Chapter 13 #3
She stayed so long by the door that his steam evaporated.
Her breasts heaved against the softness of a blue gown that emphasized every tempting curve and form of her figure.
Her hair burned in the firelight like spun gold, and his body quickened as if he’d been stroked.
She might be a treacherous Viking’s daughter, but the mere sight of her made patience an all-but-impossible virtue.
He lifted a hand again. “Mellyora, the wedding is not until tomorrow. However, if you wish to stay and speed things along …”
“Please!” She pushed away from the door. He saw that her eyes were so brilliantly beautiful because they were threatened with tears. To his amazement, she flew across the room and came upon her knees at the side of his tub. “Please, don’t do this to me. I beg of you.”
“Mellyora, you were given the choice not to marry. There is nothing I can do about the king’s edict; if I were to refuse him and lose my neck, he’d choose another man. But still, if this marriage is so horrible to you—”
“No, it’s not the marriage.”
He lifted his hands. “Then what, Mellyora?”
“Oh, God, please, don’t humiliate me in public!”
He arched a brow. She’d heard. Rumor raced around a fortress such as this!
And, it appeared, rumor raced with what was most sweetly, wickedly decadent, for she hadn’t heard that it had only been a suggestion, and a suggestion with which he hadn’t agreed.
No matter how he might want her—and he was aware that wanting her was becoming a painful issue—he wanted to know that any child born of their marriage was his.
“Please, please, don’t allow this!” she whispered.
“Ah!” he said softly. This, of course, was the king’s public addendum to the ceremony.
“Please.”
He’d never seen her so vulnerable, so elusively beguiling.
He reached out, touching her cheek, smoothing a wild lock of golden hair from her face.
He felt as if he stroked silk. He was tempted, God was he tempted, to reach out and drag her into the water with him, and there end the idea of anything public …
And his own determination.
Ah, but then again, the lady had put him through hell.
“The king is very angry,” he told her gravely, watching her.
“You can stop this.”
He hesitated, meeting her tumultuous eyes. “I’ll admit the concept has disturbed me. Especially since there is a question regarding your past. But then again, you see, I’ve stated my feelings regarding family. It is my own blood I want, my lady, and not another’s.”
“Is it revenge you want? You’ve agreed to this because you think you’ll be able to say at some later date that the marriage must be annulled because I was previously engaged and in another relationship? You want me to be humiliated, and then you wish to use it all against me!”
“I’ve not agreed to anything,” he said, still watching her intently.
She closed her eyes tightly for a second, then opened them.
“Don’t do it.”
“As I’ve said, the king is very angry. I think you hurt him, wounded his pride. Maybe he just wants the truth known. You mentioned that you’d taken a lover.”
“No, I did not. You suggested that I had.”
He shrugged, as if how the matter had been discussed was of little importance.
“It’s not true,” she whispered.
“What’s not true?”
“I’ve never taken a lover. I swear on my father’s honor.”
He watched her for a long moment, feeling every muscle in his body contract while he tried to keep his face impassive. She remained so distressed, and spoke with such desperate urgency. She hadn’t noted his touch, didn’t pull away as his fingers stroked her face.
“Do you remember what tomorrow is?” he asked her quietly.
“Indeed, how could I forget? The wedding.”
He shook his head. “Tomorrow night will be the full moon. Don’t you remember? The time when you promised to meet me—a stranger you barely knew—at the hunter’s cottage in the woods if I let you escape my room that night.”
She lowered her head. “Aye, I was desperate.”
“You swore that you’d be there.”
“I was very desperate.”
“I told you that you’d keep your promise.”
“Did you?”
“So you shall. There will be nothing public between us. What I want will be in private. The perfection of my bride proven to me alone. When the ceremony and banquet are done, we will leave. And you will keep your promises to me, sweetly, gently—and for the love of God—quietly, with no arguments, taunts, or disagreement at all.”
She tried to keep her temper, he saw. She had come here, meaning to do so. She simply couldn’t. “How dare you be so wretched—” she began.
“Ah, but my love! There is the king’s way …”
She exhaled, shaking, meeting his eyes. Now upset and angry, she suddenly realized that she was at his bath, looking at his naked body in the water. She pulled back, face softly flushed.
“Just what do you want?” she demanded.
“To know what I’m getting,” he said sternly.
“A lot of land!” she reminded him angrily.
“I get the land with or without you,” he reminded her bluntly.
“I told you what I wanted,” he said, wearily.
But she had caused him endless torment, and if he were being cruel now, there was little else he could do.
Long years ahead were at stake here, his son, his family, his dream of life itself.
Besides, she deserved a little torment. “You, soft, sweet, perfumed, pleasant—and silent. Listening avidly to my every word.”
“And then—” she broke off, swallowing. “And then there will be no public … entertainment?”
“Aye.”
“You swear?”
“Aye, and I do keep my word.” He had no intention of letting his wife be anyone else’s entertainment.
She sprang up, anxious now to flee his room.
“Mellyora,” he said, calling her back, “you haven’t lied to me.”
“No, I swear it.”
“I warn you, my love, don’t ever lie.”
She shook her head again, turned, and was gone.
He sank back into the tub, thoughtful, curious. She was going to be in for a surprise on their wedding night, and she might even be furious for the anxiety he had caused her. He also meant to carry on his charade until she realized just how serious he was about the future, but then …
Well, then, she would probably be quite grateful for a while. She would be reprieved. For a time.
And he would be the one in torment.