Rexanne Becnel (37 page)

“And you’re not happy at all now,” Lilliane whispered.

“No more than you. We married because duty bade we must. But lovers … lovers obey no such duty.”

“It was not your duty to marry me. No one forced you into it,” Lilliane reminded him reproachfully.

Corbett smiled grimly. “There are many types of duty, Lily—”

“Yes, and having an heir—and something to leave that heir—was your duty,” Lilliane snapped, hiding her pain behind anger. “How I wish you had picked someone else.”

Corbett’s face was just inches from hers. His eyes appeared black as coal and as impenetrable as stone. She tried to turn away from his disturbing stare but his hand, still tangled in her loose hair, prevented her.

“Indeed, it would have been much easier if I could have. All I wanted was a proper little wife. What I got …” He stopped then he pressed close to her. “What I got was a fiery little temptress. Tell me, Lily, would you have consented to be my mistress only?”

“Oh, you are blackhearted!” Lilliane cried as she tried to twist away from the heated length of his body against hers. “You have only one wicked thought in your head!”

“As do you!” He deftly stilled her frantic struggles. “What reason brought you to seek me except lustful ones? You can accuse me of no worse than you are guilty of.”

Each word hurt her terribly, doubly so because they were partially true. But she could not admit that to him. Not now when he was finally being honest about his feelings for her.

“I’m guilty of nothing but trying to be a proper wife.”

Corbett let out a dark laugh. “A proper wife tends her duties, accepts her husband as her lord, and quietly endures her husband’s amorous demands. But not my Lily. You hold me off at arm’s length as long as you can and then cry with passion until we are both trembling and spent. So which are you, wife or mistress?”

She lowered her thick lashes to hide the tears rising in her eyes. How could she answer such a thing? “I no longer want to fight you,” she whispered.

“No,” Corbett finally murmured. “You may no longer want to fight me. But then, things have changed.”

“No,
you
have changed,” Lilliane accused him shakily. “You are distant. You avoid me. And you wallow in ale and wine every evening.”

He seemed a little taken aback by her words. “I have my reasons.” He paused and added with a rueful twist of his lips, “Ale provides strength. Wine provides courage.”

Lilliane could not take such words seriously. “What have you to fear?” she scoffed furiously. “It is the rest of us who must walk gingerly in fear of your anger or your least whim!”

Corbett’s dark gray eyes searched her face for what seemed an endless time. Something grave disturbed him and Lilliane could not fathom the source. Some demon he held inside. But as she stared back, partly frightened, partly fascinated, she saw his expression change.

“Tell me, Lily. Are you frightened of my anger now?”

Lilliane was instantly wary. Something had changed. Some note in his voice, or perhaps the slant of his scarred brow gave her a vague warning.

“Perhaps you’re worried about my least whim?” he persisted when she did not answer right away.

“You—you won’t hurt me. I know that,” she stammered.

“Would that I could be so sure of you,” he murmured. But before she could question such an unfair comment, he suddenly dragged her away from the rough wood door. “I have a whim tonight. And I wish you to humor me.”

Then he pushed her mantle back from one of her shoulders and fingered the soft wool of her gown. She caught her breath and waited tensely for him to continue.

Finally he spoke in a low, almost tortured tone. “Show me which you are, wife or mistress. Let me see which it is you are to me.”

“I-I am your wife, Corbett,” she whispered. “Why do you dwell on such foolish thoughts?”

“Why, indeed. Show me,” he demanded again.

“I don’t know what you want of me!” Lilliane cried in confusion. He was treating her as callously as he might some tavern wench. He was doing it quite purposefully and he was breaking her heart.

“Surely you must know. Your mother could not have neglected such an important part of your training. A wife will always do her husband’s bidding, and he has the right to beat her if he does not. A mistress, however, is free to leave her man at any time—there is always another man available. But if she stays, it is for love.” His eyes grew narrow as he taunted her further. “You did not love me when we wed. You loved another. Sir William, I believe,” he added caustically.

“No, that’s not true—”

“And though you were innocent at the time, William now taunts me with his conquest of you.”

