A Wanton's Thief

by Titania Ladley

  “H-how do you know my name?”

  He lifted one long, bronzed finger to his pursed lips and simply said “Shh…” as he moved nearer.

  Those full lips stunned her and she gasped at the erotic turn of her thoughts, the fantasy of her mouth melded with his. In shocking response, hot dampness flooded her inner thighs. But she ignored it, her heart pounding as she forced herself to remain brave, to study the intruder who caged her inside her own chambers like an untamed beast of Sherwood Forest.

  She couldn’t see his entire face due to the black mask he wore. It covered him from mid-forehead, down over the bridge of the straight nose, across the upper half of his cheeks. Just looking at such a clandestine man made her heart race with some sort of odd excitement blended with trepidation. And to think he stood in her chamber…and she was alone with him!

  Forcing her gaze to study him further, she noted the thick length of arrow-straight, white-gold hair streaming from the side confines of the mask’s ties. It fell down and behind the beefy shoulders eliciting from her a strange curiosity at what it might be like to comb her hands through the long strands. On his head he wore a feathered woodsman’s hat to match the very shade of his cloak. And sticking up behind the broad shoulders and curtain of hair rested the unmistakable jut of a longbow, iron-tipped arrows and the bulk of a worn, bulging gunnysack.

  But it was the slits in the mask her gaze kept flitting back to. Through the openings, Salena finally spied the eyes. Her breath caught in her chest. Somehow familiar to her, she furrowed her brow, struggling to place the undeniable deep green, almond-shaped orbs. They sparkled with an almost magical sheen, holding her captive, rendering her spellbound against her will.

  “Who…who are you?” Damning her trembling hand, she waved the blade in his face.

  He lifted one corner of those thick lips and stared into her eyes with unwavering intent. “You should bloody well know that already, milady.” He took one more step until she had to tilt her head back to see through the slashes and into the emerald eyes.

  “I swear I’m going to scream if you venture one more step nearer.” And to emphasize her bravado, she held the knife up to his neck, the blunt tip pressing into the tanned flesh. She watched, suddenly fearless and empowered, when his pulse leapt next to the blade’s edge, dancing in rhythm to the flames in the hearth that shone upon his masked face.

  “I’ll ask you again, beautiful maiden…” He ignored the weapon and lifted a lock of her hair, rubbing it between his fingers. Salena fought the heaviness of her eyelids, the fire that seemed to scorch her from the surface of her scalp to her womb. Confusion gripped her, for this fire had nothing to do with the one in the hearth so near her side. No, this flame was one altogether different, altogether unfamiliar. Yet maddeningly, it tempted her, made her long to draw closer to the source.

  “Do you want to die?”

  That oddly pleasant blaze was instantly doused with the coldness of his recurring question. Fear reared up to scorch her with ruthlessness, like that of a fire-breathing, lethal dragon.

  “What a ridiculous question.” She slapped his hand away and freed her hair from his grip, attempting to emit composure. “I vow with all my strength to fight you,” she hissed. “For I wish to live, just as anyone else does.” And she raised her chin and narrowed her eyes to further emphasize her conviction.

  He chuckled, a reverent song that seeped into the back portal of her soul. Catching her off-guard with the laxness of his mood, his hand was suddenly around her wrist, squeezing the very blood from her veins. The knife fell to the carpet, tumbled end over end and clattered against the stones of the hearth.

  “And I vow with all my strength to keep you alive.” He yanked her into his arms. Salena’s breath whooshed from her lungs when he slammed her against the rock-hard wall of his chest. Heat and all-male power engulfed her. The wet spot between her thighs throbbed with a sudden vengeance. Her system pulsed, choking her voice box so that she couldn’t so much as squeak out a protest. As he spoke low and soft, his breath fanned her cheek. The tone and rhythm of it reminded her of the pants and gasps of a couple’s passionate embrace, like that that she’d spied at a recent ball when she’d happened upon lovers in the gardens.

