Christian’s father spoke up. “I know those lands.”
Simon held up a hand, his warning gaze touching each of them at the head table. “We will discuss this in a more private place.”
Instantly Christian was aware of how dangerous it might be to discuss this matter before those assembled in the hall. Although there were none here who would be likely to hold any alliance to Kelsey, even an inadvertent mention that they were making inquiries about Rosalind after recently bringing a strange young woman to the keep might arouse interest.
Isabelle said, “The ladies and I shall continue our feast. We expect a full recounting of the details.”
Simon nodded.
He rose and Christian did the same, as did his father. Jarrod followed, but only after a long, lingering kiss from his wife.
As he left the hall Christian could not imagine that such a love was in his own future. When he married it would be to the woman who could best give of herself to Bransbury.
But the emptiness that accompanied that thought was so painful he could not allow himself the luxury of contemplating it now. He must attend to the business at hand.
The moment they entered the antechamber, Christian looked to his father. “You say you know of Brillington.”
“I do.”
“Is it far? Will we be able to take Rowena there or fetch the woman here quickly?”
His father shrugged. “’Tis no great distance, no more than four or five days. But I would suggest we find out if the lady Jannelle does indeed still live there ere we risk taking Rowena from the protection of this keep. Even though none know of her identity, her accompanying any enemy of Kelsey’s would mark her a target. Sir Fredrick seems to have taken far too much note of what we do of late.”
Jarrod expelled a heavy breath. “I should have killed Fredrick when I had the opportunity.”
Christian shrugged. “Do not flog yourself, Jarrod. Even if Fredrick were dead, Kelsey has fostered hate and madness in many. Another would only rise up to take the knight’s place.”
Simon nodded. “We must keep Rowena here.”
“Then I shall go to Brillington,” Christian said.
His father held up a hand. “Nay, I am the one to make the journey. Lord Brillington, whom I know, may be far more apt to allow me to bring his wife here.”
Christian frowned. “But your leg.”
His father stiffened with pride. “I am more than able to perform such a small task. I have managed to keep order on my own lands while you were about your own affairs.”
Christian stiffened with regret. He would only begin to rectify his mistake when he took over his duties at Bransbury.
He bowed to his father.
His father bowed in return. He then looked at Simon. “If you would not mind provisioning me I would leave upon the morrow.”
Simon replied, “Whatever you require, my lord. Be it men or supplies.”
Christian said, “It may aid in convincing the lady’s husband to allow her to come if there is ample guard to assure her safe journey.”
His father looked at him with approval. “Aye.”
Simon nodded. “It shall be done.”
“There is just one more thing,” Jarrod stated. All eyes turned to him as he added, “Whilst all this is going on, Aislynn and I can go on to Bransbury.”
Christian grimaced. “That is not your responsibility, Jarrod. I am the one who should go to Bransbury.”
Simon frowned. “You may certainly do so, Christian, but what of Rowena? You have said that you gave your word to take her home if she chooses to go.”
A heavy silence fell as Christian realized that he could not argue this. It was not his promise that kept him mute. It was the thought that she might indeed decide to leave while he was gone.
He would never see her again.
It was his father who said, “Though Llewellyn has agreed to make peace, it would be best if someone of authority was there in the event that something untoward occurs.”
As they went on with their planning, Christian said nothing. He could not. His guilt increased apace as he told himself he was just being a fool. The day would come when either Rowena would accept her responsibility and remain here, or she would indeed return to Ashcroft.
Either way she would be beyond his reach. The ache that thought brought could not be indulged, no matter how he wished otherwise.
Christian looked up from his contemplation of the drawing he had made of Rowena at Ashcroft as the door behind him opened slowly. Aislynn had brought the sketch back from Scotland, where she had taken it from Sean. Christian’s father had returned the drawing to him.
Lord Greatham had come each night he had been at Avington to talk with Christian. Perhaps it was he.
Christian’s gaze widened considerably as he saw Rowena slip into the room, closing the portal quickly behind her. Confusion creased his brow, but he said nothing as she came forward. His gaze flicked over her, seeing that she was garbed as she had been for the meal, in the burgundy gown.
He stood, realizing that he had been staring. He looked down at the drawing. What might she think at finding him studying her likeness this way? “Rowena, what…” He attempted to put the drawing behind his back, then sighed, realizing what a completely foolish gesture it was.
She came to stand beside him, her gaze widening as she saw what he held in his hand. “What is this?”
He looked down at the rendering, saying nothing.
She reached out and took it from him. “Where did this come from?”
“I did it the day I begged a sheet of parchment from you at your cottage.”
“So this is what Sean took that day.”
He scowled. “You knew?”
She faced him defiantly. “I knew that he had taken something from the table. I did not know what it was.” She drew a deep breath. “I had not seen it.”
He nodded, but she did not see him. She was looking at the drawing.
She turned to him, her voice barely a whisper as she said, “Is this the way you see me?”
