Then, when he bent his head to kiss her, it suddenly didn’t matter what he had done, or why he was here with her. All that mattered was the overwhelming sensation of his lips upon hers and the burning desire that coursed through her body like flames in dry tinder.
Chapter Six
In all his years, Etienne had never known such a kiss. It was as if Gabriella were at once naive and awestruck, swept up in the delight of the sensations they shared, and at the same time knowing and sensuous, as well aware of her power as the most experienced courtesan. He had not meant to kiss her, but by God, he did not rue his decision as he pulled her closer, feeling the rapid heartbeat beneath her soft breasts.
With a low moan, she responded as his tongue sought to enter the confines of her mouth, arching back against the support of his arm. A surge of powerful desire jolted him when their tongues met with increasing pleasure. His hands stroked her slender, supple back, and beneath his palms he felt the tension flee her spine. As the kiss deepened, he had no thoughts of what he was doing beyond attempting to prolong the exquisite, growing excitement.
“Stop!” she cried, pulling away suddenly, her eyes wide and guilt stricken.
He was shocked by the abrupt sensation of complete abandonment that rushed over him, a feeling as intense as his surprise. “Why?” he asked, determined to ignore the emotions she aroused within him. There was no doubt in his mind that she had enjoyed their embrace at least as much as he. Even so, he tried to convince himself that it was mere lustful desire they felt, and nothing more. “You want me as much as I want you, Gabriella., or you would not kiss me so.” His voice dropped to a husky whisper. “There is nothing wrong in a kiss.”
Her gaze faltered for the briefest of moments, and her cheeks reddened. He moved to embrace her again, wanting more than anything to feel her in his arms, and telling himself her protest was no more than natural maiden modesty, but she stepped back, a look of such contrite guilt on her face that he felt as if he were the devil incarnate.
“Is this another lesson on the loss of innocence?” she demanded, a condemnation in her resolute eyes that struck him to the core of his lonely heart.
“Not unless you wish it,” he said, achieving a flippant tone that belied the effort it took.
“I do not. For a moment, I… I forgot.”
“Forgot what?”
“Who you are.”
The contempt in her voice wounded him as deeply as the thrust of a dagger, but he would not betray this weakness he had not known he possessed. Instead he frowned darkly. “Gabriella, that your family has suffered is none of my doing,” he said, his voice all the colder for the desire that he could not quite subdue.
Which was to be expected as she stood before him, with her amazing, shining, defiant brown eyes, and swiftly rising and falling breasts. He told himself it was only a physical attraction that compelled him to want her, not a fierce longing to partake of her incredible passion, or a sense that she could meet him strength for strength.
“And that you were the one chosen to take away my home is not yours,” she answered. “But such is the way of things, Baron DeGuerre. You are who you are, and I am who I am. Please allow me to get on with my work and don’t attempt to seduce me again.”
“Is that what you thought I was doing?” Etienne asked with a scornful laugh to hide his frustration. “A kiss is hardly a seduction. Think of it as a lesson to beware being alone with a man.”
“So many lessons, my lord. I suppose I should be grateful that you take such an interest in your servants. I thank you for all your concern that I learn what noblemen are truly like and that the world is a cold, heartless place.” She gave him a curious, sidelong glance, as if he were some kind of monstrosity. “Tell me, Baron, who taught such a lesson to you?”
“My mother,” he snapped, the honest answer bursting from his lips unbidden.
She lost that dismissive expression, gaining instead a pitying one.
By God, he would not be pitied, by her or anyone.
He grabbed her by the shoulders and glared into her face, happy—yes, happy!—that the pity was replaced with dread. “I know full well who I am, Gabriella. I am the master here.”
“I am a free woman, Baron,” she declared. She struggled in his arms with a desperate fierceness that brought him at once to his senses. He didn’t want her pity, but he didn’t want her to be terrified of him, either.
He let her go, and she moved swiftly behind the chair as if it were a shield. “If you take me against my will, you will be guilty of a crime,” she warned.
“I have no intention of taking you against your will,” he said truthfully, then another need that had been so vital for so long arose inside him. He must be in control, of himself, of her, of everyone around him. “You cannot deny that you want me, Gabriella,” he continued. “I could taste your desire. I could feel the excitement in your body. When you come to my bed—and you will—it shall be of your own free will.”
She stared at him with horrified disbelief. “The only way I shall go voluntarily to any man’s bed will be when I am married, and I can assure you, Baron DeGuerre, that if you were the last man in the kingdom, I would not marry you! I know how you treated your wives!”
“You know how I treated my wives? How could you know?” he demanded.
“Everyone knows. You married them for their property, and then neglected them.”
Of course it would have appeared so to the people around them, and her assessment was, in fact, partly true. He had not loved his wealthy wives, nor had they loved him. They had craved the dangerous excitement of his reputation and the passion of the marriage bed, lying there like limp fish for him to arouse. He had considered the wealth and prestige they gave him small recompense.
But it was not for this naive young woman to judge him, or Josephine, or anyone else.
“I have no intention of explaining myself to you.” He raised one eyebrow. “Tell me again about your brother, the knave. A spoiled brat who quarreled with your father and left in a childish fit of pique.”
