A Dangerous Man (27 page)

She wanted him to deny it. Oh God, how she wanted him
to deny it. But she saw the truth in his eyes. She shoved her
hands against his shoulders, but he would not let her go.

No, he tightened his grip, smoothed his hands over her
back.

"It is not what you think," he whispered against her ear, his
breath feathering over her neck. "Margaret is not my mistress,
but not for lack of trying. She lured me onto the terrace by
pretending dizziness. I have seen her faint any number of
times. I had no way of knowing she was not truly ill, not until
she kissed me"

Leah tried to laugh, but a sob caught in her throat. "You
expect me to believe that Banbury tale?"

"Why not? It is the truth. I cannot deny she once shared my bed" He cradled her cheeks in his palms. His smile was so
tender, his gaze so intense, she could almost believe him.
"But I've not had any other women, not since the day we wed.
What need have I of another, when all that I want is here in
my arms?"

She leaned into his hand, forced a smile to her lips even
though she felt as if she were dying inside.

"And when you tire of me, my lord?" she whispered through
her tears. "Will another grace your bed, then?"

"Oh, Leah, I shall never tire of you"

Leah wanted to believe him, but she was afraid.

"Part your lips for me, darling," he murmured against her
mouth, his fingers fanning through her hair, sifting her tangle
of curls over her shoulders and down her back.

She could almost believe he cared for her when he was
with her like this. When he moved his mouth over her lips,
fiercely, boldly, savagely demanding a response, his hands
shaking as he stripped off her frock. When he shrugged out
of his clothing, his dark eyes meeting hers, his sultry, dark
eyes that glimmered with some deep, nameless emotion, she
could almost believe ...

"I will not share you," she said, pushing him toward the
bed, pushing him onto his back. Straddling his hips, she
framed his face, his beard-roughened j aw scraping her hands.
"I throw your own words back at you. You are my husband, I
am your wife, and even if you never come to love me, I will
not share you."

"I am yours, Leah, and I surrender willingly."

His voice, low and raspy with need, lit a tingling ache in
her belly, a yearning deep within her womb.

He wrapped his arms around her back, but she was having
none of that. For weeks she had longed to explore his body, but had never dared, too afraid he would think her wanton
and lewd. Not tonight. Tonight, he was hers to do with as
she pleased. Tonight, she would learn the secrets only this
man could share.

She grabbed his hands, pushed them high over his head.
"Hold on to the bedstead. And do not move"

"I do not think I can survive such sweet torture," he
groaned but he gripped the heavy oak panel, tight cords of
muscle and tendon stretching from shoulder to wrist.

She flicked her tongue along the parted seam of his lips,
tasted his sigh, as she explored the sultry depths of his mouth
with shocking boldness. Her fingernails scraping over his
shoulders brought forth a low chuckle from deep within his
chest, a dark, earthy rumble that sent a delicious shiver down
her skin. She moved her mouth over his throat, along his jaw,
her breasts rubbing against his chest, the soft scrape ripening
her nipples into hard, aching peaks.

"I love the way you taste," she murmured against the curve
of his neck, then gasped at her wanton words. She felt his
laugh against her skin, hot, bold, an intimate, sensual caress,
a shiver rippling down her neck. Never had she felt so alive.

So powerful. She loved the feel of his skin. The burning
heat of his flesh. The muscles that flexed and tightened beneath her fingertips. She feathered her knuckles down his
sides, smiled against his stomach as his abdomen clenched.

He was all rigid, hard planes and burgeoning muscle, hot
skin tightening with need. The room was in shadows, the only
light sweeping in from the moon and the waning fire in the
hearth. Mingling red and silvery light played over his strong,
chiseled jaw, the broad sweep of his chest.

Good Lord, what a beautiful man.

Her need was growing, her skin burning, her thighs aching,
and deep between her legs, a hot, sultry need to feel him
inside her. Slowly, she traced a path ever downward until she
wrapped her hand around his straining sex.

His body jerked, in shock or pleasure, Leah did not know
until he moaned. She trailed her mouth along the same path,
wanting to know him, every part of him, wanting to give him
some measure of the same pleasure he always gave her.

