Brethen 03 - Temptation & Twilight

by Charlotte Featherstone

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  and reputation, then she would forever be that naive, foolish girl. Not the woman she prided herself on being now.

  “Beth,” he whispered, then said nothing more, but reached for her hand and brought it to his hair. Unbidden, her fingers went into the wet strands, stroking and clutching as the sounds of the storm swirled around them.

  Such a strange place and time for this, but then, their relationship had never been predictable, or what one would deem acceptable. He had always been wild, half-tamed, always thumbing his nose at the rules and proprieties.

  It was what she had loved best about him, his ability to surprise her, to make her forget the world they inhabited and the expectations that world had for them. He had tempted her, taken her from her angelic pedestal and made her feel mortal, and womanly. She had only ever been herself—her true self—with Iain. Only he had the ability to set her free.

  So it should not surprise her that they were seated on a garden bench in the midst of a snowstorm, the wind howling a lamenting, sorrowful sound as Iain placed his head in her lap, and her fingers attempted to give him what he desired—solace and peace.

  Why she should give it to him, she had no clue. He deserved nothing kind from her. No words of forgiveness, no easy acceptance. And yet, she thought, as her fingers left his hair and trailed over his forehead, it would be all too easy to offer him that—and more. All too easy to find herself loving him again. Once more, she scoffed.

  Had she ever truly stopped loving him? Or had she just buried those feelings, making herself believe that she was stronger than that, and would not be such a ninny as to continue to love a man who had ruined her. Who had been so cruel and careless with that love.

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  Reaching for her hand, he brought her fingertips to his mouth, placing a long, reverent kiss on them.

  Silly, silly fool, she whispered to herself, he knows all the ways to make you weaken, to make you capitulate.

  And when you have done so, when you have surrendered your soul, and your self-respect, when you have submit-ted to him, what then? What solace will he provide you?

  What peace and tranquility will you find with him?

  Temptation was fleeting. A visceral force that came, overwhelmed, then dissipated. Shame, however, was never spent. It only grew, engulfed, encompassed, destroyed. And this, Elizabeth knew, she must never forget.

  Leave him now, the voice inside her warned. Run before temptation can claw at you. Flee before he can melt that iced corner of your heart where your love for him could so easily become thawed, and revived. And perhaps it was already too late, she thought, as she listened to the wind, felt the snow hit her cheeks. Despite the snow and the wind and the cold, she was already melting.

  As if he knew the turn of her mind, he rose from the bench, captured her hand in his and brought her up to stand before him. “The storm is quickly approaching. It’s time to go in. But, Beth,” he murmured against her ear,

  “the night is far from over.”

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  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  THE TEA WAS WARMING, infusing her with some much needed strength. Outside, the wind howled, fierce and low, rattling the windows, while inside, the fire in the hearth crackled. On the opposite side of the salon, Iain sat, no doubt studying her from beneath his long lashes.

  Elizabeth could see him, sprawled, most likely, in a chair, with his boots crossed, his hands folded across his abdomen. She’d been relieved when he had not taken the spot beside her on the settee. She was still discomposed by their intimacy in the garden. He had made her want things she had scarcely allowed herself to think of, let alone believe in.

  “Staff have prepared a room in the guest wing, my lord, and Charles has set out a nightshirt belonging to His Grace. I hope it will do for the night,” Maggie said as she poured the tea. “It’s snowing something fierce out there. Why, Charles says it’s impossible to see more than a foot in front of you. Impossible to ride home tonight. The roads are as slippery as an icicle. We could not in all conscience allow you to make your way home tonight in this blizzard. There’s no telling what might happen to you.”

  “Thank you, Maggie. Although I think I might know someone who is not feeling quite as generous as you, and would have no qualms about sending me out into this weather and my certain doom.” BOUND GALLEY EDITION March 23, 2012

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  How correct you are, Elizabeth wanted to answer sharply, but she held her tongue and took a sip of her tea instead.

  She heard the passing of china, followed by the creak of Maggie’s knees as she curtseyed to Iain. She left them then, with a comment for Lizzy to call when she was ready to prepare for bed. The word made her blush, made her think unseemly thoughts, and how once she had imagined what it would be like to be Iain’s wife, and await him in her bedchamber while she prepared for bed.

  The door clicked shut, and Elizabeth occupied her time with sipping her tea, while listening to the rhythmic sway of the pendulum of the mantel clock. The silence was heavy, uncomfortable. She had no knowledge if Iain felt the same way, or if he sat quite at ease. Either way, it didn’t matter. She would not stay here in the room with him.

  “I think I shall retire,” she said suddenly, unable to stand the proximity. “It’s been a long day.”

  “I’ll escort you to your room.” Strange, how she felt oddly deflated that he had not opposed her idea, or attempted to make her stay a bit longer. He seemed almost…relieved that she was leaving him. After those moments in the garden, she had expected more from him, at least somewhat of an argument.

