The Black Angel (The St Ives)

by Barbara Samuel

  He took her breath into him, smelling the heat of her flesh and the nectar of flowers, and the length of her arms around his bare shoulders, the softness of her naked breasts against his chest. And it all struck him as unbearably precious.

  But he'd been waiting for her a long time, and the pressure of his passion grew pointed and irresistible. He stroked her body. Her back. Her breasts, her waist, her legs, and felt her sinuous movements under his hands, and gloried in the stroke of her strong hands along his own body, felt her pushing away the offending cloth of his breeches.

  And at last they were both as God had made them, flesh to flesh. He closed his eyes to feel the slide of her thighs against his own, the press of her belly, the whisper of her arms, the brush of her hair, shuddering when she arched closer, her breath hurrying over his shoulder, and opened her mouth on his neck, her mouth urgent, erotic.

  This time there was light enough to see her as he shifted, and there was willingness in the shift of her hips, and there was a cry when they joined, such a deep and guttural and pleased sound that was both of their voices lifted and mingling, that he paused at the power growing at the base of his spine. She opened her eyes to look at him. "Kiss me," she whispered.

  And he did as she asked, so their lips and tongues tangled as their bodies moved in ancient rhythm, until the movements were too violent and need overtook them. Tynan ached to make it last, this wonderment, this strangely sacred joining, but his body betrayed him and he went rigid, his hands too tight on her shoulders, and he knew it, his mouth hard against her neck. Even as the fury of his own passion ebbed, hers grew, and urgently he lifted his head and kissed her with all the fury of feeling in him, feeling teeth and bruises and never minding because her release was wild, wilder than his own, such a violence of reaction that he wondered how she could have lived with it inside of her. And still pulsing, he let himself down against her, pressing the whole of himself into the whole of her, his Adriana, his beautiful wife, and kissed her until they could not breathe.

  * * *

  For a long time Adriana drifted in a wilderness of sensation. Tynan's sleek body pressed against hers, the smell of his hair against her face, the weakness of her muscles, all trembling. He moved away long enough to pull the coverlet over them and held her close, his big hands smoothing her arms and back, his cheek against her hair.

  And somehow there was no need of words. When her body ceased its shivering, he slid down to kiss her gently. And again. Kissed her softly, kissed her expertly. Sometimes it was only their tongues, sliding between relaxed mouths in the most delicate of dances. Sometimes he suckled at her lower lip, then her top, inviting her to do the same. Some were tiny brushes of their mouths. Some held teeth.

  And while they kissed, their hands moved, exploring, learning the contours of the other's body. She trailed her palm down his side, over his hip, over his shoulder, loving the supple heat of his skin. His hands skimmed over her breast, her hip, her leg. And after a time his fingers slid between her legs, and his mouth plied hers, and he coaxed from her another orgasm that nearly equaled the first. At which time she rose and came back with a cloth to wash him and showed him that she, too, knew a little of this game by pleasing him with her mouth.

  She loved the look of his long limbs, the taut belly and scatters of hair. His legs and chest were covered with dark hair as silky as that on his head, and his member lived in a nest of curls she liked almost as well. His hips were high and firm, as she had expected, and when he left her once to tend to nature, she greedily admired the long back and hips with a new level of arousal and knowledge. It seemed to her, looking at him, that the heavens had been very kind to create this thing called man.

  At some point she lay lazily against his shoulder. "Tell me about your home, Tynan. You speak little of Ireland."

  He stroked the curve of her elbow. "I try to think of it as little as possible."

  "Why?"

  "I am not truly at peace anywhere else," he admitted. "I was thinking this morning of the clean fog that comes off the ocean, not this yellow cloud that chokes the breath from a man."

  She smiled, somehow pleased that at least one small portion of her original vision of him had been correct. "So you are a country man at heart."

  "Aye." Absently, he brushed his toes over her foot. "You'd not believe how lovely it is, how wild. Sometimes it seems possible to see the old kings ride over a hill, or glimpse a fairy dancing in the shadows of the forest." He turned his blue-green eyes on her. "I sometimes think my blood comes from that ground, and when I'm too long from it, I begin to weaken."

