The gloaming darkened into night and the world slowed to a peaceful state as the castle inhabitants retired to their beds and slept. All that is, except Draco d’Ensoleille. He had much on his mind and found it impossible to succumb to slumber.
In search of solace, Draco made his way to the stables. He found a lit torch at the entrance, which he borrowed to light his way to his stallion’s stall. He moved down the center aisle, the light from the torch throwing his tall, wide shadow against the walls behind him. The exaggerated size of the apparition drew a gasp of horror from a sleepy stable lad when he heard footsteps and roused himself to see who dared to invade his domain that time of the night. Before he could screech his terror, a large hand clamped over his mouth.
“Go back to sleep, lad. I am here to check on my steed, nothing more.” He proceeded past other stalls until he reached Inferno. His horse greeted him with a loud nickering as he thrust his muzzle through the slats of the gate.
“Good boy.” Draco rubbed his hand up and down the stallion’s forehead and along his satiny neck. His gentle handling of the horse earned him a nip, as Inferno demanded a treat. Chuckling at the stallion’s forwardness, he drew an apple from his pouch and offered it. The sweet treat was demolished in one chomp and Inferno demanded more.
“You greedy beast. Someone has spoiled you.”
He found a brush and stepped into the stall and began curry the horse with long, firm strokes. The sound Inferno made at the attention could have been taken for a groan of pleasure as he stood very still and accepted the attention as his due.
Draco found peacefulness in the simple act of grooming his stallion. In the solitude of the musty, dark building, he found that he could clear his head and affect a little soul-searching. But he soon found that it was not to be. His place of quiet solitude was invaded by one interruption after the other.
Even as he stood brushing out Inferno’s magnificent mane, Charles came looking for him. His heavy footsteps could be heard on the stone floor as he made his way down the aisle. When he finally came to a halt before the stall, he said nothing.
Draco glanced at his handsome cousin who stood watching him with a very somber expression on his face, saying very little for a very long while. Not wanting to encourage him to stay, Draco decided to ignore him. When he did finally speak, Draco barely controlled the urge to laugh outright. The man was truly morose in his statement.
“I have come to the conclusion that I owe you an apology, cousin. I realized that I have inadvertently been misleading you for some time now.”
“Oh? In what way have you misled me?”
“I boldly claimed at one time that everybody, even you, was capable of falling in love. But now I take back my words. As much as I care for you, cousin, and I would never do anything to cause you pain. After much thought, I have come to the conclusion that you are indeed incapable of such an emotion.”
Draco really should have been offended at Charles’ forthright cynicism. But it was hilarious to see the man who had thought he had it all figured out questioning his beliefs. He shook his head in perplexity.
Thinking on it for several long moments, Draco realized that he should not find his cousin’s dilemma a laughing matter. Had he not stated such was his belief many times over? His whole perspective of love and women was based on one disastrous affair that had left his pride in shreds and his heart bruised. Since that devastating experience, he determined to never put himself in such a vulnerable position again. He had buried what remained of his naiveté of his youth and named the gentle sensibility of so-called love what it really was—lust. He slaked his manly needs with willing women. In the near two decades since his engagement, the green youth that he had been had managed tolerably, cleaving to his rigid principles where women were concerned. From the moment he had first set eyes on the Beauty de Neige, his whole world had turned upside down. He could not help it. He wanted Bianca as he had never wanted anything else. Now he was faced with the task of explaining his turnabout to his cousin.
“Do not discard all your theories just yet, Charles.”
At Draco’s dry tone, Charles studied his cousin. Draco’s lips twisted in the semblance of a grin and the haunted look in his dark eyes had Charles gasping in shock. Then his expression brightened. He smiled smugly. “You have fallen in love with her.” It was a statement not a question.
Thrusting his hands through his hair in a show of frustration, Draco turned away, mumbling something unintelligible.
“What was that you said, cousin? Could you please repeat it?”
