Julie Garwood - [3 Book Box Set]

by Gentle Warrior:Honor's Splendour:Lion's Lady

  Christina let up on her hold only long enough for Cecille to gulp air and nod. Then she squeezed her up against the wall again. “The Countess is my family. No one upsets her. And no one is going to believe you if you think to tell them I just threatened you. Now get out of here and go home. Though it is unkind of me to say so, you really do look a fright.”

  With those words of dismissal, Christina moved away from the disgusting woman.

  Lady Cecille didn’t possess an ounce of dignity. She was weeping all over her gown. She had obviously believed every word of Christina’s threats.

  Lord, she was a silly woman. Christina had difficulty maintaining her stern expression. She wanted to laugh. She couldn’t, of course, and she kept her gaze locked on the terrified woman a long moment before she took pity on her. Lady Cecille couldn’t seem to move. “You may leave now,” Christina announced.

  Cecille nodded. She slowly backed away from Christina until she reached the exit. Her hands shook when she lifted her skirt all the way up to her knobby knees, then she flung the door wide and ran with enough speed to suggest she thought demons were chasing her.

  Christina let out a long, weary sigh. She replaced the dagger in the sheath above her ankle, straightened the folds of her gown, then daintily patted her hair into place. “Such a silly woman,” she whispered to herself before walking out of the room.

  Lyon had to sit down. He waited until Christina was out of sight before he went over to Hunt’s desk and leaned against it. He tried to pour himself a drink of his host’s whiskey from the cart to the side of the desk, but he quickly discarded that idea. God help him, he was laughing too hard to get the deed done.

  So much for his conclusion that Christina was just like every other woman. She certainly wasn’t raised in France, either. Lyon shook his head. She gave the appearance of being helpless … or had he drawn that conclusion on his own, he wondered. It was an easy mistake to make, he realized. Christina was so feminine, so dainty, so damned innocent-looking … and she wore a knife strapped to her leg.

  It was identical to the knife he’d held in his hands the night of Baker’s party, the knife that had wounded Rhone. What a cunning little liar she was. Lyon remembered how he’d turned to see who’d thrown the weapon. Christina had looked so frightened. Hell, the woman had turned around to look behind her, too. She’d gone right along with his thought that someone lurked behind them in the shadows. Then, when he was locked in conversation with the gentlemen, she’d quietly snatched her weapon back.

  Lyon’s instincts were wide awake now. His temper began to simmer, too. Hadn’t she told him the night of the robbery she was so frightened she thought she might swoon?

  No wonder she’d gone to Rhone to take care of his injury. Guilt, Lyon decided.

  He wasn’t laughing now. Lyon thought he just might throttle the woman.

  “Has trouble telling a lie, does she?” he muttered to himself. Oh, yes, she’d looked him right in the eye when she told him that story. It was very difficult for her … yes, she’d said that, too.

  He was going to throttle her. But first he was going to have a long talk with her … his little warrior had a large amount of explaining to do.

  Lyon slammed his empty glass down on the tray and went in search of Christina.

  “Are you enjoying yourself?”

  Christina visibly jumped. She whirled around to confront Lyon. “Where did you just come from?” she asked, sounding highly suspicious. She glanced around him to look at the library door.

  Lyon knew exactly what she was thinking. She looked worried. He forced himself to look calm. “In the library.”

  “No, I just came from the library, Lyon. You couldn’t have been in there,” she announced, shaking her head.

  He almost said that he wasn’t the one who lied, then caught himself. “Oh, but I was in the library, my sweet.”

  His announcement gave her a start. “Was there anyone else in there?” she asked, trying to sound only mildly curious.

  Lyon knew she was testing him.

  “I mean to ask, sir, that is, did you happen to notice if anyone else was in the library?”

  He took his sweet time nodding. Christina decided he looked just like a mischievous devil. He was dressed like one, too. Lyon’s formal attire was all of black, save for the white cravat, of course. The clothing fit him well. The man was too handsome for her peace of mind.

