of desire. His body responded immediately. He became rock
hard, straining to take her without preliminaries.
“Mmm,” she said, arching against him and making it worse.
“In spite of Monsieur Gallopet.”
“You simply decided to accept your fate, sweetheart. Was
it so bad to waltz in my arms, after all?” he asked, trying to
concentrate on the conversation.
“Only when I thought of what I would vastly prefer to be
doing.” Sera slowly untied his neck cloth and unbuttoned his
shirt. Her hands slipped inside, moving restlessly over his chest,
her fingers smooth and enticing on his heated skin.
“And what might that be? A ride across the park, perhaps?”
He was dying.
She pulled the shirt free. When she began to open the first
button on his trousers, he put his hand over hers to stop her. He
was so hot, so hard, that he feared he would humiliate himself
and lose all control.
“No,” she said. “I thought of doing just what I am doing
now while you held me in the waltz. Didn’t you realize that
your touch could leave me this impatient?”
She reached out to him again.
He didn’t want it quick and hot. “Oh, no, my lady. From
the moment I saw you in my necklace tonight, I conjured other
plans for the evening.” Nicholas lifted her in his arms and carried
her high against his heart, taking the stairs to his room swiftly.
The candles glowed, lighting the room just enough to allow
him to see every inch of her.
Sera’s arms circled his neck. He slowly lowered her, letting
her slide against him, feeling the crush of her breasts against
his bare chest, the soft curve of her hips against his erection as
she stood in his arms. He carefully brought her arms down from
his neck and held them out on either side of her, framing her
body with his hands, sliding them along her sides, molding her
hips.
“Stand very still,” he whispered against her ear and felt her
shiver in reaction.
Lifting his head, he noted the changes already apparent—
the pink nipples pointed and erect through the creamy silk of
her gown, the swelling of her round breasts. He pulled down
the silk and the lace, lifting each breast free of the gown.
“Little goddess. Do you think you might have Cretan
ancestry somewhere in your past?” he asked, brushing his hands
up the underside of her breasts, lifting them. He drove himself
mad with this slow, sensual perusal, but the mist of passion in
her eyes, her quick, uneven breaths, were worth the denial he
forced on himself.
“Nicholas,” she whispered. She sounded tormented with
anticipation. Good. He lowered his head, and while he lifted
and stroked her, he blew his breath on the nipple. She cried out,
arching her back.
“Shh,” he said, and opened his mouth, taking the nipple
and suckling it with measured, gentle movements of tongue
and lips and teeth. She nearly collapsed against him.
“How I adore a passionate woman,” he said on a low laugh.
He held her upright in the curve of his left arm. The fingers of
his right hand slid upward to the ribbon beneath her breast, and
he slowly pulled it free. The gown fell to her hips, and then the
floor, followed by lacy corset and petticoat.
He gently propelled her backwards, out of the pool of silk
and lace, until she stood before the room’s blue velvet covered
wall. He wanted her clothed only in her white silk stockings
and garters and dancing slippers. The betrothal necklace flashed
and glittered on her neck. She was panting as she watched his
gaze linger over her. She leaned against the wall while her whole
body trembled. She made no move to cover her breasts or the
silken mound at the soft juncture of her thighs.
He knelt and lifted each slipper from her foot, kissing the
delicate, high arch before he put her foot down to the floor again.
She gasped as his hands swept upward. His fingers stroked the
soft skin at the back of her knees and higher up her thighs in
infinite slowness. She moaned when his hands closed on her
buttocks, stroking, then pulling her forward, towards his mouth.
He looked up at her, imprisoned as she was by his hands, his
body. He smiled, and watched her eyes widen. He blew on those
glinting curls.
“Open your legs, love. I want to see you.” With one hand,
Nicholas stroked between her thighs, moving her legs apart,
while he arched her toward him with the other hand until her
hips were close to him. He rubbed his face against her belly.
The scent of her arousal came to his nostrils, inflaming him.
Freeing her, Nicholas brought his other hand forward. Her own
passion held her prisoner. He stroked the apex of her thighs and
gently pushed them even farther apart. Slowly, carefully, he
parted the plump petals enclosing all the secret places of her
body and breathed deeply.
“You’re so beautiful here,” he said. She arched her hips
forward, straining closer, but he wanted her even wilder before
he touched her.
“There are drops of moisture on your curls, sweetheart. They
shine like pearls. You’re swollen, and flushed a lovely pink,
and sheened in that moisture. You smell delicious. I wonder if
you taste as good.” He blew gently on her soft, swollen folds.
“Nicholas,” she whispered, helpless and aching.
