Elizabeth Elliott (19 page)

He could be toying with her, testing her resolve. In her mind she repeated everything he had said, but couldn’t recall a single word that rang false. She felt an overwhelming urge to touch him, to surrender herself to his kisses once again and admit that she wanted nothing so much as to be in his arms. But she also knew the price of his kisses. Her lip hurt, and she tasted a coppery trace of blood from biting it too hard. How could she agree to his terms, knowing they would destroy her?

The shadow of Guy’s profile began to take shape as the misty gray light of dawn filtered into the chamber. Her eyes strained to see his face, wanting to watch him sleep, but her eyes slid shut just moments before she would have realized that Guy was awake.

He had waited to hear some response to his declarations, waited for what seemed like hours, perhaps days, hoping for some sign that she was ready to end his suffering. She remained maddeningly silent. The chamber turned from gray gloom to cheerful gold as the sun rose higher on the horizon. He turned to look at her. She lay facing him, her lips gently parted, sound asleep. How could she sleep just an arm’s reach away from him,
knowing
how much he wanted her? His body was so tense from forcing himself not to reach for her that sleep was impossible. What possessed him to talk her into his bed with the promise that he wouldn’t touch her? He was insane, for this was sheer madness, a torture he wouldn’t wish on his worst enemy.

He glanced toward the pile of pillows on the floor, wondering if he might find an hour or two of sleep there. He pushed the covers aside, but Claudia began to stir at his movements and he grew still. One hand smoothed over his chest, as if to make sure he was still there. He tried to ease away from her and she moved her whole body closer, using his waist as an anchor to pull herself to his side. She released a soft sigh.

Guy groaned. The weight of her arm was like a brand against his belly. He wanted to fling it away from him. He wanted to wrap her in his arms and crush her against his chest. If he moved so much as a finger, he was lost. “Claudia.”

She didn’t answer. The covers tangled around her legs, but she managed to nudge her knee up and over his own. Her forehead pushed against his arm, as if she were trying to burrow beneath it.

“Claudia, wake up.” Little wonder his voice sounded strained. It matched every muscle in his body. She nudged against him once more. Somehow his arm ended up around her and his shoulder became a pillow. Soft, warm puffs of breath swept across his chest, tickling the hairs, reminding him of a brush fire as it swept through a dry meadow. Her body was the live coal, and he was the tinder. “Sweet Christ, Claudia. Wake up this instant.”

Her eyes fluttered open, jewels that caught and reflected the morning sunlight. She stared at his face as if seeing him for the first time, examining each feature, then she looked into his eyes and he watched sunlight turn into green fire. He was lost.

Her lips parted and he waited for the words that would set him free;
I am yours
, or a simple
take me
would do just as well.

“I …” She fell silent and he barely resisted the urge to shout
Say it!
She wet her lips and he followed the movement of her small, pink tongue the way a hawk would watch its prey. “You—you may kiss me, if you wish.”

He ground his teeth together and clenched his jaw. Oh, he wished all right. “Nay.”

“Nay?” she repeated. Her eyes widened.

Any other time, he would have smiled at her obvious disappointment. Now he concentrated on slow, deep breaths, on making his voice sound more substantial than a harsh croak. “You may kiss
me
. If you wish.”

She rose up on one elbow to stare down at him. God, she was going to do it. His breath caught in his throat.

“Why?”

“Why what?” he managed.

“Why must I be the one to kiss you?”

He could hardly breathe, much less think. And she thought he could talk about what he wanted her to do? She was going to drive him mad. “I would not have you say afterward that I seduced you.”

“Oh.” Her brows drew together in a puzzled frown. “After what?”

“You cannot be
that
naive. You are in my bed, Claudia. What do you think will happen if I kiss you?”

She started to blush. “Could you not manage just one kiss?”

“I doubt you would allow that.” He shook his head, amazed that he could think at all, much less with any degree of sense. “You would sigh your little sighs, and your body would be all soft, welcoming warmth beneath me, and you would make me promises without speaking a word.”

“I would not.” Her breathless denial lacked the force of conviction. She couldn’t seem to meet his gaze, and stared at his mouth instead.

“Aye, Claudia. You would.” He decided to give her a dose of her own medicine. He wet his lips in a slow, seductive movement and watched hers part on a soft sigh. “You would because you want me to touch you, to kiss and caress you, to hold you in my arms and make love to you. I want the same thing, but I will not make your decision for you. If you ask me to kiss you again, you know the consequences.” He took a
deep, unsteady breath. God, let her ask for a kiss. “Say you agree to my terms, or you must leave my bed.”

Her eyes were like mirrors, reflecting her every thought. Temptation, desire, and … fear. Why was she so afraid of him?

“You said I could sleep here.”

He knew the keen taste of defeat. She had made her decision. He could see it in her eyes. That only inflamed his passion-starved body even more. “Then I will leave. ’Tis my mistake for inviting you to my bed in the first place.” God, how he wanted her. He tried one last time to convince her. “You know I will never do anything to hurt you, Claudia. I would cherish you, if you let me.”

The fear in her eyes disappeared, leaving only a sadness so deep that he felt its ache inside him. Her voice was no more than a whisper. “For how long?”

He didn’t have an answer. No one had ever asked him such a question. It was insulting.

She had every right to wonder.

She lowered her lashes and drew away, her hand trailing across his chest as if she were reluctant to lose that last contact with his body. He didn’t try to stop her.

How long?

He began to wonder himself. Would a month be enough to sate his need for her? A year? A lifetime? Nay, no woman could hold his interest that long. He was not some besotted court fop who would pledge undying devotion to his ladylove. He remembered doing just that the summer he turned sixteen, the year he met Lady Jennifer of Pattison Hall.