  She was certain Lyon hadn’t seen or heard anything. He was looking down at her with such a tender expression in his eyes. Christina felt safe enough. Lyon wasn’t acting the least appalled. But why had he lied to her? Christina decided he must have seen her go inside the study with Lady Cecille. The poor man was probably worried that his paramour had told Christina something he didn’t want repeated. Yes, she told herself, he was just prodding for information.

  It was a plausible explanation. Still, one did need to be absolutely certain. Christina lowered her gaze to stare at his waistcoat. She forced a casual voice and asked, “You didn’t perchance overlisten to my conversation with Lady Cecille, did you?”

  “The word is eavesdropping, Christina, not overlistening.”

  His voice was strained. She thought he might be trying not to laugh at her. Christina didn’t know if it was her question or her mispronunciation that had caused the change. She was too irritated with him for lying to her to take great exception, however. “Thank you, Lyon, for instructing me. Eavesdropping, yes, I do recall that word.”

  Lyon wouldn’t have been surprised if she’d started wringing her hands. She was upset, all right, for she’d just spoken to him in French. He doubted she was even aware she’d slipped into the foreign language.

  He decided to answer her in kind. “I am always happy to instruct you, love.”

  She didn’t notice. “But you didn’t eavesdrop, did you?”

  “Why, Christina, what an unkind question to put to me. Of course not.”

  She tried not to let her relief show.

  “And you know I’d never lie to you, my sweet. You’ve always been so open, so honest with me, haven’t you?”

  “Yes, I have,” Christina returned, giving him a quick smile. “It is the only way to be with each other, Lyon. Surely you realize that.”

  Lyon clasped his hands behind his back so he wouldn’t be able to give in to his urge to grab her by her throat. She seemed very relaxed with him now, very sure of herself. “Did you learn the value of honesty from the Summertons?” he asked.

  “Who?”

  His grip on his control intensified. “The Summertons,” Lyon repeated, trying to control his anger. “Remember, love, the people who raised you?”

  She couldn’t quite look him in the eye when she answered him. He was such a good, trusting man. It was becoming a little bit of a strain to lie to him. “Yes, the Summertons did teach me to be honest in all endeavors,” she announced. “I simply can’t help myself. I’m not any good at fabrications.”

  He was going to strangle her.

  “Did I hear you say you were in the study with Lady Cecille?”

  Her guess had been right all along. Lyon was worried about the conversation. He had seen her go inside the library with Lady Cecille. Christina decided to put his fears to rest. “I was,” she said. “Lady Cecille seems to be a dear woman, Lyon. She had some rather pleasing remarks to make about you.”

  No, he wasn’t going to strangle her. He thought he’d beat her first. “I’m pleased to hear it,” Lyon said. His voice was as smooth as a soft wind. The effort made his throat ache. “What exactly did she say?”

  “Oh, this and that.”

  “What specific this and that?” Lyon insisted. His hands had moved to rest on Christina’s shoulders, and it was all he could do not to shake the sincerity right out of her.

  “Well, she did mention that we made a lovely couple,” Christina said.

  She was back to staring at his waistcoat again. While she appreciated the fact that the English tended to be somewha
t naive, she was beginning to feel ashamed of herself for lying so blatantly to Lyon.

  “Did she mention destiny, perchance?” Lyon asked.

  She hadn’t noticed the edge in his voice. “No, I don’t recall Lady Cecille mentioning destiny. That does remind me, though, of my question. Have you given my proposal consideration?”

  “I have.”

  “Lyon, why are you speaking French to me? We’re in England, and you really should speak the language of your own people.”

  “It seemed appropriate,” Lyon muttered.

  “Oh,” Christina said. She tried to shrug his hands away from her shoulders. They were still alone in the hallway, but there was always the chance someone could come along and see them. “Are you going to mate with … I mean, are you going to marry me?”

  “Yes, I’m going to mate with you. As for marriage, I fear I will have to decline your proposal.”

