Chapter 4 #3
So much for the effect of the wine. Her eyes were flashing with vigor.
“What needs to be done cannot be done with the linens between us.”
She glared at him. “Perhaps it need not be done. Perhaps an annulment would suit us both better.”
Quinn touched the tip of her nose with his finger. “Then you can greet Tulley in the morning and confess that truth to him.”
She smiled with obvious reluctance. “Do not tell me that a knight and crusader of your repute fears Tulley.”
“Of course, I fear him. He holds all that I desire in his grasp.” Quinn sighed. “If we do not consummate the match, I will put my own blood on the linens to ensure that Sayerne is not lost.”
She sat up abruptly then, forgetting the linens. “You would not!” The sheet slipped lower, revealing the softness of her throat and shoulders. He could see the gleam of her hair, but strove to hide his body’s reaction to her beauty.
Instead, he spoke deliberately. “I am willing to meet you abed. I am willing to do as Tulley decrees. I am not willing to lose my family holding. Are you?”
She exhaled. “Of course, you are willing,” she said with impatience. “You will have no pain.”
“Is that it?”
She held his gaze and nodded. “I am told it hurts.”
“Ah.” Quinn reclined beside her, apparently at ease, even as his thoughts flew. “I am given to understand that it is only the first time that hurts, and that only if there is haste.”
“I will not linger over this obligation,” she said through her teeth. “If it must be done, I would have it done and over and...”
“Oh, but I will linger,” Quinn vowed softly.
He saw her inhale and reached out to touch a fingertip to her arm.
He felt her go taut, then she compelled herself to relax.
“Indeed, I would savor.” He let his finger wander toward her shoulder and the softness of her skin fairly made him dizzy with desire.
“Your eyes grow darker.”
“That is not the sole change, my lady.”
Her gaze swept over him and her eyes widened. “Close your eyes and I will cast away the sheet. Then we might put the ordeal behind us and sleep.”
Quinn chuckled. “Close my eyes? Never!”
“But...”
He rolled closer, letting his fingertip rise to her cheek.
As before, his gentle touch seemed to disarm her or at least halt her protests.
She stared at him, her eyes wide. He let his finger trail down her throat and surveyed her, liking that the line of her lips had softened slightly.
“If I am to be condemned to only one night of lovemaking for the rest of my days, then be assured, my lady, I shall not keep my eyes closed.” He leaned closer and touched his lips briefly to hers.
“And I pledge to do my utmost to ensure that it is not an ordeal.”
“After this, you will await an invitation,” she said, breathless.
“Then you cannot fault my scheme to be persuasive.”
Melissande pulled away. “I know that you will not sleep in a cold bed, even if mine is forbidden to you.”
Quinn sat back in surprise. “On our nuptial night, you are convinced that I will be unfaithful to you?”
“Like sire, like son,” she said. “Your father seldom slept alone, should the number of his bastards be any indication.”
“I have already told you that my father and I have naught in common. I left Sayerne because he and I did not agree. On that day, I vowed that I would not return while he drew breath and so it has been.”
Her lips worked as if she would ask a question of him but did not have the courage.
He knew what question it must be, yet he did not have the urge to speak of his father’s crimes in this moment.
“You offer only sweet words to see the deed done. Once you have had your way and your possession of your holding is secured, you will not be so sweet.”
His father had left a long shadow, indeed.
“Nay, Melissande,” he whispered, willing her to believe him. “That is not so. I will always treat you with dignity and honor, but I can only do as much if you grant me the opportunity.”
“If I surrender.” She bit out the words, her opinion of that most clear.
“If you meet me halfway,” Quinn countered and she met his gaze anew. “This is our wedding night. You cannot in fairness ask me to close my eyes. You cannot accuse me of infidelity before our match is even made. All I ask of you, Melissande, is a chance.”
She said naught.
He leaned toward her and she closed her eyes.
“If this is to be the only time we couple,” he murmured. “I would make the mating sweet. And I would look upon your beauty, if only this once.”
Melissande swallowed.
“I do not mean to hurt you.” Quinn lifted her fingers from the linens and took her hand within his. Her fingers were cold. “But you know that this task cannot be avoided on this night.”
