by Meara Platt
Nor did she wish any man to see her this way, except for Brynne.
If he were beside her, what would he think? Sometimes he looked at her as though he could see through her clothes and it seemed to please him. When he’d touched her leg earlier this evening, she’d felt sensations in her breasts and the mound between her thighs. Did Brynne suspect what she was feeling? Is that why he drew his hand away so suddenly?
Lettie studied her breasts as they appeared to her in the mirror and frowned. They were a bit too large compared to the rest of her body. Her nipples were a pale rose and hardened by the cold. Her legs were long and her hips narrow. She’d seen portraits and statues in museum galleries of Greek and Roman goddesses that were usually more voluptuous than she was. If those plump goddesses were a man’s ideal, then she was far from perfect.
She put on her nightgown and slipped into bed.
Brynne wouldn’t have her no matter how voluptuous or appealing her body was to him. What did it matter? He would never touch her, not unless he felt that he could claim her as his wife.
She fluffed her pillow a little too insistently. “Jeremiah, I need answers. Show me something more. Please.”
Lettie tossed and turned and finally fell asleep shortly after midnight. But it was a restless sleep and she awoke with a start just before dawn, sensing someone was in her room. “Nell? Is it morning yet?” The drapes were drawn, but not fully, so that she saw a graying light through the small opening where the fabric had parted.
Enough of the gray light filtered into the room and she was able to make out the form of a man. He seemed familiar, and yet not. She shook her head to force herself awake, for this had to be a dream.
Only it felt too real.
The man stepped from the shadows in the corner of her room and paused at the foot of her bed, staring at her with wild, gleaming eyes.
“Who are you?” Her heart shot into her throat and she fumbled for the matchsticks on the night stand where they rested beside her candle. Since her hands were trembling, it took her several attempts to light the candle. When she held it up to the man, she screamed.
And screamed again.
And continued to scream.
It wasn’t a man, but some form of beast. The gleaming eyes and the face were that of a wolf. The body was that of a man, tall and muscled, resembling Brynne’s body.
As she continued to scream, the face and eyes turned into Brynne’s handsome face and dark eyes. They were no longer gleaming, but suddenly dull and lifeless. As she stared at him, water began to surround him, until it filled the room and he began to float in its icy current. The water began to flood her bed.
She tried to move off the bed and run to the door, but she couldn’t move. It was as though this vision had trapped her and was holding her down. Her breath caught as the water began to fill her lungs.
She couldn’t scream anymore. She couldn’t breathe.
Water continued to fill her lungs.
Her candle dropped to the floor and she worried that it was still burning.
The vision of Brynne was still in front of her. Floating. His eyes were dead. He wasn’t moving.
She tried to scream again, but more water filled her lungs.
“Lettie! Lettie, wake up!” Someone was shaking her. Brynne? Big, warm hands. She couldn’t breathe.
Brynne! Help me breathe!
“Frances, her candle’s on the floor. I think it burned itself out when it fell. Make certain.”
She saw a blur of pink that had to be Frances in her dressing gown hurrying to the side of her bed.
Brynne’s arms were around her now and her head was pressed against his chest. She felt the warmth of his skin against her cheek and the tickle of his chest hairs against her nose. She tried to gulp air. “Lettie, no! Sweetheart, wake up. You’re not drowning.”
She felt the pounding of his heart against her cheek. “Not me. You, Brynne. Danger.”
She took another deep breath and held it as more water washed over her. She knew she wasn’t drowning. He was the one at risk. The vision was still there and now there were two lifeless bodies. Brynne’s and a younger version of himself. When he was a little boy?
And the boy was a wolf, too.
What was she seeing?
Would Brynne die?
Chapter 7
Brynne felt Lettie’s heart beating furiously against his chest as he held her. “Lettie, come back to me.” She felt so slight and slender in his arms, struggling to breathe and mumbling about water and someone drowning. Him as a boy.
It made no sense.
He stroked her hair, her long, red curls damp from exertion, and caressed her cheek to gently wipe away her tears. He continued to hold her against his heart until the moment she came out of her dream... or whatever one would call what Lettie was experiencing. He brushed the perspiration off her brow, and soothed her until she stopped thrashing and lay spent against him.
Damn.
Her lavender scent mingled with the hot scent of fear.
“Lettie, how often do you have these visions?” he asked the moment she seemed to awaken and regain her senses. The possibility that this had happened to her before left him feeling ill. He’d misjudged her badly, thinking of her as a delicate earl’s daughter who had never experienced hardship and was not prepared for the difficulties most commoners encountered during their lives.
He was wrong.
If Lettie had the gift of sight, and he was beginning to believe that she did, then she was living each and every one of her frightening visions. Yet, she stayed true to who she was, a tenderhearted, gentle girl. He’d never appreciated her inner strength or her ability to keep up her spirits and remain hopeful and innocent even while she experienced these nightly terrors.
She had never once complained.
So he’d always believed Jeremiah was no more than a playful angel that Lettie had imagined when she was younger and simply continued to talk about when she wanted to gain someone’s attention, usually his.