  She frowned. "Are your people Irish all the way back? How are you my cousin, then?"

  His smile was wry. "Ties go in both directions, love. 'Twas some connection between your father's father and mine. I don't know what. My own family has been on this same land for two thousand years." One side of his mouth lifted into a teasing grin. "And sure, I'm the son of Aonghus Og, you know."

  "And who might that be?"

  His big hand curled around her breast, and his teeth flashed in his dark face. "The god of love, who has four birds around his head that are his kisses. Haven't you seen those birds flying around me?"

  She laughed. "The god of love is Dionysus."

  "That's my name, too." He yanked her hips close to his. "Sure and the women faint in me arms, breathless for want of me."

  Her lids fell to half mast as her own desire rose again. "And maidens tear away their clothes to dance with you on the light of the full moon."

  "I've no patience for maidens," he said, bending close to her lips. "I've a gift with the rest."

  She loved him for that, and met him eagerly when he showed her, thoroughly, and there was no need for more speech. Only hands and kisses and flesh and limbs, moving one against the other, drunk on the pleasure and sensual alignment that had been brewing between them since that first night.

  Somewhere in the darkest part of night, they fell asleep entwined. Adriana slept deeply, somehow safe in the circle of his arms. She dreamed she was in a garden of exuberant flowers, where birds sang freely, and it was this image in her mind when she awakened to find him gone.

  There was light in the room, the yellowish light of a foggy dawn, so thin and ghostly she did not see him immediately. A little confused, she looked around and finally spied him, sitting in a chair in the gloom, his head bent into his hands. It was a posture of such abject despair that she did not immediately speak, alarm lighting in her heart. He wore only his breeches, and his hair spilled down over the hands that held his head.

  When he shifted, making a soft sound like a groan of regret, she closed her eyes to pretend sleep once more, but her heart raced with worry and regret. What had she done to give him that expression? Where was the joy that had lain on his beautiful face last night?

  She heard him move, and the bed bent under his weight. It seemed natural she should awaken at such a disturbance, and she tried to appear as if it happened naturally, slowly blinking open her sleepy eyes.

  He bent over her with a grave expression, and without a word, bent down to kiss her fiercely, enveloping her with arms and lips and legs, her body still wrapped in the coverlet. "What is it, Tynan?" she whispered, wanting to comfort him.

  "Nothing," he said roughly. "Everything. Let me hold you."

  And she did, gave herself up to his mute sorrow. But unlike the playful and joyful ways they had joined through the night, this time there was deep soberness, a hunger that went far beyond the simple need for physical pleasure. It was as if he meant to bind her to him, bind her with his kiss and his excruciatingly gentle hands, and when he was in her, when they were as close as it was possible to be, he raised his head and looked at her with those shattered eyes. Adriana, her breath held, lifted her hands to brush and hold his hair from his face, offering silently her promise that she would do what she could, no matter what burden he carried. And as if it broke his heart, he made a broken noise and kissed her, and his movements grew i
ntense, and they were lost, splintering together into whatever the future would hold for them both.

  For good or ill.

  Chapter 15

  In the morning, Tynan left to make calls. Adriana found herself moving more slowly, and her thoughts returned again and again to the moment when she'd awakened to see Tynan, obviously aggrieved, with his head in his hands. And when he came to her after that, there'd been an almost desperate flavor to his embrace, as if they would not have much time together.

  It did not make any sense. What was he hiding from her? She did not suspect him of lying, but at the same time, he was careful about what he revealed, and this morning Adriana felt she urgently needed answers. She thought Gabriel knew some of it, but he had not come home the night before, and she didn't relish the idea of waiting around all day for him. Though before last night she had begun to care about Tynan Spenser, now her heart was in mortal danger, and if she needed to pull away, it was best that she should know as soon as possible.

