of the bed, he sat up and pulled the shirt over his head, ripping
stitches in his haste. He was so hard and swollen, he feared
he’d never peel his breeches from his hips. He rose and made
the mistake of facing Sera. She stared at him with wide eyes.
God—he had to get them off before her eagerness gave
way to virginal fear. He turned his back to her, ripped a seam at
the ankle and shoved with his feet. He lunged back into bed,
hiking the sheet over his nakedness before he rolled to face her.
Don’t stop, don’t stop he thought.
She was biting her lip. “You are… rather larger than the
statues,” she said in a voice that trembled just a little.
“Sweetheart, I won’t do anything you don’t want me to,”
he whispered just before he kissed her. And prayed he wouldn’t
be damned as a liar.
Miraculously, she relaxed against him with a sigh, and his
tongue swept in to taste her sweetness. She moved restlessly
beneath him, and he knew she wanted his hands on her, thank
God. He stroked the soft swell of her breasts and studied her
face. His touch—his kiss—brought the haze of passion back to
her eyes.
“Your skin—it’s softer than velvet.” He traced the perfectly
rounded contours of her breasts with his fingers, saw the flush
cover them—pink on gold, like the opening petals of a blushing
rose. He tasted her and drove her with lips, teeth and tongue,
pushing her up into the vortex. He wanted her need to match
his own.
He had begun this thinking he could redeem himself a little.
To help her forget. That had lasted for about a minute. Now, he
couldn’t stop, even if the world ended. In the worst way, he
wanted to postpone the act until she writhed beneath him,
screaming with pleasure. And in the worst way, he wanted to
spread her wide and seat himself to the hilt inside her tight heat.
“Off,” he said, grabbing gown and shift at her waist as he
nipped kisses at the underswell of her breast. With one quick
tug, he had it at her knees, and with another, completely off and
onto the floor. Nothing impeded his view of long, slender legs,
tiny waist, and rounded hips.
“Beautiful,” he breathed. His hand cupped her, stroked
through the curls between her legs. She shut her eyes and rolled
her head away from him, moaning and trying to hide from his
gaze at the same time. Not enough—it was imperative that she
recognize him.
“Look at me,” he demanded again, and she opened her eyes,
her vision focusing on the intensity of his gaze. “Watch what I
do to you. I am the one making you feel this, Sera. I am your
first lover. Your only.” He lowered his head, tracing his tongue
down to her belly. The warmth in the room and her own heat
gave off her secret scent. He breathed it deeply and rubbed his
face against her belly, feeling the smooth satin of her skin against
his cheek.
She didn’t fight his progress. No, she helped him, lifting
against his mouth, her hands on his shoulders, kneading, making
small, helpless cries. He settled between her legs, brushing his
mouth against the soft curls.
“Gold here, too,” he said. “Such a beautiful part of you.”
Sera entered a place where every feeling was magnified
until it was almost too strong to bear. Oh, the sound of his deep
sigh, and then the tickle of his fingers as he parted her, stroking
once up the cleft, showing her the pearly drop of moisture on
the tip of his finger, outlining her lips with it, and then rising to
kiss her, his tongue tasting. Oh, the way he lowered his head
again to that heated core and used his tongue, holding her still
with his strong hands, commanding her on a rasp of breath not
to move when she was mad to thrust up against him, to demand
more.
And how he entered her—one finger, then two, burning
and pressure, his fingers thrusting, his thumb circling where
his mouth had been, his lips covering her nipple and suckling
in rhythm. She cried out in ecstasy. He made a deep, hungry
sound, as though he wanted to possess her, to know her so
intimately, that surely this was more than simple lust. His head
lowered to her breasts and burrowed in the valley between, and
she heard his smothered groan, felt his breath, his warm weight,
and all the while, his fingers stole reason from her. She could
hear herself coming apart, sobbing to him to give her release
from this wonderful, maddening pleasure.
He lifted his head from her breasts. His eyes snapped open,
riveting her with his gaze. “Let it happen,” he ground out. “Let
it come.”
Frightened by the enormity of the urgent spiral building
and building, she reached out helplessly for him, her anchor in
the storm that buffeted her body. She rolled her hips, lifting to
take his fingers deeper, and he stroked her until her legs
trembled.
“Now,” he said, and the lightning burst through her, again
and again, throwing her into space with its force.
Suddenly, he reared over her. She hung on a pinnacle of
sensation and felt his hard heat at the juncture of her thighs, felt
him thrust slowly, inexorably, into her, felt the pain mixing with
the pleasure. She hurt, but she wanted this entry, this hot,
complete possession.
