Beatrice closed her eyes, still dizzied by the kisses, by Sebastian’s soft touch and softer pleas. How could she say him nay, when the ache of desire was greater than the ache of his too-rough lovemaking? She could not even remain angry with him.
“I do wish it,” she said, opening her eyes and lowering her head to kiss him.
His arms tightened around her and he kissed her as if he might consume her whole. Against her belly she could feel him hardening, telling her that the kisses and touches affected him as they did her. Half-drowning in the ardor of his kiss and the rising flood of heat it generated, she waited for him to grasp her and roll so that she lay beneath him once more. As much as she dreaded the renewal of pain, as much as she knew it was too soon to accept him again, she would still yield to him, partly because she owed him obedience and partly because the pleasure he had found in her body had soothed a good portion of the hurt Thomas had done. Despite all Thomas’s claims to the contrary, she was desirable.
But Sebastian did not roll. He reached beneath her shift to stroke the backs of her thighs, her buttocks, her hips, his hands moving restlessly as if he could not touch her enough. His mouth traveled, trailing kisses, to her throat. As if it bathed her, she could feel his hunger for her; the flood of his desire broke through the gates of her own. She shuddered and gasped, unable to breathe, sinking beneath the surging heat he roused and drowning in it.
Now he turned, rolling her onto her back, but he did not cover her. He lay beside her, half-raised on one elbow, and his eyes glittered in the candlelight as he reached out and brushed the tips of her breasts with his palms. Lightning forked into the depths of her belly and she gasped in surprised pleasure, a great wave of dizzy delight swamping her. She had never felt like this, never. With Thomas there had been disgust and fear of the cruelty his failures engendered; with George there had been fear of discovery and consciousness of sin.
Sebastian leaned over her and put his mouth where his palm had been, caressing her through the linen of her nightshift. She arched toward him, struck again and again by lightning.
“I promised you pleasure, Bea. I will not hurt you again,” Sebastian murmured, his voice soft as a caress.
“If you...You will hurt me if...if we...”
“I know. So we will not do that. Let me touch you, let me find what pleases you. I promise I will not hurt you.”
No man had ever said he wished to find what pleased her. George had been certain he knew what gave her delight and though he had been wrong, she had not dared tell him. Thomas had not cared in the least what she felt.
She opened her eyes and looked at him. “Do as you will.”
He took her hand and, watching her with eyes alight with heat, he traced the crease across her palm with the tip of his tongue. She shivered.
“No. I shall do as pleases my lady.” He bent to her.
With his hands and his mouth, with delight and fierce concentration, he set about discovering the touches and caresses that gave her pleasure, that made her gasp and writhe and speak his name like a plea. She tried to be still and silent, but again and again she lost command of herself, crying out, arching into his touch, into the pleasure he gave her.
She was sensitive in places she had never imagined. His fingertips brushing the swell of her breast along her ribs made her gasp; his mouth behind her knees made her head swim. She was limp with delight and tense with it; her flesh felt like a bowstring slowly growing more taut. Heat and drugging pleasure bereft her of her wits; the whole world had become Sebastian’s hands, mouth, the blue flame of his eyes burning into hers as the bowstring pulled tighter, tighter.
The tension made her sob, “Please, please,” but she did not know what she asked for. Drawing her close, Sebastian touched her, stroked her in the most intimate of places, his mouth on her neck, his arm supporting her. He touched her again, a sliding caress, and the bowstring snapped and she snapped with it, shattering into white-hot fragments. She hung suspended in delight for an endless moment before sinking, bright as a falling star, into Sebastian’s arms. His mouth on her hair, he held her trembling body close, trembling himself.
“Oh, Sebastian,” she murmured. Where she had been tense, she was now heavy with relaxation, her body at peace. So that is what release is. It was an apt name; she understood as never before why men worked so hard to get women into their beds. She too might say anything, do anything to find this overwhelming pleasure. “I did not know.”
“I cannot believe you have not known pleasure,” he said gently.
In her lethargy, she spoke the truth. “I have known pleasure. That was...”
“That was what?” he asked.
“I do not have words.”
His arms tightened. Lying so close to him, she could not mistake that he had not been satisfied; he was hard against her hip. She turned her head to look at him. “What of you?” she whispered. Should she touch him, caress him as he had her? She did not think she could give him such pleasure, but she might yet ease him.
“I am well enough.”
“You are—”
He put his finger over her lips, silencing her. “I stayed longer than I intended and I must go soon. All I want is to hold you.”
She nestled closer, puzzled by his abstinence but willing to believe that he did as he pleased. Surely he must know he could do with her as he chose. And it was sweet to lie in his arms, his skin soft under hers, his heart thumping steadily under her ear. Slowly, imperceptibly, like the tide moving in, she grew drowsy, lulled by the warmth of his body and the profound relaxation of hers. She was almost asleep when Sebastian shifted, easing her onto the mattress without him. It awakened her.
“Where...?”
“It is nearly light. I must go.” He bent down and kissed her, a kiss he could not seem to end. Her body responded, heat glimmering in her depths, as if knowing the delight that was possible made her easier to arouse. “Will you let me come again tonight?”
“Tonight?” she asked, puzzled. Was it not night now?
He smiled, the old, alluring, crooked grin. The heat in her depths expanded, washing over her. She wanted him so much that it took all her strength not to pull him to her.