  Julian, she thought. He'd spoken of writing to someone in Tynan's village; perhaps he knew something.

  * * *

  She recognized the guard at the Tower gates and gave him her best smile. To her surprise, he blinked as if dazzled and waved her through.

  The morning was dark with autumn, and fog clung to hollows within the walls, but Adriana did not let the atmosphere distract her this time. She walked quickly and climbed the stairs to Julian's cell with a sense of purpose.

  "Good morning," he said without surprise when the guard let her in, and then poked his head into the package she carried. "Ah! You're a gem."

  "You don't seem very surprised," Adriana said with a smile, untying her cloak. His hair was neatly combed back from his face, and there was soap left on his jaw from shaving. Fondly, she reached up and wiped the last of it away.

  "I saw you coming across the green." He took her cloak and set it on the bed, only then turning to her with a frown. "What's different about you this morning?"

  She looked away, the night's journey swelling in her memory. "I don't know what you mean." Settling in the second chair at his rude table, she took out a loaf of freshly baked bread and buttered a slice. "You look well," she commented.

  One side of his mouth lifted, one of the quirks of expression she had missed. In many ways, he'd always been terribly sober, and this slight wryness was as twinkling as he ever got, but she welcomed it. "You've a glow, sister," he said, and winked. "Your husband must be wooing you well."

  To her amazement, Adriana blushed, and the blush made her chuckle. She batted his hand away when he would have touched her neck. "You've your secrets. Leave me to mine."

  "All right, then." He broke off a hunk of cheese. "You must all be quite worried about my state of mind. I saw Gabriel last night, and your husband departed only an hour ago. Now you." A faint frown crossed his forehead. "Is it so worrisome? The pair of them will sidestep direct questions. You'll tell me the truth. Is it bad?"

  "I don't honestly know, Julian. Only what they've told you." She inclined her head. "We'll be attending a ball at the Duchess of Sherbourne's at the end of the week. I suspect Ty—that my husband has plans for that."

  Julian examined the cheese with narrowed eyes and took a bite, his body loose and calm. "They won't hang me, Riana. Our father commanded too much respect."

  "But transportation? Surely you've had enough banishment."

  A shadow crossed his face. "It does not matter. If I am transported, Gabriel can see to the girls as well as I, and I have faith in your husband's goodwill."

  That lingering despair plucked at her. "What did you lose in the colonies, Julian? Or is it who?"

  He shook his head, that pensiveness making a mask of his whittled clean face. He nearly spoke, then lifted a shoulder and leaned back in his chair. "No one. Nothing."

  Clad as he was in a simple shirt, untied at the throat, his chest showed, and Adriana glimpsed a mark at his collarbone. In surprise, she leaned forward. "Have you a tattoo?" she said, half delighted, half surprised.

  He put a hand to the collar, as if to pull the shirt together, then gave her one of his rare smiles, and instead pulled the sides apart. A strangely appealing zigzag ran from shoulder to shoulder, just below his collarbone. "I also pierced my ear, but Gabriel seemed to think a gold earring was too much the pirate if I meant to stand trial in the House of Lords."

  She laughed heartily. "I am quite jealous, you know. I was thinking the other morning what life I'd have chosen if fate had made me a man, and it was a life of adventure I would have liked."

  "Yes," he agreed. "It would have suited you." He sobered suddenly and put down his cheese. "Tell me, Adriana, how you like this husband of yours."

  She took a breath, folded her hands in her lap. "Actually, it is Tynan who brings me here. I have begun to wonder if there are secrets about him that I should know."

  "Secrets?" Julian spoke as if the word bewildered him, but Adriana knew her brother well, and he could not hide that sudden intensity that lit his eyes, turning the pale gray to a hard silver. "I'm not sure I know what you mean."

  She stood up, paced to the window and stared out at the Thames, wondering how to phrase her vague feelings. Finally, she turned. "I think he is, at heart, a most honorable man. It's like steel in him, a core of truth and strength that's very rare." She frowned. "But I sense, often, that he does not reveal everything to me."

