In her chamber, Dominique paced until the pads of her feet ached her. Trying to kill him, was she? Fie! At the moment, she’d dearly love to do more than try. “I cannot believe he would accuse me of such a thing, Alyss!”
“I’m certain he cannot believe it, m’lady,” Alyss said reasonably.
“Nay?” Dominique faced her maid, her cheeks suffused with impotent rage. “You did not see his face. The man is bent upon finding me guilty of something—anything. I had hoped that once William left, he would cease his accusations once and for all—but nay!” There has to be a way to end this farce.
Perhaps once she and Graeham were wed, all would resolve itself. Dominique didn’t see any way out of the betrothal. Not when her brother was so determined to see it through, and Graeham had already agreed. She just could not comprehend why Graeham seemed so guarded against her.
Perhaps he was uneasy with women? He’d never been unkind to her, not really. Perhaps he simply had no notion how to speak with her? Perhaps he was too abashed in her presence?
Suddenly she knew what she must do. The instant the inspiration came to her, she realized it was the only solution. If Graeham was too timid to come to her... then she would go to him.
Tonight.
And if he truly did not want her...
Well, then, she would discover that as well.
Chapter 18
She waited until the household was aslumber, and then, following the trail of torches, made her way to the lord’s chamber. Wearing naught but her linen chainse, she padded barefoot down the tower steps.
No one stopped her.
No one was left awake to do so.
Making her way quickly through the solar, she pushed open the massive door and slid quickly within. From a single unshuttered window along the far wall, moonlight spilled into the chamber, lighting it with a ghostly glow. Like a blade of silver, it fell across the bed, illuminating the figure entangled within its sheets much too dearly. The sight of Graeham lying there so intimately gave her pause, though she refused to allow her feet to hesitate.
Bolstering her courage, she hurried across the room, only to lose her nerve as she stared down at the bed that held the sleeping form of her betrothed.
Sweet Jesu, but he was a beautiful man.
His yellow hair was even more pale by the light of the moon, and his features flawless in slumber. Angelic, she thought, not for the first time. Even so, the very thought of crawling—willingly—into his bed was disconcerting at best. Still Dominique knew it was something she must do. She must not leave herself open again for temptation. She must do this. She had no choice.
And she must succeed.
Drawing in a shaky breath, she carefully lifted up the coverlet and slipped beneath it beside Graeham, her heart pounding so wildly that she thought it would burst from her chest. Sweet Christ, how could he sleep with it beating so loudly? Trying to soothe herself, she lay as close to the edge of the bed as possible, taking care not to touch him—or any part of him, for that matter.
Not yet, she told herself.
In a moment, she would.
A moment passed, and then minutes went by, and with every second that elapsed, the beating of Dominique’s heart became more painful to bear.
For the love of Christ, she thought hysterically, how was she going to seduce a man she could not even bear to touch?
Move closer, she willed herself. She shook her head, freezing at the slight movement she created, her breath arresting. Had she moved the bed? Had he sensed her presence?
Oh, God! What if he awoke? What would she say to him? How would she explain her bold behavior? What would he say?
Truly she was mad! And thank God, for otherwise she would never be able to carry out such an insane plan.
But she could not carry it out, she realized suddenly.
No matter that she told herself she must seduce the man lying beside her, she could not move to save her soul. The inches between them lay as wide as a chasm, and the reality of being within his bed was more distressing than ever she could have imagined.
Closing her eyes, Dominique willed her hands to move, to touch him, but they remained, to her dismay, steadfastly clamped at her breast—like a dead woman! she thought frantically.
Move! she commanded herself.
Her breathing quickened so, till she felt as though she’d raced up a thousand flights of steps—and down again! Squeezing her eyes shut, she moved her small finger, and found that the pounding of her heart increased with the puny effort.
Dear God, she would die here in his bed! Her heart felt near to bursting even now!
What a fool she was!
Whatever could she have been thinking?
A panic unlike any she’d ever experienced in her life came over her, paralyzing her wholly. Suddenly even the thought of rising from the bed seemed an impossible task, for what if she should wake him?
But she must get up! Oh, what a coward she was! A foolish little coward! And she’d never felt more like weeping.
To her dismay, hysterical laughter bubbled up from the depths of her, exploding from her lips against her will, shocking her—startling Graeham.
At the shrieking sound, he shot from the bed, and ran like a child from a nightmare. “Who’s there?” he demanded.
Try as she might, Dominique could not cease with her laughter, not even to catch a single breath. She clutched at her belly, paralyzed with giggles that were anything but mirthful.
Graeham hurried to light a taper, and then held it over her, staring down as though he thought her demented.
And she must be, for she could not stop even when he scowled down upon her.
“Lady Dominique?” His expression was stunned, and a little dismayed.
Dominique could not have responded to save her life.
“By God’s holy light!” he exclaimed. “What are you doing in my bed?”
His startled face, lit only on one side by the light of the taper, appeared wholly sinister suddenly, twisting with the flickering candle flame, and it was more than Dominique could bear. Her emotions swung like a pendulum. Gasping in fright, she bolted from the bed, only to find herself tangled in the bed sheets.