Draco turned to face his cousin and glared at him fiercely. “Yea. I love her. Damn it to hell.” He ground out the curse as he dropped his forehead on his arm stretched over Inferno’s back.
Charles laughed long and hard. “So, the great warrior, the famous Black Dragon of Normandy, had finally been taken down by a small bit of feminine fluff.” It took him several moments to collect himself. Draco emerged from the stall and collared him, sobering his humor. His laughter died but he grinned knowingly at his cousin.
“A bit of advice, my Lord Draco. When you tell the lady of your feelings, you should refrain from bellowing it at her. Women tend to be very sensitive about such things.”
With a disgusted snort Draco gave him a slight shove before turning to make sure the latch on the stall was closed. He then scooped up a small bucketful of grain and poured it into the feeding trough.
“Come, cousin, you know what I say is true.” The teasing tone had disappeared from his voice. “You do plan to ask for her hand in marriage, do you not?” The joking tone in his voice turned to a challenging one.
At the threatening look he received from his large, dark cousin, Charles threw up his hands in a conciliatory gesture and took a healthy step back. “I am relieved to find that you are as human as the rest of us, Draco. So why are you so bothered?” He watched as his cousin moved to a bench across the way and sat down heavily. Charles took a seat next to him, ignoring the ominous sound of creaking beneath their combined weight.
“I love her, Charles.”
“And that is the dilemma?”
“Yes,” he grumbled as he held his head in his hands.
“Well, I really see no problem with it, but I will warn you, cousin.” Charles waited for Draco to look up at him before he continued. “The new suitor who arrived at the castle this afternoon might prove to be a real problem. He is the kind of fanatic who, once he makes up his mind about what he wants, does not give up until he possesses it. Do you understand what I am telling you? I would suggest you tell the lady your intentions as soon as possible before she decides to look elsewhere thinking that you are a lost cause.”
“It is impossible, Charles. Telling her how I feel would be the worst thing I could do. She deserves better. She deserves a young, handsome man who would spoil her and coddle her to her heart’s content. She would be better off with someone else.”
“How can you say that? She could never find a better man, cousin.”
A snort of derision followed his words. “Do not be a fool, Charles. I am an old, cold-blooded, battle-scarred, sullen bastard.”
“Ha. Your scars are badges of your honor and loyalty to the realm. Being born on the wrong side of the blanket was no fault of yours. And it has nothing to do with who you are and if she has come to care for you despite all of that, then she shows good judgment and is worthy of your love. Furthermore, a cold-blooded man would be incapable of rescuing an orphaned chimney sweep with no future to speak of and giving him a chance at a decent life. As for sullen, well three out of four are not all that bad.”
A reluctant half-smile flickered across Draco’s face, and his mood began to brighten. He wanted to believe Charles’ words. He thought about Bianca’s response to his kisses and caresses and a spark of hope bloomed deep within his soul. Perhaps he did have a chance with her.
“I will think on what you say, Charles. But do not expect miracles. I still consider myself to be too old and too set in my ways to be taking on such a young maiden.”
“Never believe that, Draco. Well, my work is finished here. I have a beautiful maiden of my own awaiting me.” Charles rose to take his leave, but as he reached the door, he paused and turned, his face a mask of serious warning. “My intention for seeking you out was to warn you about your lady’s new suitor. I was not jesting. He arrived earlier today and if I were you, my friend, I would keep my eyes and ears open. He seems remarkably determined to gain the duke’s approval for a match between him and the beautiful Lady Bianca. My impression of the man is that he will not be easily dissuaded.”
An unholy light blazed in Draco’s eyes at his cousin’s words. “Have no fear. I am not about to let some young lordling keep me from my goal. It has been awhile since anyone defeated the Black Dragon.”
With an understanding nod, Charles turned and left Draco to his thoughts.
Though his spirits had been somewhat renewed, Draco was not sure how to proceed. He was not ready to confess his true feelings to his lady. With a sigh of frustration, he buried his face in his hands. But his moment of solitude was again interrupted.
