“I have already pledged a year and a day to this objective.”
He watched her still and she knew he was unpersuaded.
“Why did you bring me with you, if you did not mean to come to my bed?”
“Because your womb might already bear fruit, and you are my responsibility until we know for certain.”
It was hardly a sentiment to warm her heart. Vivienne refused to be swayed, all the same, for his gaze was too vivid for him to be as indifferent as his tone implied.
She reached out and laid a hand upon Erik’s arm, feeling him tense when she did so. She held his gaze and let her fingertips trace a circle of a caress upon his flesh. She did not know how to seduce a man, but she tried to show her enthusiasm for the deed, and used the slow stroke that he had used to awaken her passion.
Erik swallowed visibly and she thought he gritted his teeth. “There is no need for this deed,” he said. “We may leave matters as they stand. If you bear a child, I will claim it; if not, you may remain with your aunt.”
“I would not rely merely upon what we have already done.” Vivienne eased closer to Erik, letting her breast rub against his forearm. Her kirtle was still wet, her skin sufficiently cold that her nipples had beaded. She slid her breasts across the muscled strength of his arm, a move which sent a tingle of desire over her own flesh, and heard him catch his breath.
“Come to my bed, Erik Sinclair.” she whispered and noted how a heat kindled in his gaze.
“I should not.”
“I am your best chance to create a son with all haste,” she murmured. Vivienne ran her fingertip across his lips, her gaze unswerving from his. She felt a tremor slide through him and shivered herself at her own bold manner. She turned then and descended the ladder, hoping against hope that he would accept her offer.
Rosamunde looked up from her place in the hold and nodded once. Vivienne was certain that her aunt would return to the deck to survey sky and sea. Meanwhile, Ruari rubbed a cloth through his wet hair and coddled a stout bucket by his side. A brazier smoked, filling the hold with heat even as its smoke stung Vivienne’s eyes. Many of the sailors slumbered or whittled in the hold, taking their leisure while they could.
Padraig rose from where he crouched beside the brazier, then offered Ruari a steaming cup of some concoction. Ruari sniffed tentatively before accepting the brew with a grateful smile.
Vivienne waited at the base of the ladder, fearful of what Erik would do. Would he reject her after she had been so bold? He stepped down beside her and spared only the merest glance to the other men, his gaze lingering upon Ruari. The older man waved as if to reassure him. That Erik did not hasten to Ruari’s side was all the encouragement Vivienne needed.
“I desire you,” she whispered and saw the fire light in Erik’s eyes, just as Rosamunde had foretold. She took his hand in hers, smiling at the disparity of size between the two of them, then tugged him toward Rosamunde’s chamber.
To her delight, he followed, his eyes so deep a blue that they fairly smoldered.
Erik was enchanted anew and he did not care. Vivienne’s hair was stained dark from the rain, and water glistened on her cheeks as dewdrops will on the petals of a flower. She secured the door of the chamber behind herself and leaned against it, eyeing him through her lashes. He was fascinated that she could look both shy and bold, both innocent and provocative, but she managed the deed with ease.
He had thought himself strong enough to leave her be for this journey, but her desire for him, even if it was feigned, was impossible to deny. Resistance to her charms was futile, when his body was already upon her side of the argument.
And indeed, he reminded himself, the damage was done. Her maidenhead was gone in truth. There was naught more to be lost in accepting her invitation, and only the chance of reward in that son.
Or so Erik told himself.
Rosamunde’s chamber was simple in structure, a mere cabin secured from the rest of the hold. The walls were curved and wrought of wood—as was all of the ship—and its entirety rocked in a soothing manner. A pair of lanterns were secured to the wall at the far end, the flames well away from the wall and the receptacle for the oil too small to cause much risk of fire if spilled. Erik could hear the rain drumming steadily on the deck overhead, which only made the room seem like more of a cozy haven.
There was little in the chamber, save a bed built into the frame of the ship. The lip upon it was sufficiently large that one would not be cast out of it in the roughest sea. The bed was large enough to accommodate two persons, though one of Erik’s height would have to curl up to fit.
