by Lynn Lorenz
Without a warning, as if a secret signal had passed between them, they stood and came together. She wrapped her arms around his waist, and he enfolded her in his embrace, and silent as a thief, he stole a kiss.
Could it be called theft if she gave it willingly?
The touch of her lips on his burned with the heat of her passion as she returned his kiss. He locked his knees to keep from taking her to the ground, stretching himself over her, burying himself inside her.
She didn’t just return the kiss, but demanded more. She nipped at his lips, making resistance impossible. Gods, she brought him hard as a staff, the way she sucked, licked, and nibbled on his lips. He’d never been kissed like she kissed him and he never wanted it to end.
“Lady Beth,” he whispered as he tucked her under his chin, just as he’d imagined.
“Marcus. What you must think of me.” Her breath puffed against his chest where his vest splayed open.
“I think—” He bit off his words.
∙•∙
“Shh…” Beth didn’t want to hear any more words. She wanted their bodies to speak, to tell the truth of their mutual attraction. She knew well that words lied, but she could trust the most primitive of sounds, the ones that came from deep inside.
She kissed his chest and he moaned as she nuzzled closer, inhaling the distinct scent of an aroused man for the first time in nearly a year. Every inch of her body burned, and the dampness between her legs grew wetter with each passing second he held her.
His hardened manhood pressed into her. She knew the feel of a man’s member, the weight of it in her hands, the taste of it in her mouth, the heat of it in her tunnel.
She wanted him, God forgive her. She wanted to be taken by a man, this man. Made love to, made to feel like a woman again, not some used, husk of a body without emotions, without needs.
But she had needs. She needed Marcus. Right now, that was the only thing she was positive of and she knew it was wrong. She was promised, no contracted, to another man. If her brother knew, he’d call her a whore.
Whore. Wife. Woman. The only difference was who she belonged to at the time she spread her legs and gave herself.
Right now, she belonged to no man, so whore it was.
Once she reached Baymore, married the duke, and went to his bed, she would be called wife. Made complete by a few spoken words from a priest, and allowed to live again.
She wanted to be neither whore nor wife. Right now, all she wanted was to be a woman, to choose who she gave her body, heart, and soul.
His lips kissed along the line of her hair down to her ear. His tongue rooted gently in her ear, then he sucked her lobe into his mouth and she moaned.
“Christ, what are we doing?” he breathed.
“What we’ve wanted to do from the first moment we saw each other.” She couldn’t deny it, why bother with such vanity? He must feel her heat, the hardness of her aching nipples, and the passion in her kisses. Her body told the truth as she clung to him.
After a quick glance at her maid, still sleeping with her back turned to them, Beth ignored everything but her body’s desires. She ran her hand over his trapped rod and he moaned.
She pulled him down to the ground.
If they were quiet, she could have Marcus.
Even if it were only for this one night.
Chapter Twenty
“I have the papers at my desk.” Will opened the door and stepped aside for Jackson to pass.
“I’m sure they’re in good form, my lord. A quick read, I’ll sign them, and then we can take our supper,” Jackson replied, in perhaps too loud a voice.
At the other end of the hall, a servant girl carrying a broom stopped at the top of the stairs, glanced their way, and then headed downstairs.
Will shut the door behind his lover and leaned against it.
Jackson strode to the chair at Will’s desk, pulled it back and sat, his legs splayed open, the evidence of his arousal pushing against his leathers.
Just the site made Will hungry for the man he loved. Tonight might be their last night together. Free of the wife who would join them here tomorrow.
No, he wouldn’t think of that. He’d think only of now, of taking Jackson in his mouth, making the big man lose control and then drinking him down.
What about Marcus’s success with Lady Beth? He’d prayed over that ever since sending the man on the mission to save both their lives.
“Come to me, my Will.” Jackson unlaced his breeches, pushed them down, and took his half-hard cock in hand. It rose from his dark red nest, thick and proud, its head just peeking out of its sleeve.
