He shifted and lowered his mouth to her breast. Nipping at the bead of her nipple, he wet the material while he slipped his hand beneath the hem of her gown.
“Christ, Aurora, you’re so soft…so very sweet.” With a groan, he slid his hand higher, sweeping along the length of her thigh. Cool air swept her skin as her gown rose in his wake. The steady rise ended at the curls between her thighs. Dipping in, he played in her heat. Each sweeping caress took her higher…closer to something and oh, aye…
So close now. She was on the brink. Teetering on the edge, in need of—
Desperate now, Aurora arched, undulating beneath him, asking for release. He didn’t deny her. His fingers parted, then slid deep, her slickness welcoming him with unequaled measure. She moaned and tossed her head on the coverlet. With a cry, she churned against the pressure of his hand. Greedy in pleasure, she surrendered to his mastery and spread her thighs wider, begging him without words.
“Bloody hell, you’re beautiful,” Brigham rasped, pressing a finger deep. His thumb flicked in light passes over the top of her sex, his hand moved in concert with her body. “Aye, loving, that’s it…like that, you’re almost there.”
Rolling her head against the counterpane, she sobbed as the pressure built. She fisted her hands in his hair and held tight. Nipping her bottom lip, he kissed her hard, the thrust of his tongue mimicking the movement of his fingers. He swallowed her scream as she came apart in his arms.
Brigham drew away, his eyes on her face. “Aye, vixen, exactly like that. So sweet, so beautiful…you are—”
“Aiyheee! What in the name of all that is holy…in the name of the Father, of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit…may God have mercy…”
As Aurora opened her eyes, Brigham reared on the mattress beside her. “Bloody hell.”
“What is the meaning of this?”
Rendered witless by pleasure, she frowned and stared up at Brigham. He shielded her, blocking the view to the door. Not wasting a moment, he flipped her skirts back into place and glowered across the bed to where the intruders stood. “Bishop Duvalle…Father Edward.”
Blinking rapid-fire, Aurora’s focus snapped toward the door. Her gaze settled on the two priests. Her confusion cleared in an instant. Mortification struck next, hitting her like a body shot. With a silent curse, she scrambled out from underneath Brigham. Rolling across the coverlet, she made for the opposite side of the bed. Her feet landed on the floor. Her legs wobbled, knees threatening to give way. Brigham, she noticed, didn’t move. Instead, he stayed silent and unmoving, stretched out belly-down with a bland expression upon his face.
The precariousness of her situation hit.
Aurora drew in a stilted breath. God grant her grace. The arrogant, mean-spirited oaf. Just look what Brigham had done now. She would never again be able to show her face in public. Banned. Ostracized. Forced to live on the fringes of society. That’s what would happen when everyone one found out. She’d be labeled the worst sort of trollop. Aurora pinched the bridge of her nose, knowing she deserved every ounce of it. All because she couldn’t keep her hands off a handsome, domineering rogue. Her heart throbbed against her breastbone, beating triple time. Blessed be, how could she have allowed this to happen? How could she have allowed him to touch her like that…to do such things to her?
Bewildered by the question, Aurora turned to Bishop Duvalle, her mind working to offer a plausible explanation for her behavior. Tears closed her throat, choking her ability to stave off the impending disaster, one of epic proportions judging by the look of irritation on Father Edward’s face as he stared at her from across the chamber.
Her focus swung to the more reasonable looking of the two. Aye, definitely. Bishop Duvalle was the better bet. At least, he wasn’t scowling at her.
“Your Grace…you…I…we…” Aurora swallowed as the Bishop raised a brow. Heat exploded across her face, stinging her cheeks. “Well, I can explain.”
That the priest met the absurdity of her comment with withering silence, she supposed, was no great surprise.
