Tempted By the Night (17 page)

“Carpio?” she asked.

“His sword. The sword that every Paratus has carried since.” Rockhurst took a breath and waited for an interruption, but this time there was none, so he continued, “And after he prayed, he feel instantly asleep and found himself in a deep slumber. There in his dreams, a lady in white came to him. She knelt by his bed and soothed his worried brow.”

“The good part,” she whispered.

“Depends on your point of view,” Rockhurst said wryly.

“This is where it becomes a romance,” she said with such assurance he wanted to laugh.

“No, this is the part where a man is once again tricked by a woman’s wiles.”

“That is a rather cynical way of looking at things.”

“It is my story,” he told her.

“It would be better as a romance,” she replied. “But go on and let us see where you can improve upon it.”

Rockhurst opened his mouth to point out that this wasn’t a French novel or a serial in some ladies’ magazine, but his family’s history.

A romance, indeed!

He took a deep breath and launched back into his tale. “The lady in white begged Thomas to help her, saying, “My good lord, you must defeat this foul murderer. For if you do not stop him, he will come for my kingdom next.”

“Poor woman,” she said.

Rockhurst snorted. “Wily wench, is what she was.”

“How so?”

“If you would but let me finish
—”

“Then finish!” she huffed. “I hardly see how I am stopping you.”

Rockhurst closed his eyes and counted to three, then began again. “Thomas could only bow his head and concede his fears to the lady in white. ‘I do not think I can stop him,’ he told her. ‘Have you not seen him, my lady? For he has powers of another world.’”

There was a shift of movement on the ottoman. “But she did help him.”

“In a manner of speaking,” Rockhurst told her. “She offered him equal if not greater powers if he would but swear allegiance to her. And so he did. And the next day, he defeated the derga.”

“I think you are leaving out the romance.”

“There is no romance,” he told her.

“She came to his bedside and just took his vow? It never works that way in French novels. Usually such a gift is sealed with a kiss or…or…”

Rockhurst turned so he faced the ottoman and crossed his arms over his chest. Now it was his turn to put her on the spot. “Or what?”

“You know,” his guest whispered. “The rest. After the kissing…She and Thomas…well, they…well, she is kneeling beside his bed, need I say more?”

No, she didn’t. The mix of innocence and curiosity to her words teased him. Tempted him in ways he couldn’t explain.

His control, his resolve began to slip away as he remembered how she’d felt in his arms, naked and moving beneath him, holding him and pulling him closer.

No more than Thomas could resist, Rockhurst found himself entwined by his own mysterious lady.

Ever so slowly, he reached out for her, his hand brushing off her shoulder. From there, his fingers caught hold of her and traced their way up to the curve of her cheek.

He heard himself whispering the rest of the tale, but at the same time, he felt himself transported as if he’d been in that tent, been himself entwined by the lady’s offer.

She leaned over Thomas and soothed him with honeyed words. “Your enemy’s powers are great, but you could possess the same strength.” Her words held all the enticement of rich wine. Her hand stroked his forehead, and she leaned closer and kissed him, the taste of her lips like rose water.

Rockhurst drew the woman he held closer, catching hold of her and pulling her into his lap.

She came willingly, lured by what he didn’t know. Her curiosity, the warmth of his touch, the promise of passions as yet unexplored. He didn’t hesitate to use his own strength, and tugged her closer so he could taste her lips again.

The moment they touched his, he was lost.

Thomas’s resolve wavered. What the lady offered was immoral, but then again, his death on the morrow was all but assured. And it was as if she knew his fears, for she said, “You will defeat him. You will.”

The wrapper she wore slipped from her shoulders, and she was bare to her waist. His hands cradled those perfect breasts, and when he kissed her anew, his body sprang to life, hard and clamoring for the release he’d denied himself earlier.

“Love me, Rockhurst,” she whispered. “Please love me.”

He rose from the chair with her in his arms and carried her to his bed.

“All you must do is to promise that you and your sons and their sons after them, will protect this realm from my enemies. And I will see to it that you and your
descendants are blessed forever with wealth and power in repayment for your service.”

