Autumn Lord (29 page)

walking into a warrior could lead to big trouble. She hoped to get past this one without being noticed.

She started to back up, to try to disappear into the crowd. She'd barely moved before a hand

reached down and twitched back her hood. Terror flashed through her.

The last thing she wanted was to have her face exposed. She felt naked as a disapproving silence

emanated from the man on horse. Chilled with fear, she kept her gaze on the ground, and hoped the veil

that covered her head was sufficient to hide her face from his examination. She would have turned and

run, but the man had a firm grasp of her cloak.

"Look at me." The voice was a deep, rough growl.

Diane's head came up. She saw a frowning face framed in a gold mane, lowered brows over amber

eyes, a full, sensuous mouth flattened in a disapproving line.

It took her a moment to realize that she'd walked into the man she'd been determined to pursue to the

ends of the earth.

She was here, in front of him. Simon couldn't believe it for a moment. It was a miracle. It was surely

meant to be. It was the sheerest folly. It was dangerous for her to be outside alone.

"What are you doing here?" they both questioned at once.

"Looking for you," they both answered.

For a moment Diane was too annoyed to feel relief, and then joy filled her. He'd come for her. He

wanted her. He'd had no business leaving her in the first place, but he was back, and she instantly

forgave him for acting like an idiot. A dear, caring, concerned idiot. She was tempted to hug the horse

since she couldn't put her arms around Simon at the moment.

From his high perch, Simon looked around the crowd in irritation. People were staring. He saw a

beggar cross himself and slink away into the shadows, and another make the sign against the evil eye as

he gaped at Diane. Simon turned his frown on his beloved.

"Did you get your voice back just to lose your mind? Put your hood up, woman before someone sees

you."

"Whoa! Wait a minute. You're the one who—"

Simon yanked hard on her cloak, and the next thing she knew she landed on her stomach across the

neck of the horse. "Simon!"

He pulled her hood back over her head. "Hush."

Her indignant reply was muffled, but still loud. "Don't you tell me to—"

"We'll discuss your unseemly behavior in private," he told her as she squirmed around to look at him.

"And we'll behave unseemly as well when I get you alone," he added. "It's a long ride back to Marbeau,"

he told her. "And we're going to enjoy every moment of it."

He held Diane securely around the waist as he kicked the horse in the side. For now, she was a

squirming, wool-wrapped bundle imprisoned before him on the saddle. Soon he would make it up to her,

he would unwrap her like a present, cherish her like the precious jewel she was. He would take her into

his arms and show her all he felt. He would make this undignified exit up to her in a thousand pleasant,

sensual ways.

But right now he had to get out of Paris before the gates of the city were closed against them.

"/
have only my heart to offer."

Simon was on bended knee before her, his hands outstretched in supplication. "Please take me, if

only for a little while."

The vulnerability of his expression, the uncertainty in his rich voice tore at all Diane's defenses. She'd

come into the tent prepared for a furious confrontation over who decided what was best for her. She'd

fumed for hours. She'd spent the time in practiced silence, all through the ride, and even after she'd been

eased down from the horse into the care of her own servant.

When they caught up with the Marbeau household deep in the woods west of Paris, night was falling,

the tents were set up, dinner was roasting over a pair of camp-fires. Nobody looked surprised to see

her. Or happy to see her, either.

Simon disappeared into his tent, and she accompanied her serving woman, after pausing to glare at

his broad, retreating back for a moment. She bathed in a shallow tub, taking delight in the healing power

of hot water, and the warmth of a tent heated by braziers. Then she put on layer after layer of the softest

linen and silk, from milky white to midnight blue. She felt up for a proper argument when Yves came in

and asked her to accompany him to Lord Simon's pavilion. Only to find the Lord of Marbeau kneeling

to her in supplication.

How could she fight with someone who'd just offered her his heart? Why would she want to?

The tent was lit by many, many candles. It was as if he had brought the stars inside for her. They made

the place mysterious and magical, redolent of beeswax, and honey, and cool blue smoke.

Their warm glow lent more gold to Simon's already bright hair and eyes. His black tunic was

embroidered in wide bands of gold thread. It looked like they'd both dressed in the best they had for this

meeting.

He stood as she stepped toward him, his hands still stretched out to her. She took them, and felt the

hard calluses of his palms rub against the smooth skin of her hands. The contrast sent a shiver of desire

through her.

She looked up, met a gaze that was filled with fire, a flame far more intense than the pale glow of the

encircling candles. The expression in those eyes turned from entreating to commanding as he pulled her

to him. She was drawn to his sudden imperiousness, and into his embrace. His touch filled her with

inexorable need. The arrogant planes of his face reminded her of a hawk's as he swept down on her.

They came together in the center of the circle of fire. Their lips touched and clung hungrily. This was

no time for tentative exploration, need drove them together.

"I've been waiting for you my whole life," he told her in a breathless moment between kisses.

"I know," she told him. And she did. "I arrived gift wrapped for you. And I'm glad."

"You shouldn't be." He traced his fingers over her lips.

"Jacques was right all along."

Simon laughed softly in her ear. "Let's not talk about Jacques right now."

"All right," she agreed, as her hands came up beneath his tunic.

He felt them splayed against the bare skin of his back, and quivered with desire as her fingers played

down his ribs. "No Jacques. Just you and me. You're all I've ever needed. I was a fool not to see it

sooner."

"I love you," she told him.