She took a deep breath then she nodded, a decision clearly made. “You speak the truth,” she said. “Come to bed, husband, and do your deed.”
With that, Melissande flung back the linens and lay back against the sheets. She closed her eyes and placed her hands at her sides, her hands locked into fists.
She might have been a corpse.
Quinn’s astonishment was not enough to keep him from noting either her slender perfection or the ripe curve of her breasts.
It was certainly not sufficient to keep him from being insulted. A man of merit did not inflict his desire upon his wife—and he had told her that he would not. Quinn shoved to his feet and paced the width of the chamber.
“You do this apurpose,” he accused, shoving a hand through his hair.
“Apurpose?” she echoed, then sat up. Her eyes were bright with indignation. “Of course, I submit apurpose!”
Quinn found her vehemence reassuring. He understood her better when she was annoyed.
“Is that not what Tulley and now you want of me? I simply do your bidding from this day forward, like any dutiful wife.” This last was spat with a vigor that Quinn might have heeded under other circumstances.
“A dutiful wife!” he replied instead. “Now there is something I am not destined to enjoy!”
“Oh!” Melissande bounded from the bed to shake a finger beneath his nose. “If obedience in every matter is what you desire of me, then you should forgo Tulley’s test and let the match be annulled! I submit to this deed, sir, but I will not surrender every measure...”
Quinn barely heard her words, so transfixed was he by the cloud of gold that followed her leap from the bed.
Melissande’s hair hung loose to her hips, fair gold with the sheen of the finest silk.
It shimmered as she moved as though it possessed a life of its own, and in that moment, Quinn could think only of touching it.
He had never seen the like. Since he had left the Continent fifteen years past, Quinn had not glimpsed any sight so fine.
“What ails you, husband?” she asked, halting before him.
“Your hair,” he whispered in awe.
“You are not listening to my words.”
“I am too enchanted for mere words.”
Melissande folded her arms across her chest and retreated. “It is simply hair,” she said, but Quinn knew that she was flattered.
“There is naught simple about such beauty, my lady,” Quinn said. “It is like spun gold.” He reached out a hand. “May I touch it?”
Something of his wonder must have shown in his expression, for Melissande considered him for only a heartbeat before she nodded agreement.
She turned slightly and Quinn stared at the majesty of the golden tresses cascading down her back.
Her hair gleamed in the firelight and bounced slightly as she moved.
He took a step closer and was surprised to find a tightness lodged in his chest. Quinn reached out, noting how rough and heavy his hand looked in contrast to his lady’s splendor.
He hesitated, but he could not deny himself the temptation.
Her hair ran over his hand like a golden waterfall and slipped over his fingers as though it possessed a will of its own. It was soft beyond soft, silky and smooth. Quinn lifted a gleaming handful to his gaze and the sweet scent of his wife rose to tease his nostrils.
His body responded with a healthy vigor that caught him by surprise. He looked to his bride, but she kept her face studiously averted, her hands folded before her like a Madonna. Quinn glanced down and saw the rosy curve of her buttocks.
Then he could not help but look. He lifted her hair away, loving the feel of it as it spilled over his fingers.
She was splendid. Her skin was fair and smooth, her curves delicate and feminine. Her flared hips led his eye to the indent of her waist and thence to the curve of her breasts, her nipples ruddy and beaded in the cool air of the room. Her neck was long, her chin held high.
Quinn had never imagined he would find such a bride, let alone be cast such a prize by fortune’s lot alone. Their argument was dismissed from his thoughts and he could not imagine why he might have even been irritated with a woman of such sweet beauty.
“Melissande,” he murmured, hearing the reverence in his low tone. She turned slightly. “You are beyond beautiful,” he said, feeling again like a rough warrior in her presence. In this moment, he could wish to be a courtier, with the right words on the tip of his tongue.
Her lips quirked in amusement. “You say that only to gain my surrender this night,” she accused, though her voice had lost its earlier sting.
It was clear that his touching her hair had managed to disarm them both.
“Nay,” Quinn said with resolve. “I say that because it is true. Deny me now and I will step away.” He smiled at her.
“I would even close my eyes, should you command it now, but I am honored that you have permitted me to see you.” He let her hair slip over his fingers again, then moved his hand away.