by Julia Latham
Diana hugged herself and leaned her shoulder against the wall. “I hope my worries are obvious to no one but you.”
“No one here knows you as well as I.”
“No one has cared to,” Diana found herself saying.
“Until him,” Mary answered, jutting her chin toward Bannaster.
Diana groaned and closed her eyes.
“He comes,” Mary hissed.
She was gone when Diana straightened. She met Bannaster’s amused gaze and hoped she portrayed indifference. But it was already so difficult. How could her feelings alternate from anger and suspicion to reluctant and frustrated longing? How could just his touch transform her? Yet so many deeds and lies separated them, and she did not wish to overcome them. He would be here for days if not weeks—and then he would leave, perhaps with her sister as his bride.
And Diana would go on alone, with her secret status as a Bladeswoman, which set her apart from other women. If Bannaster left her her freedom.
“Your maid runs from me like a frightened rabbit,” he said, a smile tugging on his lips.
No one was near them, though Cicely watched from a distance, her face a pleasant mask, her eyes cold.
“She is afraid of you, even though it is I on whom you concentrate your revenge.”
With a sigh, he leaned back against the wall at her side. “You do not dance?”
“What do you want?” Diana demanded.
He took her hand and bent over to kiss it, his lips warm. “You know what I want.”
He spoke against her skin, and she thought she felt the touch of his tongue. She pulled her hand away, and he raised laughing eyes to her.
“A dance.”
“It is not as if we declared a truce after your apology.”
“Nay, but what will your people think, if their noble visitor neglects one sister in favor of the other?”
“That you are not noble, but a conscienceless bounder.”
He tsked softly. “I cannot have them think that.”
She glanced down at his garments. “You care too much about appearances.”
He put a hand to his heart. “A direct hit. You, too, would enjoy fine clothing, if forced to wear a black cassock for many years.”
She could not help her curiosity. “When you took the vows of a novice?”
“Even before,” he answered. “My parents believed that I should live the life of a priest from an early age, so that I would not regret the lack of luxurious comforts when I had to leave them behind.”
“What are you saying?”
He shrugged. “From my earliest memories, I had no carpets to warm my chambers, only a simple blanket on my bare bed, prayer books instead of poetry.”
She thought of the book he’d meant for Cicely, that he had yet to present to her. “You are exaggerating.”
And although he smiled, she thought with growing horror that he was not.
“You…were not treated as a viscount’s son?”
“I had his protection,” he answered blandly, turning his head to look upon the merriment.
Protection? She’d seen the scars on his back.
He gave a faint smile when a ladder was put up near the hearth to hang mistletoe. “After all, I was to be his family’s entrance into the church, where there is much power for a well-connected nobleman.”
“But to insist that a child live as a priest…”
She thought again of his disfigured back, wondering how old he’d been when it had happened, but could not think how to question him. He’d become the viscount at eighteen, and surely no one had abused him since then. She thought she now understood better his need for fine garments.
He shrugged. “My father insisted I would not need the friendships or schooling of childhood. My mother went along with his authority.”
“Often a mother has no choice,” she found herself saying softly.
Bannaster looked at her with interest. She didn’t want to sympathize with him, did not want to share a common background. But if this awkward discussion made him confide in her, made him reveal more of himself…
“What did your mother do?” he asked in a neutral voice.
“She was good to me,” Diana said simply. “It was I who rebelled at what I saw as her too-simple life.”
“You are still headstrong, I think, if my experience is proof.”
She frowned at him uncertainly, and he threw his head back to laugh. She could have winced when this drew Cicely’s cool regard once again.
“You sound as if you almost admire me,” Diana taunted against her own better judgment.
He snorted. “I admire much about you,” he said, boldly looking down her body, “but not the impulsive part of you that led to my imprisonment.”
Aye, she had always been impulsive, she thought with regret.
“And your father?” he continued. “Surely you admired him, since he accepted your silly wish to be like a man.”
She stiffened. “It is not ‘silly’ to want to defend oneself, to improve one’s strengths. And he did not give me permission for my own benefit, as I already told you.”
“That must have hurt.”
She flinched, hating that he was right.
There was an awkward silence between them, as they both watched the minstrels begin a new song. Bannaster suddenly took her hand in the way of friends to lead her forward.
“Dance with me,” he said, his smile full of merriment and deviltry.
“You are giving me no choice,” she said between lips curved in a false smile. “What will you do if I refuse? Reveal my every secret?”
He took both her hands now, and spun her once, until she was forced to hold tighter lest she fall. His warm hands were hard with calluses.
“Not like this,” he said, drawing her closer in the way of the dance, before letting her pull back to arms’ length again. “I will use my leverage for a far better reason.”
His arm slid about her waist and she had to accept it as they moved in a circle with other dancers. She saw the many approving looks cast her way, and she let herself believe that there were people who cared for her happiness. Would they defend her if they knew how this man threatened her?
And then she saw Cicely standing before the hearth, a tall, earnest knight at her side.
