The High Sheriff of Huntingdon (32 page)

He lifted his head to look down at her,
and
there
was
no denying
the
cool
triumph in
his eyes.
“I
thought
it
a
little extreme myself,”
he
said, his slightly labored
breathing the only sign
that he
was
moved by her
reaction. “But
there’s
hope. The prophecy goes
on.”
And
he
touched
the
tip of his tongue
to
her
other
breast
through
the thin cloth, dampening it, teasing it,
and
Elspeth found
she
was
clutching the heavy
velvet
beneath
her,
fisting it in her hands
to
keep
from touching him.

“Does it?”
She
couldn’t
even manage a pretense of calm. Her
voice
came out
in
a
quiet
gasp.

He
s
a
t back,
staring
down
at
her,
a
n
d his sleekly mus
cled
chest
was rising
and falling
more rapidly now. “Yes,”
he said, reaching
to
the
high
neckline of the thin chemise. With
one
deft yank
he tore it open, ripping it down the middle
from
neckline to hem, pulling it away
from
her pale
white body, exposing it to the moonlight and
his cool, deceptively dispassionate gaze. “In thunder, rain,
brought right again,” he said, and it took a moment
before
she realized he
was still quoting the prophecy. “And all shall be as God’s
design.”

“God’s design?” She watched him, wary, waiting.
“You
think
God
has
bl
e
s
s
ed
our
union?”

“Or
the
d
e
v
i
l. It
m
ak
e
s
little
difference
to me.” He
reached
out and
took her
heavy
silver cross in his hand.
“Is
this
supposed to protect
you
from
the likes
of
me?”

“It’s failed.”

“Indeed.”
He yanked on
it,
and
it
broke free,
to
dis
appear in
the
tumbled
bedclothes. He leaned
forward
and
put
h
i
s
mouth hard against
hers,
his body pressing against her undressed one, pressing her
into the warmth of the
bed,
s
ett
l
i
n
g
between
her
long legs.
She searched
for one
la
s
t
defense,
one trace of
p
rid
e
, of self-discipline
or
pro
tection.
None remained
as
s
h
e
released
her grip
on
the
bed beneath
her
and put
her
arms around
his neck, slanting
her mouth
beneath
his, kissing him
back.

His chest was
hot, sleek,
and
strong against hers,
his
arms
muscled
and
t
i
gh
t
with
self-control.
H
e slid
his
hand
between
their
bodies,
between
her
thighs, and
her
shock
thi
s
time
w
a
s even more
intense. As
was
his determination,
his
fingers
threaded
through the thick tangle
of hair, touching
her, pressing against her, sliding deep into the damp,
throbbing heat
of
h
e
r.
She
tried
to
tighten
her
legs,
but
he
would
have
none
of it.
He was
strong,
more
th
an
she realized,
and very determined,
and
he broke
the kiss,
p
a
n
t
i
n
g slightly.
“Don’t fight me,” he said. “I
don’t
want
to hurt you.”

She stared up
at
him,
baffled, her mouth tingling,
her
body
trembling
with
fear and longing.
“Why
not? I
thought
you
e
nj
oyed hurting.”

He
cursed then, a
low,
foul
curse
that made her flinch. His eyes were mesmerizing, watching her.
“Do
I terrify you, then?”

She
wanted
to say yes.
And yet if he left her
now, sent
h
e
r
back to the
convent, she
would
be very
willing to
die.

She just managed
a
smile.
“Do
I terrify you?” she
countered
in a
rough
whisper.

He
shook his
head,
more in
wonder
than
denial.
“You
astonish
me,” he
said. And sliding down the length of
her
body,
he
shocked
her still further by putting his mouth
bet
ween
her legs.

She tried
to
hit him
then,
but he ignored
her,
his hands
clasping her
thighs,
holding
her
in place.
She
squirmed against him, but
it
only
b
rou
g
h
t
his mouth tighter,
hotter
against her
most
secret
places.
This was his
revenge,
his
torment
, his degradation,
and she hated him,
she
hated
him,
she…

Began to like it. Her
breath
caught
in
her lungs
as a
tight, spiraling
sensation curled
in
the pit of
her stomach
a
n
d
fanned
outward.
She
wanted
to
cry, she wanted to
scream,
she wanted
to
die; she wasn’t
sure
what
she wanted
except
for him
to stop, to
keep
on.
Her
heels dug
into the pile of velvet beneath her, the
soft breeze
danced
across
her skin, and
she
knew
he
had
to
be
the son
of
the devil himself
And
then
her
body exploded,
splintered
into
a
thousand
stars,
and she
heard
a
low, animal-like
shriek,
and
knew, to
her
shame,
that it
came from her own
throat.