The wonder in her eyes, the confused feelings he’d been having throughout this day, made him vulnerable. He could only tell the truth. “Aye.”
She closed her eyes, swaying, and he reached out to her, catching her close against him. “Rowena, are you well?”
She opened those heavily lashed green eyes and put a finger to his lips. “Shh.”
His heart thudded as he searched for reason. “Rowena, why have you come here?”
She shook her head. “I…must we talk? I suddenly find I have no words….”
Christian had no more will to resist his desire for this woman.
His arms tightened around her. And she bent to him like a string to a bow.
Chapter Eleven
Rowena had not imagined that this would ever happen. She had come here meaning to tell Christian that she had no more wish to remain at Avington.
The sense of longing brought on by the wedding, her acceptance of kindness and support from all those here under false hopes, pressed down upon her like a weight that could not be ignored. Especially after she had seen this very day that Christian had only to offer her the slightest bit of courtesy and warmth for her feelings to be sent into utter chaos.
Finding him studying the drawing of her, seeing the way he had portrayed her, had changed everything. There was no way she could fail to see the wonder with which he viewed the woman in the drawing.
Her.
All the misery of the past days evaporated like so much haze.
She sighed, allowing herself to rest against him, to revel in his strength. In all her life there had never been a moment such as this, when she felt so very safe and cared for and wanted.
She raised her head, knowing that her lids were heavy as their eyes met. “Kiss me, Christian. Kiss me.”
He groaned, bending his head to do as she had bid him.
Christian wanted her, wanted her so badly that he ached with a
fierce and burning need that weakened his knees. His blood rushed through his veins with such force, firing his loins so intensely, that he could not recall why he could not have her.
What a fool he had been to resist this wanting—this need that was as life-sustaining as breath.
His hands traced her back, her slender waist, the flare of her hips. He chafed in frustration at how the heavy velvet hampered his efforts to mold those lovely curves, even as he slanted his mouth to deepen their kisses.
He felt her arms close about his neck as she gave back measure for measure to his questing mouth. Joy rose up in accompaniment to his desire.
Heady as it was, he needed more, and pushed her gently away. “Let me…”
She resisted for only a moment, easing back as his hands found the laces of her gown. With more skill and speed than he would have imagined himself capable of, he pulled them free and tossed them on the floor.
She gazed up at him with heavy lids, her green eyes the color of damp moss, as the gown sagged loosely from her shoulders. Slowly, her eyes never leaving his as he did so, Christian drew it down to fall about her feet. Quickly he sent the undergown of gold after it.
His avid gaze moved to the fullness of her breasts beneath the gossamer fabric of her shift. The tips seemed to swell and harden beneath his regard.
His manhood rose at the very sight, and he had to close his eyes and breathe deeply in an effort to control himself.
Even as she heard him breathe deeply some inner imp made bold by her desire and his obvious passion prompted her to whisper, “Are you so shy then, my lord?”
“Shy?” He opened hungry eyes to meet hers. He pulled her close once more, molding her to the length of him, making no effort to shield her from his ready longing. “I am near unmanned by the sight of you. I but attempt to hold myself in check.”
Now she cast her gaze down, a deep flush of shyness and desire rushing through her. The very passion in his voice and eyes heated her blood and brought a heavy wanting in her lower belly.
He whispered gently, “Have I shocked you too greatly, Rowena?”
Startled, she lifted her face, her unwillingness for him to think she did not want him overcoming her reticence. “I welcome you and your desire for me, Christian.”
He groaned aloud, his mouth finding hers in a fierce kiss that left her head spinning.
She clung to him, relief and joy adding strength to her arms as she held his head to hers. She did indeed welcome him with all that was in her, with all her heart and soul.
Never had she thought to feel about another human being the way she did about Christian.
She was in love with him. She now knew she had been since the first moment of seeing him on the beach at Ashcroft. At the time she had convinced herself that her fascination with him was due to his being a noble like her father.
Now she knew it had only been her heart attempting to awaken.
What would have happened had he never appeared on that beach she could not even imagine. It was impossible, for as Isabelle had insisted and Rowena now saw, despite her reluctance, fate had decreed his doing so.
The realization of her love brought a new depth of wonder to her gaze as she pushed back from him and said, “Pray let me undress you.”
Christian swallowed, leading her to the bed on shaking legs. He sat down on the edge and placed her hands on the hem of his tunic without a word.
She breathed in sharply and lifted the garment, drawing it up slowly. Her gaze feasted on the smooth skin of his chest, which was golden in the firelight. She tossed the garment aside, kneeling to press her mouth to that warm flesh.
Christian held her to him, reaching up to release her hair from its gold ribbons until it tumbled in a spill of fire down her back. His fingers tangled in the heavy fall of silk. It clung to his sweat-damp skin and he gloried in it and the fact that her sweet mouth was tracing a trail of desire over his chest.