Diana moved through the steps of the dance and found herself seeing Cicely again. She wondered with sudden fear what her sister might do to have whatever she wanted.
To her surprise, she felt Bannaster’s lips against her ear as she turned, heard him say, “I know where mistletoe hides in a secret alcove made just for lovers.”
She deliberately stepped on his foot and smiled sweetly when he winced. “Then I suggest you go kiss yourself.”
Chapter 12
Bannaster’s bedchamber flickered with shadows cast by the dying fire’s embers when Diana stepped inside and closed the door. She remained frozen, questioning herself once again, then dismissing her fears.
She was done being afraid, of waiting for the worst to happen.
She crept quietly across the floor, knowing how to pause before each step, to test each board for creaking. At first she didn’t even realize she was doing it, so ingrained in her were the methods of the League. Halfway across the room, she realized that she had no need for secrecy—she wanted Bannaster awake.
Standing over his bed, she looked down at him. The coverlet and blankets were pulled high around his neck against the winter’s cold. She could see the top of his dark head, his smooth forehead—
And his open eyes, glistening in the firelight.
He erupted from the bedclothes, grabbing her by the shoulders and twisting until she lay beneath him, trapped by the blankets caught around her hips, his forearm hard across her upper chest. When she felt the dagger at her throat, she lay still, not even considering moving.
“Who are you,” he demanded, “and what—” He broke off, his narrowed eyes going wide. “Diana?”
She sighed w
ith relief as the dagger moved away from her throat. “Aye, ’tis me. Or do men have the same shape as I do?”
He flung the dagger to the floor, but remained above her in the bed, half his face in shadow, the other half lit with firelight. And he was angry. His body held her down, his hands braced on either side of her shoulders as he stared down at her.
“I could have injured you,” he said harshly.
“I would not have allowed it.”
His eyes briefly closed and he spoke through gritted teeth. “And how would you have stopped me?”
She brought up her knee hard, but deliberately hit his thigh instead of his groin.
He flinched.
“Like that—only with perfect aim. Are you going to let me up and allow me to speak my piece?”
“You’re in dark clothing,” he said with exasperation, “your hair is covered. I could have hurt you!”
He couldn’t seem to get past that, she realized. Frowning, she responded, “I did not want anyone seeing me come here. I did not mean to hide myself from you. And why would you care if you hurt me? Now let me up before I hurt you!”
She saw the change come over his face. One moment, he seemed angry and exasperated; the next passion rose in his hooded eyes. Were fighting and sex the only things men thought about?
“I did not come for that!” she said hastily.
“I told you I was going to seduce you, and here you are.” His voice was a low rumble. “That was easy.”
To her shock, he leaned down and pressed his face into her neck. She turned away and started to squirm in earnest, feeling his open mouth trace a wet path on her skin.
“I need to talk to you!” she cried, pushing up desperately with her hips.
But that only made him moan and press down into her. And there was something about that deep moan that sent shivers down her spine to tingle low in her belly.
“You promised not to force me!”
He moved lower down her body, his cheek coming to rest against her breast, which trembled with her frantic breathing.
He opened his dark eyes and looked at her. “I am not forcing you. But must I stop?”
“Stop!”
With a melodramatic sigh, he rose up on all fours over her. She tried to scramble out from beneath him, but the blankets trapped them together. With much tugging, she was at last able to free herself, but not before she saw that he was completely naked—and aroused.
She threw the blanket over his hips as she practically fell to the floor to escape.
He chuckled. “You did surprise me in my bed.”
She groaned and got her feet, trying to banish the image of his nudity from her mind. But all she could think was—was that supposed to fit inside a woman?
But not in her—never in her.
She turned away. “Clothe yourself. I need to speak with you, and this was the only way to guarantee privacy. Cicely would do anything to interrupt us.”
“Unless you plan to take me somewhere, I’m only going back to bed, so I won’t don garments I don’t need. But I am now covered.”
She turned back to face him, and had to lick her suddenly dry lips. He was leaning back amidst cushions piled against the headboard. His upper body was still bare, all hollows and hills of flowing muscle, leading ever downward. A single sheet was swathed low across his hips, and the bulge of his arousal was unmistakable.
For a moment, she couldn’t remember what she was going to say.
His grin was full of dark amusement. “Diana?”
Her gaze flew back to his face. How could she allow herself to be so flustered? He would not be the last man to use the threat of sex to intimidate her. He was the enemy, she thought, feeling a welcome calm settle over her. She could do this.
Whatever showed in her expression, it was obvious Bannaster recognized it, for his smile faded on a sigh. “What do you want, Diana?”
“I am tired of playing your games, wondering what your intentions are.”
He arched a brow. “I have been perfectly clear about my intentions.”
She rolled her eyes. “Not those intentions. You’re a man, so I know I can expect no better from you.”
“How flattering.”
