Kissed by Starlight (32 page)

He sat down across from her as the landlord removed the used plates and tablecloth. From the man’s obsequious bowing and eagerness to serve, Blaic surmised that they were the most genteel couple he’d attended in some time. Certainly Felicia must have been the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen.

“I like you in blue,” Blaic said in an intimate tone as the man set comfits and cream cakes upon the table. He’d already apologized for there not being a greater variety.

Felicia looked at him through her lashes, a feminine trick he’d not seen her use before. “I had a gown exactly like this in green once but you, it seems, did not care for it.”

He’d admired her aplomb once again when she’d taken off her cloak and found herself in a dress of sky-blue silk even though she’d dressed herself that day in one of green. She’d sent him a half-amused, half-chiding glance which gave him to understand that she suddenly realized why he’d brushed her skirt off as she’d emerged from the gig. Her fichu was now of rich point lace rather than simple muslin. When she’d noticed, she’d run her fingers over it, and Blaic had found it suddenly difficult to breathe. He remembered clearly the form beneath the concealing lace and how smooth and cool her breasts had been under his touch.

Before the landlord had the chance to study her, Blaic had brushed his hand over her hair. She did not know that she now wore an elegant hairstyle, complete with matching ribbons catching back the fullness at the crown. It flattered her native dignity without making her seem the least cold.

The landlord said, “Your boxes have been carried to your room, ma’am.”

“Thank you kindly. Everything has been most charming.” She brushed sugar from her fingers and rose from the table.

Blaic said, standing to honor her, “I’ll come up in a few minutes to bid you good night, my dear.”

In the doorway, she swept him an elegant curtsy, surprising him yet again. He supposed she must have been taught all the ladylike arts, yet she herself was so natural and easy in manner that it was sometimes difficult to remember that she was the daughter of a minor nobleman. Where was her pride, her arrogance, her liking for pomp? Blaic wished he might have met her father to know what kind of man had produced such a character.

He drank a glass of port the landlord found. Studying the ruby depths, he decided that this was one mortal thing that the Living Lands could use. They had wine and mead but had not yet brought port into existence. It had a pleasantly warming effect, and seemed to impart a balance to the digestion. But he knew it wasn’t the port or the meal that made him so contented; it was the knowledge that in a few minutes he’d be holding Felicia in his arms once more.

The inn was not full. Two rooms had been easy to arrange. A tale about a thrown shoe that had made “the Gardners” late and servants gone on before to the house of a friend had assuaged the landlord’s doubts and, more important, the doubts of his wife. Blaic had seen how that redoubtable woman had instantly noted Felicia’s lack of a wedding ring.

As he stood up from the table, he wondered what Felicia had told her to change her from a potential difficulty into an ally.

A moment later, he stood outside the door, hearing Felicia bid him enter. The landlord’s wife picked up Felicia’s shoes. “I’ll have ‘em back afore you can say ‘Jack Robinson,’ ma’am. G’night. G’night, sir.”

Felicia’s blue silk dress lay over an armchair and she had changed into a lace peignoir. Blaic grinned as he wondered what she had thought of her new wardrobe. He thought too well of her to believe she’d given the game away by any unseemly starts or exclamations. She must have realized he had taken the opportunity to touch her baggage as well as her gown.

Yet it was on none of these subjects that she approached him first. “‘Gardner’?”

“It was Mary’s idea. She thought I should be provided with more of an identity than I had troubled myself with before. I like it.”

“So do I. It suits you. ‘Blaic Gardner....’ Yes, it suits you.”

“It suits you, too. ‘Mrs. Felicia Gardner.’ Yes, charming. FSG makes an elegant monogram.... Shall I embroider it for you?” He touched the back of the wooden brush in her hand and there the letters suddenly appeared, cut in elegant scrollwork.

She looked at it, and some of the gaiety went out of her expression. Only when it was gone did Blaic realize how forced it had been. “No,” she said softly. “Don’t trouble.”

He smoothed his finger over the mirror. The varnished finish returned, brilliantly shiny and unmarred even by a finger mark. Desperate to return to a merrier footing, he said, “There, you see how handy I am to have around?”

“Oh, yes,” she said, the smile returning. “Indispensable, in fact.”

