Master of Desire (15 page)

She smiled. “Actually I was going to say that it wouldn't hurt you to learn to smile once in a while. Laughter is the nectar of God.”

She took a step toward him, and to his astonishment she reached up and placed her hands against his cheeks. They were amazingly warm given the chill in the air.

With her thumbs, she pulled his cheeks back into a semblance of a smile. “See,” she said. “It doesn't crack your face.”

Draven stepped back from her touch and returned to leaning against the battlements to look out into the dark forest. Emily moved to stand beside him, mimicking his pose.

Minutes passed while they just stood there. Even though they didn't touch, he could feel the length of her body every bit as profoundly as if they were shoulder to shoulder, toe to toe, hip to hip. Indeed, he could feel her with every fiber of his body.

Draven tried to ignore her, but the wind caught her gentle, feminine scent and carried it to him.

The laughter in the hall settled down as music again played.

“Enough of this,” Emily said, her voice startling against the quiet. She took his hand and turned him to face her. “I
will
dance with you.”

“I don't know how,” he confessed.

“Aye, but you do. You forget that I've seen you train, and any man who can twist and maneuver the way you do in the list can most assuredly dance.”

“I'll crush your toes.”

“They will heal.”

He didn't know what to say to that and so he let her take his hands and show him a few steps. To his amazement, he didn't step on her toes, and even more amazing was the enjoyment he felt from something so innocuous.

He was attuned to everything about her as she swept around him. To the moonlight playing in her pale tresses. The laughter in her eyes. The feel of her body so very close to his.

She stoked the hunger in him to a ravenous frenzy that roared and hissed, demanding he take her. The waves of it crashed over him, and it was all he could do to stand strong against the gale force.

She twirled about and then stumbled. Draven barely caught her before she fell.

He held her tilted back in his arms. Her lips were so close that barely a handsbreadth separated them as her breasts pressed against his chest.

He stared at the rosy hue of her lips, wanting so much to dare the king's wrath by sampling them.

So very easy…

Emily clung to him, her green eyes wide in gratitude. “My hero,” she whispered.

Draven stared at her. The title
hero
had been given to him years ago by fools who knew naught of him, and for deeds he didn't even want to remember committing. But for the first time in his life, he truly felt heroic as he saw himself reflected in the dark pupils of her eyes. And even more surprising was the joy her words brought to him.

It suddenly became important to him that she see him as such. That he never disappoint her.

A need of her own darkened her eyes as she watched him in the rushlights.

“What is it you want of me?” he asked as he straightened her to stand before him.

She bit her lip. “I suppose I should be coy about this, but then I've never been such. I've found that frankness is often the best way to deal with matters, and so I shall be true to my nature and tell you exactly what I want.”

She tilted her chin up to look at him, her expression one of supreme sincerity. “I want
you
, milord.”

He stared at her blankly, not quite comprehending her meaning. “You want me for what?”

“For husband.”

His jaw went slack. What on earth was the woman thinking? Had she any sense?

“Have you any idea what you are saying?” he asked.

“Well, aye, of course,” she said indignantly.

Draven took a step away from her. He didn't know what had possessed her, but this was indeed foolishness of the first order.

“You have no idea what it is you ask, milady. What it is you would condemn yourself to.”

“I disagree.” Taking a step toward him, she reached out for his arm.

Once again he pulled away. “You know me not at all.”

“And my mother knew nothing of my father. Indeed, she never saw him until the wedding, yet they grew to love each other. Greatly.”

“You say that as if 'tis a simple matter.”

“Marriage often is.”

“You are being foolish, lady. Now off with you.” He turned his back to her and started for the donjon.

She rushed around him and blocked his path. “You cannot escape me. I won't let you.”

Anger coiled through him that she would dare block his way. Especially when all he wanted to do was flee her and all the confusing thoughts and feelings she evoked.

“Is this your way to get me to send you home to your father?”

She looked at him as if the mere thought offended her. “The last thing I want is to be sent back home. I want a husband.”

“Then take yourself to the hall and seek another.”

And before he knew what she was about, she seized his face in her hands, rose upon her tiptoes, and laid her lips against his.

Molten desire flooded every fiber of his body.

Reacting on pure primal instinct, Draven pulled her into his arms and molded her body against his own. She surrendered herself to him fully as he opened her mouth and sampled the sweetness of it. She wrapped her arms about his neck and sighed contentedly.

Draven's head buzzed as if he'd drunk too much ale, and all rational thought fled his mind.

There was nothing except the feel of her hot, supple body against his, the taste of her mouth, the smell of honeysuckle from her hair, and the sound of her rapid breathing in his ears.

Her kiss was one of innocence and timidity, yet curious and bold. Never had he felt the like, nor had he ever wanted anything more than he did a private bed for the two of them.