Lady Jennifer was a widow two years his senior, with an air of worldliness he found irresistible. He had thought her the most beautiful creature alive. Her husband had died in tournament the year before, and she had journeyed to Edward’s court to find a new husband. Guy had every intention of winning that title. He wrote her sonnets and sang them beneath her window each night. He followed her wherever he could and ran errands so silly that he knew full well that she
was toying with him. He didn’t care. There was no task too menial that Lady Jennifer might ask him to perform. Apparently, he was the only one at court who hadn’t known that Lady Jennifer would never marry a near-penniless youth who had little hopes of inheriting a title. Her betrothal to the earl of Saint John’s was announced while he was busy braiding ribbons into the mane of her palfrey. He had made a complete buffoon of himself.

That was the first and last time he had ever fancied himself in love with a woman. It was a humiliating lesson, but he had learned it well. What he thought of as love was nothing more than infatuation. It didn’t matter that what he had felt for Lady Jennifer paled next to the bone-deep desire he felt for Claudia. Given time, every infatuation came to an end. Did Claudia expect him to lie and say that it would not?

He supposed she did. Claudia had rolled to her side to face the opposite wall, so far away from him that he wondered how she managed to balance herself on such a thin edge of the mattress. She didn’t move or make any sound, but he would stake his life that she was crying. Aye, if he leaned over her, he would see great crystal tears rolling down her cheeks in an endless river.

She glanced over her shoulder. “I thought you said you would leave.”

She wasn’t crying. She didn’t even look the least bit upset. Wasn’t he worth crying over?

Aroused beyond bearing, and now kicked out of his own bed. He glared at the back of her head.

The thought of her sleeping the day away where he could not sleep at all grated on his nerves. He rose in one swift movement and reached for the clothes he had shed the night before. “You will help with the ledgers again today. Meet me in the solar in three hours.”

She answered in the prim, saintly voice he was beginning to hate. “As you wish, my lord.”

9

“Y
our hands are too delicate for this task, my lady.” Thomas took the basket of foxglove from Claudia’s lap before she could object.

Lenore giggled.

Claudia shot the girl an irate glare, but Lenore had her head bent over a basket of yew, pretending to be busy at her task. Lenore seemed to find Thomas’s constant meddling in their task a great source of humor. Claudia found them both annoying. She sat between the two on a long stone bench in Montague’s sprawling gardens with baskets of colorful flowers spread all around them. The flowers were deceptive in their beauty, the poison Claudia would make from them one of the most deadly known. The rats of Montague were about to meet an untimely end.

She was almost thankful for the infestation, for it gave her a meaningful task to occupy her time. Mindless sewing would let her thoughts dwell on Guy far too often. Helping him with his ledgers would be even worse. Already she dreaded the hours she would spend with him in the solar, knowing his nearness was a drug as potent as the one she intended for the rats. The hours she spent in his bed proved that much.

Waking up in a man’s arms was a delight she had never guessed existed. Not just any man’s arms, she amended. Guy’s arms. Only Guy’s. Now and always, there would never be another. That knowledge only made it harder to resist temptation, the urge to surrender to her own weakness.

He would use her, then cast her aside.

That was all that kept her from disaster. Guy’s words
weakened her, his touch tempted her, his logic made her doubt her own convictions, but in the end she could never forget that he was a man, subject to a man’s fleeting lusts.

For years she had listened to her brothers tell women all manner of beautiful lies to coax them into their beds. Roberto’s actions didn’t surprise her, for he had always done as he pleased with little thought to consequences, but the string of broken hearts in Dante’s wake made her realize that men were much alike when it came to women. They savored the thrill of the chase. Once victorious, men soon lost interest in the prize and sought another, making more false promises, telling more lies.

Guy didn’t lie to her. He pointed out lies she would tell herself. She had asked for his kisses and he had refused. Not because he wasn’t willing, but because he knew her better than she knew herself. This morning she had wanted nothing more than to be possessed by him, to learn all the secrets a man and woman could share. Afterward she would have assuaged her guilty conscience by telling herself that he had overwhelmed her senses, that he had taken away any choice she had in the matter. And that would give her the fuel she needed to harden her heart against him, to protect herself from the careless pain he would inflict when the day came that he rejected her.

Why couldn’t he be a man and simply lie?

“Hai delle belle mani, donna Claudia.” Thomas gave Lenore a cursory glance, then his gaze returned to Claudia. His heated stares made her uncomfortable. Her friend the friar was no longer. Thomas the knight was a different man entirely, one whose gaze raked over her with an unwelcome familiarity. With his knowing smiles and easy, self-assured manner, this Thomas made her wary.

She glanced down at her hands and wondered how he could think them beautiful. His fingers wrapped around her wrist in a gentle grip and he turned her hand over then trailed his fingertips over her palm. Her hand became a fist and she
tried to pull away. “They are common hands, Sir Thomas. Quite suited to perform this common task.”

She had replied in his language, but he seemed determined to converse in hers. “Invece sono belle, delicate e femminili.”

A deep voice responded to Thomas’s shameless flattery. “Bugiardo.”

“Liar?”
Thomas sputtered. He jerked around to find the source of the insult. Guy stood in the arched stone entry to the gardens, his arms folded across his chest, one shoulder propped against the archway. His relaxed stance was at odds with the dangerous light that glinted in his eyes. Thomas flinched and dropped her hand. Claudia smiled.

Guy held up one hand and turned it over to examine his nails. “What are you doing here, Thomas?”

Thomas rose to his feet and gave Guy a courtly bow. “I am helping Lady Claudia gather herbs and plants for a potion she intends to make.”