The mattress was thick and clearly filled with down, an indulgence that spoke of Rosamunde’s love of luxury. Dozens of pelts were piled on the bed, their silky furs a marvelous jumble of hues. Erik could not identify the animals that must have once been adorned with several of them, for no wolf or squirrel had ever been graced with such stripes and spots.
Bed linens of velvet and silk were folded at one end, drapes of finely woven wool could be drawn to make another barrier against the hold, and pillows of all shapes and sizes spilled from the bed to the floor. They stood in silence and stared at this marvel of a bed, while Erik imagined what they might do upon it. Indeed, the very air seemed to steam with the heat of his desire.
But he would wait for the lady to invite him between her thighs once more. That she hesitated so quickly after her bold invitation made him doubt that she truly did desire him. There would be no charge against him later that he had claimed her against her will.
Erik would wait, if it nigh killed him.
A rap at the door made them both jump, then Vivienne unfastened the latch. Rosamunde stood there, a knowing smile curving her lips. She offered a steaming bucket of water and a large irregularly shaped golden ball. It seemed to be porous.
“A sponge,” she said, noting Erik’s puzzlement. “And water to bathe. There is attar of roses in the drawer beneath the bed, if you desire scent, and honey, as well, if you desire enticement.”
Honey?
Erik took the bucket, looking into the depths of the steaming water as he considered what could be done with honey. Vivienne took the sponge. She plunged it into the water, then squeezed it out, loosing a cascade of water. She laughed then and repeated her deed, clearly as unfamiliar with this marvel as he.
Rosamunde smiled, mischief making her eyes sparkle. “I shall trouble you only with food,” she said, then winked and pulled the portal closed once more.
Vivienne took a deep breath that made her breasts swell, then glanced up at Erik. An echo of Rosamunde’s mischief danced in her eyes.
“Honey,” she repeated, then smiled wickedly. “Though I should like to bathe before such enticement.” Then she turned the latch to lock the door.
Erik eased the bucket into a brace he had spotted on the floor, then faced Vivienne once more. She regarded him with a smile that warmed him to his toes and before he could speak, she raised a hand to the clasp of her cloak.
“You have always led me to passion,” she whispered. “Now, I would similarly coax you.” She let her cloak drop to the floor, her gaze unswerving. Erik knew that he had no need of coaxing, for his body was fully prepared already, but he let Vivienne set the pace. She planted a fingertip in the middle of his chest. “You have but to stand and watch. I will do the rest.”
Erik realized then that Vivienne meant to disrobe before him and his mouth went dry. He had no need of honey, no need of more than the gleam in Vivienne’s eyes, the inviting smile that curved her lips.
He stood still with an effort and watched her shed her garb with frustrating leisure.
She unfastened the lace at one side of her kirtle, taking a cursed amount of time to ease it free. She spared him a smile, then unfastened the one on the opposite side, tugging the lace from each eyelet with tantalizing deliberation. When the kirtle was loosed, she lifted the hem in slow increments, revealing the shadow of her ankles through her chemise, then her finel
y curved calves.
The woman was fairly wrought to tempt him, of this Erik was certain. He clenched his fists and watched.
After easing the garment ever higher with frustrating slowness, finally, Vivienne lifted the green kirtle over her head and cast it aside. Erik could see her rosy nipples through the fine linen of her chemise, as well as their pert peaks, and the auburn shadow of the hair at the top of her thighs. Her curves were no more than tempting shadows spied through the cloth.
Erik made to unlace his own jerkin, but Vivienne seized his hands to halt him. “Let me,” she whispered, her eyes dark with a desire that weakened his knees. She kissed his knuckles, each one in turn, lavishing attention upon them with her soft lips. She planted a kiss on each of his palms, her tongue flicking against his skin unexpectedly.
“Vivienne,” he fairly growled, but she did not hasten. Indeed, the tip of her tongue darted between his fingers and he caught his breath at the vigor of his response.
