Improper Seduction (7 page)

She was not frightened. Bridget ordered herself to meet his gaze. His dark eyes were full of hunger. She understood what he craved. Beneath the layers of her clothing, her passage was heating and yearning for exactly the same thing. She felt empty. Never had she noticed her passage so aching to be filled. She craved the same penetration she had witnessed Marie receiving. Call her wanton, yet she was honest enough to admit her hunger.

“I will not take you here, beneath your father’s roof.” Pride edged his words. “We will consummate our vows at Amber Hill. That is more fitting.”

A muscle jerked on the side of his jaw. His attention dropped to her mouth for a long moment, and his arms tightened around her. But he suddenly released her and turned his back on her. The toweling dropped, and Bridget turned to avoid looking at his naked body again. The sight was too much to resist. She forgot every reason not to touch him when her sight was filled with his bare form. Never had she considered that she would find a male body so pleasing. Curan’s body drew her attention to each hard ridge of muscle and then onto the rigid cock standing proudly between his thighs. Obviously she was too weak to resist temptation.

She heard him dressing, the sounds of fabric being drawn over his body a relief, but it also drew a lament from her.

He turned with his shirt still untied.

“Finish dressing me, Bridget.”

Confusion drew her lips into a frown. He reached out and lifted her chin.

“I enjoyed your hands on me when you did it of your own free will. I would have such again.”

“As you will.”

It was an unpolished response. But her mind was crowded with too many sensations and the impulses they drew from her. She could not seem to sort it all into any manner of logical understanding. But her hands lifted and smoothed his collar into place before tying the ribbons to close it. Part of her raged against the action. But she finished and took up the ribbons that would close the cuff of his shirt. Her fingertips lay against his inner wrist for a moment, and then the contact was severed when she pulled the laces. She bit into her lower lip. Concentration seemed to elude her when he was near—quite bothersome, but exciting, too. In truth, she longed to be out of his sight for a few moments to compose herself.

But he wanted to wash her back.

She continued to worry her lower lip. There was no way to leave without turning coward. Maybe she should. He liked her courage. If she showed him weakness, the man might very well turn his back on her.

Every fiber of her person rebelled against that thought. Whether it was because her pride refused or her body, she didn’t know.

But she stood back and reached for one of the pins holding her braids to her head and tugged it free. He watched her. Her stomach tightened with nervousness. But Marie’s lessons surfaced above the tension. Taking a few steps away from him, she peeked over her shoulder and drew another pin. His face became hard and unreadable, but his gaze followed her hand with absolute devotion. A few more pins and her braids loosened before falling down her back. She placed the pins aside before turning and slowly untying one of the ribbons that kept her hair braid from unlacing.

Heat filled her once more. She could feel his eyes on her, watching her every motion. This knowledge bred another form of excitement in her, a new understanding of her own attractiveness. She had never been vain, but this was different, having nothing to do with the dress she wore and everything to do with how she looked without fashion’s creations. Her fingers began to tremble, making it harder to untie the second ribbon. But she finished loosening her hair, and a shaky breath rattled her when she finished. She had to force herself to look at him. But once she did, she was hypnotized by his dark eyes. Hunger blazed there, a deep appreciation that was very male and very intimate.

He moved forward, reaching out to finger a lock of her hair. For such a simple touch, her body responded violently. She shuddered and drew a rough breath. Her hair slipped over his fingers, and his eyes narrowed.

“I regret that I am going to fail to repay the kind service you did for me, Bridget.” He pulled his gaze from where her hair was draped over his fingers to look at her face. What blazed in his eyes unsettled her. He had appeared so strong and disciplined. At that moment, though, something wild lurked in his eyes. “But I must confess that I doubt my own ability to keep my word on not taking you beneath this roof if I remain.”

He lifted a handful of hair to his face and drew in a deep breath. His eyes closed and his face became a mask of enjoyment. It was mesmerizing. Bridget stared at it and still found it difficult to believe that she might inspire such a look, especially on such a man. Perhaps a boy might appear so enthralled but not a mature knight such as Curan. Her hair looked delicate against his fingers. Her head did not reach to his chin, and she felt small next to him.