To his credit, Bishop Duvalle said nothing at all. His expression, however, said more than enough. She was in trouble. Big, big trouble. The kind a girl didn’t come back from or survive without serious consequence. Which…aye, no doubt about it…was enough to cause the bravest soul to cringe beneath the weight of his silent disapproval. But as he pursed his lips, crossed his arms, and stared at Aurora from beneath the rise of bushy gray brows, the situation disintegrated, becoming more tense by the moment. A shiver of dread raced straight up her spine. Without mercy, it collided with the base of her skull, encouraging a dull ache to take up residence inside her head.
Saints and sinners, how was she to explain such a tangle?
She stifled a snort. A tangle. How appropriate. And no doubt exactly what the two good brothers had seen upon entering the chamber. A tangle of legs, arms, and lips entwined in a decadent exchange. One she would still be engaged in, if not for the interruption. Oh, curses. She still felt it between her thighs—the arousal, the heat, the unrelenting need that demanded satisfaction. ’Twas beyond frustrating. Ridiculous too, considering she was tempted to grab both priests by their collars, toss them out on their ears, and leap back into bed with Brigham.
Which made it official. She’d clearly lost all her wits.
Aurora shook her head. What the devil was wrong with her?
As fast as the question popped into her mind, she answered it. No need to look further. She knew what plagued her. Curse and rot him, Brigham was the problem; him and his too-beautiful mouth, soul-sucking eyes, and magnificent body. She threw him a look of disgust. Just look at him, for pity’s sake.
Everything about the man was made for sinning.
She nodded for good measure, shoring up the thought with action. It didn’t make her feel any better. Bishop Duvalle still regarded her with solemn interest. Gaze narrowed on her, he sighed. Aurora fidgeted, hoping the floor would open beneath her feet and swallow her whole. And, well, if that didn’t happen, she’d settle for being carried off by a fire-breathing dragon. Anything would be better than enduring another moment of the Bishop’s unwavering regard. ’Twas unbearable. The longer he stared at her, the more convinced she became that he wanted her bundled off to a decrepit convent. One run by a sour-faced nun with the Scriptures in one hand and a switch in the other.
Aurora hugged herself in an attempt to ward off the chilly silence in the room. Fire crackled in the hearth, keeping time with the swishing of Father Edward’s robes as he paced behind the Bishop in a heightened state of agitation. He mumbled to himself. The faint mutters swirled, words like “atrocious” and “shameful” floating in his wake. Looking as though he might erupt at any moment, high color marred his face, leaving blotches on his cheeks. Wheezing with each breath, he began another lap, no doubt trying to discern whom to blame for the horrendous situation. She swallowed, concluding he’d made his decision when he turned and shook a blunt, pudgy finger in her direction.
“This is outrageous, a disgraceful abomination!”
“I believe they have the point, Father. No need to press on,” Bishop Duvalle said, his tone almost bored. His gaze skimmed Brigham before coming to rest on her. “Well, my dear?”
“Your Grace?”
“I believe you were going to attempt an explanation of some kind.”
Her heart dropped into her stomach. Aurora glanced at Brigham. Shifting with predatory grace, he rolled from the bed and onto his feet. Arms crossed over his chest, he propped a shoulder against the bedpost. She shivered, realizing his relaxed stance hid immense anger—and mayhap an assassination plot…or two. Heaven above, did she not have enough to contend with already? Apparently not, for now she must soothe two very irate priests while keeping Brigham from murdering them in the process.
Her hand pressed to her forehead, Aurora took a breath and told herself to calm down. She must stay focused. If she allowed panic free reign, it would destroy any chance of sal
vaging her reputation. Although, the probability of that was near to nil. Especially since Brigham appeared in no condition to assist her in the endeavor.
Aye, she was on her own. She must climb out of the hole she’d jumped into all by herself. Needing a ladder, and fast, she set her mind to work. Naught came to her. Not one idea to offer up in her own defense. She squeezed her hands together, commanding herself to think harder. Nothing sprang to mind.
“It’s just that, I…and then he…of course, after that, well…I cannot begin to…”
“As I thought.” Head titled, Bishop Duvalle tapped a finger on the tip of his pointed chin. His expression pensive, his regard heavy, he looked from Aurora to Brigham before advancing into the chamber, purple robes swaying in his wake. “Father Edward, the door, if you please.”