He'd heard her say the words before. Now he truly listened. He truly believed. He hadn't known how

much he'd longed to hear the words until she spoke and they penetrated deep into his heart.

He kissed her throat. "You make me whole." Then his mouth claimed hers once more, "Newborn with

loving you."

He touched her hair, it ran heavily through his fingers, pure black, shimmering and alive in the light. "So

beautiful."

Diane had never felt beautiful before this moment. She was beautiful, for him. With him. She was alive

with desire, near to drowning with the feelings he aroused in her. She closed her eyes and gave herself

over to her other senses. He tasted and smelled and felt absolutely male, hard-muscled and powerful.

She pressed herself to him, gave her hands free reign over his body, as he did hers. New, fiery pleasure

blossomed wherever they touched.

It seemed only moments before their layered clothing lay piled beneath them on the tent floor. All that

finery had just gotten in the way, but it made a comfortable enough mattress.

Simon lifted himself to his knees and looked down upon the splendor of Diane's unclothed body. Her

skin was golden-pale, bathed in the gleam of candles, contrasted to the dark blues and blacks of their

cast off garments. Her lips were lifted in an inviting smile, the peaks of her round breasts strained toward

him. Her arms reached up to draw him to her. He shook with his own need, fought to stay restrained

when he wanted to sink down upon her, into her. He had never felt so welcomed in his life, and he

wanted to savor the moment.

He gestured toward the other side of the tent. "I had thought to use the bed."

"Don't need it." Her words came out in an eager pant.

"Are you well? Not stiff and sore from the ride?"

She threw her head back against the crumpled-up silk of her overdress. Her laughter rang out like the

quavering of a bell. "I'm fine." She spread her legs welcomingly. "But I could be better."

Simon stroked her thighs, and the moist crevice that waited for him. She squirmed. He said, "I might

not use you as tenderly as—"

"Now!" she interrupted. "Make love to me right now, Simon!" she demanded.

He responded instantly to her eagerness, and the demands of his own body. He filled her and made

her his with one swift stroke. She moaned and called out his name as he came deep inside her, and he set

a hard, fast rhythm that she rose eagerly to meet.

Simon knew he had never heard a more beautiful sound than that of her voice as their bodies melded.

Nor had he felt anything so wonderful as the ecstasy that shattered all thought at the instant he spilled his

seed into her.

Simon collapsed into her embrace. He had felt accepted in other women's beds, but he had never

known this engulfing welcome. He knew without words that she wanted to be with no one else but him.

That she would not turn away, not retreat into herself now that the deed was done. She was here with

him as she had been with him, body and soul, in the act of love.

He could have wept on her breast, but Diane greeted him with soft laughter and a gentle kiss on the

temple. She hugged him to herself and shared her happiness at what they had just done. He couldn't cry,

not even with joy, he was too happy for tears.

Diane saw the hint of melancholy in the smile Simon gave her. She remembered that he'd had a wife,

and at least one mistress. It occurred to her that neither of these women had given a damn about Simon

de Argent. It twisted her heart, and angered her.

"Hasn't anyone ever loved you before?"

The question was out before she could stop it. Simon's eyes went dark with pain, his gaze shifted from

hers.

"Talk to me," she pleaded. She touched his cheek, and he turned his head to kiss her palm. Sated

though she was, desire fluttered through her again. It distracted her only a moment. "Is every woman in

this century a fool?" she questioned. "Don't they know you're the most wonderful man in the world?"

"It only matters that one woman thinks so." He gave her a teasing look. He ran his fingers down her

ribcage. It tickled, and he knew it. "That woman is you, I trust? Or must I go on a quest to find the

woman who thinks I'm wonderful?"

"No quests needed," she answered. "No other woman need apply." She wagged a finger in his face.

"Keep tickling me, however, and I'll bite."

Her hand slid down his chest, and then further down. The fingers that had been admonishing him a

moment before closed around his member. Simon gasped. And began to rise.

"Do you think I can tup all night for your pleasure?" he questioned as her fingers played him with great

skill. "I'm no young buck who can—"

"Of course you can." Her voice was sultry, her touch insistent. "For both our pleasure."

"Diane. I—Oh, that is sweet. Well, perhaps I'm not as tired as I—Ah!"

He wasn't quite sure how she managed to roll him onto his back, but he landed there, with her on top

of him. She leaned forward, offering her breasts to his eager touch. Her kiss was a long, scorching,

delicious tease.

He was hard, pulsing with need, his blood burned, and he was ready to make love all night by the time

she straddled him.

******************

Simon's hands were on her breasts. Diane opened her eyes. "What?"

They were on the bed, half covered in warm, soft furs. She wasn't sure how they'd gotten there, but

she was glad Simon traveled with all the comforts of home. The candles were long since burned out and

daylight filtered in through the white fabric of the tent walls. It was light enough to see the bemused look

on his face.

He bent his head and ran his tongue around first one nipple, then the other, leaving them puckered and

hard by the time he was done.

"You didn't have to stop," she told him as he went back to weighing her breasts in his palms.

"They are small things," he said.

"Thanks a lot."

"Beautiful," he went on. "Perfect. But I remember how they looked as they moved beneath the silk

dress you wore when you first arrived." He planted a kiss on each breast. "I had never seen anything so

arousing as the way you looked in that dress."

She propped herself up on her elbows. "Oh, yeah? You liked it?" It was nice to know that he'd

noticed what she'd worn, even though it was months after the fact.

"Very much. And those flimsy, provocative—things— you wore underneath."