Her One Desire Page 13

  Happier times. Lizzy had been waiting for those days her entire life. “Regardless of the times, John will be overjoyed. He will make a good father and you a good mother.”

  “Thank ye.” A pink blush blossomed over Celeste’s cheeks and caused a tiny pang of envy deep inside Lizzy. She wouldn’t allow herself to want for something she could never have.

  Celeste pushed her hair away from her eyes and crossed her ankles. She waited, but she had little patience. “Now I shared two secrets. Tis your turn. Tell me, Lizzy, are ye running from a husband?”

  “Nay.” Lizzy turned away.

  “Then mayhap your mother was a courtesan? Your father a Scot?” Celeste laughed, trying to prod her. “Or mayhap worse. Ye were sired by the devil himself,” she jested, but had no idea how close her statement was to the truth. Lizzy set the soap aside and eased lower into the tub. Celeste would eventually learn who she was, as all of Yorkshire would know after her meeting with Gloucester. Twas best Lizzy not grow too attached to her friend anyway. She closed her eyes and prepared for Celeste’s rejection. “’Have you ever been to London, Celeste?”

  “Used to go with me mum to Cheapside.”

  “Have you ever witnessed an execution?”

  “ ‘Ods toes, no.”

  Lizzy couldn’t see her, but the look on her face was as familiar to Lizzy as her own. “The keeper of London’s criminals assigns men to erect a scaffold like a stage for some tragic play. Men. and sometimes even women, are escorted to this platform from the Tower or Newgate Prison to pay for their crimes.” Lizzy kept her eyes closed, painting the picture in her head. “The person’s place in society, or mayhap the extent of their crime, determines their punishment. A wooden arm might be erected for hanging or a block positioned at the right angle for an audience to best witness a beheading.” “Why are ye telling me this?” Celeste whined, the tone of her voice already changing.

  “You want to know who I am, do you not?”

  “I do.”

  “One man rises above all on the scaffold. He solicits silence and fear with his presence alone. He is the man in the black hooded cloak, the one who wields the ax or pulls the cord.”

  “The executioner?”

  Lizzy drew a breath and felt every leer she’d ever received crush her heart. “He is my father.”

  Silence was what she expected and what she received. There was no shuffle of clothes, nor were there soft footsteps retreating. Just silence. She didn’t have to open her eyes to feel Celeste’s revulsion.

  “Damn,” Celeste finally said after long moments of emptiness.

  “’Tis good Lord Maxwell freed ye from London.” “Freed me from London?” Her eyes snapped open. “I freed him, and somehow the arrogant Scot thinks I’m his charge. The fool announced yester eve he intends to take me to Scotland.”

  Celeste shot to her knees beside the tub, her full face leaning over the rim. “He is taking ye to wife?”

  “Nay. He is taking me to a house of God so I might live the remainder of my days in solitude.” Her own tone shocked her. Her goals used to be simple: seek Lord Hollister’s punishment; free her father of his duty; and the most pathetic of all, find a quiet apothecary where she could secretly mix fragrances. Lord Maxwell complicated her goals the moment he held her in a dark tunnel. She yearned for so much more now. “The bastard steals your virtue and ruins ye for another man, then intends to tuck ye away?

  Hide ye from society? He must take ye to wife.”

  Lizzy snorted. If every man possessed Lord Maxwell’s control, then women all over the world could toss their chastity belts into the closest body of water. “Relax, Celeste. My maidenhead is still in place.”

  “Well mayhap it shouldn’t be.” Celeste’s statement was

  wicked, as was the spark twinkling in her dark eyes. The

  woman plotted. Lizzy could see it brewing. Celeste twirle her finger in the water, causing ringlets of small waves to push suds over Lizzy’s shoulders.

  “What do you suggest? A seduction?” The word tickled Lizzy’s tongue. “I will not seduce the man to gain a marriage I do not desire. I cannot marry, Celeste. ‘Tis a complication I would rather not discuss.”

  “As ye wish.” Celeste bounced across the chamber with a lift in her gait. She gathered up Lizzy’s garments and started for the door. “I am going to take these to the laundry and see about acquiring clean bed garments for us. Have ye need for anything else, m’lady?”

  Celeste stepped back into character with a bow.