In her excitement, she pressed her breasts against his chest, inflaming him even more as she rubbed up against him, her hip brushing his hard, swollen shaft.

He left her lips with a groan and dared what he'd been longing to do. He buried his lips in the hollow of her throat and nipped her tender flesh with his teeth. She hissed in pleasure as she buried her hands in his hair and held him tightly against her.

The salty sweet taste of her skin branded his lips and his tongue as she shivered in his arms. He wanted her. Here and now.

His body burned for her, and he could think no thought save having her.

Emily moaned ever so softly at the feel of raw power emanating from him as his tongue and lips worked magic on her body. A thousand ribbons of pleasure tore through her simultaneously until her entire body throbbed with a foreign, aching need.

Brazenly, she pressed her lips against his stubbled cheek, delighting in the taste and feel of his masculine skin. She felt him tremble as he ran one hand over her right breast and gave a tender squeeze. She jerked at the strange sensation that ripped through her, and her bittersweet torture only increased as he cupped her breast and dipped his head down to the low scooped neckline of her kirtle and kissed her flesh just above her taut peak.

Oh, 'twas wondrous. The feel of him strong and demanding in her arms as he gave her pleasure. Never had she felt the like, and at that moment she knew she would never rest until she possessed him for her own.

And when he dipped his hand inside her neckline and touched her bare breast with his fingers, she thought she might very well faint from pleasure.

Draven groaned at the feel of her heavy breast in his hand, her taut nipple in his palm as he moved his lips to sample her ear. He teased the chills on her skin with his tongue while he damned the fabric that kept him from touching her all over.

His senses whirling, he returned to her lips and pushed her back against the wall.

Emily cupped his face in her hands as she delighted in the feel of his body pressing her against the cool stone. She kissed him fiercely as he plundered her mouth. Never had she tasted anything like him. Felt anything so incredible. So wonderful.

She only vaguely realized he was lifting up the hem of her dress. He ran his hands over her bare buttocks, branding her skin with heat and pleasure. And before she knew what he was about, he reached down between the two of them and gently separated the nether folds of her body to touch her as no one had ever touched her before.

“Oh, Draven,” she moaned as his fingers brought relief to the throbbing ache at the core of her body and she instinctively rubbed herself against his hand.

Draven froze at the sound of his name on her lips, reality crashing down around him.

One more minute and he'd…

With a curse, he forced himself to pull away from her before it was too late.

She took a step toward him, and he grabbed her arms to keep her at bay. Her lips were swollen from his kisses. And by the look in her passion-dulled eyes, he could see she wanted him as much as he wanted her.

But to take her would be his death.

“Is your hatred of me so great that you'd sacrifice your virginity to see me dead?” he asked fiercely.

She blinked in confusion. “I do not hate you, Draven. How could I?”

Whatever spell she had woven evaporated with those words, and once again clarity reigned in his head. “It seems to me, the question would be how could you not?”

S
tunned by his question, her body still inflamed by his touch, Emily could do naught save watch as Draven abruptly left. She stood on the battlements, baffled. How could he not see what she herself saw?

You know me not at all.

There was truth to those words and yet…

She had seen enough of his kindness to know he was a good man. And though he might not know what he needed, she did.

His words to the odious pair with Reinhold earlier that day came to her mind.

Stiffening her spine in determination, she narrowed her gaze on where he had vanished. “There is no corner you may find, milord, where I will not seek you out. You are going to learn that I am as stubborn as the day is long, and when I set my mind to something…Well, iron will you may have, but 'tis no match for my own. I will win you. See if I don't.”

She touched her lips with the backs of her fingers. He had responded to her with passion and longing. Even a virginal maid could tell that. And if he desired her, then he held some feeling for her.

Lust wasn't the only feeling she wished to stir within him, but it was a beginning. A beginning she needed, and one she could most definitely use.

 

Draven ground his teeth as pent-up emotions swept through him. Anger, torment, lust. He had broken his word to Henry, but worse than that was the stinging desire flooding his body. All too easily he remembered the way she had felt in his arms. The way she had writhed to his touch.

Dear God, she would have let him take her!

“For husband.”

The words echoed in his head as his lips burned, branded by her innocent kiss.

What could she possibly be thinking?

Her father would perish in shock if he knew her plans. Indeed, 'twas almost worth telling Hugh just to have the earl out of his way.

Well, she could think those foolish thoughts all she wanted. Wishing didn't make something reality. Of all men, he knew that for truth. And now that he knew her game, he would guard himself even more closely.

By all that was holy, he would not touch her again! Not her hand, not even the hem of her sleeve. Aye, from this moment on, he would avoid every part of her.

 

The next morning as Draven made his way down the stairs, Emily stumbled from the step above him. She fell full against him, touching every part of his body from cheek to toe.