“I’ll do this to you every night, Sera. For the rest of our
lives, I’ll stroke you here in all your secret places. And I’ll kiss
you and run my tongue over that sweet, swollen nubbin right
here.…” He stroked her once and watched her jerk her hips.
“Nicholas,” she said plaintively.
“Do you think you should like that, darling?”
“Nicholas!” She moved her hips again in that helpless,
passionate, age-old sign of urgency.
“All right,” he said, fiercely satisfied. He plunged his tongue
into the soft, swollen depths of her and stroked her again and
again, bringing her up relentlessly, until she moaned. Her head
rolled back and forth against the wall, and her fingers curled
into his hair. She held him close to that place, so lost in her
need that she was without self-consciousness or shame. It
humbled him that she could give everything of herself without
holding back.
And with that thought, the lust rose hot and strong,
obliterating all thought but one. He couldn’t wait another
moment, not even to carry her to the bed. The surging need
overpowered him. Somewhere, the thought came to him that
even tonight, as a result of this magnificent lust she aroused,
his child might be conceived.
It was too much. He groaned and turned her to the wall.
Pressing against her softness, he struggled for control and found
he’d lost it.
“I can’t wait,” he said. His heart beat like that of a runner
who saw the finish line and sprinted for it. He pulled her down
ont
o the rug and cradled her against him, breathing fast.
“Sera, I won’t hurt you. Trust me. Trust me.” His voice
sounded hoarse and straining. What was he asking her to give
him—her complete faith when she realized what he wanted from
her now, or some promise for the future? He positioned her,
drawing her up on her knees with her back to him. Tearing at
the buttons of his trousers, he freed himself and smoothed his
hands over her buttocks.
She trembled, whether from passion or sudden fear, he could
not tell. His member thrust forward, jerking with heat. With
gritted teeth, he pushed down the pressing need. Instead, he
bent over her, and nuzzled against the back of her neck. His
hand reached round and cradled her belly, stroking that place
he’d just kissed, until she sobbed and rolled her hips.
It was her passionate response that undid him time and
again. His body blazed with hot urgency. He pulled her hips up.
She rested her head against her bent arm. The very sight of her
vulnerability, her body stretched, open and glistening, drove
him over the edge. He made a sound deep in his throat, guttural,
elemental. And plunged into her. He stroked deep, hard, as his
fingers played upon her in the same quick rhythm.
He felt her body gather, taut and straining, and then the
explosion within her, the trembling earthquake that stroked him
as she screamed, muffling the sound against her arm. He gave a
deep shout of release, and with one last plunge, he touched her
womb. He felt himself shatter into a million pieces and, pulsing
strongly, poured his seed deep within her body.
She was his. She was his. She was his. Forever.
***
Sera awoke in the gray hour before dawn. Nicholas slept at
her back, his arm flung over her, his hand resting on her breast.
She turned in his arms and looked at his face. He murmured
something in his sleep, and his mouth curved upward just a
little. A lock of his dark hair lay over his forehead. He looked
young and happy, and it made her smile.
She fingered the necklace about her throat and slowly
slipped out of the big bed. She knew what she had to do, and
although it gave her great pain, she wouldn’t hesitate to do it.
Whether he had said so or not, Nicholas loved her. If she couldn’t
tell him why she had to do this, he would understand and forgive
her, just as he had accepted her secretiveness before.
Taking up her gown and underclothing, Sera crept down
the stairway to her room and dressed in a simple green wool
gown. Then she wrapped the ermine lined cloak about her and
took a back stairway down to a door beneath her room. It was a
chill morning, with the scent of snow in the air. The fog swirled
about her, settling in waves of wet cold on her face and bare
hands. The distant trees in the park appeared to be indistinct
shadows, as though this world was growing dim and unreal.
Sera shivered.
Jacob came to her, appearing out of the fog like a shadow
as he drew down the hood of his cloak, and then he solidified,
and became real. She threw herself into his arms, already feeling
the sorrow of imminent separation. He held her with the same
sorrow and intensity, until she drew back and carefully, as though
she were learning him by heart, caressed his face—forehead,
eyes, cheeks, lips.
“You cannot mean to stay,” he said, his voice tight.
Sera’s mouth trembled as she tried to smile at him. “I cannot
leave, but look, I bring you a gift.” She lifted her hands to the
clasp of the necklace and opened it.
“Gods!” Jacob stared at the necklace as she held it out to
him, heavy with the weight of the jewel. Even in the gloom, it
beat with a thousand pulses of light. “Where did you find it?”
Sera heard herself give a laugh that ended on a sob. “It is
my betrothal gift, Jacob. Treat it carefully and someday return
the necklace to me.”