As he climbed into his bed, the dressing gown fell from her, and she lay before him, entirely naked. He didn’t need to see her to know she was splendidly perfect—from her long limbs to her full breasts.

She reached for him and pulled him down atop her, and all too quickly they were entwined. They kissed and touched and explored each other until they were both in a state of ragged need.

The white lady took his hand and placed it on her breast, over her heart. “Swear to me your allegiance, and we will seal your troth this very night.”

Now whether it was the temptation of her body, or visions of gold and power, or even the very thought of defeating his enemy and living through the next day, Thomas swore his allegiance and spent the rest of the night indulging in passions unimagined.

“Oh, please, Rockhurst,” she pleaded, her body slick and hot, her cleft already trembling. He’d brought her right back up to the brink, and awakened a delicious hunger in her that he knew just how to sate. Rockhurst wound his arm around her waist and raised her hips as he poised himself to enter her. Her legs wound around him.

“I want you,” he whispered into her ear, nibbling at her earlobe, leaving a trail of hot kisses over her neck. He’d never felt so hard, so in need, that he couldn’t think of anything but filling her, giving himself completely over to the warm cleft between her thighs.

Madness,
his reason clamored.
This is utter madness.

But the Paratus disagreed, and drove himself into her, finding only heaven.

Whether it was all part of the magic of her wish or the power of the ring, Hermione had discovered in the last few hours that she possessed a wanton nature. Freed from being the proper daughter of an earl, hidden behind this veil of invisibility, she gave herself up to the passion Rockhurst awakened.

She arched up as Rockhurst entered her. Her channel stretched to accommodate him, but once he filled her, once he’d pierced her maidenhead, she discovered what he’d meant about more.

Oh, he’d given her a taste of what a man and woman could share together, but this joining was something altogether different.

Magical, really.

If he’d paused as he’d breached her innocence, he hadn’t stopped for long. He was as lost in the passion as she was. He began to stroke her, and her hips met his dizzy cadence, rising up and seeking every bit of him.

Magic, pure magic
, she thought, as she swore she was no longer in his bedchamber, but a tent, and the scent of spring surrounded them. The wind whispered over their heated naked bodies, weaving the spell tighter and tighter around them.

And Hermione’s desires pushed her past reason, with only one thought, finding her release. And then, as Rockhurst buried himself in her, deeply, and let out a thick moan, her body exploded with passion, for in his release, she found hers.

“Thomas,” she cried out. “Thomas!”

“I’m here, Shadow,” he whispered huskily in her ear. “I’m here.”

Hermione wanted this moment, this entire night to last forever, so she closed her eyes and reveled in it all…the strength of his arms around her. The way her body continued to quake and tremble from her release.

She shivered, not from cold, but from the mystery of it all.

He gathered her closer, and holding her tight, still inside her, still bound together, each unwilling to break the spell that held them together.

Rockhurst finished his story, whispering it into her ear and brushing her tangled curls from her face.

“And the next morning Thomas rose from his bed, more powerful than he could have imagined. He defeated his enemy to the acclaim and joy of the people.”

“They cheered,” Hermione told him. She rather felt like cheering herself.

“Aye, they did,” he told her. “They cheered and chanted, and christened Thomas of Hurst with a new name.”

“Paratus,” Hermione said, ignoring the way he smiled at her interruption. “And the wealth and titles the white lady promised came to him in overflowing abundance.”

Rockhurst nodded. “But so did the duties of protecting her realm, and he soon discovered that he had given more than his allegiance that night. He’d given up his
life as he knew it to battle the unholy spirits who continuously sought to dethrone this wily queen.”

Hermione had the sense that he was about to roll from her, break the connection between them, but she wasn’t ready for that yet, and so she wound her arms around his neck and pulled him closer.

“And his descendants?” she asked.

“They knew no other life,” he told her.

“I suppose it wasn’t a romance then,” she conceded.

“No,” Rockhurst said softly. “Not in the least.”

