by james
Bridgett closed her eyes, momentarily lost in the past. “But I wasn’t alone for long. Two young men stumbled around the corner. They were obviously drunk, and I jumped back into the shadows, hoping they’d continue on without noticing my presence. Unfortunately, they weren’t so drunk as to miss me, cowering there in the darkness.”
“My goodness. You poor dear,” Marie said. “You must have been scared out of your whits!”
Bridgett smiled grimly. “I must have, for if I’d had any sense, I would have ran. The rest happened so quickly; I could barely think, let alone react. One of them grabbed me around the waist, while the other began tearing at my dress. They were saying all sorts of horrible things, things I didn’t fully understand, but I recognized I was in grave danger. I had just opened my mouth to scream, when he rode round the corner.”
Again, Bridgett paused and looked up, fixing her gaze on the Count, wondering if he remembered, as well.
He held her gaze for the space of an instant, then looked away.
“Who? What happened next?” Marie interrupted Bridgett’s musing.
“What happened next, is that a young knight, dressed in shining army, rode up on his proud charger and saved me from certain ruin.”
“A knight?”
“Oh, I’m certain he was just a young man, probably no more than a youth, really. Obviously he’d taken part in the tournaments, which would explain his manner of dress, but to me, he was a hero.”
“Your white knight.”
Bridgett looked up, taking in the Count’s soft smile, his knowing, yet slightly uncomfortable gaze.
“Yes, milord,” she replied, the heat of a blush rising in her face, “my white knight. Though that day, you did not look like one. More like an avenging god come to wreak havoc and destruction.”
Marie gasped. “You? Vincent, you saved her?”
The Count nodded, his embarrassment written in the red blotches that stained his cheeks. “I didn’t know, didn’t realize, until just now. But yes, it was I.
“I admit, the event didn’t leave as great an impression on me as it obviously did Bridgett,” he said, picking up the tale. “I’d just returned from the tournament field, when I came upon the scene she’s just described. I did what any decent man would have done, and frightened them off.”
“And then he pulled me up in front of him on that enormous horse of his, and helped me find my sister,” Bridgett said, smiling as she remembered the thrill of riding in front of her savior. How, even in the aftermath of such a fearful experience, she’d fantasized she was a princess, come to ride among her subjects. A lady, safe in the arms of her adoring beau.
She shook her head, throwing off such fanciful notions. “And that’s it,” she said, giving a shaky laugh, “a tale from my childhood.”
“Well, I think it’s incredibly romantic,” Marie said, “like something from a storybook. It must have left quite an impression on you.”
Bridgett chewed her lip, uncomfortable with Marie’s perceptiveness and with her own mixed up emotions.
“Yes, I suppose it did,” she said. Probably more than it should have, if truth be known. She stretched, feigning a yawn. “I don’t mean to be rude, but I believe I’ll retire. It’s been a very long day.”
She rose swiftly and hastily withdrew from the dining room, calling out a goodnight as she dashed up the stairs.
* * * * *
“I thought, perhaps, that you had decided not to come to me tonight.”
“How did you know I was here?”
Bridgett continued to stare at the fire. How did she know? How could she not? She did not need eyes or ears to know when he entered a room. Every nerve ending tingled with awareness when he came near.
“I heard you.”
He slipped his arms about her waist. “I did not make a sound.”
She leaned back against his chest. A sense of peace washed over her and she sighed with contentment.
“Milord?”
He nuzzled her neck and cupped her breasts. “Hmm?”
Her nipples grew hard and she nearly lost her train of thought.
“Were you very close to your mother, when you were a child?”
He stilled and she felt his deep intake of breath.
“Yes, we were close. Why do you ask?”
Bridgett wished she hadn’t voiced the question. The very air vibrated with tension.
“I…I wondered what she was like, that’s all. I’m sorry if the subject upsets you. Never mind.”
He did not respond, but resumed his sensuous assault on her senses, stroking and teasing her as he nibbled her earlobe.
He slipped the straps of her peignoir down and kissed her naked shoulder, and her legs grew weak.
“Milord?”
“Yes, bella mia.”
“Might we lie down?”
With a light chuckle, he scooped her in his arms and carried her to the bed, where he deposited her on top of the quilts.
She stared up at him while he removed his shirt and trousers. The sight of his naked beauty, his skin bathed in the fire’s glow, made her heart pound with anticipation. She wanted to touch him, to run her hands along the sinewy muscles of his chest and arms.
He knelt beside her on the bed and she placed her hand on his thigh.
“Lift up, so that I can remove your gown.” The words were spoken in a husky whisper, and she reveled in the passion she heard in his voice.
In seconds, he had stripped her naked and she gasped as he leaned over to captured her nipple between his teeth. Tiny tremors of pleasure raced from her breast to her belly.
He stroked and caressed her heated flesh, coaxing her legs apart to explore between her thighs.
She lifted her hips to meet his touch and whimpered.
“You are so hot, so wet.” He slipped a finger inside her. “And so very tight.”
Bridgett gripped his shoulders and moved against his hand. His finger slid deeper.