Perhaps she did come from a lineage of sorcerers, for his desire for her seemed never to be sated. Indeed, it only grew more potent each time they met abed, only grew stronger with each taste.
Vivienne smiled and stepped away from him, then worked the lace of her chemise loose with that same deliberation. Erik swallowed, transfixed as every increment of soft flesh was revealed. She unfastened the myriad buttons on the sleeves with painful slowness. The chemise finally fell to the floor in its turn, piling around her ankles like a cloud beneath an angel’s feet.
Vivienne stepped gracefully out of the cloth, then shook it out, hanging it upon a hook with more care than he thought the matter deserved. She had to reach for that hook, though, stretching out one leg behind herself and pointing one toe. He admired the curve of her buttocks and the graceful line of her back. He thought momentarily about seizing her about her narrow waist and ending this torment, but then she cast him such a smile that he abandoned the notion.
She was savoring this seduction and he was not enough of a cur to deny it to her.
Vivienne retrieved her kirtle and cloak, hanging them in their turn and offering him such a lingering view of her buttocks that Erik guessed that she felt the weight of his gaze upon her. He admired the smooth strength of her legs, as his desire for her was urged to fever pitch.
She granted him a coy smile as she began to loose her hair. She stood before him, clad only in her stockings, garters and boots, and untied the lace at the end of her braid. As usual, the braid held but a third of her hair captive in truth, the rest having escaped its bonds earlier to curl around her face.
He could not help but admire her and did not try to hide his awe of her beauty. Vivienne’s smile broadened, and for once, Erik did not mind that his thoughts could be so readily discerned by another. Vivienne leaned her head back and shook out her hair, her eyes closed, and he watched hungrily.
He leaned forward and planted a kiss in the hollow of her throat. She gasped and he claimed her mouth in a possessive kiss, his hand curving around the back of her waist. When he raised his hand to cup her face, her pulse skipped beneath his hand in a most enticing manner.
He released her and stepped back, well content to have put that flush upon her cheeks and that sparkle in her eyes.
Indeed, these unfamiliar chausses showed themselves to have a marked disadvantage over his customary garb. There was little room within them for his enthusiastic response to Vivienne and he yearned anew for the comfort of his loose chemise and belted length of tartan.
Vivienne reached for the lace of his jerkin then. She spared him a glance through her lashes, her smile provocative. She was flushed, though, more maidenly than she probably would have preferred, though Erik found the contrast most alluring.
She worked the lace loose, one hole at a time, then pulled it free and cast it aside. She slid her hands beneath the boiled leather shell, fanning her fingers as she ran her hands over his chest. He ducked his head, unable to resist the chance to kiss her, but she evaded his lips and kissed the hollow of his throat instead.
The jerkin was followed by his chemise, which was worked loose in teasing increments. She playfully pushed him on to the bed then, and straddled one of his legs as she tugged off his boot. Her buttocks were on his thigh, the ripe curve of her hips tempting his hands. He caught her around the waist and pulled her back into his lap, stealing another thorough kiss before she escaped his embrace once more.
She was breathless when she rapped him on the nose with a scolding fingertip, and her eyes glittered. “You are to be seduced, not to do the seducing,” she said.
“But I am seduced already,” he argued. “Your quest is complete.”
“It has only just begun,” she retorted, then squirmed in his lap so that she could not have missed the sign of his enthusiasm. She got to her feet again though, and straddled his other leg, her hands locking on his second boot.
Once again, Erik did not obey instructions. He caught her around the waist, liking that his hands fairly encircled her, and the roll of the ship worked in his favor. Vivienne tumbled into his lap. Erik caught her nape in his hand and kept his other arm locked around her waist as he kissed her fully. She arched against him, her tongue dancing with his, her fingers spearing into his hair as they rolled across the bed together.
He loved that she was not shy, that she did not withhold her passion from him. He loved that she responded so ardently to his caress, that she clearly savored their lovemaking as much as he.