Blaic decided that he did not like that particular smile.

It was too hard, too bright, and altogether too wide. It seemed to bar him from coming too close to her. He wondered if she’d rather he go.

“I’ll leave you to take some rest,” he said. “We may drive a long way yet.”

“Why don’t you just waft us there as you did this morning?”

“I would, and gladly, but I don’t know where you want to go.”

She dropped the brush, letting her head fall into her hands. “Neither do I!”

He went on his knees to her, appalled at the sight of her tears. “Felicia,” he said, slipping his arms around her. “Please, don’t. It....”

She turned her face away from him, a trembling hand going up to wipe away some moisture. “Never mind. I’m just tired.”

But Blaic was taken up with a startling notion. “Why do your tears make my heart hurt this way? Look at me.” She obliged. “Yes. The sight of tears in your eyes fills me with the strangest feeling.” He pressed his hand to his chest and breathed in deeply, but with a catch. “Most strange. Don’t cry anymore. I can’t bear it.”

“I’m sorry.” She put her hands together as though in prayer and then, with palms still pressed together, used her fingertips to flick away the tears. “I shan’t cry again. It’s only that I felt so hopeless for a moment.”

“You need never feel hopeless so long as I am with you. I will do anything for you.”

“Find a way for me to go home. Find a way to care for those poor children and I will love you for the rest of my life.”

Blaic froze, staring up into her face. She didn’t mean it; of course not. This was just a mortal’s overwrought way of pledging gratitude. “Felicia....”

“Stay with me,” she said, looking full into his eyes.

“I should not....”

She leaned down, infinitely tender, and kissed him with warm, soft lips. The taste of her reminded him of how soft other parts of her were. He rose, so that he was standing on his knees. Then he stood up the rest of the way, lifting her from the chair.

He said her name again, differently. All of her body was against his and every line of it said she belonged to him alone. Blaic felt a surge of possessiveness that was nearly mortal in strength. He fought it for a moment, then gave in.

“You’re mine,” he said, and kissed her, delving into the liquid heat of her. His hands moved on her, blindly, almost roughly, but she pressed up against him even more tightly.

Overwhelmed by sensation, Blaic felt as though his hands and his mouth, his sense of smell and taste, were so confused that he hardly knew what he did. All he knew was that he’d never felt any pull half so powerful, not even in the limitless depths of the sea. She was sweeping him away with her love.

Blaic filled his hands with the high, round weight of her breasts. She tore her mouth from his to bury her face in the hollow of his shoulder and neck. As he stroked her, feeling her nipples harden against his palms, she asked, amazed, “Why is it always so wonderful when you touch me?”

“Is it?”

“Hmmm....”

But he recalled other sounds that she had made, and a mere sigh wasn’t going to satisfy him. He wanted her to shake and cry aloud as she’d done before. Slipping down the lace from her shoulders, he found the sensitive bundle of nerves in the side of her neck and nipped it lightly. He felt the shock of her reaction in both her posture and the breasts he caressed.

She slid her hands up to stroke his throat and toy with his hair. He felt the tug as she pulled the queue from his hair and the whisper of silk as the bag fell down his back. He kissed her again, nearly drunk now, and feeling an excitement burn in his blood that was wholly new.

“Blaic, I want...I want you to make love to me.”

“Yes, I think that I shall.”

“You think?” She lifted up against him again to offer her mouth. He drank deep, stroking all the sensitive surfaces there until they both trembled on the point of madness.

“Felicia, may I tell you something?”

“What?’’ she murmured. Her lips were sweetly red, her skin slightly flushed. Her breath was coming short and heavy as she shifted her weight from foot to foot. She’d never looked so desirable.

“Felicia....” He chuckled at the irony. “I’m a virgin too.”

“You are what? ” Her heavy eyelids lifted and she stared at him in surprise.

He met her gaze ruefully as he dropped his hands. “It’s not the sort of thing we do. I’ve told you that.”

“Then it isn’t...possible?” Her voice was small.

“I don’t know. I’m beginning to wonder if more isn’t possible than I ever believed.”