"No-don't," he groaned, but she ignored his words and
took the tip of his swollen flesh in her mouth.

His protests died in a gasp as he speared his fingers through
her hair. She savored his response, his salty-sweet taste, his
musky male essence that invaded her senses, swept away fear.
This man was her husband and she loved him so much she
thought she might weep. She was awkward and clumsy and a
little bit shy, but he didn't seem to notice.

"Leah, Leah .. ." He writhed upon the bed. With a shattered groan, he grabbed her arms and dragged her across his
chest. She gasped in surprise, then in pleasure as he raised her
up and slid himself between her thighs.

What power she felt, riding astride him, setting the rhythm,
the pace, the angle that drew urgent moans from his throat
and built gathering pleasure within her passage, the hot, slick
slide of skin upon skin. Leaning forward ever so slowly, her
legs shaking, she threw back her head.

He surged up, hands coming round her back, gripping her
hair, his mouth latching onto her breasts, suckling one aching
nipple, then the other, each bold thrust of his tongue pulsing
through her belly, each upward thrust of his sex touching her
womb, until she was quivering, aching, shattering around him.

"Richard, I love you," she cried, the words torn from her
throat as a wild, nearly unbearable climax swept her away.
She collapsed against his chest.

Mere moments passed before she heard the echo of her
words.

Afraid to look at him, she nuzzled his neck.

The words had risen unbidden to her lips. Yet she would
not deny them. She would not deny her love for him.

He rolled her onto her back. His midnight eyes burned with an intensity she could not identify. Time stretched into eternity as he stared into her eyes. Then he lowered his lips to
hers, and slowly, reverently, drew her against his body, his
heart pounding wildly beneath her palm.

A loud thud startled Leah awake.

She clutched the coverlet to her chin. Her eyes wide, she
stared into the darkness, listening for the noise that had awakened her. Her imagination tortured her with images of footpads and murderers skulking through the house, searching for
their next victims. She heard nothing but silence and her husband's even breathing. It must have been a dream.

She sat up, glanced at Richard. He lay sprawled on his back,
the covers tangled low on his hips. Moonlight played across
his chest, sun-bronzed and naked to her gaze. She ran her fingers through the dark hair covering his flesh. I love you.

Her words came back to haunt her. She'd not meant to say
them, but her emotions were strained, her senses shattered.
His eyes had gleamed stark and dangerous in the candlelight,
his jaw, rigid and tense, but he had not denied her declaration.
No, he had kissed her and stroked her and made love to her
so tenderly, she almost believed that he loved her as much as
she loved him.

Even if he were incapable of speaking the words.

It might be an illusion, but it was sweet, just the same.

As she sank back onto her pillow, a sudden onslaught of
nausea brought her hands to her lips. She swallowed as her
throat convulsed and the bed seemed to swirl about her head.

She needed a drink, something stronger than water to settle
her stomach, a few sips of brandy, or perhaps a claret.

Or a loaf of bread, she decided as her stomach gave one
more violent twist. She thought of waking Richard, but she
did not wish to disturb him when he seemed so peacefully
asleep, with no night horrors to decimate his dreams.

She poked her head out her door. The wall sconces still
burned in the passage, their feeble light marking the direction
toward the stairs. As she rounded the curve to the hall, her
foot struck a shadowy object draped across the landing.

A male voice groaned. Long fingers grabbed her ankle,
pulled her to the floor. She landed on her hands and knees,
her palms scraping across the hard wood surface. Her skin
grew cold, her heartbeat racing, she sucked air into her lungs,
but before she could scream, a familiar voice called out,
"Leah?"

"Geoffrey?" She crawled over to him, cradled his head on
her lap, hands searching for any hint of injury. "Are you
hurt?"

His brown hair was damp with sweat and reeked of smoke.
He opened his mouth, as if to speak, but belched long and
loud instead. He giggled. "Ooops. Beg pardon"

Only once before, at a village fair, had she seen a man so
inebriated he could not walk, but she recognized the signs, the
crooked smile, the red-glazed eyes, the stench of brandy
rising from his clothes like haze from paving stones on a
summer day.

