For several heartbeats, they merely stared at each other, gasping for breath. Before Alex could think of anything that she might say that could possibly calm the situation, Bronson lowered his head, opening his mouth over hers in a kiss that shocked her to her toes.
Stunned, she didn’t even think to breathe for several moments as his lips slanted over her own. Alex gasped in horror and outrage, and his tongue—his tongue—thrust into her mouth in a rough, possessive glide, filling her with the taste and feel of him. Alex’s frightened, excited whimper seemed to increase his appetite, for he fair devoured her with his mouth like a starved beast. His fingers caressed her open palms, eliciting shivers as he swept his tongue through her crevices, touching and tasting with ravenous abandon.
A deep growl rumbled in Bronson’s chest as he crushed down upon her, as if he wanted to sink into her flesh and meld to her bones. Alex moaned at the weight of him, the erotic glide of his tongue, the feel of his callused finger tips stroking her sensitive palms as if he wanted to touch more of her and would not. A hard knee parted her wanton thighs, pinning her ever harder to the ground, so close to her womanhood, she could scream with want of that heavy muscle against her most intimate parts.
Her veins felt flooded with liquid fire, her skin felt wondrously alive, highly sensitive to the slightest breath of movement. Heat suffused her belly, pooling in the crux of her thighs. Finally, when she thought she would expire from lack of breath and the sensation bursting for release inside her, he ceased the tender invasion.
Saints, she had not thought a man’s mouth could create such pleasurable anticipation. Her body hungered for him.
Weak in the aftermath of his assault, it took an effort of will even to lift her eyelids when he released her hands finally and pulled away. Dreamily, she gazed up at him. Something about him did not seem quite right, however, and then it dawned on her.
Her mustache was stuck to his lip.
Her eyes widened in horror. Her mind went blank. It was only instinct that guided her as she jackknifed upright, hooked a hand around the back of his head, and kissed him firmly on the mouth in an effort to retrieve her lost disguise.
Gasps of revulsion immediately followed that clever recovery, and Alex drew back in surprise. It wasn’t Bronson who’d uttered the gasps, however. It was his brothers, huddled behind them now, their expressions varying from plain shock, to shocked revulsion. Alex quickly checked her lip, thankful to find her mustache was back in place, even if a little crooked. She held her hand over her mouth as if in horror of … something….
“What is it?” her nemesis cried at their sounds of distaste. “Is he hurt? Is he dead? Tell me!”
Rafael grabbed Constance’s shoulders and quickly shoved her back, placing his body between her and the scene behind him. “You don’t want to see this. Believe me.”
“Oh my god, he’s killed him!”
“No, it’s worse than that,” Gray said, shuddering.
“Worse? Let me see,” Constance cried, attempting to peer around the bulk of her two brothers to little avail.
With a growl of rage, Bronson rolled off of Alex, dragging her to her feet as he stood. Alex looked at Gray and Rafael, feeling herself color straight to her hairline. She wondered exactly how much they had seen….
“Are you all right, Bronson?” Gray asked a little doubtfully.
Bronson glared at him, shoved him out of the way, and stalked from the stable.
* * * *
With the barrier broken by Bronson’s retreating backside, Constance slipped through the opening and rushed into Alex’s arms. Alex grunted at the impact, patting her back in embarrassment before Constance pulled away and checked her for signs of injury or head trauma.
“How do you fair?” she asked as Alex pulled free and held her arms out to keep her at bay.
“I am well, dear lady, now that you have returned for help,” Alex said, feeling her collar tighten about her throat. All this trouble, and she still had not managed to retrieve her horse. She doubted now that she would have a moment alone the remainder of her ‘stay’ with the Blackmores.
She absolutely refused to think about what Bronson had done to her. She found him to be the most attractive man she’d ever met. It horrified her to even consider that he could be attracted to her as she was now—a boy. Alex shuddered. What a tangle she had made of things.
“Constance, go now. We have matters to discuss with young Alex,” Rafael said, crossing his arms over his chest in a manner that seemed most threatening to Alex.