With a strangled yelp, she fell to the floor. And God was merciful, for in her mind the lights flickered and died.
Scarcely able to believe his eyes as she fell, Graeham hurried to the other side of the bed, hoping to catch her in time. But he wasn’t quick enough. He reached her as she emitted a final shuddering gasp and succumbed.
Hurriedly discarding the taper, he placed the back of his hand against her nostrils, testing her breath. Finding it strong, he breathed a sigh of relief. He hardly cared to add to the hostilities between her brother and himself.
She was limp as wet cloth as he lifted her into his arms and placed her upon his bed. He went back for the candle at once, and with it, lit the torch within the brace alongside his bed.
What in God’s name had she been doing?
As he gazed down at her, there was a pallor to her face that sickened him, twisted his gut. He slapped her cheek softly. Again. “Lady Dominique!” She didn’t respond. God’s truth, but he thought her beautiful in that instant.
Quite beautiful, though she failed to stir him.
He’d thought he’d be able to do this. He’d truly hoped to put an end to the feud between their houses with their union. He knew now that it was not possible. The truth had become apparent to him in the last days. And he’d prayed to no avail. It seemed God would not hear him.
When first he’d spied her... he had thought it possible, then. He’d thought, for truth, that if any maid could stir him to life, it was she. But she had not, and he began to wonder now that any woman could.
Once he’d been a man whole... until a peasant maid for whom he and Blaec had shared a lust had come into his life. Once Blaec had become aware of the fact that Graeham had coveted her, he had never so much as looked at her again. And Graeham might have had her t
hen... he might have had he willed it so... but since that day, he’d understood that he was ever destined to take everything his brother desired. Blaec had always dutifully stepped aside, gladly even, and that was the crux of the problem. Some part of Graeham would not have what was stolen. Perhaps Blaec did not care that Drakewich was rightfully his by birth, but Graeham did. Though even had his body not rebelled against him so long ago... even were he able to take a woman... there would still be his vow of celibacy. He’d long ago deemed it just penance. It might have been different had he not known the truth, but he did know.
On his mother’s deathbed, she’d confessed everything to him, bidding him always keep his brother near. She’d told him everything he’d already suspected: Their father had been so certain Blaec had not been his child, for with his dark coloring, he’d looked nothing at all like their fair father, nor their mother, and Gilbert d’Lucy had determined soon after his birth that Blaec had been ill conceived. And though he’d loved their mother too much to cast her aside, Blaec had paid the price of Gilbert’s suspicions—no matter that their mother had denied it to the end of her days.
So as not to shame her before the eyes of men, he had given Blaec his name. Behind their backs, Blaec, eldest son to Gilbert d’Lucy, had been a bastard, and no more. Unloved. Unwanted. Repudiated. A travesty, for Graeham knew the truth. Not only did they share the same womb, but they shared the same father.
Like some unseen blade, the truth pierced Graeham’s gut, and time would not heal the wound, though the wound was not his own. While Blaec did not realize... the wound was his. And Graeham could not live with the blood and guilt upon his hands any longer.
He’d taken too much undeservedly.
He shook her softly. “Dominique.”
Her eyes flew wide, and she gasped in a breath at the sight of him hovering above her.
He shook his head, trying to understand. “What were you doing in my bed?” he demanded, though not unkindly.
She said nothing, though her lips began to quiver. A single tear slipped from her lashes, and rolled down her ashen cheek. Still she lay staring at him, wide-eyed, and he asked her once more, his tone gentle, lest he frighten her further, “Lady Dominique... what were you doing in my bed?’
She shook her head, averting her face, and began to weep softly. “I-I do not know,” she cried miserably. She rolled to one side, away from him, covering her face with her hands. “I am so ashamed!”
‘Tell me why.”
He placed a hand upon her shoulder, and she rolled to face him, her eyes glazed with tears.
“Because I was seducing you, my lord!” she confessed.
Graeham’s brows lifted in stupefaction. There must have been something he’d missed. “I assure you, Lady Dominique,” he said, shaking his head. “Whatever it was you were doing... you most certainly were not seducing me.”
At that, she began to cry all the more earnestly, and Graeham peered nervously over his shoulder at the door, praying no one would overhear. That was all he needed now—for everyone to know she’d been within his bed. There would be no dealing himself out of the betrothal then.
“But I was!” she insisted, sitting to face him. He tried not to note the dark shadows of her nipples behind the fine pleated linen. “And I’m so ashamed!” she wailed.
Graeham averted his eyes, wincing, glancing up at the ceiling. Hoping to stop her tears, as well as to remove her from his line of vision, he reached out and urged her into his arms. “There, now,” he said awkwardly. “All is well, Lady Dominique... No harm was done.”
She shook her head frantically. “I was not trying to poison you,” she swore vehemently.
“I know,” he relented, stroking her back. “Shhh...”