  Shrugging off the disconcerting notion, Elizabeth rose and smoothed her palms down her gown. “There is no need to trouble yourself. Finish your tea. I’ll ring for Maggie.”

  “It’s never any trouble to escort you to your chamber, Elizabeth,” he drawled. He was back to using her proper name. No more Beths whispered in his seductive voice.

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  clasped in his. He was tugging her along, and she followed him, willingly. Their pace was slow, unhurried.

  His fingers clasped hers tighter as they ascended the stairs, him in front. In her mind she counted the stairs, all thirty-seven of them, ensuring she would know when she arrived at the top, so she would not make a spectacle of herself and trip, or worse, bash into him.

  Once there, he pulled her along, then slowed, coming to a stop before her chamber door. Raising their clasped hands, he pressed his lips against her knuckles. “Good night, Beth,” he murmured. “Dream of me, hmm?” Before she could answer, he opened the door. “Maggie, your mistress is here. She wishes to retire for the night.” With a curtsey, Elizabeth murmured, “Good night, my lord,” and promptly shut the door behind her.

  “I DO HOPE HIS GRACE is safe at an inn this night,” Maggie muttered as she set to undoing Elizabeth’s gown.

  “Frightful weather. Can you hear it beyond the window?

  The wind howling like some demon beast in the night.”

  “It does sound mournful, doesn’t it?”

  “Aye. And you always did have a strange fondness for beasts,” Maggie teased, “and for healing their damaged souls, or at the very least trying to.”

  “Whatever do you mean?” Elizabeth ask
ed. Her comment was much too close to what she and Iain had talked about outside. But Maggie had no knowledge of their past. Couldn’t possibly suspect that there was anything between them.

  Maggie decided not to answer, but instead talked of much safer things. “Well, I daresay you enjoy this weather, but only because you’re in here, tucked warmly at home, not out braving the elements. I’m glad his lordship chose not to travel back home tonight, even if it’s BOUND GALLEY EDITION March 23, 2012

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  only a few blocks away. Imagine the horses, how they would suffer in this weather. Not to mention how they would manage the icy roads, pulling that great hulking carriage of his.”

  “Yes, you’ve explained that already,” Elizabeth muttered. “The weather is a convenient excuse for you to extend an overnight stay to Lord Alynwick.”

  “You can’t send his lordship out into weather such as this!” Maggie exclaimed as she did away with Elizabeth’s corset. “You’d never forgive yourself if some harm came to him.”

  “No, of course not,” she murmured as Maggie slipped Lizzy’s night rail over her head. “Besides, the weather is so terrible that there isn’t a soul or carriage in sight.

  No one will know or even suspect that his lordship has stayed the night.”

  “Let us hope not.”

  “Well, I’m sure the weather will be all cleared up on the morrow. These storms never last more than a night.

  It’s only November, after all.”

  “Indeed.”

  “Shall I brush out your hair now?”

  “No, I’ll do it. You go to bed, Maggie. You’ve had a very long day. I’m not quite ready for bed yet.”

  “You’re certain?”

  Lizzy couldn’t help but smile. “I can brush my hair, I assure you.”

  “Well, all right, then,” Maggie said, but there was a strange quality to her voice. “Sleep well, Lady Elizabeth.” When the door clicked shut behind her companion, Elizabeth made her way to her dressing table and sank onto the cushioned chair. Running her fingers over the table, she felt the hand mirror, the brush and comb all aligned before her. To her right was a box that housed BOUND GALLEY EDITION March 23, 2012

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  her hairpins. For long minutes she sat silently staring at a mirror she could not see. Outside, the storm raged, and she listened, allowing her thoughts to settle into a semblance of calm.

  The room was warm, the fire burning brightly on the hearth. Even from here she could feel the heat of it, the flickering flames, and envisioned shadows dancing on the walls. Skimming her fingers over her nightgown, she realized that Maggie had put a fine lawn garment on her. It had a lace yoke and delicate ribbon work. Strange for a night like this, when a snowstorm whirled outside.

  She wasn’t cold. Just curious. The fire was actually very warm, and soon Lizzy began to feel languid from the warmth, and the comforting sound of the wind. Lost in thought, she didn’t hear the door open or close, until she heard the click of the lock.

  “Maggie?”

  A warm hand wrapped around the nape of her neck; the tips of fingers burrowed into her upswept hair. “Me.” Iain… Dear God, what was he doing here?

  His hands moved from her neck, smoothed over her shoulders and down her arms. He reached over her from behind and grasped her hand, bringing it to her lap. Then he placed something there. Took her hand and placed it on the object he had laid in her lap.

  Tracing her fingers over it, she discovered the slightly rough texture, smelled the scent of leather. It was small, square, the spine embossed with an emblem that felt very familiar under her questing fingertips.

  “The Veiled Lady’s diary,” Iain murmured next to her as he slowly pulled a pin from her hair. A strand fell down and she felt him lift it to his face. “Open the cover.

  We’ll read it together.”

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  not be here, under any circumstances, but especially now, when she was dressed in nothing more than a nightgown.