“That’s not true!”
“He did not quarrel, and then go, never to return, no matter how dire your family’s straits?” he asked, apparently incredulous. “Can it be that common knowledge is not to be trusted?”
“You don’t understand!” she cried fervently, slapping her hands onto the back of the chair. “If he only knew what has happened, Bryce would return at once!”
For a moment, Etienne wondered what it would be like to have such faith in a person that one would cling to a belief in their worthiness despite so much evidence to the contrary. However, he dismissed such thoughts as idle speculation and said, “So, common knowledge can be wrong.”
He walked to his old and battered chest and opened it. “Here,” he said, taking out the familiar purse of coins and holding it out to her. “Take the money and leave this castle, or if you stay, know that I will offer you only such protection as I give all my servants, neither more nor less.”
After a long moment of nearly unbearable silence, Gabriella shook her head. “You cannot force me from here now!”
“You are an attractive woman, and attractive servants-” he laid a slight reminding emphasis on the word, both for her sake and his own “—make trouble among the men.”
“Order them to leave me in peace, and there will be no trouble. This is my home, and I intend to stay.” Her defiant gaze faltered for the briefest of moments, her dusky lashes brushing her silky cheeks and making him want to lay a kiss on each eyelid.
One moment, she was proud, defiant, as strong as the stoutest oak, the next, she was as delicately vulnerable as a rare and beautiful flower. And yet she was a woman, a desirable, fascinating woman whose kiss had melted away years of reserve.
Therefore, Etienne’s mind cried out, she is a dangerous woman. You have always been alone, apart from everyone around you. You will, you must, always be so. To forget that is to be weak. You must never be weak!
“Get out!” he growled, raising his voice as he had not done in years, frustrated and angry.
She stared at him.
“Go!”
Although he did not see her depart, he knew Gabriella had run from the room as if pursued by a demon. And that demon was the Baron DeGuerre.
What did it matter? he told himself as he strode to the window and stared out unseeing. He didn’t want Gabriella Frechette, except in his bed. He didn’t want Josephine de Chaney, except that other men coveted her. He didn’t need anyone, either, except those knights and soldiers necessary to maintain what he had won.
But sweet savior, he didn’t want to be alone anymore! Was it too much to ask, to have one person to love him? Truly love him, for himself?
He had never had that. His wives and mistresses wanted him for his looks and his wealth. Men followed him because of his power. Even his mother had not wanted him because he was Etienne, her son. To her, he had been nothing more than a living image of his father.
He tried to recall all he had accomplished, and how far he had come. He was the rich, the powerful, the envied Baron DeGuerre.
Yet all he could remember was the moment he had lost control. And the sudden fear and dismay in a pair of shining brown eyes.
The baron was still standing at the window when Josephine entered the chamber sometime later, her thoughts on the best choice of color for the background of the tapestry she held in her hands—until she saw Etienne. She had never seen him stand thus, pensive and inert, and a shaft of fear struck her heart. If something happened to him, what would become of her?
“Are you ill, my love?” she asked solicitously, setting down the tapestry and going to him immediately. She wrapped her arms around him and leaned her head against his strong, rigid back. “Has it been a trying day? Sit, and I will pour you some wine and bathe your head with cool water.”
“I am not sick,” Etienne replied somewhat brusquely as he turned away from the window.
He didn’t look indisposed, Josephine thought with relief, and she smiled before going toward a small table upon which sat a goblet and carafe of wine. As she proceeded to fill the goblet, she realized that the room had not been tidied completely. Either Gabriella had deliberately left before finishing her work out of laziness, or she had been interrupted. By Etienne? Had something happened between them to send Gabriella away before her work was finished and to make Etienne so thoughtful?
Her hand started to shake and she took a deep breath to calm herself. She was Josephine de Chaney, famous for her beauty and grace. John Delaney had killed himself when she refused him. Alfred de Morneux and Ralph Bordette had mortally wounded each other over her. Surely she had nothing to fear from a wench like Gabriella Frechette.
After all, it could very well be that Etienne had come here to think and sent Gabriella away to be alone. Or perhaps he had come here looking for her. “Do you wish me to stay, Etienne?” she asked in her gentlest tones as she handed him the wine. “Or would my presence disturb you?”
“Your presence would never disturb me,” he said with a slight smile as he sat down.
“Does your head ache?”
“A little. You are getting to know me too well,” he observed.
Josephine’s brows furrowed slightly as she watched him drink. What did he mean by that? “Perhaps you would care to retire?” she asked innocently. If he wanted to go to bed but not rest, she would, of course, be willing.
“It’s early yet,” he said absently, and her heart sank. Was this the beginning of the end between them?
“I have decided to make a visit to Roger de Montmorency and then to Beaumare to fetch Jean Luc myself. I need his expertise,” he announced.
He spoke to her as if she were one of his lesser knights, not his paramour, and she began to feel the trickle of perspiration down her sides. Nevertheless, she forced a smile onto her face. “When should I be ready to leave?”