If he’d wondered of her innocence before now, he did no longer. Somehow he knew that the woman in his arms was guiltless, no more than a pawn in her brother’s politics. Her sobs were too sincere to doubt. The simple fact that she’d been so honest about trying to seduce him, and that she’d gone about it so ludicrously, only served to prove she was a desperate bride, ignored and confused.
He wished he could follow through with his promise to her brother—that he could wed her and all would be well. But he could not. Holding her within his arms was the final proof. God, he’d avoided her for naught, telling himself that he did not wish to tempt himself, but there was nothing there... no feeling at all. Though he could smell the sweetness of her hair, feel the warmth of her female flesh... he was not stirred.
There was only one resolution now.
And by damn, he would do what was right.
He drew her away from him suddenly, wiped her tears, and rose from the bed, going to the door.
Chapter 19
She didn’t know he was there.
In the shadows.
Watching as she stole by him on her way to his brothers chamber. Her fine pleated gown had billowed about her with the night draft, her shape gracefully limned beneath. She was lithe and beautiful, her bosom ripe... high... round. Her waist small...
A strangled sound caught at the back of Blaec’s throat at the excruciating thought of his brother’s hands upon her. God... why? Never in his life had he begrudged him anything.
Why her?
Why now?
He didn’t think he could bear it.
For certain, he would have to leave.
He lifted the flagon he clutched within his hand to his parched lips, and then drew it away irritably, shaking it. Discovering it empty, he tossed it aside.
Though deep in his cups, he still could not sleep, imagining her in there... in his brother’s arms...
Blocking the vision from his mind, he stretched out upon the pallet within the solar, staring at the ceiling, his body taut. With a low moan, he closed his eyes, raking his fingers across his scalp. Already his head hurt, but he didn’t know whether it was the drink or the tension. Perhaps it was both.
Just as he wondered, again, what they might be doing, the door to Graeham’s chamber burst open, and someone bellowed his name. Graeham, he thought. His eyes attempted to focus upon the figure standing silhouetted in the doorway. Graeham. Surging to his feet, Blaec swayed slightly, half expecting to find a blade protruding from his brother’s chest.
“Get her the hell out of my chamber!” Graeham demanded.
Blaec shook his head, unable to comprehend, for Graeham stood there unharmed.
Angry, but unharmed.
“By God! I don’t care if you have to sleep atop her,” he bellowed, “get her out of here, and keep her out!”
Dominique could scarcely believe her ears. Her face flamed with mortification.
For an instant she thought he might be speaking to a guard, despite that she’d not spied one on her way into his chamber—certainly not there in the solar. She would have noticed...
Her heart lurched when Blaec d’Lucy appeared in the doorway, leaning idly upon the doorframe as he peered inside. Yet though his appearance was calm, the look in his eyes was anything but.
They accused her once more, though he said nothing.
He wore only his loose breeches, no tunic, and his hair was disheveled as though from sleep. In the dim light of the room, his flesh was even swarthier, glistening with a light sheen of sweat, for the night was warm.
Had he been there in the solar all along?
How had she missed him?
Had he heard?
It didn’t matter, she wasn’t going anywhere with him. He stood there, as though waiting—well, he could stand an eternity. She wasn’t going anywhere. He moved suddenly, as though to come for her. “Nay!” she shrieked hysterically. “I can find my own way!” She bounded from the bed at once, and giving Graeham a wounded glance, hurried to the door, hesitating there, for she was forced to slip between them. Her heart began again to pound as she glanced from one brother to the other, gathering her courage. She bolted past them all at once.
“I’ve no need of escort!” she informed them b
oth haughtily, and prayed he would not follow.
To her dismay, she didn’t get far.
Blaec, the cur, was behind her within the instant—curse him!—lifting her up and heaving her over his shoulder. In the space of seconds, Dominique found herself dangling like a sack of meal down his bare back. Shrieking indignantly, she pummeled his back with her fists, trying not to note the heat of his bare flesh.
“I despise you!” she hissed at him. “Release me at once, you loathsome cur!” Feeling dizzy, and a little as though she would swoon again, she braced her palms against his back and felt his muscles flinch at her touch.
Adding to the insult, he said not a word as he hauled her up the tower steps to his chamber. No apology—naught! And Dominique found herself seething by the time they reached the antechamber. To her way of thought, he enjoyed this far too much! Well, he wasn’t simply going to walk away this time, because she wasn’t going to let him! Not without gouging his eyes out!
Kicking open the antechamber door, and then the door to the chamber, he carried her within and tossed her down upon his bed, again as though she were no more than baggage. But Dominique vowed it wasn’t going to be so easy as that. She locked her arms about his neck, refusing to let go, fully intending to scratch his eyes out when she got them within reach.
Screaming, she pulled him down with her.
With a grunt of surprise, he toppled upon her.
Dominique lost her grip—as well as her breath—with the impact. But that didn’t stop her. She groped wildly for a lock of his hair, grasping it as though her soul depended upon it—God curse his own rotten soul! It would serve him right did she yank every hair out of his head!
At once his hand shot up, seizing her wrist, gripping it tightly. “Let go,” he snarled.
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