  Julian was still for a moment. "Perhaps you should give him time to reveal himself as he sees fit."

  "I am falling in love with him, Julian," she said quietly. "That frightens me. If he has some terrible secret, I feel I should know before my heart goes beyond the place I can reclaim it."

  He only looked at her. Measuring.

  Adriana moved back, sat in the chair. "I think you know some of it. I would very much like answers."

  "It isn't my place to tell you."

  She made a sound of protest. "But I am your sister. He isn't your blood! I am."

  "True. But I am a gentleman, and I took pains to discover what I could in order to put my own mind at ease, and in doing so, put him at a risk I did not understand." He lifted his hands, prayerlike, to his lips. "I do not wish to add to that risk."

  She closed her eyes, truly afraid now. She couldn't think what secret would put Tynan at danger in any way, unless he were a murderer or some other criminal. "What danger, Julian? I don't understand."

  He took her hand in his own. "This much I can tell you, Riana. He may ask more of you than you are willing to give, not because he is cruel, but because his task is much larger than he. Only you will know how much you're willing to give." He took a breath. "And, honestly, the girl I knew would not have been willing."

  She snatched her hand away, stung to the very quick. "I am not that girl any longer. My life did not freeze when you left. I continued to live, day in and day out, and I grew up." Lifting her chin, she said, "I was a foolish, vain girl, Julian. I know that. But I was only a girl."

  His lips quirked. "And I was a headstrong, idiot boy, and Malvern only a selfish little twit who probably did not deserve his fate, either."

  "Does your conscience pain you on that count, Julian? I never thought to ask."

  "It does," he said without emotion. "But one cannot travel backward, only forward."

  "True." The tension between them had eased, and Adriana found she wished to stay a little. "Have you any cards? Would you like to play?"

  "I do," he said. "And I would."

  * * *

  By the end of the day, Tynan was weary of wearing a mask of joviality, weary of the small talk he was forced to indulge for the sake of politics. Politics! All the petty maneuverings and flutters and favors made him impatient. There were times he despaired, imagining himself required to attend not only the sessions of the Irish Parliament, but the English as well. He feared he'd drop dead of sheer boredom.

  And yet, even for a man of action, there was no other path, save that of pure revolution, a
nd he did not wish to choose violence to meet his ends. Too many of his own would die.

  Only the thought of Adriana lightened his step as he came into the town house and the maid directed him to the plant room. He loosened his collar as he went, thinking with longing of less restrictive clothing, less foppish, less likely to be marred by the work of a man engaged in an honest day's work. The thought felt sour in some way, and he scowled as he came into the scented, humid room.

  Adriana had not heard him enter, and he captured the instant of observation close: her blond head bent over her watercolors, the slope of a white shoulder contrasting against the rich ruby tone of her dress. There was some sadness about her, caught in the soberness of that lush and wicked mouth. A jolt of surprising hunger struck him, and without a thought he covered the distance between them and placed his hands on her shoulders, putting his mouth against her nape. She startled a little, but the ripple of reaction in her arms gave him the reward he'd sought. He closed his eyes, feeling a kind of relief.

  She leaned into him and he circled her silky throat with his hands and pressed a kiss to her brow. "I've ached all day for you," he whispered, and put his hands lower, lightly resting on the upper rise of her breasts. "How will we manage dinner?"

  With a strange graveness, she lifted his hand to her mouth. "Tynan, if I ask you questions, will you answer them?"

  He stilled. "What questions?"

  She turned and raised troubled eyes to his face. "What is it that haunts you? What secret do you keep?"

  He shifted his body away from her, hid his face by examining the blossom of a vine curling up the girders. "I—" he broke off, realizing he did not wish to lie. He closed his eyes and turned to face her. "I have spent this day engaged in wearying discussions of all sorts, and longed only to come back here to you. I will reveal all that I am to you, in time. But allow us this little stretch of peace first. Can you?"

  With a troubled expression, she rose. "Are you a murderer?"