"Love you, you know," he said in what she imagined he
thought was a whisper, the bellow pounding through her already aching head. "Best thing that ever happened to this
family."

"Thank you, my lord. I love you, too." She slipped her
hands beneath his arms, but he was too heavy for her to move.
"Can you stand on your own? Or should I fetch a footman?"

"I can do it." He rolled to his stomach, pushed onto his
knees. "Not a crook shanks, you know."

"I know," Leah said, rising from her own ignoble position
on the floor. "There is nothing wrong with your legs a little
coffee and some rest won't cure. Come. Let us get you
to bed"

Draping one of his arms around her shoulders, she leaned into his side. He was so heavy and his legs were so wobbly,
Leah greatly feared they might tumble backward down the
stairs, but he lunged forward instead. Together, they stumbled
down the hall, bounced off the walls, stepped on each other's
toes.

By the time they reached his rooms, they were laughing.

"Now, lean against the wall whilst I open ... the ... door."

"Shouldn't," he murmured, slouching toward the floor.
"Unseemly, don't you know."

"Nonsense" Grabbing his arm before he collapsed, she
guided him across the room, dark save for the moonlight
shining in through the windows and the shadowed lamplight
flickering beyond the open door. "There is no harm in a sister
helping her brother to bed when he is incapable of getting
there on his own"

She yanked back the quilted coverlet, eased him onto the
mattress. His eyes drifted shut as she tugged off his boots,
then pulled the coverlet up to his neck. She adjusted the pillows beneath his head, brushed his sweaty hair from his brow.
"Sweet dreams, my lord. I shall see you tomorrow."

He grabbed her wrist. Tears dripped down his cheeks and
onto his neck. "Don't go ... please ... don't leave me alone."

"Good heavens, what is wrong?" She needed to fetch Richard,
but she couldn't leave Geoffrey. Not like this. She laced her fingers through his. "What has happened? Please, tell me "

He gazed up at her through bleary eyes. "I'm in a muddle,
Duchess. I can't explain. Richard should thank me, but noon
... he rants and rails . . ."

His slurred words caught Leah unprepared. Her heart
raced. Her neck grew slick with sweat, from worry or from
the heat of the room, she could not say. A sick premonition
twisted her already fragile stomach. She should leave. He had
no notion of what he was saying, but she couldn't. "What do
you mean? Why should Richard thank you?"

"Because he loves you," Geoffrey said, nodding. "Alison,
too. Not Rachel. She's evil. Killed Eric, don't you know ..

With a sigh, Leah dismissed his wild words. She didn't
know if she were relieved or more afraid of what truth might
lurk beneath his drunken ramblings. "Please, go to sleep, my
lord."

"I'm in the suds, Leah. Ruined."

"You are merely illuminated," she said gently, stroking his
damp brow. "The world will seem much brighter in the morning"

He shook his head, eyes clenched shut. "No. Richard will
kill me. I'm ten in the hundred."

"Nonsense. Richard will help you-"

"It's too late." He rocked his head back and forth. "There
is no hope. I will never come about"

Richard was vaguely aware that he was dreaming. He
willed himself to awaken, but it was no use. He was too deep
in his nightmare. A horde of feasting scavengers crowded
around a table smothered with food, whisky dripping onto the
floor, an eerie echo of his life's blood leaking from his heart.

Endless toasts to welcome home the weary soldier. Eric at
the head of the table, Rachel playing dutiful wife by his side.

Richard drained his glass as Eric lavished passionate kisses
on his wife. Mingling tongues. Roaming hands. Why not take
her here on the table for all of us to enjoy, he screamed as he
grabbed a bottle, then floated away on the puffy white cloud
of euphoria that only accompanied blessed numbness.

White cotton transformed into angry black thunder. Richard
tossed about, deafened by the rumble of endless explosions,
blinded by the shafts of piercing white light, until the sky shattered and he landed with a sickening thud in the middle of his
feather bed. Arms and legs mangled, surely broken, but no
pain. Perhaps he was dead after all.

Eternal sleep. He closed his eyes and surrendered his spirit.
Warm hands stroked. A tongue, barbed like a serpent's, licked
him up and down, brought his withered flesh back to life.