Alarm roared through her. Oh, nay. Oh, dear. Aurora wrung her hands, fighting the urge to rush the door before it closed, leaving her trapped in a room with two priests and the devil. Her hopes died a painful death when Father Edward slammed it shut and spun around, marching into the chamber with all the determination of a battle commander. Once he started, the priest didn’t stop.
Ignoring the good Bishop, he trundled past his superior, launching into a lecture on the way. “You have disgraced yourself before God and the Church and…well, fornicating with a man other than your…and in the Bishop’s own bedchamber! ’Tis beyond shameful. An insult not to be borne. Such contemptible conduct is an outrage.”
Aurora blinked. “The Bishop’s chambers?”
God’s teeth, could it get any worse? Closing her eyes against the shame, she thought perhaps she might be the one accused of murder before the night was through. And Brigham—the dog-hearted scoundrel—would be the primary target.
“Aye, the Bishop’s own chambers. How, in the name of our Holy Father, could you behave so despicably?”
“Father Edward. That is quite enough out of you,” Bishop Duvalle said, his tone soft yet somehow chiding.
Aurora didn’t care about anyone else’s opinion. Temper in full flame, she glared so hard at Brigham the bed could have caught fire between them and she wouldn’t have noticed. The cad. The oaf. The uncaring beast. ’Twas all his fault. Had he taken her to his chambers to have his way with her, none of this would have— And good Lord. There was something wrong with her thinking. Taken her somewhere else? She frowned. He should not have taken her anywhere in the first place.
Hands fisted at her sides, Aurora fought the urge to find something heavy and hurl it at Brigham’s head. Aye, that would fix him. A vase where his head should be would suit him just fine. She smiled a little, enjoying the image before noticing the Bishop’s gaze had narrowed on her again. Smoothing her expression, she shoved her overactive imagination into a dusty corner of her mind before her hole got any deeper.
“Well, we seem to have a problem.” Bishop Duvalle stroked his chin as though deep in thought. “What I want to know is…what you intend to do about it, Lord de Mornay.”
Murder in his eyes, Brigham scowled at the priest. Aurora tensed, fully prepared to throw herself into the fray should her brute decide to strangle a man of God.
Unimpressed by the display of fury, the Bishop continued with his argument. “After all, you have compromised her.”
“Aye, defiled her!”
“And defiled her…thank you, Father Edward…most blatantly, my lord. I cannot in good conscience allow two of my flock to behave so…”
“Abominably!”
“Aye, well…thank you again, Father Edward. However, I was going to say ‘badly’ and be worthy of my position before God.”
Gnawing on her bottom lip, Aurora tried to salvage the situation. “Your Grace, ’tis not what it appears.”
“Now, Lady Aurora, I know how this must distress you, but surely you can see that had you not behaved so, ahem…badly…none of this…” Folding his hands, the Bishop trailed off, then cleared his throat. “Well, I am trying to do what is best for you, my dear. I was quite fond of your parents, you know.”
“You knew my parents?” Aurora choked on that bit of information. Good God. The very idea of…of…oh just kill her now. Her mother would’ve cried tears of shame had she witnessed her downfall. Was no doubt even now peering down from heaven, shaking her head, trying to decide where she had gone wrong raising her only daughter. Guilt tightened its hold, squeezing around Aurora’s heart. “The saints preserve and keep me. I am sorry. I don’t know—”
“I will wed her,” Brigham said, looking as though he’d just swallowed a stink-bug.
Aurora’s mouth fell open. “You will?”
“Of course, my dear,” Bishop Duvalle said. “’Tis the only honorable thing to do under the circumstances.”
“Aye, marriage! ’Tis a sound solution!” Father Edward bellowed, clapping his hands together in glee.
Her mouth hanging open, Aurora swayed as spots swam in her periphery. She shook her head, hoping to knock her wits back into place. Her ability to form a coherent thought rose from the ashes and her brain whirled into action in order to avoid disaster. Logic…aye, logic. She must employ some…right now…and bring them all back to their senses.