“He lies! I don’t know why—”

Corbett caught her by the wrists and pulled her cruelly to him. “I don’t know why he would lie either. He would have to be mad, for I could easily have killed him. Therefore I must believe his words are true.”

Lilliane’s tears were falling freely. It was hopeless and she knew she had lost him. Truly, she’d never completely had him. But for a while she’d had so much hope. Now, though, there was nothing to hope for.

“My wife. His mistress.” His grip tightened and his jaw tensed. “By right I should beat you. I should mark that pale, smooth flesh so that no man would have you again.”

“I was never … never his mistress.” Lilliane choked on a sob, closing her eyes against his terrible anger.

At that he released her abruptly and she stumbled back a pace. In the dark, moonlit look-over they faced one another. With one hand she wiped her tears away, then she took a shaky breath.

“I don’t know what you want of me—what you want me to be. If I am passionate … if I think lustful thoughts, then you deem me guilty. Does this mean you prefer me to be cold and unresponsive?” She shook her head and stared at him with huge, reproachful eyes. “Can’t I simply be your wife? Can’t you just be content with the passion that flares between us without judging me so unfairly?”

Lilliane was trembling from head to toe as she faced him. When he took a step nearer she did not flinch at the anger still smoldering in his eyes. He reached out and gathered her thick, loosened tresses into his hands. Then he pulled her hair back so that her face was turned up to his.

His eyes traveled from her tear-filled eyes down to her lips, then further along the vulnerable length of her throat to where the neckline of her gown covered her.

“Then show me,” he whispered hoarsely. “Show me you can be both wife and mistress.”

With those wrenching words Corbett lowered his head and took her lips in a hard, domineering kiss. He held her rigidly so that her arms were pinned between them, and at first she was too startled to respond. But if his anger was a terrible wild fire burning everything in its path, it quickly escalated into an inferno of pent-up passion that she had no defense against. Like one unable to resist the very thing that must consume her, she yielded to the harsh demands he made of her. As if none of what had gone before mattered, she became a soft foil for his unrelenting hardness.

Corbett groaned deep in his chest as she caught the wool of his tunic in her fists and clutched him to her. He seemed to be a man in agony as he raised his lips from hers, then took her face between his hands and forced her head back. His eyes were as black as the night yet within them Lilliane saw the terrible doubts that racked him.

“Show me, Lily,” he muttered hoarsely. “Show me how a woman comes eagerly to her man. Entice me.” He groaned and took her lips once more. “Make me believe it.”

He doubted her. He would always doubt her, Lilliane realized, and a sob rose in her throat. Yet even that all-consuming sorrow could not stifle the flames he stirred in her. A part of her knew it was hopeless. And yet she wanted to believe—even if she was only fooling herself—that he loved her. At least this one last time. He needed her in some desperate private way, and although it was not love, for this moment she would pretend it was.

As she rose to him her sob was lost in a kiss that wrenched her very soul. “I love you, Corbett. Oh, I do,” she whispered as he backed her against the crenellations. They were not words she meant for him to hear, and once said they could not be taken back. But she could not tell if he’d heard her, and, indeed, as she began to drown in the dizzying rapture of his kisses, she ceased to care.

Lilliane lost all connection with time and place as Corbett drew her deeper and deeper into a splendid delirium fired by pent-up hunger and intense desire. She wanted him with a fierceness that shook her to her very core.

Corbett wedged his knee between her thighs most intimately, heating her with his aggressive possession of her. One of his hands cupped her breast most sensually while the other arm supported her as he bent over her between the heavy crenels. Lilliane’s arm encircled his neck, one holding his head down to hers, the other clutching at his wide shoulders.

She could have succumbed to him then and there, in the dark night against the cold stone walls of Orrick. But even as she became more and more pliant and began to press herself most wantonly against him, she felt him pulling away.

Frantically she clutched him, willing him to stay. But though his lips clung to hers, and his tongue met hers in a hot, erotic dance, she could not make him stay.