“You?” he asked as if he had not even considered that she would accompany him. “You might as well. remain here. I won’t be gone that long.” He smiled with as much genuine warmth as she had ever seen from him, and her heart started to beat again. “The journey would be too tiring,” he continued. “Besides, you have made this room—indeed, this castle—such a place of comfort and beauty, you should be able to enjoy it for as long as possible.”
Because he was planning to send her away? Because he had his lascivious eye on another woman, one with thick, wavy brown hair, defiant eyes and a shapely body?
“Very well, Etienne,” she said, fighting to keep her tone even and noncommittal. “Will you take anyone with you?”
“Philippe de Varenne.” He came toward her and gave her a light kiss and subtle caress. “I would not leave something I valued alone with that one. I can trust George with anything,” he added significantly, “so I will leave him in command.” He stepped away and surveyed her with approval. “Wear your new blue gown tonight. You look like a goddess in it.”
She nodded and smiled and tried to feel relieved, but the smile turned to a worried frown as Etienne strode away.
Two days later, on a morning when the air was chill with the winds of autumn that sent bits of chaff from the stables swirling around the courtyard, Gabriella stood at the well that was between the hall and the stables. Carefully she hoisted the bucket and tipped it so that the clear, cold water flowed into one of the buckets she was to take to the kitchen. In what she was coming to think of as the “old days,” she had never appreciated the work necessary to keep the kitchen supplied with water. Now, as she noticed the hardening calluses on her once-soft hands, she knew it all too well.
Perhaps this was another “lesson” she needed to learn, she thought bitterly, shivering in the cold and wishing she had thought to wear her shawl. The baron would surely think so. Fortunately, he had not yet returned and she had been spared seeing him again after that last, disastrous, unsettling encounter. His absence had given her time to think through what had happened, and she had come to the conclusion that she had been unready for his evident kindness and overwhelmed by his technique. After all, he had been seducing women for years, and she had been caught unprepared. No wonder his kiss had affected her as it had. That would not happen again, and if he so much as touched her, she would be ready!
She was also glad that Philippe de Varenne had gone away with him. The young knight had not spoken to her after that day by the river, but he had looked often, and his gaze was unwholesome and unwelcome. If he decided not to return, that would be a blessing.
There was something else to be thankful for, and that was the change in Robert Chalfront. He didn’t exactly ignore her; instead, he acted as if she were just another person in the household, which was a great relief. Of course, he was kept very busy during the baron’s absence, especially since Sir George was apparently much more interested in hunting and gaming than running an estate, even for a few days. It seemed the vast majority of the inhabitants of Castle Frechette were more cheerful because of the baron’s absence, as if a dark shadow had been lifted from them.
Not that she was reconciled to her state. If anything, she was more determined than ever to pay her debt. She didn’t want to leave her home any more than she ever had, but there could be no alternative.
She simply had to get away from the baron’s overwhelming presence.
She sighed as she lowered the well bucket again and began to draw it up.
Nearby she could hear two stable hands teasing each other and laughing as they went about their work. From one of the upstairs windows nearby, she caught the sound of Alda singing a ballad. The breeze carried Guido’s bellowing orders all the way across the courtyard. He was still anxious, but considerably less so than he had been before the baron’s arrival, for it was clear that the baron intended to allow him to remain as cook.
The only person who really seemed to miss the baron at all was Josephine de Chaney, and then only when she retired at night. During the day, she sewed and
chatted with the knights, for she was always surrounded by a bevy of admiring swains. Even Chalfront lingered occasionally, displaying a capacity for idleness that quite surprised Gabriella the first few times she noticed it.
No doubt Josephine missed the baron’s presence in her lonely bed. The masculine scent of him beside her. The feel of his strong and capable hands on her body. The insistent pressure of his lips…
With another sigh, Gabriella set the large bucket on the side of the well and lifted the filled smaller ones. As she staggered away, water from the heavy buckets sloshed onto the stones.
“My lady!”
Instinctively Gabriella glanced over her shoulder. Mary, one of the widows from the village who Gabriella had always liked, hurried toward her from the inner gate, her careworn, middle-aged face concerned and her doelike brown eyes full of dismay as she looked at Gabriella.
“It’s true then, what I’ve heard?” Mary demanded, coming to a halt and putting her hands on her broad hips.
Her frowning scrutiny rekindled all of Gabriella’s original embarrassment and renewed her determination to avoid any taint of pity.
“I’ve been visiting my sister over in Barton-by-Attley and just got back. I couldn’t believe it.” She shook her head, setting its linen covering swaying. “‘It can’t be true!’ I said when Elsbeth told me. Elsbeth’s such a gossip—it was her who put it about that my John used to drink more than he ought, so you know I didn’t believe her right off. ‘Swear on the name of Mary,’ she said, and that gave me a turn, I will say.”
“Yes, it’s true,” Gabriella admitted lightly, setting down the unwieldy buckets. “I didn’t have much alternative.”
“Has he… has he hurt you?” Mary whispered the question with genuine concern, not the intense speculation of gossip.
“No,” Gabriella replied, although she reddened, thinking of the kiss they had shared. He had upset her, but he had not hurt her.
“What about that other fellow, that Philippe de Varenne? Elsbeth said she saw him talking to you at the river, and she thought—”
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