  What ailed her? she wondered, panicked. This intruder clearly threatened her, yet her traitorous mind and body kept twisting everything into dangerous, irresistible lasciviousness, making her think of things she normally kept at bay.

  “So you declare to keep me alive yet you stealthily enter my home like a common thief. Next, you awaken me from a deep sleep, threaten me and accost and terrorize me in my own private chambers.” She twisted within the circle of his arms, gasping when her nipples abraded over the rough leather of the jerkin he wore. The areolas hardened into painful, aching pebbles, protruding shockingly against the silk and lace of her nightgown’s bodice. “If you do so speak the truth, sir, then…let. Me. Loose!”

  Her fists pounded against that chest in a flurry. But he didn’t so much as flinch. He merely tightened his grip on her, thereby omitting the meager space she’d had available for her attack.

  “I say, keep quiet, woman! If you value your life, do not make another sound.” He growled it out, his wet mouth plastered against her right ear. Lord help her, but a trail of heavy desire plunged from her ear into her breast, and suffused straight down into her mons. Slowly, as if she’d consumed a potent poison, it moved into her legs and left them trembling in weakness. As she panted shamefully like a mutt in heat, his sharp intuition sensed her dilemma and he hauled her up against him so that her feet dangled off the floor.

  Which brought her engorged clitoris up firmly against his codpiece…and no doubt the thickness that hid beneath it. It was a sensation she’d only dreamed about before now. Even her own inexperienced, fumbling masturbation late at night in her bed had always been unfulfilling and anti-climactic. Not even her one secret mating encounter with Thane Mathews—rest her former fiancé’s caddish soul—two years ago had produced even a smidgen of what she felt right now with this stranger.

  Oh, and God forbid, if anyone should discover she’d lost her maidenhead before marriage! She’d been a fool to fall for Thane’s charms, to fancy herself in love and to allow her curiosity to win out. A wanton need she hadn’t been able to name had driven her to such irreversible, unbearable shame. Salena didn’t know what she would do on her upcoming wedding night to her newest betrothed, Edward Devonshire. She hadn’t the faintest idea how to disguise her physical state of disgrace. Scorn and embarrassment were sure to play a role once her new husband took her to his bed. She could only hope punishment wouldn’t be included—or would be mild enough to withstand. But nonetheless, she would have it coming to her. That one encounter with Thane had been a huge, disappointing mess in which she’d sacrificed her virginity for nothing. She’d turned him away after that and had vowed to never let it happen again until after marriage.

  The reality of the stark contrast between then with Thane and now with this stranger hit her headlong, and an involuntary whimper escaped from between her parted lips. Time wavered into nothingness; the fire crackled in the quiet of the room. She clutched the rocky bulges of his shoulders and her eyes slowly rose to meet his. The twinkle of two gems stared back at her through the mask. Something about it, about the clandestine, mysterious look of him, made her think of a wily fox on the hunt for his mate. And the thrill of being that hunted she-fox stole through her in one perilous lash of reality.

  “In answer to your previous inquiry, the name’s Falcon Montague,” he whispered hoarsely, his mouth but a breeze’s space from hers.

  She’d forgotten that she’d even asked the question. “Falcon Montague.” Salena whispered it back, astounded, the name sliding over her tongue sensuously. “The poor loser of King Henry’s jousting tournament? The knight who paid no mind to his opponent and openly ogled me as I watched from the stands?”

  He barely pressed his lips to hers, the softness of them making
her eyelids flutter shut and that spot at her juncture ache to be stroked. Against her mouth he rasped, “Loser, aye, due to a most lovely lady of…distraction. Ah, and ogled would only be for starters.” His lips dragged back and forth over hers as he spoke, slow and hot, the sweet flavor of cider filling her mouth.

  “I made love to you with my eyes,” he went on, “through the confines of my helmet’s slits. Aye, I had better things to do than protect myself against your brother’s incompetent, haphazard lance.”

  At mention of her brother, something snapped within her. She pushed against him and stumbled back against one of the high-backed chairs set before the hearth. “Nay. You speak falsehoods.”