“Well, I don’t... I don’t know what to do. I always thought that the man — well, marriage beds and wedding nights are the man’s business.” Now she was blushing in earnest and biting her tender lower lip in confusion, and couldn’t meet his eyes. Her gaze wandered about the chamber, though he noted she looked longest at the bed.

“There’s no reason for you to be embarrassed,” he said. At least her hands were still on him, so he could fight the Law.

“I’m not, exactly.” Then she did look at him, and laughed, sputtering as though the giggles escaped by force.

For one instant, he was furious. “This is serious!” Only after a long moment did he begin to laugh as well. “No, it isn’t serious.”

“Don’t...don’t you know anything about it?”

“Only what I have read. The subject never interested me all that much. I remember some love poems, very beautiful but rather vague and...wait! Once, long ago, I saw a book with pictures. I remember thinking how strange mortals must be to find pleasure in such unusual postures.”

“What postures?” she asked, and Blaic remembered that her vigorous intelligence was one of her most attractive traits.

He drew breath to describe one but let it out in a sigh. “Felicia, I have lived long enough now in your time and world to know that unmarried people should not make love. When you are married, your husband and you should explore these feelings together. I....” Her hand slipped around to cover his lips.

“I am not interested in any husband. He is illusory at best. You are here. You are real — real enough. I chose you.” Then she laughed in earnest. “And if you force me away, I shall just command you to make love to me.”

“You will? What happened to your scruples?” The scent of her was like incense. It made him dizzy and a little reckless.

“I have left them behind me. What did those pictures show you?”

“To be honest, I can hardly remember. It has been a very long time since I was in the East.” He scattered kisses over her brow and eyelids. “I remember that the people in them seemed to be astoundingly supple.”

“Then if you don’t...” She leaned into the kiss he gave her, turning her head so that it fell upon her waiting lips. Blaic wanted to resist her, for her own sake, but how could he force her to refuse him when to do so would be to deny his deepest longings?

Then she looked up at him, her vivid eyes brightening with an idea. “Remember yesterday? We weren’t thinking of the future then.”

“I know —we were unconscionably rash. Imagine if those three had come in a few minutes later.”

“That’s what I mean.” Keeping tight hold of his hand, Felicia led Blaic to the simple white bed. It was of noble size yet plainly furnished with sheet and blanket. Blaic felt no need to transform it into something fabulous and exotic. When Felicia lay down upon the counterpane, her hair spread out like the bridal veil of a queen, she elevated the bed to a couch fit for the Empress of the World.

“Sit down,” she said. “This time, take off your boots.”

Her fingertips rested on his back under his shirt, keeping the contact between them flowing. Even while, with much effort, Blaic pulled off his boots without using a jack, he could think of nothing but that feather touch.

Wearing only his breeches, Blaic blew out the candle nearest the bed. “Let the room be lit with nothing but moonlight and starlight. They have forgiven darker deeds than this.”

In the near-dark, his hand sought her with blind need. She gave herself to him, concealing nothing, holding nothing back. He knew he was kissing her too roughly, going too fast, but he couldn’t wait. He had never known what it was to want so badly.

“I could never conjure this,” he gasped, as he pushed her shift down.

Rising up to help him, she seemed to understand. “No. No, this is real.”

Blaic stroked his hand down beneath the band of crumpled fabric at her waist. The heat of her body lit a fire in him that seared through his immortality. Her hands clenched on his shoulders; he felt the tiny sting of her nails as he skimmed over dancing skin smooth as satin. Frustrated, because he could not reach his goal, he pulled his hand back.

“Wait.” Felicia wriggled free of the rest of her clothing as he kept his fingers linked lightly around her ankle. Twisted, sitting more or less upright, she looked down at him. “Aren’t you going to take off everything?”

His eyes, hungry beyond belief, devoured the sight of her lush body, turned to gleaming silver by the moonlight. “Felicia, let this night be for you.”

“No,” she said, and shook the stream of her hair so that it bounced and danced behind her and over her shoulders. Blaic bit his lip with frustration. “It will be for us. If... if... Oh, I never thought of that.”

“Of what?” he asked.

“Well, you say that your people don’t make love. Is that because...I mean...” She sighed. “I didn’t tell the whole truth. I know a little about love. I know that men are different from women. I’ve seen the statues in the garden.”