“Until later, Bridget. No one will disturb you.”

He turned and left with that final warning spoken. Her arms came up to hug her body as all of the heat he’d inspired left her. Her body became chilled, and the need pooling in her belly made it ache.

It was by far the most confusing thing.

Curan didn’t sleep very much. His discipline failed him. After only a few hours of rest his mind became too crowded with thoughts to sleep. He knew better, had served too many days on hostile soil to not take sleep when he might.

His bride was a distraction.

Of course that was not something to be lamented. Most men battled to find enough interest in their negotiated wives to beget their heirs. His cock throbbed softly with unsatisfied hunger. It would seem that he would not have to suffer that difficulty.

Bridget’s mother descended the stairs at the first sign of light on the horizon. Lady Connolly clearly was not content with his intention to claim her daughter. The woman strode straight up to him without flinching. It was clear where Bridget learned her courage from.

Jane did not lower her eyes.

“You should understand that these times call for adjustments.”

“What I understand, madam, are things that you do not know of.” Her demeanor softened, allowing Curan to moderate his tone. “Your husband is a compatriot of Chancellor Wriothesley.”

“I am aware of that.”

“Are you likewise aware of the fact that Lord Oswald is another compatriot of the chancellor?”

Jane clasped her hands tightly together. “Your tone implies that you are angry with my husband’s choices.”

“I am certainly not happy to discover my bride being readied to travel to another man’s bed.”

“My daughter was heading to the marriage her father arranged for her. Not to be anyone’s mistress.”

Curan drew himself up in the face of her outrage. He did not suffer such a tone from many men and even fewer women. Yet the woman was insulted on behalf of her daughter, and that was a just cause. He had spent his entire adult life serving honor. A mother was right to defend her daughter’s name.

“I should have said marriage.”

Jane looked ready to argue further, but she paused and bit back her reply.

“The king sent me here to claim my bride. With full knowledge that I plan to take her to my border holding and settle into family life.”

Jane’s face became one of confusion. “Yet my husband writes of a very different course for Bridget. I cannot ignore his summons.”

Curan drew in a stiff breath. “Court is a place full of men trying to achieve their own goals.” He paused for a long moment, clearly weighing his next words. “The chancellor is rumored to be seeking evidence against Queen Catherine Parr.”

“What?
That is madness. I hear nothing but good tidings concerning our queen. She is a devoted wife.” Jane’s eyes went large.

“Yet she would not be the first queen brought low by men seeking to install some other in her place.”

Jane’s face drained of color. “You should not say such things. I shall not have such things spoken of beneath my roof, be you noble or common.”

“A wise rule to keep.”

She shot him a hard look. “I do not understand what you
are hinting at, Lord Ryppon. It still remains that I was doing only as instructed by my husband. You should understand that being dutiful is not something that may be questioned.”

“I do.” He stepped closer but took a look about to see if there was anyone listening. “Yet I believe that your husband is placing his name on a very risky gamble. If the chancellor is working to bring down the queen, be very sure that blood will flow.”

She nodded and began to make the sign of the cross over herself. Curan captured her wrist, stopping her.

“Careful, lady. There are men with me who have family related to these men of whom we speak. You are not the only one who will have your loyalties tested by this scheme. Do not give them hints as to what we discuss.”

She clasped her hands together once more. “Of course. You are correct. Yet I still do not understand what you want here.”

“I came for Bridget. She is my bride, and I plan to protect what is mine, even if her father is intent on placing her in the center of this plot.” He lowered his tone. “I will not allow anyone to do that.”