Lilliane was in complete disarray. Her skirt was hiked up, baring her legs, her dress was loose at one shoulder, and her hair was a wild tumble in the chill wind. She was partially leaning back in the space between the crenels where he’d been sitting before and she knew she looked the complete wanton. But if that was what he wanted of her …

Corbett was breathing hard. His expression was wary as he stepped farther away from her. Then his eyes moved slowly over her, and she blushed at the thoroughness of his perusal. Shaking as much from passion as from the departure of his warmth from her, she struggled to rise. When she was upright she shook out her skirt and tried to refasten her mantle. But she could not raise her gaze to Corbett’s face for fear of the condemnation she would see there.

When he finally spoke his voice was an unfamiliar rasp as if he grappled with his words. “This is not what I want,” he said, and Lilliane felt as if a cold fist had tightened around her heart. Then he rubbed one hand along the scar on his forehead. “It’s not enough for you to respond to me, Lily. I want
you
to show me your passion.”

At her look of utter confusion Corbett took a slow, shaky breath and looked away from her. “Shall I be crude and tell you precisely what I want of you?”

Comprehension dawned on her in a sudden flash. Her belly tightened at the knowledge that he wished her to become the aggressor, the one to initiate their lovemaking. It was such a happy realization that she could not help but smile. “Oh, Corbett, I tried to do this very thing that last night in London, but you—”

“Don’t speak to me of London,” he cut in abruptly as his eyes pinned her to her spot. “Don’t ever speak to me of London. Just do as I ask.”

Lilliane had to bite her lip to prevent herself from crying anew. In some ways he wanted her so badly, just as she wanted him. But in other ways …

She pushed one wind-driven lock from her brow as she tried to compose herself. In other ways he seemed determined forever to keep her at arm’s length.

She crossed to the door. Corbett opened it for her and then followed close behind her as they went down the steep stone steps. The stairwell was cold but Corbett’s nearness seemed to create an aura of warmth. Still, for all the physical heat they generated together, Lilliane could not mistake the emotional chill between them.

When they reached the door to the tower room Lilliane turned to face him.

“I have one caveat upon which I must insist,” she started as bravely as she could.

Corbett stood very near her. His great size blocked the light from the single torch so that only his silhouette was clear to her. “No.”

The word, though spoken quietly, seemed to roar like thunder in the empty stone tower. Lilliane wanted to clap her hands over her ears to shut out that obstinate, angry sound. But instead, with no forethought, she put her hands up to his cheeks and pulled his head down to meet her kiss.

It was a bold move, one she’d had no chance to weigh the merits of. But perhaps for that very reason it seemed to placate him as nothing else would have. She’d only wanted to ask him to leave his anger behind when they went through the door, to allow them to meet without the emotional encumbrances that tortured them both. But as their lips clung in a kiss at once both passionate and sweet, Lilliane felt as if he’d already given in to her unspoken request.

She was aware when he backed her into the door. Then the door opened and she started to fall. But Corbett caught her up in his arms. The touch of his tongue was like a stroke of fire along her lips and within her mouth. The solid feel of his body cradling hers so easily was like floating off into heaven, for she knew just what a heaven awaited her.

But Lilliane fought off the mind-stealing lethargy brought on by his passion. That was not what this night was about. When Corbett lowered her feet to the ground, she put one palm flat against his chest to hold him at bay.

“Wait,” she said, panting, although waiting was hardly what she wanted to do. “You must let me do as … as you said.”

Corbett did not smile, but his eyes were smoky with desire and he was breathing hard. “Then go ahead.” He gestured to the bed.

Lilliane shook her hair back as she looked over her powerful husband. He was tall and strong, and in spite of the scars that marked him, she thought him the most handsome and desirable man alive. Her hand slid slowly across the breadth of his chest, feeling the definition of his muscles there and the reassuring beat of his heart. It was a steady beat, strong and reliable as he was. If only he could see that she was strong and reliable too.

But she pushed that painful thought away and took a step nearer him. With hands that trembled only a little, she loosened the brooch that held his short mantle on. Deliberately she stood as close to him as she could, and although she did not see his face, she knew the effect she caused on him. Her hair was a loose cloud, tumbling wildly about her face and shoulders. She knew how he loved her hair, and as she bent even closer she felt his fingers stroke down through the long chestnut length.