The weight of her body pressing him against the wall was more than enough to make a mockery of his will as the memory of the night before came crashing back.

All too easily, he remembered the feel of her body in his hands, the taste of her lips, the sound of her murmured sighs in his ears.

“Are you all right, milord?” she asked, her sweet, warm breath tickling his throat. “I didn't see you there.”

Yet there was a light in her eyes that made him question her sincerity. Especially combined with the fact that she had yet to withdraw from him and her lips remained dangerously close to his own.

“I'm so glad you were here,” she gushed, “else I would have stumbled the whole way down the stairs, and like as not broken my neck.”

Draven still couldn't speak. Not while his arm was trapped between her ample breasts and her legs were entwined with his own. He could feel her heart pounding beneath his forearm and when she moved back, her hip brushed against the part of him that ached the most to possess her body.

A tremor shook him.

And by the hot look on her face, he could tell she'd felt his erection plainly enough.

An attractive blush darkened her cheeks, making her catlike eyes glow. “Thank you for your chivalry, milord. I think henceforth I shall call you the hero of my heart.”

At last he found his voice. “You credit me too much,” he said quickly. After all, the last thing he needed was for her to misinterpret his actions. “I didn't even know you were there until you fell into me.”

“Oh,” she said, adjusting her kirtle around her.

Draven watched suspiciously as she drew the material tight against her body, highlighting the curves of her hips. And if that wasn't bad enough, she bent over, exposing the tops of her breasts to his starving gaze.

His groin tightened even more as he remembered the feel of those ripe peaks in his hand. By St. Peter, he was actually starting to salivate!

“I hope you'll forgive my clumsiness,” she said as she straightened. “I was trying to hurry so as not to keep you waiting this time.”

“How courteous,” he said stiffly.

Better she should make him wait the next fortnight than reignite his blood with this inferno.

He moved away from her.

“Milord,” she said, her tone chiding. “You act as though you are afraid of me.”

Draven stopped dead in his tracks and looked back at her. “I fear no man.”

“But I am not man.”

“Do you think me daft that I don't know that?” he asked, glowering at her.

She raised a sharp brow at the anger in his voice. “Well, the way you treat me would leave me to think otherwise.”

Sensing his imminent defeat, Draven sought to retreat to safety. “If you'll excuse me—”

“See,” she said triumphantly. “There you go.”

He paused in confusion. “There I go what?”

“Treating me as if I'm something other than a woman.”

His head ached from her logic. “If I'm not treating you as a woman, then what, pray tell, am I treating you like?”

There was an odd look in her eyes. “I don't know.”

“You don't know?” he asked incredulously.

She blinked innocently. “I don't know.”

“Then why are we having this discussion?”

“Why not?” she quipped.

Draven looked sideways at her. There was a playful air about her, and a note of mischief. “You are toying with me, aren't you?”

The devilish light in her eyes deepened. “And if I were?”

“Then I'd say stop it.”

“Why?”

“Because it annoys me.” He started back down the stairs.

“I'd rather be annoying than ignored,” she said, raising her voice as she followed down the stairs after him. “That is what you've been doing all morning, is it not? Ignoring me?”

“And if I were?” he asked without stopping.

She lifted her chin. “Then I'd say stop it.”

Draven pressed his hand to his temple in frustration at her using his words against him.

He stopped on the bottom step and looked at her. “How is it you do this to me?”

“Do what?” she asked with such a look of innocence on her face that it almost made him laugh.

“Talk circles around me. I swear I'm becoming quite dizzy from it.”

Her gaze dipped to his lips and he saw her hunger. “Perhaps you are dizzy from something else?” she asked, her voice low and seductive.

“And that would be?”

She shrugged, smiled, and descended the stairs. “How should I know?” she tossed over her shoulder. “I'm not the brooding ogre. I'm just a woman, plain and simple.”

Draven growled low in his throat.
Plain and simple
described her like
pebble
described Gibraltar.

“I'm not a brooding ogre,” he called after her.

She paused at the door and looked back at him impishly. “Nay, you are right. But do you know what you are?”

Did he dare ask it?

He did. “What?”

She licked her lips as her gaze branded him with heat. “You're a very handsome man, with beautiful eyes.”

Stunned, he didn't move as she continued her way out the door.

Never in his life had anyone said such a thing to him. Ogre, demon, son of the devil, horse's arse. He'd been called any number of insults. But no one in his life had ever given him a compliment on anything save his battle prowess.

“Beautiful eyes,” he repeated, both repulsed and yet strangely flattered.

Did he in fact have—

“Oh bugger that,” he snapped under his breath. Who cared what his eyes looked like as long as he could see with them. He wasn't some winsome maid to have his head turned by flattery. He was a knight sworn to keep his hands off the Lady Emily.

And keep his hands off her he most surely would.