  “That I made love to you with my eyes?”

  The visions his words conjured up made her flesh warm with mortification and a yearning she had no right entertaining. But she stayed the course, hoping to distract this intruder—who seemed intent on stealing nothing but her breath from her lungs—until her maid Edwina returned from her sudden calling.

  “Nay, that my brother Sheldon is not a skilled and careful noble jouster.”

  “Well,” he sniffed, glancing about the suite for what, Salena knew not. “We will have to wait until a later time to debate that argument. Now—”

  “We? Later?” She backed away fumbling her way around the seat until she had herself positioned at its backside. Ominous bells reverberated in her head, as if she’d been forced up into the dome of a cathedral. “Sir, I demand that you leave my chamber at once or I shall scream a bloodcurdling cry that will rouse the entire keep. And you, then, will be as good as dead.”

  He sighed—just simply sighed as if she bored him to utter tears and felt not an inkling of a threat. “Very well. Then you leave me no choice, milady.”

  So be it, she thought, fully prepared to end this bizarre yet intriguing meeting with the unusual fool intent on his own hanging death. She drew in a lungful of chilly air to ready for the scream. But her voice suddenly became clogged in her throat. Falcon’s eyes, those jewels of the very devil, sparked at that precise moment, and the fire in the hearth whooshed upward. Entranced against her will, Salena stared as he neared, slowly rounding the chair until he was at her side. With a hot, firm hand, he turned her so that she was forced to face him squarely and look up into his narrowed gaze. Twin, arrowed beams of green emerged from his liquid eyes enthralling her, completely holding her captive against her will. She could not speak, she could not move, she could not so much as breathe.

  “You will not speak. And you will now sit.”

  No, no! Her mind screamed but her voice would not cooperate. Fear raced through her system, every pulse point in her body pounding hard and loud like that of a musician’s drum at court. She swallowed the lump that had lodged in her windpipe and gasped when her legs began to move without her ordering them to do so. With purpose and subservient strides, she brushed past him, ignoring the magical power that seemed to glow about him. Her body obeyed and she sat in the chair, mute. Panic began to churn into something altogether different. Unable to move or speak, she kept her gaze fixed on the dancing inferno within the stone hearth. Anger simmered inside her, rolling to a full boil.

  Her unblinking stare moved to him. She watched, helpless as he stalked to a coffer and flipped open the lid. Hurriedly, he yanked his gunnysack from his shoulder, pulled it open and set it on the floor before the chest. Immediately, several familiar items caught her eye when he rummaged through the sack seeming to make room for more bounty. She saw her brother’s large medallion amulet, her father’s solid gold bookends, their ornate silverware passed down through many generations of Tremaynes and, collectively, worth a pretty pound.

  Her face warmed when he tossed and dug through the contents of her personal storage—oh, how she hated this man! He drew out a pair of her riding boots, two of her older gowns she normally wore for gardening and several grooming and toiletry articles. Mortified, she watched as he held up various undergarments, burying his face in the fluff of them before stuffing them into his bag.

  What was this man doing? Heavens help her, she was under the complete spell of a madman! She longed to scream, to demand answers to her questions. To flee!

  But she had no strength in her legs, no voice, no answers and he offered no explanations. Many more questions jumbled in her brain as he continued his free rein of her suite.

  He didn’t stop with her personal hidden items. Next, he crossed to the wall and plucked her thickest cape from a hook. Taking long strides, he breezed by the chest and snatched up his sack, then came to stand before her. Kneeling, he shoved her feet into the boots and fastened them. “Stand up.”

  Again, her body obeyed while her mind shouted in silent protest. He rose and swirled the fur-lined cloak around until it covered her shoulders. Fastening the wrap, those long, adept fingers moved up her collarbone to her neck. Even as gentle heat embraced her and slid down reluctantly into her womb, she could have sworn he was about to choke her. But instead, he raised the hood of the wrap and covered her head. His scent, now warmed by the fire at his back, incensed her, abducting her olfactory nerves in such a way that she longed to pinch her nose against the pleasing aroma of him.