His lips nibbled at her, soft kisses on her lids, her face, her
mouth. And all the while he pressed into her, past a place of
pain where she cried out. When he was deep inside her, filling
her completely, he held himself still above her, taking his weight
on his elbows with a tensing of his biceps and a grimace, as
though he felt the same pain. She waited, caught in that net of
feeling, wishing he would tell her what to do. And he lowered
his face and kissed her hard, almost bruising her mouth. He
lifted his head and held her gaze with his. Finality and a joyous
triumph leaped into his eyes.
“You’re mine, now. You belong to me.”
She looked at him, helpless, but his dusky lashes swept
down to hide his eyes, and he lowered his head to her shoulder,
biting her lightly, stallion to her mare. She gave to him, raised
her arms and put them around his shoulders as far as she could
reach. That motion released him. He began to move inside her,
thrust and retreat. There wasn’t much pain, now, but an ache, a
tension, and she moved restlessly against him, trying to help
him, to keep him deep at the height of his thrust.
He must have sensed it, this new emptiness she wanted
filled. Perhaps he was beyond anything but the demand of his
body, because he put his hands beneath the small of her back
and pulled her up against him with every thrust, quickening the
rhythm, his breathing harsh in her ear. His hands slid lower,
kneading and lifting her buttocks. She wanted release from this
overwhelming lust. She could hear his rasping breath, her own
sobs. He raised himself away from her just a litt
le, still moving
inside her. He watched her reactions with such an expression
on his beautiful face. She felt completely naked, far beyond
shame or self-protection.
She trusted him. She did. And in that instant of recognition,
she gave him what he wanted. With a cry of surrender, never
shutting her eyes, she let him see the earthquake burst free and
lift her out of herself. He groaned deep in his throat and thrust
one last time, his back arched, his face drawn in pain or ecstasy,
she could not tell. He held there above her, and a shudder
wracked his body. He was as high and deep as he could go
inside her. She shut her eyes, sighing, and felt his gift, the vital,
surging warmth of his seed.
Nicholas gave a ragged sigh and lowered himself until his
body covered her from head to toe. Still joined, he rolled to his
back, taking her with him. She could feel heat, the beaded
moisture where her cheek lay against his chest, and lower, where
she was slick from lovemaking and him. He said not a word,
but lay with his limbs relaxed, his heartbeat slower now, and
steady against her ear. She stared at the fire shadows dancing
on the wall and despaired.
Everything was changed. She was no longer Sera, the
Mage’s granddaughter, or Sera the captive, or Sera, the
combative friend of a king. All of those Seras had wanted one
thing above all—to go home. But dear gods, how could she
ever leave him now?
Twelve
Nicholas awoke to the sounds of muffled hoofbeats. “Sera!”
he said as he leaped from the bed and grabbed the pistol he’d
placed on the bedside table the night before. But she only
muttered and pulled a pillow over her head.
Nicholas peered through the window. The snow had abated,
giving him a good view of the riders who rounded the corner of
the barn. They wore the resplendent red tunics and navy breeches
of Laurentia’s cavalry. Andre rode at the head of the full troop,
his face drawn and pale with worry. Dismounting with a few of
the officers, he tried the front door, which Nicholas had locked.
Andre produced a key and slipped it into the lock.
Nicholas grabbed his trousers. As he lifted a leg to put them
on, he saw that his thighs were stained with Sera’s blood. He
looked at the bed. Sera still slept beneath the quilts. What with
his illness, and last night…well, he must have worn her out.
Nicholas knew he ought to waylay the men at the foot of the
stairs. But an idea occurred to him that would get him exactly
what he wanted. His Rostov mind seized upon it, quickly turned
it this way and that to look for flaws, and found none.
Sera was the most stubborn woman he’d ever known. He
needed an incident that would clearly illustrate their situation
to her and the obvious solution to it. And here it was, climbing
the stairs.
He tried to keep the grin from his face as he tumbled back
into bed and took Sera in his arms, slipping the quilt down just
enough for the men bursting into the room to have an excellent
view of one pink, naked little shoulder.
The noise of the door almost flying off its hinges brought
Sera awake in his arms with a jerk. She struggled to sit up, but
Nicholas held her fast against him, keeping the quilt well over
her breasts.
“What is the meaning of this invasion?” he thundered at
the gape-jawed men who stood around the bed.
“Sire, our apologies,” stuttered Captain Oblomov, the
soldier who had followed Sera about in Selonia. His face wore
the look of a man who wanted to cry. He bowed stiffly, first to
Nicholas and then to Sera, who finally grasped her situation
and burrowed deeper beneath the quilts. The men followed
Oblomov’s example and retreated from the room, almost falling
over themselves in their hurry.