The woman didn’t argue further. She considered him with eyes that were full of distrust. Curan understood that. Chancellor Wriothesley and his compatriots were plotting a very dangerous thing. Personally, he felt they were fools. The king was dying even if no one dared say it. Soon England would have a boy on its throne, and the man favored to become regent was in love with Catherine Parr. Any man who plotted against her risked a great deal more than his own life. His family and estates might become forfeit. The chancellor knew that and was trying to tie as many men to the scheme as possible. Lord Oswald would be bought with Bridget. The man was old noble blood with many connections, his only weakness a liking for young girls in his bed.

He had made a mistake in casting his eye on what Curan believed was his. The Earl of Pemshire had repaid him well in making him wise of the plot. He would allow no man to take Bridget from him. Only duty had done that so far.

Yet his time was done, at least in France. Henry Tudor had made his last campaign. The next few years would be unsettled times for England. Holding his border lands against Scottish invasion was his new duty.

“I would bid farewell to my daughter.”

Jane’s voice was smooth now. She offered him a curtsy before leaving the room. Curan watched her go. Suspicion ate at him. He allowed it to burn in his gut for a time. He was still alive due to heeding his instincts. But even if he did not trust the lady, he could not decide what she might do that would cause him worry. He had the church’s blessing and Bridget’s father’s seal on the parchment agreeing to his marriage. Jane was one woman against his entire army. Instructing her daughter to hate him was the worst she might do.

But the kiss he’d shared with Bridget was all he needed to dispel any worry about that. His bride was not cold toward him. His cock stirred behind his britches. He was likewise anything but unmoved by her. If he had kissed her that way three years ago, he would have found a way to consummate their union sooner.

He walked to the doorway and looked at the pink fingers of dawn cutting through the night. Soon enough he would have her. The trunks drew his attention. They intensified his need to take to the road and gain the high ground before those plotting men in London knew what he was about.

Her sweet kiss only made him more anxious. But it was something he allowed himself to enjoy. Once they departed he would have to focus on the protection of his men and bride. Nothing was certain in these days. He planned to keep
his mind on the matter of making it home, not on what delights awaited him once he arrived with his bride.

For the next few minutes while he watched the horizon surrender to the sun, however, he indulged himself in allowing his thoughts to dwell on the moment when Bridget would surrender to him.

C
uran was a confident commander.

Bridget watched him from her second-floor room. Dawn was turning the sky pink. Even before what she would call daylight, his men were rising. The few tents they had erected were being disassembled in the meager light.

A knock at her door startled her. Whoever it was did not wait for her to respond, either. The door was pulled open by one of the knights standing outside. A little sigh of relief passed her lips when she saw her mother standing there.

“Good. You are awake.” Jane entered the room and turned to make sure the door closed completely behind her.

“I did not sleep long.”

Her mother came closer and took her by the hand. She led her to the far side of the chamber in front of the window.

“There is nothing I can do to stop Lord Ryppon from taking you.” Her mother scanned the men below. “In truth, I am not sure I should.”

“What do you mean?”

Her mother was pale. There was fear in her eyes Bridget could not recall seeing before, except for the brief time her brother had been ill and the physician suspected smallpox.

“Lord Ryppon claims there is a plot to gather evidence against
the queen and that your father is helping those who would see her brought low.”

Bridget felt her own face drain of color. Her mother’s hands tightened around hers. Men made decisions that too often had terrible effects on the women in their families. If her father or brother became entangled in a scheme against the queen, the entire family would be stained. Their lands possibly forfeit. She and her mother would become beggars at the tables of their relatives.

“Lord Ryppon claims that the king is dying.”

That at least made sense. No one dared say Henry Tudor was dying. There were men who would try to gain the king’s favor by delivering anyone foolish enough to say such a thing out loud as a possible treason plotter.

That did not keep many from thinking that the king’s days were drawing to an end. Times were turbulent indeed. Henry’s only son was a boy too young to rule. That fact would plunge England into dark days filled with regents and noble families struggling for power. Marriage was a common way of uniting those powerful names, yet if the king discovered the vultures gathering to feast on what he left behind, Bridget doubted there would be any mercy in him. No man liked to admit his own mortality, and Henry Tudor would be no different.