  And she wondered with a mixture of amazement and ire how it could be that this man could instill fear in her one moment, and yet shocking desire the next.

  It was this dark magic of his. There could be no other explanation. If he didn’t possess these tricks of wizardry, he would not be able to possess her in any manner whatsoever!

  Footsteps fell upon the wooden plank of the outer threshold. Her eyes widened and hope flourished in her chest. Yes! I’m inside. I’m here. Please, Sheldon, Edwina, someone help me!

  He narrowed his eyes as they riveted toward the door. Once again, beams of energy shot from them. The footfalls stopped in the corridor outside her chamber. She heard voices, then an abrupt silencing. And the sounds of help, of her one salvation, retreated into the quiet of the hall.

  “Just a bit of gentle persuasion,” he said with the flash of a wolfish grin. “Now, we must go.”

  He quietly settled the fully stuffed gunnysack over his shoulder. His eyes held her spellbound, and he spoke with a deep, almost intimate command. “Turn and cross to the door. Open it. Check for servants, family, anyone. If and only if there is no one about, you will exit into the corridor, turn right, and descend the rear servant’s staircase. I will follow immediately behind you. Once we reach the lower level, you will lead me outdoors through the safest rooms and portals. You will only go where there are no other people about. When we reach the outdoors, you will allow me to escort you to my steed. And then together, we will mount and be on our way.”

  Her teeth ground together in anger. Salena attempted once again to scream, to run, to disobey this obvious sorcerer who held silent powers over her body that she could not control. But it was no use. Though she glared back with eye-power of her own, the magic proved too strong to fight, despite the inner rebelliousness that spewed from her soul.

  With tears of frustration brimming in her eyes, Lady Salena Tremayne, betrothed of Duke Edward Devonshire, turned and walked briskly toward the door. Out into the cold of an autumn night, the future Duchess of Oxford stole away with the thief who held all she desired, and all she hated and feared.

  Chapter Two

  Bareback upon his Friesian warhorse, Falcon held Salena before him, her soft, womanly curves shivering against his jerkin and codpiece. The braies beneath his cloak stretched painfully taut over the erection he’d sported since spying her slumbering form upon that queen’s bed of hers. Inhaling, he caught the scent of roses and something altogether feminine, distinct to only this woman. It played havoc on his senses, nearly rendering him unable to perform his required spells of protection. His cock throbbed with the need to claim the pussy that he knew, despite her outward indignation and anger, had filled with honey at his nearness.

  But first he had to get her to the safety of his village a
day’s ride from here.

  They reached the gatehouse and Falcon looked up at the lone gatekeeper. He sent his tazir gaze into the man’s eyes, enthralling him.

  “Guard, you will release the drawbridge over the moat, and once we have passed, you will return it to its former state and never recall this exchange.”

  “Yes, sir,” the man called down, his voice in a monotone of obedience.

  The clank and grind of iron chains sounded as the sentry lowered the drawbridge. Behind him, Falcon could hear the shouts of panic, the low squall of an alarm as Lady Salena’s absence was made known to the loyal members of her keep.

  “Hurry, man!”

  “It is nearly done,” the guard informed him. And indeed it was. Even as the wooden planks crashed to the far stone edge of the moat, Falcon urged his mount to leap upon the bridge and spurred it across the long stretch. The clatter of hooves thundered out, echoing in the moonless dark of night. He heard the creak and clang of metal as the watchman raised the bridge behind him.

  Knowing he hadn’t the full powers to enthrall and escape an entire army of knights, Falcon urged his steed on, putting as much distance between them and the castle as humanly possible.

  As they traveled on and the silver moon began to peep through the waning clouds and crooked trees overhead, Falcon started to relax. Behind him, the wilderness stretched, as did mile after mile of barren land. His trail had been lost. The pursuing soldiers of Lady Salena’s home, Wyngate Hall, had long since taken another path in error. She now slumped against him in exhaustion. The power he’d cast on her still remained, so he roused her with a gentle nudge.