“Your betrothal—but Sera, this proves Rostov’s a beast—a
murderer and a thief. You absolutely cannot stay with him. You
would not be that stupid, much less that immoral.”
She shook her head again and again, knowing that she must
convince Jacob of Nicholas’s innocence. “The thief came to
him in the palace. He needed money to escape the Brotherhood.
Nicholas told me all about it, and if you could have seen the
look on his face, you would know that he had nothing to do
with the murder. All he wanted was to wed me, Jacob. That is
his only crime.”
“He lives in a world of criminals. If you remain with him,
you condemn yourself to the same fate.”
“Jacob, you believe that goodness exists only in the Hills.
It is true that we are peaceful and powerful, and all in our world
is based upon reason. But there are things we have given up,
Jacob—things that enrich life beyond what you can imagine.”
She had to stop for a moment to control the catch in her
breath. She rubbed her cheeks and realized they were wet with
more than fog. “I have seen such love here. A leader protects
his people by constantly putting himself in danger. A grieving
mother takes a dead woman’s child to her bosom.”
“And, Jacob, how they strive to understand the Divine, to
reflect it in their own souls. If you could hear their music, Jacob.
It would make the gods weep.”
She shook her head. “They are flawed, more so than we.
They search and struggle against their own demons and those
imposed upon them by evil men. But they reach such heights
of glory. And they love with all their strength. I could not leave
them. In truth, I am more Outlander than Arkadian.”
Jacob bent his head and took her own in his hands, until
they stood, foreheads touching. “How will we deal with this, to
lose you forever?”
“It needn’t be that way, Jacob. That is why you carry home
my gift. Convince Grandfather to use it and keep the cliffs from
closing forever on us. Perhaps someday, he will allow me to
come home again.”
Jacob nodded and slipped the necklace into his tunic. He
held out a folded square of gray material. “Take this. You may
need it, Sera. There is war to come and perhaps famine after.
Keep it.”
She shook her head, backing away from him. “I cannot use
it, Jacob—it is too dangerous. I am never certain I can control
this new power I have. And besides, I am to be their queen. I
could never leave while they suffer.”
Jacob shoved the cloak into her hands. “Grandfather says
your gift has grown very strong. You will know how to use it
when the time comes. Take it, Sera. If just to please me one last
time. I cannot leave unless I know you have the means to come
home.”
Sera nodded, blinking against the blur in her eyes. She
needed to see him, to memorize his face. “Give this to
Grandfather from me,” she whispered, knelt before him and
lifted Jacob’s h
ands to her lips. He raised her up again, pulled
her close and then stepped back, touching her cheek lightly.
“Farewell, and fare well, sister, most beloved friend. The
gods keep you in their hearts.”
“The gods go with you, dearest Jacob.”
He tried to smile and then closed his eyes for a moment.
Gathering himself, he turned his back and walked two paces.
Then he lifted the hood of his cloak and simply… was no more.
Nicholas stood at the window of Sera’s chamber and
watched the Hillman disappear. Sera stood below him, her
shoulders shaking in wracking sobs. But Nicholas felt only a
dull, empty pain. It was much, he reasoned, like an amputee
must feel, when laudanum took effect and he could almost
believe that his arm was still there.
He had not been able to hear them, but he could see plainly
enough with his own eyes. She embraced that golden stranger.
She knelt and kissed his hands as though she worshipped him.
She gave him her betrothal necklace. Her betrothal necklace,
as though it were his right to have it! That had pierced him with
such a flaming spear of agony, he thought he might howl and
expire on the spot.
Andre was right. The Hillman—that incarnation of
Hercules—was a superior specimen of the damned master race
he sprang from. Certainly Nicholas looked a sad second to him.
The comparison was laughable, really.
There was no doubt from her tears, her embraces, that Sera
loved this better man.
“Once I give a promise, I never break it,” she had said.
She had made a promise to Nicholas, and she would be true to
it. She loved the Hillman, but she’d sent him away.
That powerful bastard wouldn’t give her up so easily.
Nicholas knew that, because he himself would do anything to
manipulate, or coerce, or seduce Sera into staying with him.
He rang the bell for a footman. He wanted answers—all of
them, by God! He deserved them, and he was going to get them.
***
A few minutes after the footman had found her, Sera slipped
into Nicholas’s study. He stood by the window, his back turned
to her. She had a strange surge of fear, a sense of déjà vu. It was
very much like the beginning, when she was escorted, dirty
and rebellious, to hear the king’s displeasure at her escape
Lennox, Mary - Heart of Fire.txt Page 36