She sighed, the heavy fall of her raven-black hair spilling forward over her slight shoulders to pool about her on the bed. “Such as?”
Tristan watched with an unexpected pang in his chest. He had so loved the way that hair spilled across his body when she kissed him…
He gave himself a mental shake. It had been a mistake to bring her here to Molson, where they had been together. He would never even have met the young maiden had he not, when visiting his own lands, decided to attend the local fair on a whim. From the moment their eyes had met across the greensward, Tristan had cared not what side of the war her family might be on, nor his own. Yet he had been a fool to forget all in her eyes. He must remember that that time was no more, must force himself to concentrate on how she had hurt him in allowing him to think her dead, how she had betrayed her own babe.
His eyes narrowed on hers as he answered her question. “Such as why you refuse to admit that you know me even now that we are alone here. It can serve no purpose. There is no one to hear.”
She turned away from him then and shoved the tangled blankets from her legs, as if she had decided he were not worthy of her continued consideration. Lily looked about the dimly lit room. His gaze followed hers over the heavy brocade draperies, the rich dark furnishings.
She sighed and ran a trembling hand through the hair at her temple. As when he had seen her on the stairs the previous night, this sign of weakness stirred his compassion for some reason.
“Well?” he demanded, his own frustration with himself making his voice gruff.
She looked at him then, her brow raised high. Her expression told him clearly that she had lost patience with him. “I tell you, my lord, I am exhausted. There was very little rest to be had upon your horse, and I had been traveling the whole of yesterday. If you insist that there are things that must be discussed between us, I must also insist that I rest first. I can make no sense of any of it at the moment.”
He felt an unexpected and unwelcome sense of admiration for her bravado. Here was a hint of the Lily he had once known. He had admired her spirit from the beginning.
Perhaps that was why it bothered him so much to see the weakness she tried to hide. That weakness only served to further illustrate how much had changed, how much she had changed.
Yet he could not bring himself to insist that, before she rested, she stand up to the weight of what she had done. What harm could it do to allow her to sleep first?
He shrugged. “Then sleep, if that is your wish.” He indicated the bed upon which she half lay.
She looked at him with a momentary relief quickly masked by hauteur.
Smiling benignly, Tristan sat down on the end of the bed and began to remove his own boots. He was somewhat tired himself. It had been a long night, and it would do no harm to have all his wits about him when he faced her with her perfidy.
When Tristan swung around to lie down on the bed, Lily was still watching him. Her eyes became rounder as she saw his intent. “You do not mean to sleep here?”
His smile widened with unconcealed amusement. “I certainly do. You do not think I would go and leave you here alone so you can escape?”
She bit her lower lip. Ah, he thought, so she had been contemplating just such a move. Well, it would do her no good. Even though the way to her own father’s keep from Molson was well-known to her, she was completely in Tristan’s power until he chose for it to be otherwise.
Casually he got up and went to the door. Fixing his gaze upon her own, he turned the key in the lock, then with deliberate care placed the key in the waistband of his leggings.
Her gray eyes narrowed, and she leaped up from the bed. “I will not sleep in this bed with you. I wouldst rather lie upon the floor.” With that she plopped down upon the gold-and-red-patterned carpet.
He frowned. Lord, but she was obstinate, just as in the old days. Then her obstinacy had shown itself in her desire to see him in spite of her parents’ wishes.
Even as another shaft of regret passed through him, tightening his throat, Tristan strode across the room and scooped her up in his arms. Her eyes grew rounder still as she gasped and tried to struggle.
Ignoring her efforts, he tossed her onto the bed and stood staring down at her for a very long time, during which she did her utmost to glare back at him. But once again he could see her fatigue in the dark circles beneath her eyes and the shallowness of her breathing.
Without another word, he turned his back on her and went to the large overstuffed chair beside the empty hearth. Tristan settled back and closed his eyes, though he was aware of her continued scrutiny for quite some time. Only when he heard her lie back upon the bed and sigh with weariness was he able to even attempt to seek his own rest.
It was some time before he was able to sleep even then.
Chapter Two
Lily woke abruptly and to the full knowledge of everything that had transpired the previous night. She had, in fact, slept very little during the hours since she had refused to continue the confrontation with the madman who had abducted her.
A very handsome madman, came an unexpected voice inside her, as a rush of heat flamed her cheeks. Even in the vehemence of anger, those oddly compelling blue eyes of his had had the power to capture and hold her own.
As they had from the first moment, when she had seen him on the stairs at the inn.
Quickly she tossed this thought aside, for it was not comforting in any way. Lily knew she must think about what she was to do now. She certainly could not allow the madman, no matter how compelling, to confuse her. No matter how appealing he was to the eyes, with that dark hair, those strongly sculpted features and intense blue eyes…
From whence had come such thoughts? she asked herself in exasperation.
Lily could not forget the strength of his arms as he carried her up the stairs to this very chamber. And he had left her to sleep in the bed alone. But then, he had had no right to bring her here against her will at the onset.
It had been some time after he settled himself in the large chair near the window that she was able to actually believe that he meant to leave her to her rest. The eventual slowing of his breathing had finally convinced her.