He sat beside her on the bed and drew her onto his lap, wanting to swallow her up against him and protect her from the harshness of life. She was trembling and quietly sobbing, so he put his arms around her and tried his best to comfort her. “Lettie, I’m so sorry.”
“It isn’t your fault,” she said in a shaky whisper, her hands sliding up to grasp his shoulders and cling to him as though she’d drown if she ever let go.
“You know it is. You wouldn’t be suffering if it weren’t for me.” He stroked her hair, ran his fingers through her thick, silky curls. He splayed his hand across her back, its span reaching from one side to the other because she was little compared to him. Little and tough. Little and perfect.
He glanced up and looked at Frances who had righted the candle and placed it back on Lettie’s night stand. She cast him a look of acceptance, as though she agreed with Lettie that he belonged here beside the girl. The earl’s daughter.
“I’ll ask Cook to make her some hot cocoa. Take care of her, Brynne.” She shook her head and sighed. “You’re the only one who can. She won’t have anyone else. It’s obvious you’ve claimed her heart.”
He said nothing in response, just held the sweet bundle in his arms and wished that he had a right to her heart. But he didn’t.
Frances cast him a mirthless smile, for she knew that whatever Lettie felt about him, he returned the feeling a thousand fold. But none of it mattered. Love simply wasn’t enough.
“What a mess, sweetheart,” he murmured against her ear.
“I know.” Lettie’s cheek brushed against his chest as she nodded. “And it’s going to get messier. But I’m ready for it, Brynne. I’m not afraid. I’ll do whatever I must to save you.” She lifted her head to meet his gaze and he saw that she truly was a fighter, a scrappy, little one, and he certainly didn’t wish to go up against her. Napoleon was a little man and tough as nails, too. But not even Napoleon would have been tough enough to defend against a determined Lettie.
After a moment, she seemed to calm and became the Lettie he’d grown to love. Stubborn. Strong willed. Loving and funny. She raised her gaze to his, an impish grin upon her lips. “You’re not wearing a shirt. It’s a good look for you. It suits you quite well, in fact.”
He laughed softly. “I had to bolt out of bed and only paused long enough to toss on my trousers because some daft redhead was screaming her lungs out. Great set of lungs, by the way.”
“And by lungs, I assume you mean my breasts.”
He laughed again, for her chest was still pressed against his and her breaths were still ragged and causing her heart to pound. Her senses were heightened, but so were his and he felt every swell and heave of her breasts as she inhaled and exhaled. “I do.”
“Thank you. I was hoping you’d eventually notice them.”
“Eventually? How about always? They’re incredible and so is your smile.” He stroked her beautiful, long hair, wishing he had the right to caress it and run his fingers through those lush curls each and every night. “But more important, I noticed you. All of you. The smile you always had for me and the frowns for anyone who ever sought to insult or harm me. Your genuine caring and concern. And then you turned from a caterpillar, all gangly arms and legs and a skinny body, into a radiant butterfly that stole my breath away. I was afraid to lose my heart to you. That’s why I had to leave England.”
“Because of me? I drove you away?” She drew back and stared at him, looking utterly bereft.
“I pushed myself away. You didn’t do anything but be the beautiful Lettie you’ve always been.” He sighed. “You stir my lust, Lettie. It’s hardly under control even now. That’s how depraved I am. You’ve had a terrible scare, and all I can think of is... no, it doesn’t matter. I have no right to say anything.”
“You do, Brynne. More right than anyone else. Please don’t hold back,” she urged, ignoring his reluctance. “Tell me what you were about to say. No secrets between us. I can use a reason to smile. All you can think of is?”
“You,” he said, releasing the breath he had been holding and regretting this moment of honesty between them that would only lead to pain for both of them. “And the fact that you’re only wearing a thin nightgown. I can feel your body against mine, the soft pillows of your breasts against my chest, your small hands on my shoulders, and your nicely rounded derriere upon my lap. It’s a nice body, Lettie.”
“Thank you. So is yours. In fact, yours is quite magnificent, but I’m sure all the women tell you that.” She slowly ran her hand across his chest. “Your skin is lightly bronzed and it feels warm to my touch. I like your big muscles, too.”
He chuckled lightly. “And I like the way your body fits against mine.”
“We do fit well, don’t we?” She shifted in his arms, easing off his lap but still clinging to his shoulders as she rolled onto her knees on the mattress and nudged him slightly so that he faced away from her.
“What are you doing, Lettie?”
“Looking at your wolf.”
That damn thing. At this moment, he wanted to take a cake of lye soap and scrub the birthmark raw, scrub it until he obliterated the entire thing and left nothing but a hole in his skin. “It still signifies nothing.”
She leaned close and pressed her lips to it, the softness of her ripe lips sending a lightning bolt of desire coursing through him. He almost shot off the bed in surprise. “Bloody hell, Lettie,” he cried, turning to her with a scowl. “Why did you do that?”
She didn’t appear in the least intimidated. “Kiss you? Because I wanted to and it felt right, you know it did. Where is the harm in a simple kiss? Why do you resist, even though I know you want to?”
“Who says I do?”
Her gaze turned soft upon him. “Your eyes. Your heart.” She placed a hand over his heart and must have felt its strong, quickening beat. “Will you kiss me, Brynne?”