  Christina wasn’t given time to react to Lyon’s announcement. Sir Reynolds called out, interrupting them. Lyon let go of her shoulders, then pulled her around and up against his side. He trapped her with one hand wrapped around her waist.

  “Lyon, I’ve been looking all over this house for you. Do you approve of my taking your sister over to Kimble’s do? We’d stay here until dinner hour is over, of course.”

  “Certainly,” Lyon said. “And I appreciate your taking Diana under your wing, sir.”

  “Glad to do it,” Reynolds said. “Good evening, Princess Christina. I trust you are well?”

  “Yes, thank you,” Christina answered. She tried to curtsy, but Lyon wouldn’t let up on his hold. She settled on a smile instead. It was a puny half effort at best, for Lyon’s answer had just settled in her mind.

  Though she told herself it didn’t matter, that she’d surely find someone else to marry, she knew she was lying to herself. It did matter. Lord, she felt close to weeping.

  “My dear,” Sir Reynolds said, addressing Christina, “I’ve agreed to see you home. Your aunt pleaded fatigue and has taken your carriage. She explained she was leaving for the countryside tomorrow. I was given to understand you won’t be going with her.”

  “Yes, that is correct,” Christina answered. “My aunt is going to visit a friend who has taken ill. She prefers that I stay in London. I will have to wait for another opportunity to see your lovely countryside.”

  “I forget you’ve only been here a very short while,” Sir Reynolds said. “But you’re surely not on your own for an entire week, are you? Do you wish me to lend my arm Saturday eve? You do intend to go to Creston’s ball, of course. Or do you already have an escort?”

  “I shall not be going,” Christina interjected, her voice firm.

  “Yes, you will,” Lyon said. He squeezed her waist before adding, “You promised.”

  “I’ve changed my mind. Sir Reynolds, I’m also fatigued. I’d be pleased if you’d—”

  “I’ll take you home.” Lyon’s voice was hard with anger.

  Sir Reynolds could feel the tension between the two. They’d obviously had a falling out, he decided. From the way Princess Christina was trying to get out of his embrace, and the determined way Lyon wasn’t letting her, it was very apparent. Why, he could almost see the sparks between them.

  Determined to douse the argument and aid Lyon at the same time, he asked him, “Are you sure you wish to see Princess Christina home?”

  “Yes,” Lyon snapped. “When must she get there, Reynolds? Did the Countess set the hour?”

  “No, she assumed Christina would accompany your sister and me to Kimble’s. You’ve at least two hours before the Countess takes notice,” he added with a grin.

  “Please don’t discuss me as if I were not present,” Christina said. “I really am tired now and would prefer—”

  “That we leave immediately.” Lyon finished the sentence for her, increasing his hold on her waist until she could barely catch her breath.

  “Perhaps you might consider leaving by the back door,” Sir Reynolds suggested in a conspiratorial whisper. “I shall make certain everyone believes Princess Christina left with her aunt, you see, and will of course offer your regrets to our host as well.”

  “A good idea,” Lyon announced with a grin. “Of course, Reynolds, we must keep this deception between the three of us. Christina has such difficulty telling a lie. As long as she doesn’t have to fabricate a story to her aunt, her honor will remain unblemished. Isn’t that right, love?”

  She gave him a good long frown. And she really wished he’d quit dragging up the issue of her honesty. It was making her terribly uncomfortable. Lyon looked sincere enough for her to believe he actually admired her.

  It no longer signified what he thought, she told herself when Lyon started dragging her toward the back of the house. He’d just rejected her offer of marriage. No, it didn’t matter what he thought of her anymore.

  She wouldn’t see him again after this evening. Heaven help her, her eyes were filling with tears. “You’ve just broken another law,” she muttered into his back. She tried to sound angry instead of desolate. “My aunt will be outraged if she hears of this trickery.”

  “Speak English, sweetheart.”

  “What?”

