Chapter Seven #7
“I found him in my bed,” Gaston said quietly. “He was waiting for me to return so he could show me the sword Arik gave him and fell asleep.”
“Arik gave him a sword?” Remington looked doubtfully at her son.
His arm squeezed her lightly. “Do not worry so. It is quite dull, as it was Arik’s when he was a lad. ’Twill be perfect when he begins his training.”
She looked up at him, startled. “You would still send him away from me to foster?” she asked, her voice growing louder. “You told him that you would consider allowing him to remain here.”
He shushed her again and moved her into her own room, quietly closing the door. When he turned around to face her, she was sitting on the edge of her bed surrounded by the voluminous skirt of her robe. The picture was breathtaking and he did, indeed, take a breath.
“And I am considering it,” he said patiently. “But all young men are sent away to foster when they reach seven or eight years of age. You are aware of this Remi. You want your son to grow up to be a strong, fine man, do not you?”
“He must be sent away to foster in order to attain those qualities?” she shot back softly. “Gaston…he is all I have. I do not want him to be sent away.”
He put his hand on his hips, not answering her for a moment. “We shall talk about it later. Go back to sleep now.”
She continued to sit there and look at him, sadness in her face. He gave her a brief flash of a smile and moved for the door. He had a company of men waiting for him in the bailey that he was anxious to attend to.
“Gaston?” she said softly.
He paused, his hand on the latch. She offered him a timid smile. “Thank you for finding him, truly. You did not have to go through so much trouble.”
“He is my vassal and his welfare concerns me,” he replied. “Goodnight.”
She stood to show him from her chamber as a proper lady would, assuming he would move out of her way when he saw her approach. But he did not, however, and she nearly walked into him. Startled, she craned her neck back sharply to look at him and was met by eyes of molten steel, shrouded in smoke.
“I would thank you for dancing with me this eve,” he said quietly. “You are a delightful dancer.”
She smiled and his heart thumped loudly in his chest; he was sure she could hear it. “I rather enjoyed it, too. And it should be I who thanks you for putting up with my foolish behavior when you first suggested the dance. Sometimes I…. well, I never much liked to dance with Guy.”
“Do you like to dance with me?”
She did. But she was afraid to admit it. Yet he was looking at her with such warmth that she couldn’t help herself. “Aye, I did.”
Gaston couldn’t help himself. He knew he should not touch her in any way, but he simply could not stop his hand from moving to hers. The moment he touched the pure, warm silkiness of it, he knew he had to taste it. Gazing into Remington’s wide eyes, he brought her hand to his lips and kissed it.
“And I like to dance with you,” he said hoarsely. He had such a deep voice that it all came out in a rumble.
She couldn’t speak. No one had ever kissed her hand so sweetly, so tenderly.
In fact, no man had ever shown her such consideration and gentleness.
The fire in her cheeks spread to her belly and made her shake.
As new and wonderful as her emotions were, she was still filled with a deeply ingrained terror of being touched.
Until this moment, she had never been touched kindly by a man in her life.
She wanted to take her hand away. His lips were still on her palm and she could feel the stubble of his face. But she was so electrified by his touch that she couldn’t manage to move her hand. Uncertainty and utter fascination were all she could seem to feel.
He was immensely pleased when she did not yank her hand away; he had fully expected her to bolt. He could see that she was staring at the bottom half of his face with an astonished expression and he kissed her palm again just to see how she would react.
Her eyes flew to his in surprise and he smiled broadly, his mouth half-covered by her hand.
“Have you never experienced something so gentle, angel,” he asked softly.
She shook her head honestly. “N-never.”
His smile faded to an ironic gesture. “Nor have I.”
She stared at him a moment and suddenly tore her hand away, stumbling back from him. Her expression was open and accusing.
“You are married, my lord.” she said. “Master or no of Mt. Holyoak, you have no right to toy with me as such. I am not part of the castle as a servant or the land, or the sheep of the field. You may not use me as your…whore. I will not allow it.”
“Whore?” his brow furrowed deeply. “Remi, I never said….”
“Is that what you have been planning all along?” she accused. “You show kindness to my son, to me, simply so my guard will go down and you shall be able to do as you please? I know this to be your intention. You are all alike, you are all….”