  Lizzy didn’t trust her. Celeste’s actions were abrupt, sneaky. She was bound to find trouble if she started conversing with the servants. “Do be cautious about whom you speak with. Remember who your husband is and the danger he is in by simply being here. Trust no one.” “I can hold my tongue. Ye relax and enjoy your bath. I’ll be back a ten, and we will discuss all the ways you can seduce Lord Maxwell.” The door latched behind her, and Lizzy settled into the first bit of privacy she’d known in days. There would be no talk of seduction. Lord Maxwell’s control was stronger than the Tower walls, and she held no desire to feel his rejection again.

  After removing three days’ worth of dust from her hair and skin, she allowed herself to take Celeste’s advice and relax. A mistake.

  Lord Maxwell surfaced in her head. She heard his voice, smelled his musky scent, felt his lips against hers. “Leave me be,” she said foolishly to no one. Her eyes slid shut. He reappeared—naked and glorious.

  Curse the man’s persistence!

  She tried to solicit the numbers, but only ended up counting the times his lips touched hers in her head. She tried thinking of inanimate objects. A door—he walked through it. A chair—he draped his garments over it. A bed—he made love to her on it over and over until the burning inside her was finally doused.

  She conceded, thinking herself quite insane. She toyed with the soap, pushing suds over breasts that suddenly felt fuller, more tender. Her fingers skimmed over a hard, aching nipple. She pinched it and felt the string of heat connecting her breast to her womb. In her mind’s eye her fingers belonged to Lord Maxwell. She fantasized about his mouth on her breast, his hands on her bare flesh, caressing, stroking, giving her pleasure beyond anything she’d ever known. A throbbing pounded at her woman’s core, begging for his touch. Her cheeks burned with heat as the woman inside her became fully aroused with thoughts of him. “Mercy Mary!” she scolded herself aloud. She had never touched herself. She never needed to, but as her hand slipped down her thigh, she battled an untapped desire for fulfillment. Banners of crimson and gold hung from the second-floor balcony, which was lined with lute players, jugglers, and jesters. A scantily clad woman draped in purple veils and gold rings danced before Broc on the dais. Her arms curled above her head, and her exposed belly moved seductively with the rhythm of swaying hips. She reminded him of Lizbeth, except for her black hair, brown eyes, and thin lips. Who was he fooling? She didn’t resemble his angel at all. She didn’t have Lizbeth’s silky full lips or her dark red tresses or the determined tilt of her chin. He looked at the dancer’s eyes and thought of how dull in comparison they were to the fire in Lizbeth’s. Yet his angel was who he saw when he looked at each of the women performing before a group of gluttonous knights. He wanted no drab, regardless of the dark-eyed gypsy’s efforts to gain his attention.

  He, John, and Smitt had been brought to the Great Hall, where women danced, courtiers feasted, and every man savored both delicacies to his heart’s content. “I have died and gone to paradise.” Smitt stood to Broc’s right and squeezed the ample backsides of two wenches draped in gold rings and sheer silks fawning over him. Mayhap his cousin wanted a third for the eve. He could rescue Broc from the dancing woman’s bold advances. “Mayhap if ye give her a coin, she will leave ye,” John suggested in a low voice to avoid offending the English. “And mayhap she would work harder to gain more.” Broc kept his coin in his pocket and poured the remainder of his mead down his gullet. The whole room sickened hi
m. ‘Twas a wasteful display of debauchery.

  “Forgive me, m’lord, for the interruption.” Celeste appeared at his side, wringing her hands.

  Broc immediately searched for Lizbeth, but Celeste stood alone, and the worried pinch in her brow had him reaching for his weapon. “What’s amiss?”

  “’Tis Lizzy. Two men came to the chamber and—“ “Where is she?” The English bastards would die for touching her.

  “Southwest tower, second floor, sixth door on the right,” Celeste provided and pushed John back to his seat when he stood to follow.

  Broc ran from the hall, uncaring that his actions might expose his identity. He sprinted up the tower stairwell alight with golden rushlights. Coming here had been a mistake. His desire to drive Gloucester out of the north endangered himself and Lizbeth. He should have taken her to Scotland. With a dirk in hand, he entered the corridor, listening for her screams over the pulse beating in his throat. He counted until he reached the sixth chamber, then kicked the door wide with the flat of his foot, knocking it back against the interior wall with a bang. A whoosh of damp flowers filled his lungs. A gasp preceded a slosh of water.