The faint scent of jasmine assailed his nose and even without raising his head to look, he knew he was no longer alone. Slowly he raised his head, expecting to find the woman he had been obsessing about standing near him but to his disappointment and annoyance, he found the old gypsy woman, Veryalda, instead. He groaned his irritation. What the hell was going on? First Charles offering his words of advice and now this? It was as if they had joined forces to gang up on him for the same cause.
“What is the uncertainty, my boy?”
Draco could not remember anyone having called him boy since he was a youngster. It brought back old, forgotten memories of his childhood and his sweet, loving mother. They had been happy enough back then, but there had been moments of sadness also. He had vague memories of running to his mother’s room in the middle of the night after a bad dream to find her weeping piteously as she lay in the middle of her big, solitary bed. She had always welcomed him into her warm arms and they would lie in the darkness, her reassuring him that everything was fine.
He had never thought to ask about his father until he was a little older and his mother returned home after several months visit at court. It was when he had interrupted a heated argument between his mother and his uncle that he realized he was a bastard. Loud voices had drawn not only him, but also his younger cousin, Charles, from the mock battle they fought in the garden around to the terrace where his mother and Charles’ father sat. Until that day, he had not thought much about who his father was. As he had listened to the conversation, he realized that he did indeed have a father but one who did not want him or the new babe his mother found she was carrying.
The harsh words between the two siblings were hurtful and bitter. Draco’s uncle lashed out at his mother, admonishing her that her lover would never wed her. That her lover already had a wife and family and he was using her in a momentary self-gratifying affair while he was at court. It had spread through the aristocracy that the man had been using her and he cared not how it ended.
The memory of that day and his mother’s tear-ravaged face when she learned those truths was burned forever into his mind. His mother had slipped into a dream world of her own, refusing to accept the truth. Later when she gave birth to his younger brother, she had told him that his father would come some day and they would be a happy family. But when he was older and had asked her outright who his father was, she just shook her head and slipped back into her dream world where everything was serene and everyone lived happily ever after.
Then he had proceeded to fall in love with a young lady who had totally turned his world upside down and he knew then how his mother had felt. But he refused to let her later rejection turn him into the pale ghost his mother had become just before she died. The last time he visited her, she was on her deathbed, welcoming her departure from this world. She had been but eight and thirty but she looked much older. She had begged him to take care of his younger brother, Cynric. That was when his brother had only been fifteen and Draco was already a seasoned warrior who had seen years of bloody battles. He gave her his word as he held her small, fragile hand and she had taken her last breath and passed over into a more peaceful place, taking with her the identity of his father.
It was those things that came to mind as he looked into the face of the old gypsy, lost for a few moments in her haunting eyes. He shook his head and wondered why his mind had wandered so far from his present predicament.
“What do you want, old woman?” His words came out soft, but there was a definite ring of steel to them that could not be missed.
“I heard rumors of a certain knight and lady who have come to an impasse and might have need of the services of a clairvoyant to give them some guidance. But it is apparent that you are uneasy in your thoughts and mood and that now might not be the time to offer them. What could be the matter, hmm?”
Draco stared unbelievingly at the old woman. She stood resolutely before him, cloaked in her hooded black velvet mantle like a ghostly apparition. When he had first met Veryalda, he had thought that she was old beyond time. But here in the dimly lit stables, she seemed to have an ageless air about her. He peered closer and decided that there was something familiar about her. She was old and wrinkled, but it was her violet eyes, which gazed at him with warmth and life, that held his attention. She reminded him of someone, but he could not think of who, so he let the notion pass. He was not in the mood for a midnight visit from yet another person wanting to give him advice on something that was none of her business. His curt words were designed to put her off and get rid of her.
“I came out here for solitude.”
“Yea, I know. But it is not in your best interest that you be alone.”
“Then let me reiterate, I need no advice and certainly no company. Good night, madam.” But the old gypsy ignored his rudeness.