  Lyon didn’t say another word until he had Christina settled inside his carriage. He sat down next to her, then stretched his long legs out in front of him.

  The carriage was much bigger than the one Aunt Patricia had rented, and much more elegant in detail.

  Christina still hated it. Large or small, elegant or not, it made no difference to her. “Don’t you have any of those open carriages like the ones I’ve seen in Hyde Park, Lyon? And please quit trying to crush me. Do move over.”

  “Yes, I have an open carriage. It’s called a phaeton. One doesn’t use a phaeton after dark, however,” he explained with exasperation. His patience was wearing thin. Lyon was itching to get the truth out of her, not discuss such mundane matters as carriages.

  “One should,” Christina muttered. “Oh, God, I shouldn’t admit this to you, but I won’t be seeing you again, so it really doesn’t matter. I can’t stand the darkness. May we open the drapes covering the windows, please? I can’t seem to catch my breath.”

  The panic in her voice turned his attention. His anger quickly dissipated when he felt her tremble against his side.

  Lyon immediately pulled the drapes back, then put his arm around her shoulders.

  “I’ve just handed you a weapon to use against me, haven’t I?”

  He didn’t know what she was talking about. The light filtering in through the windows was sufficient for him to see the fear in her eyes, though. He noticed that her hands were fisted in her lap.

  “You really are frightened, aren’t you?” he asked as he pulled her up against him.

  Christina reacted to the gentleness in his voice. “It isn’t really fear,” she whispered. “I just get a tightness here, in my chest,” she explained. She took hold of his hand and placed it against her heart. “Can you feel how my heart is pounding?”

  He could have answered her if he’d been able to find his voice. The simple touch had sent his senses reeling.

  “I’ll try to take your mind off your worry, love,” he whispered when he could speak again. He leaned down and kissed her. The intimacy was slow, languid, consuming, until Christina reached up to brush her fingertips across his cheek.

  A shudder rushed through him. His heart was pounding now. “Do you know what a witch you are?” he asked when he pulled away. “Do you have any idea what I want to do to you, Christina?” His fingers slid just inside the top of her gown to gently caress her softness.

  He whispered erotic, forbidden longings into her ear. “I can’t wait much longer, my love. I want you under me. Naked. Begging. God, I want to be inside you. You want me just as much, don’t you, Christina?”

  He didn’t wait for her answer but claimed her soft lips for another deep kiss. His mouth moved hungrily over hers, his tongue delving inside,
deeper and deeper with each new penetration, until she was reaching for his tongue with her own whenever he deliberately withdrew.

  Christina didn’t know how it happened, but she suddenly realized she was sitting on his lap with her arms wrapped around his neck. “Lyon, you mustn’t say such things to me.” Her protest sounded like a ragged moan. “We cannot share the same blankets unless we’re wed,” she added before she cupped the sides of his face and kissed him again.

  She forgot all about the closeness inside the carriage, forgot all her worries and his rejection of her proposal. His kisses were robbing her of all thoughts.

  Her breasts ached for more of his touch. She moved, restlessly, erotically, against his arousal. Lyon trailed wet kisses down the side of her neck, pausing to tease her earlobe with his warm breath, his velvet tongue. His knuckles brushed against her nipples, once, twice, and then again, until a fever began to burn inside her.

  She tried to stop him when he pushed the top of her gown down, exposing her breasts. “No, Lyon, we mustn’t—”

  “Let me, Christina,” Lyon demanded, his voice harsh with need. His mouth found her breasts before she could protest again, and then she was too weak, too overwhelmed by what he was doing to her to protest at all.

  “I love the taste of you,” he whispered. “God, you’re so soft.” His tongue caressed the nipple of one breast while his hand stroked the other. Christina clung to him, her eyes tightly closed. A soft whimper escaped when he took the nipple into his mouth and began to suckle. An aching tightness made her move against Lyon again. He groaned, telling her how much pleasure her instinctive motion had given him.

  Christina never wanted the sweet torture to end.