  Lizbeth’s head whipped around, sending wet ropes of dark hair swinging. A scan of the chamber found it void of danger. Ach! He’d been duped. No English threatened her life. This was the simple plotting of one woman. Celeste. He sheathed his dirk at his waist and tried to decide if he would scold Celeste or thank her upon their next meeting. “Are you mad? Where is Celeste?”

  A shoulder popped above the rim and tempted him in ways he no longer wished to battle.

  “I fear your maid has gone below stairs.” He searched the room for a towel, but found naught. Not a stitch of garments in sight, except for a thin pale wrapper draped over the bed’s edge. He laughed inwardly. Celeste was true to her cause. “It seems Celeste has abandoned ye.”

  “Then go get her,” Lizbeth demanded and slunk deeper into the water.

  “Nay.” Broc didn’t even attempt to leave. He didn’t want to.

  He was damned tired of ignoring his desire for this woman.

  She’d been all too eager to have him give her memories.

  Mayhap he should and damn the consequences. He shut the door and approached the tub. Lizbeth’s hands scurried beneath the water to hide her breasts. Pink tinted her cheeks, mist glistened her fair skin, and her bottom lip looked even fuller than he’d remembered. His angel had the oddest look of an unsatisfied woman. Albeit, he’d known few women to be unsatisfied in his bed.

  He bent to one knee and braced his elbows on the rim. “What do you mean, nay?” She stared at him with darkening eyes.

  Heavy breathing pushed the water to and fro over the curve of her collarbone. His eyes shifted to the middle of the water. Her hand followed the path, leaving her one hand short of covering all three of her treasures. Her knees peeked out of the top of the water, slightly spread and trembling. She slammed them shut.

  If he didn’t know better, he would say she was fully aroused.

  “I mean nay. Ye want your maid, then go fetch her yourself.”

  He cast her a broad grin.

  A burst of air shot out of her nose in a fury, popping tiny bubbles atop the surface. His gaze locked on a perfectly shaped breast, sweetly curved with an upturned nipple crinkled into a tight bud. His cullions thickened to hard stones beneath a rigid erection he couldn’t control. A team of oxen couldn’t pull him from the room.

  “Hand me a towel and stop gawking at me.”

  “I cannae.”

  “Why?”

  “Because ye are naked.” He dipped his index finger in the water to his knuckle and twirled. ‘”Tis hot.” He studied her nipple surrounded by water. It should be a soft, round, rosecolored circle, but it was as hard as his cock. “Ye are aroused.” “What?!” she yelled, obviously mortified by his statement. “Ye are alone, naked in a tub, with only your thoughts, and ye are fully aroused. Deny it.”

  She growled at him in comment.

  “Tell me, Lizbeth, is Edlynn talking to ye again?” One finger drew a path down her throat and into the water. He stopped between her breasts and then repeated the action. “I will not play your game.” She bit her bottom lip. “ Tis no game. Tell me what ye were thinking before I came into the chamber.” He wouldn’t have thought it possible, but her cheeks turned a darker shade of crimson. The water rippled around her quivering knees. Sharp breaths brought her breast closer to the surface, temptation a hand’s reach away. He tweaked her nipple.

  She cried out and grabbed his wrist, but made no resistance when he rolled the tiny nubbin between his thumb and forefinger. Her head lolled in pleasure, and her eyes twitched behind closed lids. “Oh, God.”

  “Tell me”—he watched her knees slowly separate—“did I enter your thoughts or is there another man who makes ye burn?”

  Her eyes snapped open, fire leaping in their depths. “There is no other man, and you well know it. Now remove yourself from my person and step back.”

  Obediently, he did as she asked, but couldn’t look away. He felt intoxicated and the weightlessness in his head had naught to do with the drink.

  She scowled at him. “Hand me the wrapper on the bed.” He raised the fine linen up in front of him by the shoulders and shook it. She would have to take at least three steps to get to him. To his astonishment, she stood straight up in the tub; water trickled over her shoulders, down her breasts, and straight into the dark triangle of curls at the apex of her legs. She was probably glaring at him, but he didn’t notice, nor did he care. His gaze remained fixed on luscious legs and creamy skin. The kind of skin a man could dine on for hours searching for all the places that would make her gasp and moan. He licked his lips and swallowed.