“Ah, now I understand. You think an old woman such as myself, knows nothing of love.” She laughed mirthlessly as she walked over to feed Inferno an apple that she pulled from her pocket. “You remind me of your master, my handsome brute,” she crooned to him, her voice just loud enough for Draco to hear.
“A horse, am I?” Draco sat back and watched the gypsy woman through narrowed eyes, his arms crossed over his massive chest.
“Yea, that you are, my boy. A brutish beast to be approached carefully, fearfully, but give him the love and attention that he craves, and he can be gentled to the right touch.”
“So like my horse, I but need a gentle touch?”
“You have it now, my boy.”
“What are you doing here, Veryalda?”
She turned to face him, an enigmatic smile taking years from her face. “Would you rather that I leave you to stew in your own self-doubts, my boy?”
“And if I do?”
“That is unfortunate. I have come to offer my counsel, and being the chivalrous knight that you are, you will not kick me out the door without hearing me out.”
With a resigned sigh, Draco conceded to her wishes. “Very well, Veryalda. But I am an impatient man, say what you would but be quick about it.”
As he watched, Veryalda’s smiling animation suddenly stilled and a composed, calmness pervaded her face. She lifted her head and stared into the empty space over his shoulder and he turned his head to see who else had entered the stable. There was no one there. He glanced at the old gypsy. In a low monotone voice she proclaimed, “You need to go to her, now.” Something in her voice made Draco tense.
“What is it, Veryalda? What do you know?” He was beside the old woman in a flash. Consternation marred his forehead as he awaited her wisdom.
“You waste time asking questions, my lord. Go to Bianca. Go now!”
* * * * *
She leaned against her bolted door and sighed with relief. She had retired early from the whirl of dancing and socializing taking place in the ballroom. For the first time in hours, she was able to relax and gather her thoughts and emotions. It had been a trying evening what with the newest suitor plying for attention, along with the dozens who had been hounding her for the last few weeks.
The Viscount of Merridew had arrived in time for the evening meal and without Draco at her side, she had felt unprotected and exposed. Bianca saw a reprieve when Cynric appeared and she cut a swath across the ballroom to ask him where his brother was. Unfortunately, within moments of her arrival at his side, he had started sneezing uncontrollably. As soon as a whiff of her exotic perfume invaded his sensitive nostrils, he backed away from her, apologizing for his weakness. He had been no help at all. All she was able to make out from the occasional word that he was able to get out was that for some reason his brother would not be making an appearance at dinner. That much was already apparent.
It seemed that the mighty Black Dragon would hide in his lair rather than face the truth of what existed between them. Did he not realize that it was only a matter of time before the spark of passion that flared between them would blaze into a fire so hot it could not be ignored?
Bianca had just made up her mind to retire to her chambers when her stepmother cornered her with the latest of her suitors on her arm. She had been avoiding the young nobleman and hoping to find him placed some distance from her at the dinner table, but her stepmother had other thoughts on the matter.
Christian Hamlin, Viscount of Merridew was an Englishman, the most cocksure horse’s arse Bianca had ever had the misfortune to meet in her entire life. It was possible that he was even more pompous and thicker-skinned than the Spanish duke had been. Not only was he greatly condescending to everyone he came in contact with, but he made it clear from the moment he entered her home, that he would accept her for his wife-to-be only because she was a wealthy heiress. He had been heard to comment to his valet that he only suffered being in the “bloody provincial countryside” because he needed to marry well and the Lady Bianca de Neige was the best candidate he could find. She had a title as well as the wealth to satisfy his greed.
Through her large network of spies, Bianca had gained the information about the new arrival before she had descended to dinner that evening. And if she had been given the choice, she would not have bothered with the man. But the choice had been taken from her. Heloise had issued a special invitation to the Viscount to dine at the head table, to be Bianca’s dinner partner. Thus, she was truly trapped in her obligation.