Lily found herself holding her own breath as her attention centered on him now.
A sudden prickling of awareness at her nape told her that he was awake. Unbelievably, she could feel the very force of his presence in the air. Lily lay very still, unwilling to face him as yet, wishing to give herself more time to think.
He must have been as alert to her as she to him, for he spoke from the other side of the chamber. “Well, are you ready to continue our discussion?” There was no mistaking the disdain and anger in his voice. The hours that had passed had done nothing to change his demeanor.
Lily took a deep breath and let it out in a rush as she sat up, quickly pulling the silken coverlet up to cover herself when she saw how much of her was exposed by the sheer fabric of her nightgown. She replied with equal disdain. “Only if you are now ready to come to your senses and allow me to leave.” She could not be blind to the fact that he was indeed even more handsome than her eyes had told her in the dim light of their previous encounter. Those blue eyes of his were narrowed under two eyebrows that were dark as sable, as was the thick thatch of wavy hair that fell across his forehead.
As she watched, he reached up and raked it back with obvious frustration. He rose and strode toward her with the grace and menace of a stalking tiger she had once seen in an illustrated book. When he reached the bed he leaned over her. “It should not surprise me in the least that you are attempting to go back on your word.”
Unexpectedly stung by the insult, Lily swallowed and replied with defiance. “Why would I be bound by my word to the blackguard who took me by force from my fiancé’s men?”
She watched in surprise as his lids flickered at her words. It was almost as if he was disturbed by them.
His rebuttal only served to confuse her even further, and th
e emptiness in his voice reminded her of the sense of despair she had felt on the day she had woken to discover that she did not recall her own life. “Your fiancé’? So you are not yet married.”
“Nay, not yet. I was on my way to be married when you took me.” She glared at him. “And have as yet no explanation for why those who care for me must wait in fear of my safe return.”
Two deep furrows appeared between his eyebrows as he snapped, “Lily, I have had quite enough of this. You will cease pretending that you do not know me. And you will do so now!” Yet in spite of his anger there was no mistaking the shadow of anguish that darkened his eyes.
The sudden sense that this man was acting from a place of deep pain made her pause and bite back the heated reply that sprang to her lips. Something was wrong here, for there was no mistaking that this man felt she was deliberately antagonizing him.
There must be some explanation. Perhaps he had mistaken her for some other woman, and hearing him out would clear up the confusion. Perhaps then she could use reason to help him see that she was not the woman he sought.
A woman named Lily who bears your own likeness, said the same inner voice that had plagued her earlier. This time it had an incredulous edge.
Lily scowled. It was possible.
Unexpectedly, the memory of how she had reacted to her first sight of him on the steps at the inn rose up to haunt her. In that first brief moment it was as if he were no stranger, as if…
Could her strange reaction, that inexplicable sense of familiarity, be clouding her judgment even now? Could it be making her more willing to try to understand this disturbing man’s point of view?
Nay, she would not think on it. She did not know this man. ‘Twas impossible.
He interrupted her thoughts. “Well, what say you?”
She replied with more care this time, remembering her decision to use reason to help him understand that she was not the woman he believed her to be. “I know not what to say, sir. You have me at a disadvantage. I do not recall where or how we might have met.” She met his angry gaze directly and openly, not wavering as he seemed to search the very depths of her soul with those all-too-adamant eyes.
What he saw in her gaze made him frown, but she glimpsed the first hint of uncertainty in his wellsculpted face. He studied her for another long moment, then shook his head with a bitter laugh as he sat down on the bed near her. She was not concerned about his sitting on the bed now. Ravishing her seemed to be the furthest thing from his mind as he replied with deliberate care, his voice filled with amazement, “At last I see. You do not know me.”
Lily felt slightly encouraged by this seeming acceptance of her position. She nodded eagerly. “I do not. I can see that you are most eager to find the woman you seek, and for your sake I am very sorry that I am not she. Lily is indeed my name, but that is nothing more than an extremely unlikely coincidence.”
He did not look at her, and his tone was so low she could barely hear as he said, “A coincidence.”
Relief at his finally understanding made her voice brighter than it might otherwise have been. “Yes, yes, now you see.”
Before she even knew what was happening he had whipped around to grasp her shoulders in his two large hands, his face so near hers she could feel the hot brush of his breath on her face. “Oh aye, I see. I see everything. You are not the Lillian Gray I met and loved with every fiber of my being, would have given the last breath in my body to spend even a mere instant with. That was not you but another woman who bears your name, whose soft skin covered fragile bones that feel as yours do beneath my fingers, whose mouth spoke to me in her sweet voice, the same voice that comes from your lips. You would have me accept that you are she in flesh and bone, but you are not my Lily.”
Even as she tried to push away from the hard wall of his chest, Lily felt her own heart thud in reaction to the depth of misery and loss in his voice. Even in her trepidation she could not help thinking, God, to be loved as this man loved his Lily.
This man, who was not ill favored by any means himself, had been driven mad by the pain of his loss, mad to the point of wanting his Lily so desperately that he had taken another woman with the same name to replace her.
