Dance of Desire (39 page)

She wiped her mouth with a shaking hand and dropped the poem onto her lap. How she yearned for Fane. Quivered, like an eager flower.

How could she keep fighting what she desired?

"
Bzzzzz
."

She jumped. The sound, too low and masculine to be a bumblebee, came from behind the trellis. A flush seared her face, even as she crumpled the parchment. "Who goes there?"

Fane strode toward her, turning a delicate pink rose in his fingers. " '
Tis
I, love. Did I startle you?"

She wadded the poem tighter, hiding all traces of it in her curled hand, as she shook her head. "You did not sound at all like a bee."

He laughed and dropped down onto the bench beside her. He tossed the bloom into her lap. Then, as though he had seen the movement of her fingers, he caught her fist. She tried to pull away, but he gently pried open her hand.

Disappointment shadowed his gaze. "You did not enjoy my poem?"

His fingers upon hers, and the nearness of him, threatened to pluck the last petals of her restraint. Fie!

She should be furious with him, not longing to curl into his embrace and kiss him with all the fervor pounding in her blood. " '
Tis
a most seductive poem. You woo my heart and body with words."

His heavy-lidded gaze locked with hers. "Did I succeed?"

Rexana was suddenly aware of how alone they were. "Aye." She expected him to draw her into his arms, to begin seducing her right there on the bench, but he made no move toward her.

His callused finger trailed over the back of her hand, as though he wrote his name upon her sensitized skin. "I meant every word, Rexana. I want you, in all ways, and intend to have you." His tone softened. "Yet, I realize the choice is not as simple for you, because part of your heart belongs to your brother."

She looked at him.

"I know you tried to visit the dungeon. Cook and Winton told me."

She fought a renewed blush. "You are wrong to keep me from seeing him, and to imprison him. He is not guilty of treason."

Fane sighed. His eyes narrowed before he looked out across the rose garden, as though reading an answer to an impossible question amongst the blooms and greenery. "I have come to a decision. One that will, I hope, be productive for both of us, and break this impasse in our marriage."

"Decision?" she echoed.

He nodded. His face shadowed with an unreadable expression. "Your brother refuses to tell me all he knows about the traitors. I promised you that I would do all I can to help him. Yet, 'tis impossible, without complete information. All the evidence I have collected so far proves not that he is innocent, but that he is guilty."

Cold sweat broke between her breasts. She swallowed the awful taste in her mouth. "Why will he not tell you?"

Fane shrugged. "He does not trust me. Or, he is afraid." Tilting his head, he looked at her. "But he trusts you."

Fragile hope grew inside her. "Do you mean —"

"Aye, love. I permit you to visit him."

"Today?"

"Now, if you wish."

A delighted gasp burst from her. Without a moment's thought, she threw herself into Fane's arms. As her cheek crushed against his tunic, his strong embrace enveloped her. "Oh, thank you," she whispered. She fought a rush of tears.

His breath ruffled the crown of her hair. He chuckled, and the sound rumbled though his chest and against her ear. "I am glad my words please you."

She squirmed free of his hold. Her bliaut felt scratchy against her skin. Saints above, she could scarce sit still, her blood pounded so fast. She wanted to whoop with joy. Jump and throw her arms toward the sun. Dance and dance and dance, until she could not take another step.

She scrambled onto the bench. Pushed up on her knees. She stared into his handsome face, then leaned closer, until their noses touched.

Rexana kissed him full on the lips. "Aye, husband. Your words do please me."

His
fingers linked through hers
, Fane hurried along behind Rexana. He could scarce keep up. She plowed down the garden path like a cog in full sail, spurred by storm winds.

"Rudd will still be there," he said, "no matter how soon we arrive."

She glanced over her shoulder and grinned, her face lit by a rare warmth. "You cannot keep up, husband?"

He grunted, then gave her a crooked smile. "I can keep up, love. I have plenty of stamina, as you will soon learn."

Blushing, she looked back at the keep. "How do we get to the dungeon?"