Dinner started well enough with introductions to the new arrivals followed by polite chatter from the company around the table. The first sign that she might be in trouble was when Bianca felt a hand on her thigh. She had been about to scoop a mouthful of tender venison into her mouth when shock froze her movements. She turned her head and found the viscount looking at her with a gleam in his beady, weasel eyes.
“Remove your hand this instant, my lord,” she whispered fiercely. His thin lips formed into a sly smile, telling her plainly that he did not take her protest seriously. The English weasel had the audacity to move his hand higher and squeeze her thigh suggestively. Her fierce look should have warned him, but he was so sure of himself that he ignored her rejection.
“I would have us become better acquainted, my sweet.” He bowed his head toward her, boldly placing his mouth on her neck as he murmured against her soft skin. “What say you, we rendezvous in your bedchambers for a little slap and tickle later?”
It took Bianca only an instant to extract herself from the man’s clutches as she gave him a shove that nearly toppled his chair backward. He yipped in alarm and caught hold of the table edge, saving himself from disaster. “Damn it, lady! What the bloody hell has gotten into you?” He glared at her, his face twisted in anger.
“You and your lack of manners, my lord, are more than I am willing to tolerate. You are overly bold with your hands and insulting in your innuendoes. If a simple ‘no’ does not suffice, then I will use any means I have to make myself understood.” They glared at each other for several moments until Heloise, who sat next to Bianca, broke in, demanding her attention with a sharp pinch on her arm.
“Ouch!” Bianca turned and glared at her stepmother as she rubbed her reddening skin.
“You are not being very cordial, Bianca,” she whispered in Bianca’s ear. “Your father bade me tell you that he wants you to consider the Viscount as a possible match. The duke is very impressed with his lordship.”
“If my father wishes me to consider the viscount, he should have the courtesy to tell me so himself. If I choose not to accept this Englishman as a suitor, he will honor my decision. The viscount is naught but an ill-mannered, contemptuous boor.” The haughty tone of voice she used with her stepmother only succeeded in making that lady furious and she took her revenge the only way she knew would have any effect on the little chit.
“You know your father is not feeling well this evening. Perhaps you should learn to keep a civil tongue in your mouth, at least for the evening, and try to be an obedient and dutiful daughter. You will refrain from causing your father any more pain and heartache than you already have, Bianca. The duke is not getting any younger and it would be a shame if he had to spend his twilight years knowing that his daughter defied his every wish. I swear, Bianca, you give him more grief than his old body can handle.”
Heloise’s caustic remark hit home. Guilt swept through Bianca and she was momentarily speechless. She had never before thought that the small bouts of illness that her father suffered of late were due to her. Did he find her so troublesome that he needed to take to his bed just to overcome heartache? She had noticed that he had these episodes of ill health more frequently in the past few weeks.
With her mind laden down with guilt and worry for her father, Bianca barely noticed the viscount, who had decided to behave himself during the rest of the meal. When the tables were cleared away and the dancing began for the rest of the evening’s entertainment, Bianca excused herself early with the excuse of feeling unwell and fled to her chambers where she found solace in her own company.
As soon as her maid helped her out of her gown and into her nightgown she gave Leia the night off to spend as she wished. She did not want her hovering over her like a mother hen.
She glanced at her writing table but found that she had lost her inspiration for writing for the time being. Instead, she sat down at her dressing table and spent long moments brushing out her long, black, silky mane of hair before plaiting it into a thick braid.
Her pensive mood turned quickly to melancholy as her thoughts flew to what her stepmother had said about her father. He had seemed to age greatly in the last few months. This sad fact worried her. He had always been an active man, maybe not as lively as he had been as a young man, but for his age, he was in excellent condition, or so she thought. Tomorrow she would seek out Galen and ask him if there was something that could be done for her father. Maybe he had a potion that would help.
When she finally climbed into her bed, Bianca feared sleep would elude her with her head filled with so many worries. But she was more tired than she had first thought. As her mind conjured up a vision of Draco’s ruggedly handsome face, she drifted off within a short time to dream of her great Black Dragon.