 

“Could you give me a hand, milord?”

Draven cringed at Emily's question as she waited by her horse for his assistance to mount.

What had he said inside the castle but an hour ago about keeping his hands off her?

He looked about for Simon, but the man seemed to have vanished. His other men were already mounted.

Resigned to it, he nodded.

Just pretend she's a fat, hideous nun.

Aye, one who smelled of honeysuckle and sunshine. His body leaped at the scent of her, and he could feel the muscles of his arms constrict.

As quickly as he could, he lifted her up. But she didn't take her saddle.

“Is there a problem?” he snapped.

She batted her lashes at him quite innocently. “I can't seem to get seated.”

He stifled the urge to toss her over the horse like a sack of grain. “You're doing this apurpose,” he said in a low whisper.

Her playful look confirmed his suspicion. “I told you what I wanted, milord, and I am not above using any means to win.”

He dumped her in the saddle. “Perhaps I should warn you, milady. No one has
ever
bested me.”

“Then I would say you are due for a good besting.”

He opened his mouth to respond when he caught sight of Simon joining them.

“Ah,” Simon said as he passed by. “I see you've taken care of the lady. A good thing too.”

“Why? Did you perchance twist your arm?” Draven asked sarcastically as Simon took his reins.

“In fact, I did. I think I shall be quite put out for some time. Won't be able to do anything chivalrous.”

A conspiracy.

He should have known. Well, he was no pawn to be pushed about. To the devil with them both!

Swinging himself up on his horse, Draven waited while Emily said good-bye to Christina, who held a large, leatherbound book in her hands.

“You will write as soon as the babe is born?” Emily asked.

“I will, and you'll have to come see me again.”

Emily cast a glance to Draven. “I will see what I can do.”

Nodding, Christina handed the book to Emily. “This is for you.”

“For me?” Emily started to open it, but Christina slammed the book shut and shook her head. “'Tis for you alone in the privacy of your room.”

“But—”

“Emily,” Christina interrupted with a stressed tone. “'Tis for you
alone
. It concerns the matter we spoke of earlier this morn.”

Emily's mouth formed a perfect O as Christina's meaning dawned on her.

Draven exchanged glances with Simon, who shrugged as if he had no idea what the women discussed.

But Draven knew. There was more conspiracy afoot. And he couldn't wait to lay hands to said book to see exactly what mischief they plotted, for there was little doubt in his mind whom they plotted against.

Christina helped Emily secure the book in her saddlebags. “Godspeed you all.”

Emily touched hands with Christina, then said good-bye to Orrick.

“I am ready, milord,” she said to Draven. “And I thank you for your patience.”

Draven gave a curt nod to Orrick before he kicked his horse forward and led his party through the bailey. At least for the next few days he wouldn't have to fear being near the lady. The journey would see her on her horse and him on his.

At last he would have peace.

 

“What do you mean her horse has gone lame?” Draven snarled, looking at his knight Arnold.

“You may see for yourself, milord,” he said, standing back.

Draven lifted up the back left hoof and saw it. An injured horse?

Was fate itself conspiring against him now?

If he didn't know better, he'd swear Emily or Simon had something to do with it. But he'd kept his eyes on the lady the whole time and knew for a fact she'd done nothing to harm the horse.

It was merely one of those wretched, awful, gutwrenching things.

“Very well,” Draven said, lowering the horse's hoof. “Remove the saddle and I'll trust you to bring the horse to Ravenswood at a slow pace to keep from injuring her more.”

“Aye, milord.”

“Simon,” Draven said, looking to his brother, who sat on his horse observing them. “The lady rides with you.”

Emily crossed the short distance that separated them and said in a low voice, “I'll not ride with him, milord.”

“You'll do as you are told.”

She lifted her brows in censure. “You'll not take that tone with me.”

“Woman,” he growled in a voice that had sent grown men to their knees quaking in fear. “This is not a game.”

Her face sobered, but there was none of the accompanying fear he was used to seeing. If anything his growl seemed to challenge her.

“You are quite right, milord. It isn't. I will either ride with you or I shall walk.”

Draven glared at her. “Have you no sense to press me so?”

“I have plenty of sense.”

“Then ride with Simon.”

“Nay.”

By the stubborn set of her jaw he could tell she had no intention of ceding the matter. “If you are the meekest of Hugh's daughters, then I am thankful I have never had the privilege of meeting your sisters.”

Realizing arguing with her would do nothing save waste more time, Draven relented. “Mount the damn horse.”

Emily sensed she might be pushing him too far. Perhaps she shouldn't be so bold after all. But then her father had called her boldness one of her more endearing qualities.

As she took the saddle, she didn't think Lord Draven agreed with him. In fact, judging by the stiffness of his body as he mounted behind her, she didn't think he thought much of her at all at present.