  She was certain the flames from the hearth rendered the expensive linen translucent. She should tell him to go, but her fingers would not leave the book, only opened the cover and traced over the page. Beneath her fingertips she felt the raised edges of ink that had been set to paper. The writing felt much different than the writing in Sinjin’s diary. That script had been bold, heavy, pressed deeply into the pages with a sort of repressed passion.

  This was lighter, more flowing, much more feminine.

  “Where did you get this?”

  Another pin was pulled from her hair. “I’ve had it for years.”

  “Why did you never tell me?”

  “I would have had I’d known you were interested, or that you had Sinjin’s matching volume.”

  “Who is she?” Elizabeth demanded. “How do you know this is in any way connected to my diary?” He bent down behind her, his mouth brushing the delicate flesh behind her ear. “Soon.” Another pin. Then another. Silently, he worked behind her, until her hair was unbound and flowing around her.

  He took handfuls of it, let it slide through his fingers.

  “So long. Does it reach your bottom?” he asked. He leaned over her, took something from the table. The brush. He began pulling it through her hair. Carefully.

  Slowly.

  “Yes,” she answered, swallowing hard. Strangely, this was far more intimate than anything he had ever done to her body.

  “So black and shining. I’d like to see it against your naked skin.”

  “Iain.”

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  “Shall I read the first entry, then?” he asked, subtly ignoring her and the beginning of her protest.

  This she could not resist. He could brush her hair all night if he wished, if he would exchange that liberty for a glimpse into the world of the Veiled Lady.

  “Yes, please. Begin.”

  “‘He came to me in a dream.’” Iain’s voice was deep, beckoning. “‘A prince in a white tunic, a red cross over his breast. His hair was black, his eyes the color of storm clouds. He was everything I had dreamed of during these long days and nights of my imprisonment. He lay upon the ground, the stars for a canopy, the dying embers of a fire for his blanket. I would have given up every comfort in this gilded cage in which I had been placed, for the chance to be with him on the desert sand. But he is forbidden to me. A lover in my dreams. Yet I cannot help but think he is the other half of my soul. Even in my dream I knew him to be the one. The only person in the world who could complete me.’”

  Iain had not stopped brushing Elizabeth’s hair, and she closed her eyes, enjoying the soothing motion, the rasp of his voice in the quiet. “Turn the pages, stop whenever it feels right,” he ordered. Then he replaced the brush on the dressing table, moved his hands to her head and raked his fingers through her hair.

  She did as he asked, and she felt him step closer to her, the back of her chair the only barrier between them.

  But his hands… His beautiful hands continued to move through her hair, massaging her scalp.

  “‘I saw him tonight, through the silken veils and screens that keep us apart from the world. My face was covered as I danced. Only my eyes peered out, but my knight knew me—just by my eyes. His gaze flickered down my body as I performed for the men who had gath-BOUND GALLEY EDITION March 23, 2012

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  ered. He knew my body. Had kissed it in my dreams.

  Had touched me as I have never been touched before. I dreamed of those touches, how his hands moved along my skin. How in the quiet of the night I retraced the path of his fingers with my own. Somehow, he knew my every wish, my every secret desire.’” Iain paused in his massage and leaned over once more, whispering in her ear. “Another entry. Stop when you want.”

  It would only get more detailed, if this diary was anything like Sinjin’s. She was so tempted to turn only one page. But Iain’s hands smoothing down her neck, his thumbs pressing into her skin, relieving her of the tight knots, made her a bit reckless. So, too, did the idea of him reading something very naughty aloud. It was strange, erotic, to hear him read the words of a woman’s secret desire. Elizabeth could so easily imagine that they were her thoughts he was whispering aloud.

  Flipping through the pages, she stopped, waited to hear him speak. When he did, he was closer, peering over her shoulder, whispering next to her ear as he read the words from the diary that rested in her lap.

  “‘I lay awake on the pillows, while his hands—Sinjin’s hands—burned a wake over my body. Inside I trembled, heated, wanted to beg for the fleeting touch of his hands on my breasts.’”

  Elizabeth was aware of how Iain’s palm caressed her throat, rested over the expanse of her chest as he read.

  Then he very slowly untied the ribbon to her night rail and parted the yoke, revealing the crests of her breasts.

  “‘He claims to adore my breasts, and his touch conveys that. He stares at me, watching as his palms, rough, calloused, cup me. His touch isn’t enough, merely a tease.

  I should not be so wanton, but I want more, what no BOUND GALLEY EDITION March 23, 2012

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  lady should desire if she were truly a lady. I want his hand engulfing me.’” Iain’s breath caressed the shell of Lizzy’s ear as his hot palm sneaked beneath the yoke of her night rail, cupping one heavy breast. He sighed, squeezed, then freed her breasts from the material, allowing the linen to slip down her arms. He would be watching in the dressing- table mirror, she knew. He would see her, her breasts large and heavy, cupped from behind in his palms.