Chapter 5 #3
“I would not have willingly wed a woman sworn to another man. I would have told Tulley as much and insisted he change his terms.”
“He would not change them for me.”
“I might have been more persuasive,” Quinn said grimly and she had a moment to wonder what he might have said or done. Then he pointed at her. “You owed me the truth before last evening and you know it well, my lady.”
Melissande did not know what to say. He was right, of course.
Suddenly, Quinn’s eyes narrowed and Melissande did not trust the abrupt change in the direction of his thoughts. He crossed the floor with angry steps to confront her. “What will you do when he comes for you?” he demanded. “Whose side will you choose?”
Melissande was astonished. She had not considered the possibility, though now that Quinn mentioned it, she wondered how likely it might be. Would Arnaud come to her?
What would she do?
“I cannot say,” she admitted. “I had not considered the matter.”
“Then you should do as much with all haste, my lady. Word of our match has undoubtedly flown from this keep already. If a woman was sworn to me, I would be quick to take vengeance upon any man who dared to claim what I knew to be my own.”
“He would not,” she protested, although she was not certain. Their gazes locked and held for a moment, long enough to make her conviction fade.
“What is his name?” Quinn asked. There was a quiet precision in his tone that made Melissande shiver.
“Why?”
“Perhaps I am curious about the manner of man who captured your heart.”
Melissande opened her mouth to correct his assumption, then closed it again. Her heart had naught to do with this matter. It was her word alone that stood compromised, though perhaps there was no need for Quinn to know that.
“You wish to be forewarned.”
“Can you blame me?”
She could not. “I would have your pledge in exchange.”
Quinn folded his arms across his chest and Melissande noted the sign of his rising impatience. She realized also that he had not hurt her or raised a hand toward her, no matter how much she had pressed him.
Was it possible that he was not like his father?
Or did he simply bide his time? How she wished she knew!
“What vow?”
“Not to touch me again,” she said. “Our match is consummated. Both you and Tulley have what you desire. Now I would have what I desire.”
Quinn dropped his voice low. “You would have me never touch you as I did last night? You would not feel such pleasure ever again as we shared just hours ago?”
Melissande blushed. “Nay.”
Quinn placed that finger beneath her chin, then tipped her gaze up to hold his. His very touch sent a thrill through Melissande but she dared not let her gaze flicker. Some trace of her weakness must have shown in her expression, though, for suddenly Quinn smiled.
“You lie, my lady,” he whispered. He waited, giving her time to recognize that he spoke the truth, then bent to kiss her.
He was making a point and Melissande knew it.
She wanted to defy him to prove his assumption wrong.
But Quinn had anticipated her and as before, her body seemed to be on his side.
She wanted his kiss and once his lips touched hers, she was lost anew.
He was gentle, coaxing and tender. His kiss was beguiling and surrender was inevitable.
It was frightening to Melissande how little difference the wine had made in her response.
She wanted him again.
Such weakness could not be borne. She must eradicate it before it became worse.
Melissande broke their kiss with an effort and stepped away from temptation. “Nay!” When Quinn did not retreat but merely stood watching her, eyes ablaze with desire, the very look of him tempting her again, Melissande flushed at her own weakness.
She could only make him retreat with harsh words.
“You will not force me to your bed again,” she said with heat. “I will not become a slave to pleasure and forget all that I was raised to believe.”
“I have never forced a lady in all my days.”
“To be the first has no place of pride in this matter,” Melissande said. “Make no mistake, sir. You will not so weaken me again. You are forbidden to cross the threshold of my chamber from this day forth, whether we be wedded or not.”
There was a terse silence, but Melissande turned her back upon Quinn. She sat on a stool and donned her stockings, ensuring that he could not see her bare legs and wishing that she were not so aware of his watchful presence.
“We have need of a son, and there will be none this way,” he said, his voice taut.
“You cannot know that. The feat might be accomplished.”
“If not, you must invite me to your bed, my lady. To have no heir is a vulnerability that cannot be endured.”
Melissande closed her eyes against this appeal, for she saw the good sense in it. Perhaps in time, she could meet him abed without losing her wits. Perhaps it was the novelty of this union and its pleasures that disarmed her.
“Promise me,” she said instead and heard him growl beneath his breath.
He paced the width of the chamber, his frustration clear. She strove to ignore him and failed utterly.
“What is his name?” Quinn asked an eternity later.
“I do not have your vow.”
“I will touch you only when you desire as much,” he replied tersely.
Melissande turned to study him, surprised to have him concede this.
Quinn looked more grim than ever she had seen him.
Even in his chemise, he was evidently a warrior, and one who would undertake any risk for the sake of justice.
He looked powerful, formidable even, yet he surrendered to her request.
Perhaps Quinn was precisely as he appeared.
“I will have you pledge that you will not tempt my desire.”
“The pledge you have is the sole one I will grant, my lady,” he said and his eyes flashed anew. “We are wed. I vow to let you decide the timing of our unions and will pledge no more.”