With a swift, efficient tug, he hauled her backward into his arms. She squawked, struggled, until he slid his arm around her waist, turned her to face him, and silenced her with a thorough, wet kiss. She responded eagerly, as though the joy welling up inside her could never be silenced. His loins hardened. Ah, for a bed. Now. Now!

Mint carpeted the ground near his feet. If he pressed her down amongst the piquant leaves, covered her with his body, devoured her lips —

Her muffled protest pierced his lust-hazed brain. "The dungeon?"

Fane clenched his teeth against his burning arousal. He straightened his tunic and caught her hand again. "Follow me."

He led her into the keep. As they descended the musty stairwell to the fortress's lowest level, her fingers curled tighter into his. He felt the shudder rippling through her, and his jaw tightened. He would not apologize for the unpleasantness she would experience here. Tangston's dungeon was far better than General
Gazir's
.

Still, he prayed under his breath that he had not erred in judgment by letting her see Rudd. That her tender spirit would not be wounded by what she saw. That she would glean from her brother details which would lead to the traitors' capture and help crush the stirring rebellion.

Fane halted at the bottom of the stairs. She stopped beside him. Hesitated. In the shadowed light, her face looked tense. She glanced at the iron barred cells, her eyes gleaming with anxiety, yet also hope.

A guard crossed to him and bowed. "Milord."

"Lady Linford wishes to see her brother," Fane said. "I have permitted her a short visit."

As he looked back at her, she tugged her fingers free. He sensed her withdrawing into herself, steeling herself for what she might encounter. She ran a hand over her gown, then said in a calm, quiet tone, "Where is he?"

Admiration flooded through him. She might be unsettled, but she would show a strong front to her brother.

Fane pointed across the dungeon. "There."

Chains rattled from the farthest cell. Rudd's strained voice came from the darkness. "Rexana? Is that you?"

A cry broke from Rexana. She tore across the dungeon, her breath lodged tight between her ribs. She flung herself at the bars, wrapping her hands around the cold metal. "Rudd!"

He pulled at the end of taut chains fastened to his wrists and ankles. Oh, dear God. His hair was matted, his fine garments filthy and torn. The odors of mold and misery wafted from the cell. A painful sob welled in her throat, but she swallowed it down. She must be strong. He must not see her despair.

Rage roiled in her belly, and it growled like an angry fox. How dare Fane treat her brother this way? How dare he?!

"Rudd," she whispered. She stretched her arm through the bars. Tried desperately to reach him. Clawed against air.

He jerked hard against his chains, but their fingers did not meet. "I cannot reach," he said, his voice cracking.

She heard Fane's clipped footfalls. Sensed his presence behind her. He touched her shoulder, a small gesture of comfort, but she shook it off. Hands clamped into fists, she spun to face him. Her body shook with the storm of fury churning inside her.

"Why do you treat him this way?"

"He is a traitor."

Fury turned her tone shrill. "He is the son of an earl and lord of his own keep, yet you hold him like a beast. Is he so dangerous that you must chain him?"

Fane's eyes narrowed to angry slits. His mouth opened, as though he intended to reply. Then his gaze slid past her. He nodded.

Keys clinked. She whirled to face the cell. A guard strode to the door, unlocked it, and pulled it open.

She ran inside and threw herself into Rudd's arms.

With a ragged moan, he caught her in a rib-crush-
ing
hug. He smelled as though he had not bathed in days. The manacles at his wrists pressed into her back. Dust from his garments stung her eyes. She did not care. It felt wondrous, truly wondrous, to hug him.

"Come away," Fane muttered.

"Never." She shook her head against Rudd's shoulder.

"The guard will remove his chains, if you allow him."

Fane's gritted words pulled at her like invisible hands. She drew back a fraction. "Do you speak true?"

"I do."

Gratitude warred with her simmering anger. Fane had made this concession for her. Rage quickly snuffed the idiotic sentiment. Her brother did not deserve to be chained at all.