Vivienne’s eyes sparkled with laughter when she broke their kiss. She sprawled atop Erik, her hands braced upon his shoulders. “What a soft bed,” she murmured. “We shall sleep well here.”
“We may not sleep at all,” Erik replied, then rolled her beneath him. He kissed her fully once more, and she was quick to respond to his caress. She was flushed and smiling when he lifted his head, though still she shook a finger at him.
“You were not to do anything,” she protested.
Erik tugged off one of her boots then claimed her ankle, locking one hand around it. He bent to untie her garters with his teeth. Vivienne gasped when his thumb moved in a slow circle against her ankle bone and she moaned with pleasure when he kissed behind her knees. It took some time to be rid of both of her garters and stockings, though the lady did not complain.
He had only a heartbeat’s warning, a mere glimpse of the mischief dancing in her eyes, before she bent to untie the lace of his chausses with her teeth. He feared then that he would tear the cloth, that the chausses from the Earl of Sutherland would not be able to contain him. That Vivienne caressed him through the cloth, teasing him with her fingertips, nigh drove him mad with desire.
He laid back and gritted his teeth, letting her do what she would so that he could surprise her when she was done. She tormented him, echoing his gesture by kissing behind his knees as she eased the chausses away. No sooner were they dispatched to the floor than Erik reached for her, but she was already upon her feet.
She opened the drawer beneath the bed, biting her lip in an endearing expression of concentration as she looked through the drawer’s contents. She wrinkled her nose at the label on the first bottle she lifted, put it back and lifted out another. She removed the stopper and the chamber smelled of roses in bloom. Vivienne poured a healthy quantity of the scent into the steaming water and Erik protested.
“I shall smell as if I have been to a brothel!”
“Who shall smell you, save me?”
“Ruari, for one.”
“But he of all men will know that you could not have been to a brothel.” She plunged the sponge into the water, then wrung it out, granting Erik a fine view of those buttocks once again. “And he of all men knows your need for a son. Will he not think the scent of roses a small price to pay?” She propped a hand on her hip as she regarded him and the light of the lanterns turned her flesh to the hue of a sunrise. “After all, it smells finer than either of us do already.”
“That is true enough.”
�
��And do you truly care what Ruari thinks of your deeds this day?”
Erik had to admit that he did not. He had no need to say as much, for his thoughts were not so secret now that his chausses were shed.
Vivienne’s eyes gleamed with purpose, then she returned to kneel on the bed. She ran the sponge down his chest, making a dripping course of warm water, then caressed his erection with it. It was soft and tickled slightly, her fingers were warm, her stroke resolute. Erik pulled away, certain he would spill his seed too soon.
“Do you not wish to be washed?” she asked.
“I could do it more quickly myself,” he said, hearing the strain in his voice. She closed her hand around him, even with the sponge, and moved up and down the length of him. Erik was certain he would not be able to endure much of this attention.
Then Vivienne leaned over him, her hair spilling around him, and kissed his jaw. She touched him with increasing surety, kissing him finally on the earlobe. “You pleased me there with your tongue,” she whispered into his ear. “Time ’tis for me to return pleasure in kind.”
Before he could protest, she had slid down his chest and pressed her lips to his erection. Erik fell back on the bed and groaned aloud as he realized he would be unable to halt her amorous assault.
It was then that Vivienne truly began to torment him with pleasure, Erik did not want to compel her to stop. She met him with a wild abandon new to her, committing herself to their passion with new vigor. He was beguiled, he was enchanted, he was lost in her allure.
He succumbed to the moment, powerless to do otherwise.
It was long before they slumbered, sated, their limbs entwined. Erik felt a tremendous languor and his eyes drifted closed of their own accord. He pulled the furs over them both, welcoming Vivienne’s soft heat against his side.
She nestled closer and placed her lips against Erik’s ear. He thought that she meant to kiss him and he smiled despite himself at the prospect.
“I love you,” she murmured instead. She spoke so sleepily that she might have been unaware that the words had crossed her lips.
Stolen Brides: Four Beauty-and-the-Beast Medieval Romances Page 26