She was getting quite loud and he had heard enough. He moved toward her, faster than she had ever seen anyone move, and before she realized what had happened she was plastered to the bed, covered by a massive body.
She instantly assumed the worst and opened her mouth to scream, but he slapped a huge hand over her lips and covered half her face and neck.
My God, this can’t be happening. She was more terrified than she had ever been in her life, terrified because he was easily three times her size and weight, and she could do naught to fight against him. She was so badly frightened and startled that tears began to flow.
No. Her mind screamed to the heavens. Please no.
Gaston knew her fear and regretted his actions deeply, but he felt them to be entirely necessary.
He would rather run himself through than frighten her like this, but he knew it was the only way she was going to listen to him.
Her ranting had grown out of control so quickly that the only way to douse it was equally as fast.
When her tears came, falling hot on his hand, his heart nearly broke.
“Remington, listen to me and listen well,” he said in a husky whisper.
“You shall not be my whore, nor anyone’s whore.
Nor shall your sisters. Those days are long over.
’Twas never my intention to deceive you or your son and I have done nothing that was not completely sincere.
I would never hurt you, Remi. I swear to God I would never hurt you. ”
Her body was relaxing underneath him and he looked down into the sea-crystal eyes that were so capable of changing color.
“Do you believe me?” After a long pause, her head dipped again. He removed his hand. “I am sorry I frightened you, but you were growing quite loud and I was afraid you would awaken Dane.” He eyed her. “Do you truly believe me or are you just agreeing with me because you are frightened?”
She was shaking; he could feel her. “I…I believe you. I do not know why I should, but I do. You have not lied to me yet.”
“And I never will,” he replied. Their bodies were molded into one another and he could feel a fire beginning in his loins; he shifted so she could not feel his rapid arousal.
“But you kissed me,” she whispered, obviously still overcome.
He made a wry face, trying to alleviate her apprehension. “I kissed your palm, Remi. You let those idiots Walter and Clive do that as well. I did nothing scandalous.”
He was correct; he had not, and she was growing embarrassed. It was only right that she apologize profusely and hope he wasn’t offended by her words.
“Oh, Gaston, I am so sorry,” she said earnestly. “It’s just that…I have never trusted men. I have never trusted anyone but my sisters. My husband was beyond vile and I suppose I have learned to judge all men by his actions. I know of no other way.”
He knew that. His weight was shifted off of her, yet he was still lying intimately close with Remington on her back, gazing up at him. The desire to kiss her on her pink lips was, once again, overwhelming. He raised an eyebrow thoughtfully.
“The man should thank God he is in prison, for if I ever see him, I will kill him,” he said frankly. “What he has done to you is more than contemptuous; it’s inhuman. In fact, I think I shall ride to London this night and run him through.”
Her eyes widened but she saw he was jesting. A slow smile crept to her lips. “Would you?”
He pretended to take her request very seriously. “Say the word, madam, and I am bound for the Tower.”
She appreciated his chivalry, his understanding. Before she could stop herself, her hand went up and stroked his cheek. “Thank you, my Dark Knight.”
He froze when he felt her touch, delicate and soft. He resisted the urge to stroke her back. “Do not call me that,” he mumbled, but there was a smile playing on his lips. Damn, but if she wasn’t too close.
Remington stroked his cheek again, liking the feel of it. Liking the feel of him. Unbeknownst to her, the voyage of discovery had begun.
Gaston felt her caresses and he lost all of his hard-fought control.
His great head descended on her, slowly, so that she would not be alarmed.
Ever so delicately, his lips hovered over hers and he reverently breathed in her hot breath of life.
He continued to hold for a brief moment, giving her ample time to state her displeasure, but she had no such protests.
With the most infinite tenderness, his lips claimed her own.
Remington froze. She could not form a coherent thought as his lips suckled hers with the incredible gentleness.
He clung to her top lip, to her bottom lip, brushing her face with his scratchy stubble.
As paralyzed as she was with fear and uncertainty, she was not beyond experiencing the sensations.
Soft warmth, giddy tingling filling her body like a thousand pins pricking her, her breath coming faster and faster.
Guy had never been so considerate, so sensitive.