Will went to his lover and dropped to his knees. “Come for me, my love.” He wrapped his hand over Jackson’s and together they stroked until the full plump head had risen, reaching toward Jackson’s belly.
Ready, it tempted Will. And Will did not refuse temptation.
He took the fat head of Jackson’s staff into his mouth and sucked it. Jackson whimpered, his hands buried in Will’s hair, as his hips arched off the chair. He wanted Will to take more, but Will had other plans.
“My love, do we have time for your teasing?” Jackson groaned.
Will licked the seeping fluid that beaded like the finest pearls on a necklace. “You’ll take what I give you, Your Grace.” He flicked the knob of flesh under the head, and traced the thick vein with his tongue all the way to the root.
His hands unfastened his own strings and he clasped his stiff rod, stroking it for relief, giving himself pleasure as he gave his lover the same.
“Oh God, Will.” Jackson closed his eyes and gritted his teeth, lips parted in a grimace of pleasure.
Will laved his way back up the shaft, then with a quick lick at the opening, he took Jackson in his mouth until he buried his nose in the great man’s nest. Between his legs, Will pulled and pushed on his own aching flesh, and the tightening of his sac told him it wouldn’t be long before he spilled.
Jackson’s fist tugged on his hair as he pushed upward, forcing his cock deeper.
Will swallowed and swallowed and swallowed as Jackson cursed himself, God, and his lover. Will worked his tongue around the thick member filling his mouth, and pumped his own cock until there was nothing left for both of them but that sweet final fall.
“Will!” Jackson whispered and filled Will’s mouth. The thick cream slid down his throat, and with a shudder, his own essence painted the floor under the chair with streaks of white.
Will pulled off, gave Jackson a final lick, and then surged upward to take Jackson’s waiting mouth in a hard, claiming kiss. Jackson held Will’s head firm, his fingers still enmeshed in the strands of Will’s long hair, as if to let him go would be death.
“My sweet Will,” Jackson crooned. “You are mine, now and always.”
“I am yours.” Even if he had to leave, abandon his love, Will would always belong to Jackson.
Jackson rubbed his forehead against Will’s. “And I am yours. No one can part us. No one.”
Will nodded, unable to speak, afraid he’d blurt out his desperate plan, and admit he’d failed to save them. He feared the only thing left to do in order to save Jackson’s life was allow the marriage, and then leave the castle.
Go back to his father’s keep. To admit he’d come to his senses. To deny his love for another man. To beg his way back to a life of ease, comfort, and complete emptiness.
The sour taste of his own bile replaced the sweetness of his lover’s taste at the thought of living the rest of his life without Jackson.
Will would rather die than spend those long years in the never-ending, tormented agony of soul, heart, and mind.
»»•««
Marcus pressed his body down on Beth’s and inhaled. Gods, she smelled of flowers and sweet soap, desire and happiness. Everything he could never have imagined for himself, until Lord Holcombe had put the dream of a wife and family firmly in front of him. And for his part, it had seemed a fair deal. Simply woo a wo
man and have everything his birth order had denied him.
Until he’d met the woman—seen her love for her child, the fire in her eyes, the bravery of her heart, and felt the passion in her kiss.
Now it was all here for his taking. The woman, the lands, a house, and the coin. All he had to do was claim her, here and now, then convince her to break her contract with the duke. Could it be that simple?
Declare herself his, break the contract, and free his friends?
Standing on the edge of victory, he should be elated, thrilled with his conquest.
Beneath him, Lady Beth waited, her breath fast and hot, her body hotter, her legs open, ready for him. All he had to do was untie his strings, lift her dress, and plunge into the heaven waiting for him.
Why did he hesitate? Why could he not continue and take her?
He gazed down into her blue eyes, pupils wide and dark, pink kiss-plumped lips, and he saw her desire. Perhaps even love. But above all, he saw her trust.
Trust halted him, as if it had plunged a dagger into his heart.
If he did this, took her, and she learned of their plot, it would unravel all.
