  He dropped his head to her shoulder and groaned. “We are in the midst of mind-numbing passion and you are thinking of ghosts?”

  “You never know who is out there. Please?”

  “Very well, my lady.” He rolled away and walked to the door. “I’ve no more stomach for that than you.”

  The door shut with a click.

  The ghosts in the hall grumbled.

  “We should’ve stood them up,” the first said, with a regretful shake of his head.

  “Aye, ‘twas done so in my day,” another said. “Take ‘em to the bedchamber to start with. Then strip ‘em and stand ‘em up facing each other, nice and polite like. Then have ‘em take a good look at each other ‘afore the bedding, leavin’ the poor wretches a last chance to bolt.”

  “I would’ve run the other way, had anyone bloody bothered to do the like for me,” a third muttered, sounding exceedingly sorry that hadn’t happened. “By the saints, that woman of mine had knobby knees!”

  They discussed that for a good while before subsiding into further grumbling.

  “Spoiled my evenin’, ‘e did, by shuttin’ us out.”

  “Aye, and I coulda used a bit of sport—”

  Lady Henrietta Buchanan folded her arms across her substantial bosom and frowned at the men crowded in the hall.

  “You’ve seen enough, the lot of you. Be off with you and leave the lord and his lady in peace.”

  “But how will we know—”

  “Aye, I’ve a mind to see the sheets—”

  Her ladyship’s frown was formidable. “You’ll see no more tonight and you�
��ll see nothing tomorrow.”

  “Come on, lads,” one disgruntled soldier muttered. “She’s left us with no choice but to haunt the tavern. Let’s be off.”

  Lady Henrietta tapped her ghostly slipper until the corridor was cleared, then hrumphed in satisfaction. She’d always thought Kendrick to be a rather handsome lad, even if he had frightened her into the vapors on more than one occasion in her life. He had certainly become much more polite since his marriage. Henrietta was also enormously pleased with Genevieve. How lovely that the last of the Buchanans had turned out to be a nice young woman, in spite of her upbringing in the Colonies. Helping the pair have peace on this their first night of, well…Henrietta fanned her burning cheeks. Yes, it was the least she could do.

  After one last piercing glance down the hallway to make certain the revelers were dispersed, Lady Henrietta returned to her tapestry frame in the upper solar, leaving the lovers to their night’s work.

  Kendrick scratched his heel with the big toe of his other foot as he stood before the stove and concentrated on breakfast. He was cooking breakfast to distract himself. What he wanted to be doing was loving his lady. He had the feeling she might not appreciate it quite yet. He grinned to himself as he swirled the eggs around in the pan with the spatula. They had spent most of the night awake, talking and snuggling. And touching. Kendrick had been well aware of how greatly the first time had pained her. And that thought pained him.

  He had done his best to make up for it that morning, taking her slowly and gently. He smiled to himself as he peeled the eggs away from the side of the skillet. He would never forget the look on her face when she’d first found her pleasure. Though he’d wanted to laugh at her astonishment, her expression of wonder had touched his heart and humbled him. So he’d gathered her close and promised her the world and all good things in it. How he loved her!

  He jumped when he felt arms go around him, then winced at the icy fingers on his chest.

  “Morning, you,” Genevieve whispered.

  “I didn’t hear you come in.”

  “You were laughing at your eggs. Did they say something funny?”

  Kendrick turned around and tipped her face up with one finger. “Teasing me already this fine morn? I daresay you must be pleased with yourself over something. What could it be?”