“But he doesn’t want to marry me.”
Bishop Duvalle gave her a pointed look. “It matters little, my dear. He must live with the consequences of his actions. ’Tis the way of things.”
“Aye, it matters little,” Father Edward said, parroting the Bishop.
Aurora glared at the stout little priest. The man was annoying in the extreme, repeating everything as if they had all lost their ability to hear properly. The sudden urge to deliver him back to York with her boot a permanent attachment to his backside became more appealing by the second.
“But ’twould not be right to force him,” she said, scrambling to formulate a viable argument. “Besides, I do not want a husband…I mean…one that is forced to wed me.”
“My dear,” the priest said, tone soft with understanding.
Brigham’s nostrils flared. Dark eyes narrowed on her, his large hands curled into fists. “You will wed with me, Aurora. Two days hence in the garden.”
“But, my lord—”
“Wonderful!” Bishop Duvalle smiled in obvious delight.
“Excellent!” Father Edward rubbed hands together in gleeful jubilation. “I will begin preparing the sermon.”
“We shall discuss that later, Father Edward,” Bishop Duvalle said. “When would you like to announce the happy news, my lord?”
“Presently, at supper, for which we are already late.” Rolling his shoulders, Brigham headed for the door. “Shall we go down?”
Aurora stared in wide-eyed stupefaction at the three overbearing louts engineering her demise…without so much as a by-your-leave. The fact she hadn’t agreed didn’t deter them in the least. ’Twas as if they planned an insignificant fête, one in which she would have the incredible misfortune of being a delectable bit of dessert laid out on a silver platter for their pleasure. God’s truth, the trio seemed to have forgotten her existence as they conferred about the wedding that would take place day after the morrow.
But then, what was she to do?
She’d allowed herself to be compromised. The fact Brigham had agreed to marry her indicated the seriousness of the situation. His expression of distaste told her all she needed to know. He didn’t want her for a wife. Mayhap he thought her a desirable bedmate—adequate for a few moments of pleasure, but not good enough to make his bride. Honor demanded he right the wrong, and for no other reason, he would do it.
He would marry her because of a misstep.
Cripes. That summed it up nicely. She was naught but a terrible mistake. One that would cost them both their happiness and worst of all, she her freedom. A freedom she’d hardly begun to taste was now to be whisked away, replaced by the lonely duty of a wife.
Heart so heavy she found it difficult to breathe, Aurora blinked away tears. Heaven help her. She knew what would happen. Bri
gham would wed her, then dump her in his home and forget all about her before riding back through the entrance to his castle. She might wish otherwise, but refused to be naïve. Two days hence, she would marry a man who didn’t want her, never mind love her.
Why the truth of that hurt so much, Aurora couldn’t begin to comprehend.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Regret—A Double-edged Sword
Flat on his back in the center of the large bed, arms crossed beneath his head and cream silk sheets twisted about his hips, Brigham stared up at the embroidered canopy. Surrounded by the lushness of velvet curtains with gold tasseled ties and the gleam of mahogany bedposts, it seemed strange the luxury did nothing to improve his mood.
He’d retired to his chamber shortly after the entertainment ceased in the wee hours of the morning, leaving behind a few drunken stragglers. And although he was tired, his muscles remained tense and sleep elusive. No sense fighting it. Rest wasn’t his friend tonight. Neither was circumstance. So instead of sleeping, he watched the pale glow of the coming dawn creep through the lone window, inching ever forward across the thick rugs spread about his room.
“Ah, you’re still awake.”
Brigham glanced toward the door. “Bloody hell, Cam. Stop lurking and come in.”
Camden straightened away from the jamb and flicked the door closed behind him. Grabbing a chair on the way by the hearth, he dragged it over to the side of the bed, then sat and lifted his feet onto the crimson coverlet. “I thought you would be sleeping.”
“I thought you were otherwise occupied.”
“I was.” Camden yawned and rubbed a hand across his chest. “Lovely keep, Alvars. So many willing wenches to satisfy.”
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