“No.”
She glanced toward the door. “One kiss before Frances returns. I’ve been giving it a lot of thought and tonight’s bad dream makes me more certain than ever that we can’t hold back with each other. If we’re to part in a few days, then I want the memory of your kiss to hold in my heart for the rest of my days.”
“Memory is a function of the brain, not the heart.”
She shook her head in protest. “Remembering you is a function of my heart. That’s where I keep what’s most precious to me. That’s what you are to me. The most precious thing on this earth. I hope that’s what I am to you. I wish you’d tell me, but I know you won’t. You’ll deny all feeling beyond mild affection for me, something you can easily control and suppress. But what you really feel doesn’t have to be said with words. Show me, Brynne. I need to know what’s in your heart.”
“No.”
“Because if we do part forever, I’d want the memory of you. I’d want you to remember me and know you were the first man ever to kiss me. That you made my first kiss as beautiful and special as any girl’s first kiss ought to be.”
“No one’s ever kissed you before?” He was surprised, but pleased and ridiculously possessive, aching to claim her for himself. Lettie was relentless in her determination to have that kiss and his desire for her was equally relentless.
“I saved myself for you,” she said, casting him the softest smile and efficiently dropping him to his knees in surrender.
Her first kiss! She’d roused his lust so completely that his body roared with a hot, hard heat that wouldn’t be quenched even if he strode naked outdoors and rolled his body in the ice and snow. He’d always wanted to kiss her, had dreamed of being the first man to claim her because he was a big, possessive oaf. More than that, he wanted to be the only man ever to claim her.
But that was just an impossible dream. The reality wasn’t nearly so pretty, for all he had to offer was a life of hard work and constant struggle. For that reason, he had to refuse her request. No kiss. Not ever. But the ‘no’ stuck in his throat.
Her screams and the abject terror he’d seen in her eyes while she was in the throes of her vision were still vivid in his mind. But so was her smile and her insistence on not dwelling on her fears. Her body felt warmer now and she no longer trembled. Her eyes were the softest green, soft and hopeful as a kitten’s. One kiss. That’s all she’d asked of him.
Only one.
He would make it one hell of a kiss.
“You win, Lettie.” He lowered his mouth to hers and captured her lips with the feral hunger that had long gnawed at his heart, the unsatisfied craving that had driven him mindless for years and would continue to taunt him long after this kiss ended.
One brief taste of Lettie’s sweet nectar would never be enough, but it was all he dared take, all he would risk for fear he’d never be able to let her go if he allowed more.
Lettie was right. They needed this one kiss, this one memory, this one precious moment to carry them through the years they would surely be apart. Hell, yes. He wanted to kiss her.
He wanted to bury himself deep inside her and claim her for his own.
He wanted to capture her innocent heart.
He wanted to explore her incredible body.
He wanted to claim Lettie, the earl’s daughter. The lady who was too far above his station. The sweet girl who’d felled ruffians and cleaned his wounds and talked to angels and insisted on loving him.
He deepened the kiss and poured his heart and soul into this sweet moment, for they would never share another. A shudder ran through him as he caught her up in his arms and held her against his heart. I love you, Lettie.
He dared not speak the words aloud, for all hope of a happy life for Lettie would end the moment he said them. She’d vow to love him back for always, and he didn’t want her to do it, he didn’t want her caught up in a hopeless love. Lettie was meant for a comfortable life, meant to marry a nobleman who could offer her all the advantages of his rank and title, meant to know the fulfillment of a husband who doted upon her and would pr
ovide all that Brynne could not... a fashionable home, a handsome carriage, a generous allowance.
So he ran his hands along her body to memorize her every soft curve, for this would be their first and last kiss. The first and last time they ever spoke with their hearts. One being, one body. Their two hearts beating as one.
He groaned and cupped her breast when she began to squirm against him, for she wanted more but was too innocent to understand the desire she was feeling. She was a passionate little thing and could not hold back her sensual nature or the ache that built within her until she could bear it no more and begged him to relieve it with her every moan and breathy whimper.
He ached too, convincing himself that he could take a little more, wanting to take that little bit more even as they approached the dangerous cliff of their pent up desire. He lied to himself and pretended he was in full control of his heart and body. One kiss. First and last time.
She arched her back to give him better access to her breast.
His control shattered.
He gently kneaded the lush mound and ran his thumb across its straining tip, loving the way she responded to his touch, her nipple turning pebble hard against his fingers. “Sweet mercy, Lettie!” He’d never experienced anything like the heat now coursing through him. Nothing could extinguish it. Not a roll in the snow. Not a dip in the ice. Not an eternal winter.
He was fiery hot and aching.
So was she.
He felt her body’s exquisite response to his continued strokes, felt her breast swell and her body move against him with the heightened urgency of her desire.
“Lettie, sweetheart.” He scraped his tongue between her lips to ease them apart. Her lips were soft and moist and there was something incredibly erotic in her innocent eagerness, for she wanted to experience all of him, feel all that his mouth and lips and tongue had to offer.
One kiss.
That’s all he dared.