  She yanked the wrapper from his hands and gloved herself inside it. She may as well still be naked for all the more it hid. In an instant, her wet skin soaked the material, outlining the curve of her hips, the lines of her thighs, and the shadowed circles of her nipples. She tied the strip of silk tight around her petite waist and lowered her head. Hiding. “Thank ye for your assistance, m’lord. You may go,” she said softly and turned toward the darkest corner in the room, combing her hair against the side of her face. Nay! He wanted to shake her. The desirable woman disappeared and in her place returned shy, timid Lady Ives. He stepped up behind her and curled one hand around her shoulder. Gathering her thick wet locks, he pulled them aside and kissed the back of her neck. He felt the tremors rack her body. “Where is she?” he whispered against the rim of her ear.

  “Who?”

  “The woman who breathes fire inside ye. I want her back.”

  He nipped her earlobe.

  “You rejected her.”

  “’Twas a mistake. Bring her back. I’ll not reject her again.” Her head fell against his chest. The hands clutching the edges of her wrapper loosened. “You will kill her if you do.” He peeled the material over her shoulder to expose a perfect brown beauty mark. He kissed it, nibbled at it, and then grazed his teeth over it. There was no going back. She wanted him, and he wouldn’t deny her. He would deal with the complications of his actions when he returned to Scotland. “I will not reject ye.”

  “Vow it upon your soul.”

  “I vow it.” He surrendered, turned her in his arms, and raised her chin. “All will be well. Bring her back,” he whispered and drew her bottom lip into his mouth. She suckled his top lip, but not with the passion he knew she possessed. He opened her mouth with the press of his thumb and inhaled her air. “I want my angel.” He awaited her kiss. Searched for it. Craved it. Then finally she was there, moistening his lips with her own. She caressed his mouth with exquisite tenderness, then dove in with a vengeance. Her mouth slanted over his. Once, twice, increasing her demand each time. Their tongues mated with a born instinct, chasing one another with fervent speed. He spread his jaw wide to deepen the kiss, and she unleashed a tiny mew—the sound like bells in his ears.

  He picked her up and
laid her on the bed. her eyes moist, her lips pinked by his kiss. The edge of her wrapper fell away at her hips when she rubbed her legs together—her magnificently long legs. The head of his cock broke from the waistband of his trews. He was going to explode if he didn’t take her. After tossing his weapons to the floor with a clang, he removed his boots and shed his surcoat and tunic in one pull. The tiniest of voices inside his head told him to consider his actions, but his desire to have her deafened his conscience. He planted a knee between her thighs, and the intensity of her stare set his heart pounding against his spine. Her lips parted. He kissed her to silence her words and slid a hand up her thigh beneath her wrapper to squeeze her backside. Her fingers played over his chest, his arms, his stomach, tickling the skin below his navel. He had to control himself, had to reign in the beast that wanted to devour her whole. She whimpered and ground herself against his knee. “Lizbeth, I should warn you. There will be pain at first, but I—“ She released the tie of her wrapper and stole his words. “I am not afraid of you or of what’s about to happen. I might be an innocent, but—“ “Edlynn?” he supplied, saving her an explanation he had no desire to hear.

  “Aye.”

  He traced a finger from her chin all the way down to her patch of sable curls. She sucked in air at the contact. “I will not deny ye or myself anymore.” He bent and flicked her taut nipple with his tongue—teasing, biting, titillating—before taking her breast into the haven of his mouth while kneading her other forgotten breast inside the nest of his hand. She grasped handfuls of his hair and pressed him harder against her. “Broc,” she whispered and widened her knees. She knew what she wanted, and he wouldn’t make her say it.

  Braced atop her, he kissed her again and slowly slid one finger into the tight, silken flesh between her legs. She cried out, but he showed her no mercy. His thumb danced around her untouched bud until he felt her swell for him. Adding a second finger, he teased her until her toes curled, and her body shuddered; then her panting turned into mewling I screams. Her hands seized clumps of bedding as she grasped for something to hold on to. Her reaction was fast and fierce.