Not until now, he would have told her.

If he’d dared.

Outside the earl’s town house, Quince paced back and forth in the shadows as she awaited Milton. She’d summoned him, the first time she’d actually sought his company in so long, and she was starting to wonder if she still had the power to do so since there was, as yet, no sign of him.

Glancing at the sky, where it still held the inky cast of night, she sighed. There were, thankfully, a few hours left to fix all this.

At least, she hoped there was.

She pulled her pelisse tighter around her neck to ward off the damp dew growing with the coming morning. Yet, she still found herself shivering.

And it wasn’t from the chill.

“Quince, what the devil do you want?”

She flinched, for there was no mistaking the annoyance in her husband’s voice. Still, he’d come. Though when she glanced over her shoulder at him, she found
his brow furrowed in a deep line and his sky-blue eyes hard and unforgiving. Mayhap, she shouldn’t have summoned him.

Milton wasn’t known for a generous spirit or a forgiving heart. At least not in the last eight hundred years, give or take a century.

Still, he’d arrived, and that perhaps was better than nothing. For frankly she was out of ideas as to how to solve her current problem.

Their problem,
she corrected silently.
For if he hadn’t…

Oh, heavens, it wasn’t time to reiterate their fractured marriage. She had a problem, and he was going to help her.

“Unless you’ve summoned me here to tell me that you have my ring back—” His words came to a staggering halt as he took a glance at his surroundings and recognized where they stood. “Are you mad to summon me
here
?”

She could see that he was about to flee, so she caught his arm and held on. “He has her.”

“Has whom?” Milton asked as he tried to shake her off. Milton was afraid of few things in this realm, but standing nearly on the doorstep of the Paratus was not something anyone of their ilk did willingly. For even though the man was the duly appointed champion of their Queen, that didn’t mean he wouldn’t kill first and ask questions later of any creature not entirely mortal.

And if one really wanted to quibble the point, Quince and Milton weren’t really supposed to be loitering about this human realm as it was.

“Let me go. If this is some trick, some trap to get me to—”

“Oh, do be still, Milton,” Quince snapped, tightening her grasp. Really, sometimes he could be quite tiresome. “She is inside with him. Hermione. The one who made the wish.”

Milton’s struggles ceased. “Tell me you are joking.”

She shook her head. “I wish I was.”

“How could you—”

“I would never have—”

“Quince!”

“This isn’t my fault.”

“You let my ring fall into that girl’s hands, and now…now…look at where it has landed you.”

“Me?” Quince bristled. “This is
our
problem.”

“I hardly see—”

Quince caught him by the lapel of his jacket and pulled him close, whispering furiously. “Do you really think the Queen will be so pleased with you if you just leave me to solve this by myself when that girl is wearing
your
ring, as you like to call it.”

Milton’s jaw worked back and forth. “It isn’t like he can get it off her hand.”

“Don’t be a fool. He has only to kill her to gain it.”

“He can’t do that,” he scoffed. “She’s mortal.”

“Not with that ring on her hand. She carries a piece of both of us with her.”

Milton groaned and in his anger found the wherewithal to shake off Quince’s hold on him. Now it was his turn to pace about.

“Does she know the danger she is in?”

Quince bit her lip. Botheration! She’d hoped he wouldn’t pry too deeply into this predicament, rather have some handy solution and be gone.

Without all the fuss and worry of pestering questions.

“Quince?”

She shook her head, then waited for the explosion.

It came. “By all that’s holy, Quince! How could you let it come to this? Why didn’t you summon me immediately?”

Other than for the obvious reasons?
she wanted to shoot back, but chose to refrain from escalating this into a fight that went beyond their current, more pressing problem.

“None of this bickering is helping,” Quince said, after they had both taken a few deep breaths. “We have to find a way to get Hermione out of there.”

Milton glanced over at the house. “Does he still have that beast of a dog?”

“Yes, but I hardly see—”

He shrugged off his great-coat, then his jacket, and ended by loosening his cravat. “I can’t believe I am about to do this.”