“I must have you, bella mia.”
He shifted until he knelt between her outstretched legs. “Lie still.”
The look on his face was one of intense concentration, as if he were performing some intricate
task that required all of his attention. She closed her eyes, and tried to fight back the feeling that he had dismissed her. Her, Bridgett, the human being who was more than a body for him to use as he pleased.
She felt his hands, opening her, and then the tip of something hard and unyielding pressed into her.
Her eyes flew open and she tried to scoot backwards, away from the sudden, slicing pain. “Milord!”
He did not answer. Instead, he grabbed her hips and thrust forward, swift and deep.
She cried out in shock, but he covered her body with his own and continued his torturous thrusts.
“So good. Oh, God, it’s so tight.”
His movements became more frantic and she tried to lie still in the hopes that it would lessen the discomfort, but it did not. She clutched his shoulders, piercing his skin with her nails, and prayed that he would finish.
He slipped his hands beneath her and lifted her to meet him, plunging deeper and grinding against her.
Bridgett lay motionless, staring at the ceiling above his shoulder, silently willing for it to end.
Vincent groaned, then suddenly stiffened, his body rigid and trembling. He pushed into her once, twice, and then collapsed on top of her, his breath coming in harsh gasps.
Bridgett closed her eyes, but the tears escaped, slipping silently down her cheeks. She held her breath, afraid to move, frightened and sore and terribly disappointed. Was this what her sister had craved? This painful, humiliating, animalistic act of coupling? Why on earth would anyone willingly submit to such abuse?
The Count rolled to his side and pulled her against him. She could feel him, soft and damp against her thigh, and shivered with revulsion. Never again would she look upon that part of a man as anything other than a weapon.
* * * * *
Vincent leaned up on one elbow in order to see her face and sighed. The sight of her tears pulled at his heart. He lowered his head and captured one glistening drop with his tongue and her eyes fluttered open.
“I’m sorry, little one. I know that I hurt you.”
She averted her pain-filled gaze.
“It won’t hurt the next time, I promise you.” He stroked her shoulder, wishing to comfort her, but his words seemed to bring on a fresh torrent of tears.
Frustrated that he could not soothe her, he searched his mind for something that would distract her.
“Come here.” He pulled her close, fitting her against him with her back to his stomach, her head tucked tight beneath his chin. “She was an unusual beauty. Petite, like you, but with raven hair and dark eyes.”
She did not answer, but he could tell he’d gained her attention by the way she relaxed in his embrace.
“Her parents arranged her marriage to my father. His title, in exchange for her fortune. The union was doomed from the beginning, for my father was a tyrant and she was too timid to stand up to him. She died when I was eight and Marie, only six.”
“I barely remember my own mother,” came her whispered reply. “It’s the strangest thing. I know that she taught me to read and write, and many other things, but when I try to picture her face, or remember specific things that we did together, everything becomes cloudy. I was ten when she died. Surely I should be able to recall these things.”
Vincent ran his fingers through her hair. It shone like highly polished gold in the firelight. “How did she die?”
She squirmed within his arms, and he sensed the question disturbed her.
“I don’t recall. One day she was there, and the next day my stepfather announced that she had died.”
“That sounds…odd.” Vincent became immediately suspicious. “Was there a funeral?”
She remained silent for so long, he thought she would not answer.
“You are asking me about things that I haven’t thought about in years. In truth, I don’t know if there was a funeral. It’s as if… I don’t know…As if someone erased those memories from my mind.”
“Perhaps you were so shocked by her death that you blocked out the events from that time?” It seemed likely. He had heard of such things. Almost like amnesia, but with only selected incidents being forgotten.
“Perhaps.”
She did not sound certain, and he decided it would do no good to pursue the subject. Her past was probably as best forgotten as his own.
“Bridgett?”
“Hmm?”
“I am sorry.” He held his breath, waiting for her to reply.
“I did not think it would be like that.”
There was a catch in her voice that made him wish he had gone slower, been more gentle, but Lord help him, he wasn’t sure if he would have known how.
“I meant what I told you. You won’t feel pain the next time.”
“Must there be a next time, milord? Could you not take your…pleasure…in other ways?”
Vincent frowned and hugged her tighter. “We’ll see, bella mia.”
She yawned and snuggled closer. He tried to think of something, anything else but the soft flesh of her buttocks pressing against him.
“Go to sleep,” he told her. “Perhaps tomorrow we will have a picnic by the sea.”
“Mmm…that sounds nice. Will Marie be able to join us?”
“I’m sure she will insist. Buona notte, bella mia.”
“Good-night, milord.”
Vincent smiled. Apparently, her mother had taught her to speak Italian, as well.
* * * * *
The horses wound their way down the path, with Bridgett’s bringing up the rear. A light breeze, carrying the scent of salt, ruffled their manes and tails, and blew wispy clouds across the sky.
The narrowness of the passage made it necessary for them to travel single-file, and made conversation nearly impossible. Bridgett tipped her face to the sky, content to ride in silence.