* * * * *
“Awaken, my beauty, your dream lover is here to make your body sing with passion until the first rays of dawn. Awaken from your slumbers, my beauty, let me show you what it is like to be a real woman.” The words of seduction, spoken softly against her ear, slowly broke through the thick haze of sleep that surrounded her. The hushed resonance of the whispering voice filled the darkened room, bringing her fully awake. It took a moment to comprehend that she was not dreaming. Confused about what was happening, she opened her eyes and nearly screamed at the dark, shadowy figure that hovered over the side of her bed.
“I will caress every inch of your petal-soft skin. I will taste the nectar of your ripe full lips and lower.” Bianca could not believe that Draco had finally come to her and from his seductive whispered words he was ready to admit that he wanted her as much as she wanted him. Here and now. Her heart jumped with joy and a smile formed on her lips. She had fallen asleep dreaming of this moment and now her dream was coming true.
She raised her hand and with trembling fingertips she caressed his face, which was hidden in the shadows. After running her fingers across his smooth cheek, she paused.
“My lord?” In her mind’s eye, she pictured Draco’s whisker-roughened cheeks and the scar that marked his cheek and moved her fingertips up and down, finding it smooth and unmarked. Even as her brain began to process the information, she snatched back her hand and shrank back into her pillows. What was going on here? As the last fog of sleep swept from her mind, she realized that Draco would never spout such flowery words to her. In truth, whoever stood next to her bed sounded like one of the wandering minstrels who came to the castle to fill her ears with their outrageous flattery.
Then a horrible thought came to her that she was indeed dreaming and her dream had turned into a nightmare in which her dream lover had changed into a dark, shadowy demon. Yes, this was only one of her dark dreams. She closed her eyes tight for several moments and commanded herself to wake up. But when she opened her eyes, the shadow was still there.
“Draco?”
“No, my sleeping beauty. I have no wish to hear that bastard’s name upon your luscious lips. It is my own name that you must learn to say.” The whisper was muffled and she strained to understand his words. Uneasiness began to fray away the edges of her sleep-fogged mind and Bianca realized that she was indeed wide-awake.
There was an intruder in her bedchamber! A man and he was not Draco as she first thought. Grasping the edge of her coverings, she eased them up to her chin and took a deep breath, readying herself to scream for Jabulani. But then reality flooded in and she remembered that her giant protector had vanished earlier in the day and she was without a guardian. Terror filled her mind and then comprehension that she was quite alone in her bedchamber with a strange man trying to crawl in bed with her.
“Say my name, my beauty. Say, Christian.”
“Merridew.”
The low rumble like distant thunder came from the vicinity of the doorway of her chamber. There was no mistaking Lord Draco’s fury as he drawled out the name. Then a spark flared, giving light to the darkened room.
When the Englishman saw the huge, scarred warrior, standing in the open doorway holding a candelabrum, he swallowed noisily and opened his mouth to try to explain his presence in the lady’s chambers. But at the implacable expression on the face of the infamous Black Dragon, he perceived that he had made a grave error in coming there. A hard knot of real fear twisted his gut and he was terrified that he would not make it out of this room alive. When he had been presented with the notion of compromising the notorious beauty, he had not been expecting to have to slay a dragon to reach his prize.
“I have not touched her.” He defended himself as he eased off the bed. He slowly rose to his full height, trying to appear tall as he faced this giant. His usual haughtiness was the only weapon he had at his disposal so he used it shamelessly. “I was here at the lady’s request. We made this assignation earlier this evening. Now it seems that the lady has changed her mind,” he lied as he tried to bluff his way out of his present predicament.
“Is that so?” Draco pushed away from the doorframe where his powerful body had been at rest in a pose that was deceptively unthreatening. “Did he touch you, Bianca?” His eyes never strayed from his prey as he stalked ever closer to the visibly sweating Englishman.