Suddenly she wondered what had befallen this other Lily. For surely something had. No woman could turn aside from such a deep and true devotion.
Unexpectedly she was overwhelmed by the depth of her own sympathy for that long lost woman. And, surprisingly, for this man.
What was she to do to help him? She had no understanding of how to do so. In the past three years it was she who had been the recipient of the devotion of others, a devotion she did not quite know how to return. Not once in that time had she ever felt that anyone truly needed her, as she felt this man did now. The sense of being needed was at once frightening and exhilarating, calling up reserves of compassion she had not even known she possessed.
Though he had not loosened his grip on her, Lily felt her fear dissipate as quickly as it had come, she knew not why. She also sensed with a strange unquestioning certainty that in spite of his seeming lack of control, he would never harm her.
Without understanding why she did so, Lily reached up and put a gentle hand to his cheek. “I am so sorry, so very sorry that I am not she.”
At her touch his hold on her loosened and he slumped against her, his forehead pressing to hers. “Oh, God help me. I know not what to do, Lily. The wrong words continue to come from your lips, yet I cannot sustain my anger, not when you touch me. Not when I thought never to be touched by you again.” His arms closed around her.
Lily was instantly, yet utterly and completely suffused with warmth and well-being. She gasped with shock at her own reaction. There was no denying how right it felt to have him holding her, his hard chest pressed to hers. This hurting man and his nearness were more real than anything she had experienced since waking from the long sleep that had robbed her of her past.
How could that be? He was a stranger, totally unknown to her. Surely it was only sympathy for his anguish that made her feel this way.
Still, she said nothing, overcome and unable to understand her own responses.
When he buried his face in her throat, drawing in a deep breath as if taking the scent of her into himself, she knew she should pull away. Inexplicably Lily found she could not, for his action made a wave of dizzying weakness sweep over her, from the tips of her toes to the top of her head.
His breath was hot on her exposed nape as he whispered in hoarse desperation, “Lily, Lily.”
She closed her eyes as a shudder of some indefinable sensation raced down her spine. The feeling was terrifying and oh so very alluring all at the same time.
The next thing she knew, his mouth, so hot and strange, yet achingly familiar, was pressed to the sensitive flesh he had just grazed with his heated breath. Again she gasped, even as she was racked by a shudder of reaction that left an odd heaviness in her limbs and chest. The sound seemed to encourage him, for his arms tightened and he shifted so that she lay more fully in his arms.
She turned her head, trying to breathe, to think, to get hold of her scattered senses. He pressed his mouth to her own.
The moment his mouth touched hers, Lily felt herself sinking, drowning in the rise of feelings and emotions inside her, that odd heaviness spreading to her belly. From somewhere inside her, in a place she had not known existed, came an acceptance, even a welcoming of these feelings, a joyous reveling. Without conscious thought she opened her own lips, her tongue flicking out to connect with his. She found herself kissing him, plying his mouth even as he did hers with a passion that was as scorching as it was shocking. It was as if some strange woman inside her knew what to do, how to react to his caresses.
When his hand closed over her breast, she turned more fully to him. One part of her mind was appalled at her behavior, the other, the one that seemed to have taken control of her, celebrated her actions, prodded her to wrap her arms around him and draw him to her.
His mouth left hers to trace a line of heat across her throat as he whispered, “Say it—say my name. Say Tristan.” His thumb raked across the tip of her breast.
Her eyes closed on the spiral of hot desire that raced through her to settle in her lower belly.
He whispered again, “Oh God, say it, Lily, say it.”
Why this was so important to him she did not know, only that it was. She was past thought, past caring about anything but the rage of sensation he was creating with his touch. “Tristan, Tristan, Tristan.” Even to her ears it was a caress as it escaped her lips, lips that seemed to rejoice in making the very sound of it.
Her uttering of his name seemed to end any hold he had over himself as he shifted, groaned and laid them both upon the bed. His hands grazed her every curve, tracing over her from head to toe as if memorizing every inch of her form.
Far from being frightened by his lack of restraint, Lily felt her body respond with even more ardor. It was as if each and every bit of her welcomed and delighted in this man’s touch—his unbridled passion. As if her body was privy to some knowledge of him that her mind was not. Even the fine hairs on her flesh tingled at the stroking of his hands, the heat of his breath as he pressed his face to the low neckline of her night rail.
He drew the garment down, and she did not demur, but reached to hold the back of his head. Her eager hands tangled in his thick dark hair as his hot mouth found the aching tip of her breast.
Her hips rose up of their own accord, and she sobbed with unrestrained delight. Urgently she pressed her body to him as he continued to ply first that tip and then the other with his tongue.
He whispered hoarsely against her, “I have wanted you so long. I have fought the memory of this, the way we are together, without surcease.”
She had no thought of telling him that he was wrong, that she was not the woman he remembered. Her body would not allow such words to fall from her lips. Her hands tugged at his garments of their own accord, wanting to touch. Her lips murmured soft sounds of encouragement and desire.
Winter's Bride Page 3