After last night, she had plenty to think about. Simply sorting through her confusion of feelings was enough to keep her quietly occupied.
The path to the beach led downhill, but the incline was slight and easily traversed. Her surefooted horse picked her way daintily around jagged rocks andthorny bushes that grew over the path. Bridgett held the reins loosely. The little mare seemed to know her way, and Bridgett found herself relaxing in the warmth of the early afternoon sun. The steady clip-clop of hooves lulled her into a state of dreamy tranquility. If not for the soreness between her thighs, she could almost distance herself from what had happened. Almost.
The path dipped suddenly, and they rounded a large out-cropping of boulders.
The others stopped in front of her. Bridgett, stunned into action, pulled back hard on the reins to keep from bumping into Marie’s horse.
Ahead of them lay a wide expanse of sand, broken only by a few rocks, thorny bushes and tufts of wild grasses. The sea beyond lapped gently at the shore and, further out, the waves rumbled rhythmically toward them.
“I must say, Vincent, that this was a wonderful idea.” Marie started forward, skirting Tempest and heading out onto the beach. “I’m surprised you thought ofit.”
The Count scowled. “And why is that, Marie? Am I not capable of coming up with a ‘wonderful idea’ now and then?”
His sister turned and flashed him a smile. “Let’s just say it’s been quite a while.”
Bridgett couldn’t help herself; she laughed at the look of consternation that crossed the Count’s face.
“I’m glad you find her amusing, bella mia. I’m sure it will only make her wish to abuse me all the more, if only for your entertainment.”
“Your portrayal of the aggrieved brother does not suit.” She shook her head, refusing to be drawn in to his ploy for sympathy, and changed the subject. “Come on, I’m dying to try some of Cook’s treats. The smell from that basket has been making my stomach rumble something terrible.”
He scowled, but nodded in agreement, and they moved forward to join Marie, who had dismounted and tethered her horse to a bush.
“This looks like a good spot, don’t you think?”
Bridgett glanced around. The sand seemed smoother in the area Marie had chosen, and they were far enough away from the sea that they would not be in danger from the incoming waves.
“It’s perfect.” She did not wait for assistance, but slid from her horse and tied her next to Marie’s. “Can I help you with the blanket?”
The two women opened the thick quilt and spread it on the sand, securing each corner with small stones that they gathered from nearby. The Count untied the picnic basket from the back of his saddle and placed it in the middle of their makeshift table.
Bridgett knelt on the blanket and gazed out at the turquoise water. High above them, gray and white birds glided in swirling circles.
“Those are seagulls,” the Count informed her. “Wait until they realize we’ve brought food. They’ll try to steal it right from your fingers, the greedy devils.”
“They aren’t quite that bad,” Marie said, “but they can be a nuisance.”
“This is an enchanting place. Do you come here often?” Bridgett did not believe that even pesky birds could dampen the joy she felt in being here. It was if she belonged here, as if she’d come home.
Marie and the Count glanced at one another, and once again Bridgett felt as if she’d crossed some invisible line into unwelcome territory.
“We used to, quite often, when we were very small. Our mother loved it here.”
Marie smiled, but her tone spoke of sadness. “She used to gaze out at the water and say she wished she could sail away.”
The Count cleared his throat and opened the basket. “I’m hungry. You two can yammer like a couple of old women, but I intend to eat.”
Bridgett laughed, a bit too enthusiastically, glad that he’d changed the subject. She had no desir
e to cause her new friend sorrow, and apparently the topic of their mother did just that.
The basket contained more than the three of them could eat in a week. They feasted on roasted chicken, meat pies, cheese and an assortment of sweets. Cook had even thought to include a bottle of wine and three crystal goblets. The Count poured, then raised his glass in the air.
“A toast,” he said. “To a beautiful day, and beautiful women.”
He grinned rakishly, and Bridgett once again found herself drawn to his charm.
Gazing out at the ocean, she sipped her wine. It was light and sweet –like the wine she’d had at dinner last night, and nothing like the bitter drink she’d been served her first evening at the castle. It occurred to her that someone had given her that nasty brew on purpose, and she immediately thought of Thomas. The butler had not made it a secret that he was displeased with her presence. Thank goodness they’d made peace.
She glanced at the Count. If only she could discern his intentions… If only she were more experienced in dealing with the contradictory behavior of the opposite sex.
The seagulls did indeed swoop down to inspect their spread, but the Count waved his arms and yelled at them and they climbed back up in the sky, cawing out their displeasure.
“I don’t think I could eat another bite.” Marie lay back, her hands on her stomach, and feigned a groan of discomfort.
Bridgett stood, laughing down at her companions. “I think I’ll walk along the water’s edge.”
“I will join you.” The Count extended his hand, and she took it to help him rise. “Perhaps you should take off your shoes?”
“I hadn’t thought of that, but it’s probably a good idea. No sense in ruining them, if they should get wet.”
The two of them removed their shoes, but Bridgett found herself with a new problem.
“What of my stockings?” She looked down at her feet uncertainly.
“Take them off.”