Andre, giving Nicholas a fierce look, was the last to leave.
“They’re gone,” said Nicholas as he went in search of Sera.
He found her halfway down the great bed. “Come out,” he
coaxed, gently tugging her up against him. “You’ll suffocate
under there.”
She batted his hands away, but he was insistent and stronger
than she. When she finally surfaced, he took her into his arms
and held her there for a long moment.
“I’ve ruined you,” she said dully.
He did grin, then. “I think it’s the other way around, love.”
She shook her head against his chest. “Not with your court,
it isn’t.” He hated the bleakness in her voice. She actually
believed that nonsense.
“Most members of my court are full of praise for you.
However, it’s also true that I’ve ruined your reputation, not mine.
I’m afraid there’s only one solution, Sera.”
She looked so trusting, worrying her lower lip and staring
up at him, that he had a real pang of conscience—for
approximately an instant.
“You’ll have to marry me, sweetheart. I believe it will take
a few days to make all the arrangements. Obviously, we cannot
wait much longer. The gossips will have quite enough on their
plates when this gets out.”
“Couldn’t we simply ask the men who entered the room
not to speak of this?” She sat up in the bed, not even aware in
her agitation that the quilt had dropped to her waist. Her nipples
tightened in the room’s cold air.
Nicholas pried his gaze off her breasts. “I’m afraid it’s too
late for that.” He put both his arms around her and leaned toward
the window beside the bed. Safely shielded by his back, she
could peek out and see an entire regiment of cavalry shaking
their heads and muttering.
“I believe they all want to call me out for this,” said Nicholas,
feeling extraordinarily cheerful.
“No.”
“Well, of course they can’t actually do so, but their faces,
love. They’re positively grim.”
“No, I won’t marry you.”
“What do you mean, ‘no’?”
“I won’t do it to you, Nicholas. Many powerful nobles
already doubt your good sense in making me your friend. If
you marry me, they will begin to ridicule you. A few will whisper
that I bewitched you. Then someone will hear about your illness
and call me a witch in all seriousness. And then you will no
longer be safe from your own people. Believe me, I know what
I’m talking about.” She scurried out of the bed and grabbed her
shift, pulling it over her head.
“How can you think for one minute that my people would
react to you—to me—that way?”
“Don’t treat this lightly, Nicholas. It has happened before
to kings who were just as kind and just as clever.” She finished
buttoning her gown as she spoke and bent to the floor to slip on
stockings and shoes. She threw him a dressing gown and went
to the door.
“Hurry,” she said. “I shall wait in the next chamber while
you dress and go below to speak to them. Perhaps they will
>
accept your taking me as a mistress, Nicholas. But they will
never accept me as their queen.”
“Damn!” Nicholas muttered as the door quietly shut behind
Sera. It took but a moment for him to dress and take the stairs.
He had not expected this amount of resistance. It was evident
that she wanted him as much as he wanted her. And she cared
about him, damnit. She did. How long would it take to change
her mind?
***
After their return to the palace, Andre poked his head into
Nicholas’s study late in the day. Nicholas glanced up from the
book of jewelry illustrations he was perusing. “Where is Sera?
Still hiding?”
Andre shot him another of the black looks he’d been giving
him all morning during the ride back to the palace. “She won’t
even let Katherine in to see her. How could you do it?”
“Oh, do let off, Andre. Even if she’d been sleeping in another
bedroom, she would still have been utterly ruined. I simply
wanted to clarify the issue for her.”
Andre let out a whistle. “My God. You’re going to marry
her.”
“On Saturday next, to be precise. I’ve seen to most of the
arrangements.” At Andre’s grunt, he looked up quickly. “You
don’t disapprove of the match, do you? The people love her.
She has an extraordinary gift, Andre. What she did for me was
truly—well, she’ll be Laurentia’s secret weapon.”
He grinned, full of satisfaction over the outcome of their
adventure.
Andre frowned. “It’s just that, well, I assumed that you
would be more…. I don’t quite know how to say this, but it
appears that you’re approaching your wedding without a whit
of sentiment.”
Nicholas raised his brows in surprise. “Obviously, I desire
Sera. I respect her. Laurentia needs her.” He glanced down at
his book again, then slowly raised his gaze to Andre’s perplexed
face. “You don’t expect me to blather some poetic nonsense
about love, do you?”
“Something on that order might be nice for Sera to hear,”
Andre said.
“I wouldn’t insult her with such a lie. Kings can’t love.
Why, what if something happened to her, and I fell apart? What
would become of Laurentia?”
Andre gave him a long look. “Sounds to me like you’re
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