He did not think her the kind of woman to forgive lightly. She felt deeply, passionately, and he knew the one thing she’d feel above all would be—betrayal.
He had choices. Halt now, and leave his duke to his fate. Continue to take her, betraying her trust, but succeeding in his mission. Or tell her of their plan—throw himself, the duke, and his lover on her mercy, and take what consequences awaited.
He liked none of them. Each of his options left damage in its wake, like the hard, bitter storms rolling in from the sea, destroying whatever they passed over.
“Lady Beth, I think I should leave.” He pulled away from her and got to his knees between her parted legs.
“What?” She gasped. Her eyes spilled her confusion over him. “Leave?”
“Aye. I cannot do this.” He shook his head. “You are not mine and I am no thief, nor am I a betrayer.” But he was, of the worse sort. He’d betrayed his duke and Lord Holcombe by not completing his mission, and he’d betrayed his own needs and wants. But he wouldn’t betray her.
She stilled, then bit her lip in thought. “You are right. I am not a free woman, as much as I would wish it so.” Her eyes filled with tears, and he ached to see them.
“And I am not a free man.” He might not even be alive for much longer, not when Lord Holcombe found out about this failure. He’d seen William’s skill with a sword, seen his love and passion for Jackson burning in his eyes and his desperation at their situation.
Marcus stood, straightened his shirt and vest, and held out a hand to her. She looked up at him, then sat up and took his hand. He pulled her to her feet and she smoothed the folds of her gown.
“No. We are not free.” She glanced over her shoulder at her child. “Forgive me. I should have sent you from my tent.”
“And I should never have come here.”
He stepped to the drape and pulled it back to leave, but she caught his arm, halting him.
“Marcus?” She looked up at him.
“Aye?” He forced himself not to touch her.
“If things had been different. If we had but met a mere month ago…”
“Shh… Speak not of it.” Damn, it was too painful to hear. Her words twisted the knife in his heart. “It is forgotten. I shall never speak of it.”
“Nor shall I.” Her soft voice trembled.
He pulled away from her, scanned the empty campground, and then hurried away, blending into the night.
»»•««
Basil watched his sister, her body outlined by the faint light from her tent, as the man left. Her soft sigh could be heard from across the silent camp ground. She turned away and the drape fell closed.
He dropped his hand from his sword and stepped back into the shadows of the trees. The trunk struck his back and forced out the breath he’d gathered to yell his discovery.
What happened here? She did not cry out for help. Not for the guards or for him. Her only sound a sigh, filled with regret and longing. What the hell did that mean?
He’d seen the way she’d looked at Baymore’s master of arms at supper. Seen how he’d looked at her. It shouldn’t surprise him to find Marcus going to her tent. The surprise was that his sister had allowed it, and by the looks of it…
No, despite her looks of longing, no, he wouldn’t believe she would let Marcus sully her reputation, and ruin her chances to wed a duke. Not on the eve of meeting her new husband. A powerful man who, if he wanted to, could destroy them with but an order. His hand gripped his sword again at the thought.
Beth could not be that reckless, that foolish.
That in love?
Basil groaned as he saw all their lives being destroyed by this madness.
Damn Marcus. Damn Beth.
And damn love.
Chapter Twenty-One
Basil parted the drape and cleared his throat. “Beth? Sister, may I enter?”
“Enter, Bas.” She sighed.
He stepped inside, letting the drape fall behind him. Beth sat on the bench against the wall of the tent, her hands folded in her lap, staring at the ground.
“We must speak.”
“Must we?” She frowned, but didn’t look up at him. Perhaps more had happened than he thought. Perhaps Marcus had seduced her after all.
“Aye.” Basil crossed the tent and sat on the bench next to her.
“It’s late, brother, and I’m tired.”
“But not too late for a visitor?”
She stiffened, and her hands grew pale from her grip. “What do you mean?”
Basil lowered his voice. “I saw him, so don’t deny it. Marcus came to you.”
“He did.” Now she looked up, but still wouldn’t meet his gaze.