“You have done nothing but taunt me about what I’ve done to you. So toy with me no longer and be brave enough to tell me what you intend to do about your knowledge of me.”
He rested his head back on his bent arm, and she tried to avoid looking at the long line of muscle from his elbow down to his ribs.
“Now you question my bravery?” he mused. “’Tis a foolish tactic for one who is basically begging.”
She put her fists on her hips. “Bannaster, just tell me if you’re going to denounce me! I cannot stand the tension any longer. I need to make plans.”
“You intend to escape here? To hide?”
Stiffening, she shook her head. “Nay, I cannot do that. I have nowhere to go.” Lowering her voice, she said, “But I need to plan the best way to react to my brother’s fury.”
“Not Cicely’s? After all, you did all this to keep me from her, did you not?”
She didn’t like the speculative way he looked at her, as if he suspected more.
Quickly, she nodded her agreement. “Aye. She won’t understand that I was protecting her.”
His expression changed into one of amusement as he gently said, “I already told you my plans—did you not believe me? I’m not going to denounce you, not unless you give me a reason to.”
Bewildered, she cried, “I do not understand you! Why are you not furious with me?”
He rose to his feet, letting the sheet fall away. His nudity was beautiful and awesome—and terrifying—as he came toward her.
“I was, but I decided it would be uninteresting to put a woman in a dungeon. I find that I’d rather put my energy toward something more rewarding.”
She could not understand him. He backed her against the door, then came up against her, his erection touching her first, making her shiver with strange longings. It nestled hard against her stomach.
Leaning his forehead to hers, he whispered, “I mean to seduce you, to make you my mistress, to show you how I can make you feel.”
“And that is a punishment?” she said, bewildered.
But at his triumphant look, she realized she’d said the wrong thing.
With satisfaction evident in his voice, he said, “So my touch is not repugnant to you. But then I knew that, by your every subtle reaction.”
She jerked against him when his palm cupped one breast. He kneaded her gently, and she groaned, feeling her body—her very will—slacken.
Diana was trembling against him, and Tom felt a deep satisfaction to know how much he affected her. Her breast was warm and soft in his hand beneath her gown, and he watched her face as he used two fingers to coax her nipple into a hard point. He could still remember her taste in his mouth, smell the elusive fragrance that was her skin. As he looked into her eyes, for once her every expression was transparent to him: confusion and worry—and passion.
Her eyelashes fluttered, hiding and revealing the sparkling gray depths of her eyes. Would he have her now? Would just his declaration of his intentions make her surrender to him?
With his other hand he began to bunch up her skirt at her thigh.
And then she pushed him until he stumbled back. She fumbled for the latch behind her and escaped.
With a sound that was half laugh, half groan, Tom leaned both palms flat against the door and squeezed his eyes shut, mastering himself.
Though he would not seduce her this night, he did not regret telling her part of the truth. He had no intention of announcing to the world what they’d been doing to each other, whether it be imprisonment or foreplay. There would be too many questions he didn’t want to answer.
And he didn’t need any more notoriety.
He didn’t want her in fear of him. Regardless of what she’d done to him, it wouldn’t be right to force her out of her
home. And he knew by everything he’d seen, that her brother might cut her from his life without thought if she angered him again. Tom wanted the challenge of facing her as an equal, matching his wits to hers, and feeling the satisfaction of besting her.
And he needed to understand her secrets.
At dawn’s light, the castle attended early mass. Diana almost dozed through it, for she had had a restless night worrying that Bannaster would try to invade her bedchamber and continue where he’d left off in his seduction.
But instead she’d lain alone in peace and spent much of the night staring into the darkness, thinking of what she wanted to write to the League. But she hadn’t begun the missive. Her ears had strained at every creak of the floor in the corridor, and she wouldn’t have put it past Bannaster to swing in her window on a rope, just to return the favor.
Once again, he did not attend mass. Diana knew more about him, now, and thought perhaps that he could not thank God for his daily blessings when he felt that God had ignored him for so long. Or was his behavior really just a rebellion against all those years as a novice?
The men who were going on the Christmas hunt were eating heartily when at last Bannaster descended. Diana braced herself against her feelings, but to her surprise, the fear had gone. His revelation had freed her from it, and she could only admit that she was grateful.
But he still inspired so many other conflicting emotions. She would have to learn to master them.
Though she tried to ignore him as he greeted Cicely, she could not help noticing that his garments were simpler, warmer, breeches under a short tunic and shirt. He carried his cloak over his arm, and Cicely took it from him so that he could eat.
What did they talk about? Diana wondered. Surely he did not reveal much of his background to a woman he was courting, at least not in the beginning. Why scare her off? But then, would Cicely even care that he’d been suspected of murder? Probably not. And Diana couldn’t imagine telling her sister something she herself was guilty of.
Cicely escorted Bannaster to the head table, saw that he had the best slices of ham and fat wedges of cheese. Cicely deliberately sat between Diana and him, chattering on about their plans to celebrate the beginning of the holiday that night.