Melissande dropped her gaze, knowing that she had won more than expected. It was not time to press for more.
“Now, tell me the name of the man who holds your heart captive forever.”
“Arnaud de Privas.” The name sounded hollow. Melissande tried to recall the face of the man to whom it belonged and could not.
It had been so long. In all honesty, giving her word was all she recalled of the matter.
And that glorious summer day. Her recollection of her father’s delight was more clear than any memory she had of Arnaud.
Had Arnaud truly wed Marie or had Tulley lied? She did not know, so did not share that detail with Quinn.
“Privas borders Annossy and Sayerne.”
“Aye.”
“How is it that I do not recall meeting its ruling family?”
“It has been impoverished longer than Sayerne. Since the death of Arnaud’s father, who was a great friend of my father.”
“And your betrothed?”
“Left to seek his fortune, much as you did.” She turned to watch him, curious about his reaction.
“Arnaud de Privas.” Quinn repeated the name once more under his breath, as though committing it to memory, then met her gaze. “I will keep my vow, but you will invite me to your chamber and soon, my lady.”
“I will not!”
“Aye, you will, for there is a passion between us that even you cannot deny, even though you clearly would like to.”
“I say not.”
Quinn smiled slowly and she rose to her feet, aware of him yet again.
He strolled closer, his gaze fixed upon her, his smile alluring, his confidence unassailable, then tugged his chemise over his head and cast it aside.
“You shall invite me now, my lady,” he murmured and Melissande’s heart fluttered.
He was magnificent.
And he was aroused.
By the sight of her, in her chemise and stockings, her hair tangled about her shoulders.
Melissande caught her breath, astonished yet again by Quinn’s effect upon her.
It was a lie to leave him believing that Arnaud held her heart, but if it kept him at a distance, she could not afford to tell him the truth.
The man had no lack of confidence in his own persuasive abilities—and his conviction was not without cause.
He reached her side and lifted her hair, letting his spill over his fingers. “You are glorious, my Melissande,” he murmured and her breath caught when he said her name. He kissed the hair on his hand, his gaze rising to hers again. “As splendid as a goddess.”
“I am not dressed,” she protested. “My hair is not braided...”
He bent and grazed her cheek with his lips, then kissed her ear.
She tingled at the brush of his whiskers and shivered at the heat emanating from him, thrilled by the power that he held in check.
He was a man, such as she had never imagined a man might be.
His breath fanned her throat and kindled her desire, and his hand rose to her nape again.
“Glorious,” he whispered then kissed her ear.
Her eyes closed in pleasure. When he grazed her earlobe with his teeth, Melissande heard herself moan with need.
“With wine or not, you rise to my touch, just as I rise to yours,” Quinn whispered into her ear and she felt the flick of his tongue.
His kisses brushed down her throat and she tipped her head, granting him access to whatever he desired of her.
“It is a fair promise for our shared future.”
Melissande tugged herself from his embrace and hastened backward. “Aye?” she asked, ensuring her tone was sharp. “Did you not realize that I only pretended to share your pleasure, husband? I thought it a fitting choice for a bride on her nuptial night.”
Quinn shook his head slowly. “You did not.”
“You do not know,” she said, then turned to choose a clean chemise. She kept her tone dismissive, though her heart was thundering. “It is done. And I have your vow.”
“It is not done, my lady,” Quinn said softly. “I will prove it to you, again and again, if necessary.” She saw his hand rise and guessed his intent, knowing he would be proven right if he did touch her.
“Is your word worth so little, then?” she asked. “Does the pledge you have granted me mean naught at all?”
Quinn dropped his hand. She turned to find him glaring at her. “We will journey to Annossy together, and should you not invite me to your chamber, I will slumber outside your door.”
“Like an obedient hound.”
“Like a husband who knows his rightful place.”
“You might find more comfort in the stables. Or at Sayerne.”
“Nay,” Quinn said with resolve. “You will not have the opportunity to forget about me, my lady.” He shook a finger at her. “And rest assured, the next time that I am between your thighs—and I will be soon—I will have been invited.”
“I do not share your confidence,” Melissande said, but her husband only smiled that maddening smile, the one that made her catch her breath and...remember.
Their gazes locked and held once more across the chamber, the heat rising between them with an ease that Melissande despised.
She wanted to look away but could not. She wanted to halt her own reaction, but she could not.
She was powerless when this man simply looked upon her—when he smiled—and that sent terror through her veins.
Quinn took a step closer, his intent clear, and Melissande fought her desire to flee. “Invite me now, my lady,” he murmured. “I will ensure that you begin your day most joyously.”
Melissande knew she would appear more resolute if she held her ground, but if Quinn touched her again...
He had no such chance, for someone rapped upon the door.
“I come for the linens,” Tulley declared from the other side.
Melissande seized a robe and donned it over her chemise, her heart pounding. Quinn tugged on his own chemise and turned to face the door. Was it coincidence that he ensured Melissande was shielded from view?
God in heaven, this man would keep her emotions all a-tangle if she did not find a way to keep him at a distance.
What was she to do?