“No, Draco,” Bianca replied, and then she hesitated as she tried to recall any familiarity on the viscount’s part. “I…I do not think so, but I do not recall. I awoke with him hovering over me, whispering in my ear.” Her voice trailed off as her mind turned introspective. She suddenly envisioned what the viscount could have done to her had she not awoken or if Draco had not come to her rescue, for the second time in one day.
But the viscount was not finished with his effort to throw up a smoke screen to hide behind. “It has occurred to me that it is inappropriate for you to come to the lady’s chambers at this time of the night. What are you doing here? Perhaps the lady and I had no wish to be interrupted.”
A loud bark of laughter that careened around the room like a clap of thunder followed his words, as Draco moved within inches of the viscount, his eyes snapping with fury. “If the lady did indeed invite you for a lover’s tryst, why is it that you entered her bedchambers through the window?” It was then that Draco noticed the scratches and scrapes on the man’s face. “It must have been an uncomfortable climb. Did you fall into the rose briars?”
Guiltily, Christian’s gazed dropped to the bloody scratches on his forearm. In that moment of inattention, the dragon lord moved uncomfortably close and he found himself staring up into Lord Draco’s dark, sinister eyes.
“You have no idea of how close you are to never seeing another day, Merridew. Only Bianca’s presence saves you from that end,” Draco ground out between his tightly clenched teeth. Without giving the viscount a moment to ponder his menacing words, he let fly his huge fist slamming it into the Englishman’s jaw. It was the last thing he saw before his world went black. Draco dragged his limp body to the door and tossed it out into the corridor.
“Take the viscount to his chambers, Jacque. And see that he stays there.” The young guard stood staring at the unconscious nobleman on the floor, and then up at Lord Draco, an appalled expression on his face.
“Yes, my lord. I will guard the door myself.”
A stiff nod was all he gave the guard before turning and walking back into the room. He was certain that after tonight’s events, Bianca would not have to worry about Christian Hamlin, Viscount of Merridew.
Bianca climbed from her bed and began to look for her shawl when Draco stepped back into her chambers and turned to close the door on the offending nobleman.
“I am sorry, Bianca.” His words were muffled as his face was toward the door, his head bowed slightly as his forehead rested upon the cool solid wood.
“What do you have to be sorry for, my lord? If it had not been for you, God only knows what would have happened here.” She could not believe this brave knight would feel guilt over what the viscount had attempted to do.
Bianca moved to stand behind him and tentatively placed her hand on his massive shoulder. She felt him quiver at her touch and it encouraged her to be bolder. With hands splayed wide, she moved them down over the hard, bulging muscle that formed his back, tracing the indentation of his spine down to the hollow above his firm buttocks. A groan of need escaped his throat as she hesitated in her exploration. He raised his head, swallowing hard.
“If I had not discovered him climbing the vines to your window, you could have been…he would have….” He could not even speak the unthinkable things that he pictured in his mind and he yearned to drag the door open and skewer that bastard with his blade as he lay unconscious in the corridor. But Bianca’s soft hands moving over his body filled his mind with other imaginings. He fought the urge to turn around and sweep Bianca up into his arms to carry her to that bed and slake his burning desire with her soft white body until he was mindless. But would that not make him just as vile as the creature he had just beaten and tossed out into the corridor?
“Would you not look at me, my lord?” she entreated.
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because if I do, I could not stop myself from touching you, kissing you.” His raw honesty sent shivers of delight rippling through her body, and she gasped her surprise. The knowledge that he wanted her made her bold.
“Touch me, Draco.” Softly spoken, her words tore at him and Draco nearly succumbed to her sweet temptation.
“I must go, Bianca, before you find yourself well compromised, there, on your own bed. We would both regret it if that happened.”
He gave her no time to argue the point. Before she could stop him, he had opened the door and slipped out. As he pulled the door closed behind him she asked, “What of the viscount, he might come back.”
“Worry not, fair lady. I have men standing guard over him and I will be outside your door to see to your safety personally.”
The door closed in her face with finality, and Bianca cursed her ill fortune. The man was not cooperating with her seduction. What was she going to do?