Her lips moved lower, across his solar plexus and belly, readying him, tasting him—Christian, the man she loved. Her tongue flicked out to trace his belly button, and she felt his stomach muscles clench, then quiver beneath her caress.
Hoarsely, he cried, “No more.”
His breathing ragged, he pulled her up into his arms, laying her across his lap. He kissed her lips again, then drew back and set her on her feet once more before reaching down and grasping the hem of her shift. Her breath halted as his eyes held hers, then he lifted the fabric slowly, his gaze taking in each inch that was bared to him.
She held very still with both sudden shyness and anticipation, certain that he could hear the hammering of her heart in her chest as he lifted the garment free and allowed it to float to the floor. Her heart fluttered when he reached out to trace one unsteady finger over the upper curves of her breasts, his voice filled with awe as he said, “I told myself that nothing could be as soft and perfect as I remembered your skin being.” His eyes met hers. “But I was wrong. You are even more so, for my paltry memory has no pictures or words that come close. Soft, luminous, the color of an exquisite pearl—none of these can quite capture the truth, though I have attempted to make them do so.
“Never could I even attempt to draw you this way with my meager skill. For the contours of your body are as God intended woman to be—even this delightful mark on your shoulder.” He drew her forward, then leaned down to press a kiss to her shoulder blade. “My words, my thoughts, my hands, are too awkward and unworthy to form you.”
Rowena would not have spoken in that moment had she wished to. She was overcome that the usually reticent and straightforward Christian would speak words that so plainly came from the depth of his being.
Instead she met his gaze with her tear-dampened one, feeling her love shining from the depths of her own being, uncaring if in that moment her heart was visible to him. She stretched out her arms.
He gathered her against him.
And then they were on his bed, his hose disappearing as if by magic, their skin touching without hindrance, their lips clinging without restraint.
Christian lay her upon the pillow and bent his head to nuzzle her breasts. His tongue flicked over a turgid peak and Rowena cried out, her breath coming quickly through parted lips as sweet honey pooled at the joining of her thighs. As if sensing her thoughts, her very feelings, Christian placed his hand over her there, holding her gently but knowingly.
And should he not know, after he had once before taken her to the very summit of ecstasy with his touch?
Rowena’s thighs seemed to open of their own accord, inviting his hand to clasp her more fully. He did, his own manhood pulsing as he felt her damp and ready for him.
Gently his finger slipped into her, and Rowena sobbed with wanting. “Christian, please, I…”
He needed no more urging for he, too, had reached the limits of his control. He could think of nothing save being buried in those hot warm depths.
When he rose up above her she opened to him, offering her body without reservation. He was Christian, her joy, her pleasure, her beloved.
Her thighs were silken against his and he held his breath as he positioned himself over her. Never in his life had Christian wanted anything more than he wished to be lost in the sweetness of Rowena’s body.
At the same time he knew that never before had he longed to make a moment last as he did this one. But he could not, not as he wished, for his body would not allow it. As he came to the door of her womanhood he grew still, realizing that he could not give free rein to his passion, lest he hurt her.
Rowena opened her eyes and looked into his, her gaze filled with longing and questions. He kissed her lips gently. “I would not cause you pain.”
She kissed him back and rose up under him, pausing for no more than a heartbeat as her maidenhood was breached.
Christian shuddered as his straining flesh found its home, its rapture.
She held him to her, glorying in the tender way he took her. Rowena was woman and Christian was
man as man and woman were intended to be—with no boundaries between them and limitless pleasure.
Slowly at first she began to rock beneath him, then gradually her body found a rhythm that she hadn’t even realized she knew. She found it and urged him to join her, sighing as he followed her lead. She threw back her head, lost inside herself, beyond any thought of anything that was not the two of them.
He could not breathe, could not think past the power of his need for her. His body pressed onward toward its own goal.
Hearing her hoarse cries of urgency and approval, he could not but revel in the fact that Rowena, too, was enslaved by the passion of their desire. He rose ever upward, carrying her with him as her voice became inarticulate with need.
Yet in some part of his mind he held on, knowing he must not reach that summit until the time was right.
It was not until she called out his name, arching up beneath him, that he gave in to the burning ache in his loins.
Christian drove forward in one last thrust before exploding in a show of sparks that seemed to shimmer all the brighter as she breathed her release into his neck, sighing with fulfillment.
He groaned, “Rowena!” then slumped onto his outstretched arms. Only after his heartbeat had come close to a natural pace did he roll to the side, pulling her into the circle of his arms, her head resting in the crook of his shoulder.
Rowena!
Even though his passion was spent he was lost in the scent and feel and intoxication of being here beside her.
Yet even as he realized this, he also realized that he had no right to these feelings, to this woman.
He owed his father, had pledged in good faith his intentions to be a better son. He would not break that faith.
Slowly he sat up and she raised up to look at him, her eyes becoming confused as she took in his unrest. “What is it, Christian?”
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