“Not you as well, brothers!” Constance cried, hugging Alex protectively.
Alex struggled to breathe and fight her rising panic. She should be accustomed to this state by now, but she quite feared she would expire before she could free herself from their machinations. “’Twill be all right, Lady Constance. You must do as your brother says.”
Reluctantly, Constance released her with a warning glare at her brothers as she strode out the door.
Gray and Rafael watched Alex, stone-faced, letting her feel their displeasure for long moments. Alex knew it was useless to do anything but await punishment. She was almost glad for it. A horrific sense of guilt permeated her. Her deception weighed heavily on her mind, for she feared what it’s effect would have on the innocent, as well as herself.
Gray rubbed his face as though tired, running his fingers through his hair in a frustrated stroke. He gave her a hard look, as if trying to decide how best to broach what he wanted to say. Finally, he sighed and asked, “Alex, how long has it been since you’ve dipped your wick?”
Alex swallowed with difficulty past the heart which lodged in her throat. She was a horrid liar. She thought perhaps some measure of truth could aid her in her defense, though she knew not where this line of questioning could lead. With reluctance and a great deal of effort, she said, “I have never … uh … dipped my … wick.”
Gray and Rafael exchanged an unfathomable look with one another.
“It makes sense then,” Gray admitted. “We must remedy your problem if you are to continue to stay here.”
Alex’s heart jumped and choked her. Surely not they too…. “I do not quite understand.”
Rafael leaned one shoulder against a support beam. “’Tis simple. You would not be … confused about your … preferences if you’d had your coddles waxed.”
Alex’s head began to swim dizzily as blood rushed up her face. Certes! They meant to … to … she shuddered with horror and embarrassment. She could not do what they wanted her to. “No, no. That is not necessary,” she hedged, wishing a bolt of lightning would strike her down rather than have this conversation with the men.
“It is necessary. We will not have our brother ruined by your seductions,” Gray said, frowning as he came forward and closed a hand around her biceps.
She was beginning to feel a faint coming on, her breath was coming so fast and hard. Rafael surged forward and clapped her on the back with a grin. He had every appearance of being excited. In fact, they both looked over eager.
“Calm down, boy,” Rafael said, guiding her out of the stable. “There really is naught to it. We shall find you an experienced whore for your first time.”
CHAPTER TEN
Alex felt like a hen being chased for a stew. She had to escape. Unfortunately, between Gray and Rafael taking turns keeping an eye on her and Constance’s concerns, she’d had not a moment alone the remainder of the day. By the evening meal, she was worn down to one frazzled nerve. She knew tonight Gray and Rafael planned to alleviate her ‘malady’, and she still had not thought of an excuse she could give to get out of it. It seemed she was destined to lose her virginity to a prostitute.
Thinking of carnal pleasures immediately brought Bronson to mind, and she wondered where he was. She had not seen him since the incident. He had not even come in for the evening meal, and she wondered if he was struggling with his feelings over what he’d done—and what she’d done. She blushed thinking of how she’
d returned his kiss, even if only on the pretense of regaining her mustache—which was firmly pasted back into place. She longed to tell him he need not worry over his masculinity, that she was a woman, full grown and eager for the marriage bed in necessity and desire. Her courage was not so great, however, nor could she begin to imagine where he might have stormed off to or how long he would remain unseen.
It was as the servants were bringing out tureens of steaming water for cleansing that Bronson came into the dining hall. It fair stole her breath to see his long, powerful strides and the fluid movement of his body in motion. She hurt to look upon him, in that same achy place as before that throbbed to life whenever he was near. He should not have affected her thusly, but if naught else, she should have the ability to restrain her physical desires. That she could not refrain from experiencing a thrill on seeing him boded ill for her continued ease of mind.