“Did I miss your call for help?”
“I didn’t need any help.”
“Marcus is a powerful man, skilled with a sword.”
“And I have my own skills, Bas.” She touched the blade at her waist.
He chuckled. “So it seems you do. What did Marcus want of you?”
She exhaled. “To speak.”
“Sister, speak plainly to me. What happened between you two? Do I need to fear the duke’s wrath when he learns his master of arms has cuckolded him?” Basil turned to face her and took her hand in his, giving it a squeeze. “Tell me all, for I must decide how and when I might need to defend you.”
“You have nothing to fear. Marcus didn’t betray his duke.” Her gaze met his and he saw the sadness in it.
“He’s an honorable man, then.” He stared at his sister. “But something tells me you wished he were not.” He touched his hand to her chin to raise her face to his.
“Aye. I wanted him, Bas. Still want him.”
“It will pass. When you are married to the duke, you can slake whatever appetite you have for a man.”
“My appetite is for one man, brother. Marcus. I want no other.”
“Don’t be foolish, sister. You are going to marry Jackson Baymore. Marcus has nothing to offer you, and do you really think his duke would let him take the woman he plans on marrying? Out of the goodness of his heart? Out of friendship to Marcus?” He shook his head. “He’d be more likely to kill you both.”
“Perhaps.” She tried to pull her hand away from his, but he held it tight.
“Sister. Think. If you are thinking of yourself and of little Anne, you must know to follow this misguided emotion is insanity.”
“Misguided emotion? Love?” She snorted at him and with a hard jerk, pulled her hand free.
“Love? You’ve just met the man. Seen him for what, all of a few hours? That’s the stuff of those foolish stories told by your old nurse.” He jerked his head to the corner where Beth’s maid slept.
“I wanted him from the first moment I saw him, aye. And he felt the same.” She jutted out her chin and stood, then stalked away from him.
&
nbsp; “You’d be wise to forget those feelings,” he warned her. “They’ll lead you into more danger than you’re prepared for, Beth.”
“Those feelings?” She spun and put her hands on her hips. “Have you never felt love for another? Do you not understand the power of it?”
Basil swallowed. “No. Never. But I do love you and Anne, and want only your happiness and safety.” Lust, desire, he knew. This love that the poets and minstrels sang of was unknown to him. He’d long since given up the hope of learning it for himself.
“If that is so, then you’ll want me to be with Marcus. Only with him could I find true happiness.”
“And certain death.” He stood. “Beth, let me make myself plain and speak clearly. You are going to marry the duke. You are not going to speak of your feelings for Marcus. Trust me, once Jackson has bedded you, any confusion you might feel will be removed.”
Beth laughed, hard, sharp, and bitter. “So, once my husband has taken me, all love for Marcus will leave. How can you say that? How can you let me go to Baymore, and marry any man other than the one I want? The one I love?”
“Sister!” Basil couldn’t believe his sister’s words. “You shouldn’t—”
“Speak of such things?” She snorted. “Have you forgotten, I’ve been married before, felt a man’s hands on my body, his breath on my skin, his rod in my—”
“Beth!” Holding his hand out to ward her off, Basil dropped down onto the bench again, his stomach churning. “Stay your words.”
She strode up to him, kneeled, and took his hands in hers. “Please, Basil. If you love me, don’t let this happen.” Her blue eyes spilled tears down her soft cheeks, and his heart tore a little with each one that fell onto his hands.
He closed his eyes. “This is impossible.” If he broke the contract, if Marcus didn’t claim her, if Baymore let them leave the castle alive…
“More so for me.”
“Let me ponder this, Beth, but for now, I see no way out of this without us all dying. You, me, Anne, and Marcus. Is that what you really want?” he whispered.
She looked away, blinked, and washed more tears down her cheeks.
With a sniff, she shook her head. “No. I don’t wish for death. I don’t want to hurt any of you.” She glanced at her baby. “You are right. There is too much to risk for my happiness.”