He did not spare her a look as he seated himself beside his father and Rafael, but as he sat, he seemed to sense her eyes upon him and gifted her with a heated, angry look. He was persistent in his anger, and had been since her arrival. When first she’d met him, she felt like a mewling hound that merely annoyed him. In the past week, however, he’d seemed changed, more attune to her movements in the castle and on the grounds. She felt that he watched her always, even when she could not see him. Pure nonsense, she was certain. He’d even begun stealing into her dreams….
As he refused to break his angry look from her, Alex flushed to her hairline and glanced down at the platter a servant set before her.
That infallible look confirmed her suspicions. He was angry at her, and with good reason. If she was to gain another chance to escape, she would have to appease him somehow. She supposed the easiest course would be to apologize, even if the fault had not been entirely her own.
The meal was miserable for her. Each time she looked up, she would catch a look from one of the Blackmores. Constance batted her lashes at her, ever smiling, and her father, Lord Derwin, seemed oblivious to the turmoil that surrounded him. In fact, he almost looked encouraging to Constance, but Alex knew that had to be her overactive imagination playing tricks upon her eyes.
She could hardly bear to tear her eyes away from her meal, little though she ate. Gray and Rafael intercepted every look with a smile at what was to come, and Bronson fair hunkered down as he ate, growling at any who attempted conversation, looking like nothing so much as a beast.
Alex attempted to eat, but her throat closed on her food, and she could barely swallow in her anxiety. Her choking drew concern she did not want, and so she merely pushed her food about her plate until the entertainment began. She did not have long to wait until her doom, and she still had not thought of a way to escape Gray’s and Rafael’s clutches.
With morbid thoughts, she watched as a lutanist came in and sat upon the bottom step of the dais, strumming a tune as the gathering feasted.
The music appeared to agitate Bronson. He stood abruptly, scraping his chair as he strode out of the room. Alex waited a moment until she was certain the attention of the gathering had redirected to the lutist, and she slipped out, following him.
She had to speak to him of what had happened while she had the chance. Alex caught him on the stairs. His pace had slowed, almost as though he meant for her to capture him there as he ascended.
“My lord,” she called, near breathless from her race to catch him.
He stopped on the stairs as if struck in the back by a bolt. He turned as she neared, his body rigid, his look unreadable.
“What do you want?” he asked in a stony voice that sent shivers down her spine.
Now that she had his attention, she was not certain she’d made a wise choice in gaining it. “I meant to speak to you … of what happened this day.”
He frowned, and his heavy brows drew down like a thundercloud upon his forehead. Alex swallowed with difficulty, her mouth suddenly drawn free of moisture.
“What of it?” Bronson said through gritted teeth, stepping down until he was level with her on the wide tread. Her heart began pounding with a thrilling rush. Alex instinctively took a step down, but it leant him advantage over her that did not sit well.
“I mean to…” Alex began, swallowing again as he took another step down, “…to apologize for my behavior.”
He quirked a brow, crossing his arms over his chest. “You are at fault.”
His words seemed more a question than statement, by the tone of his voice. “Aye,” she said.
Bronson took another step, below her, cutting off escape as he leveled himself with her. Eye to eye with him now, Alex could not miss the heated intensity of his gaze. “I do as I wish. No one forces my will.”
Alex frowned, fighting panic and confusion. “I … I do not catch your meaning, my lord--”
“Bronson,” he growled, grabbing her arms and hauling her against his chest in the space of a frightened heartbeat. He captured her, complete and absolute, demanding surrender, and when she would not capitulate, he took it. He slanted his head, crushing his lips against hers, his mouth a brand that lit her blood on fire and commanded her submission.
Alex’s heart leapt in her chest and galloped away. She was too stunned even to attempt to pull free. Her precarious position allowed her no retreat from him, and she knew not if she was more terrified of tumbling down the stairs, or being caught by a passerby with his arms about her.
As his arms tightened and his mouth opened, her mind closed down to her surroundings. Alex tasted the fury in his kiss, the absolute longing for sustenance. He seemed starved for the taste of her. He groaned against her lips, startling her as his tongue swept across the seam of her mouth and forged inside. Alex gasped at the hot taste of him, the unyielding press of his body around her. Small noises escaped from her throat, like the frightened pleas of prey. His arms tightened at the sound—they seemed to incite him. His tongue grew ravenous, his hands roaming her backside, squeezing the cheeks of her buttocks as he pulled her tight to his groin.
Alex moaned as his hardness ground against her belly. Wetness flooded her femininity, soaking her with forbidden arousal. Her blood felt on fire, her flesh achy with awakening desire. The wine on his tongue intoxicated her, made her forget he thought her a boy. She kissed him back, entangled her tongue with his in a bold move that left her thighs wet with her daring.
He groaned with approval as she advanced and tasted him. He suckled her tongue in his mouth, fingers massaging her cheeks, spreading them as he crushed her against him. The bud hidden in her folds throbbed to life, ached for his touch. She felt like crying out in frustration, wanted to wrap her legs around him and ease the hurt clenching her insides in a vice.
“Bronson,” a deep, angry voice called behind them.
Bronson released her like he’d been struck with a brand. The suddenness of his withdrawal hit her with a force that stole her breath. Bronson faced the voice’s owner—Gray—with a murderous look. His chest visibly rose and fell with his harsh breath. “Why do you interrupt, brother?” he ground out, his hands clenching as though he wanted to strangle something.
Alex watched them both, eager to flee but rooted in place. She shuddered, hugging herself. She would have claimed innocence of wrongdoing, but knew they would not believe her. She couldn’t seem to work her tongue, regardless. Her lips felt bruised from his kiss, tingled with the lingering pressure of his mouth, and her blood raced, making her lightheaded. She placed a hand on her heart, unsure if it would continue to beat with the shocks she’d been gifted this day.
Gray propped on the bottom step. “Be glad Rafael intercepted father. Do you want him to see you this way? Do you want Constance to?”
Guilt assailed her. Her apology lay like ash in her mouth, burned away by the molten fire of his tongue. She could not see reason when faced with Bronson. His presence addled her wits, made her careless. It was pure miracle that they continued to believe her a boy, but then, they were too concerned with Bronson’s soul to con
sider other possibilities.
And Bronson … he seemed not to care, either way.
Bronson shuddered, raking a frustrated hand through his hair. Alex longed to ease the worry on his brow, the tension in his muscles, but she didn’t dare move and draw attention to herself. The men felt on edge, as if one wrong turn would set them on a irreversible, dangerous course.
Bronson turned away without a word, giving Alex a last, heated look before he trod up the stairs in angry silence.
After he’d disappeared from view, Gray came up, grasped her arm, and pulled her down the stairs with a scowl. “Were you more than a child and capable of withstanding it, I would beat you, young lord, for tempting my brother in sin. His will is weakened from want of woman flesh, and you are too comely by far for his mind to seek ease. A serpent cares not which hole it sleeps in.”
Rafael ran up to them from a branching hall as they came off the stairs. He gave Alex a look, as well as Gray’s hand upon her arm, before turning his attention to his brother. “All is well, Gray?”
“I came none too soon. Young Alex is too curious by far to feel Bronson’s serpent climb up his arse,” Gray said with a scowl.
“Then it is good we go bawding this night. I have had the horses prepared. Naught stands in our way but the road.”
Alex felt faint. Her feet tripped over themselves, and Gray barely righted her. Her blood seemed to boil. She would have placed a hand to her head to feel for fever, but Rafael grabbed her free arm to escort her outside to the stables.
She was gone to her doom and there was naught to stop it.
* * * *
The old battlements were tranquil this night, allowing Bronson reprieve from the company of others and opportunity to allow his blood to cool. Flames whipped in a cool breeze, ruffling like sails filled with air in the quiet. The landscape was dark, and he followed the movement of torch bearing riders as they crossed the creek and rode to their own homes. He did not puzzle over their lingering at the castle overlong. He breathed deeply, forcing himself to relax, pacing the battlements as though it would clear his thoughts the more he walked. He came here when troubled, and indeed, the girl toyed with the calm of his mind like no other.
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