“It is morning, sweeting. We have burned through the night.”
Only the remnants of pride kept her from pleading with him to remain. “I will be waiting for you.”
His eyes darkened. “I will be hard-pressed to wait until then. If you do not see much of me today, that is why.”
“That will be as well for me,” she said. “Go, before I beg you to stay.”
His breath caught, his nostrils flaring. He bent and kissed her hard, bruising her mouth. “Do not tempt me.”
“Go,” she said, “and do not tempt me.”
A hand shook her, jostling her. “My lady, arise.”
Beatrice buried her head more deeply into her pillows, groaning. She ached all over, but there was pleasure in the ache; she wanted to stay in this bed where she had known such happiness and sleep until Sebastian came to her again.
“My lady, it is well past dawn. You must arise.” Nan’s voice was sharp.
Beatrice rolled over, flinging her arms wide across the mattress. Her hair was in a tangle all around her, her shift bunched up at the top of her thighs. No doubt she looked as wanton as she felt but for the first time in years she did not care.
“My lady, your courses,” Nan said.
At that Beatrice opened her eyes. Nan was staring at the sheet near her hip. Following her gaze, Beatrice found a reddish brown stain half the size of her palm beside her on the sheet. She gaped at it. Where had that come from?
Sebastian, groaning as he found his release. Burning pain overwhelming the first kindling of her desire. The stain was the remnant of her maidenhead, the proof that she had lain with Sebastian last night. Why had she not thought of this? Fool!
“It is not my courses,” she said and wished she had held her tongue. If it was not her courses, what could she tell Nan it was?
“Then what has befallen you?”
“I am well, Nan. Nothing has befallen me.”
“But, my lady—”
She sat up so that she looked down on her maid instead of up at her. “Do you dispute with me?”
Nan’s eyes lowered. “No, my lady.”
“You must not speak of this, Nan. I am unharmed, I promise you.”
Nan looked up, her eyes shrewd. “You are my lady, I shall not betray you. And if you are well, it is my joy. Shall I have the linens changed? You will not like to sleep in them.”
“That would please me.” She swung her legs to the side of the bed. “Dress me in blue again, Nan.” Dress me in the colors Sebastian prefers.
“Aye, my lady.”
She drifted into a haze of memory as Nan dressed her, recollecting Sebastian’s touches and whispers, the things they had said and done in the night. Her heart wanted to lift, rising on a tide of excitement and yet doubt kept it moored as if ready for grief. She sighed. When the trees began to leaf out in spring, did she not take joy in their new greenness, forgetting by choice the cold gray days that April also bred? Why should she not do the same with the green newness of her heart while it lasted? It would end soon enough, destroyed by disillusionment or Sebastian’s weariness of her, or something else she could not yet imagine. Happiness did not last any more than spring did. Why not take pleasure in it while she could?
And what else could she do, when the desire to be with him drew her towards him as if they were bound by an invisible rope. Descending from her chamber to the hall, she wrestled with herself, her sense of duty pitted against the pull of that rope. If she were a good, dutiful daughter, she would return to the solar and the altar cloth her mother wished to finish. Yet when she stepped into the hall and found color from the windows splashed across the flagstones as it had spilled over Sebastian a fortnight ago, she knew with abrupt certainty that she could not immure herself in the solar. She turned on her heel and began her search for Sebastian.
He was not in the chapel, nor was he in the garden or the old tower. Outside the tower door, enveloped in a cloud of fragrance from the herb beds, she paused. Was she a fool to pursue him? She looked up at the castle, at the solar windows high above the garden. If she had a particle of sense she would go up there right now and cease this folly.
She resumed her search.
She found him with her brother John in the dusty yard near the stable, both men dressed in no more than shirt and hose as they faced each other over crossed swords. For a moment, no longer than a heartbeat, she thought they dueled in earnest, but the mocking twist to Sebastian’s mouth and the gleaming pleasure in John’s eyes reassured her. This was a game, no more, the kind of game they had played as boys. She crept to the edge of the crowd of grooms and ushers that had gathered on the edges of the yard and watched.
Sweat dampened Sebastian’s shirt. It clung, nearly transparent, to his broad shoulders and strong back. The sight made Beatrice’s nerves hum. She wanted to grip those shoulders and stroke that back, letting her fingertips follow the line of every muscle that bunched and lengthened under the veil of his shirt. She had thought she had felt desire before, but it had not been like this. Nothing in her life had been like this.
Sebastian was no true match for her brother—even with her small knowledge of swordsmanship, she could tell that. Again and again, John stopped the bout to show Sebastian a shrewder stroke, a stouter defense, a piece of clever footwork, resuming the duel when Sebastian had learned what he had to teach.
“Halt!” John cried suddenly. He grinned and nodded toward Beatrice. “Your bride awaits yonder.”
Sebastian turned. He did not smile at her, but the heat in his eyes dried her mouth.
“Good morrow,” he said softly.
“Good morrow,” she replied, and wondered how she could speak.
The grooms and ushers nearest her drew back, staring. Sebastian handed his sword to John and crossed the yard to her side.
“I thought we agreed we should stay away from one another,” he said in a low voice, pitched for her ears alone.
Her face burned. He was displeased. Oh, why had she come? “I-I could not stay away.”
His gaze dropped to her mouth. “You madden me,” he said, his voice rough and something tense in the center of her back relaxed.
“Shall I leave?”
Do not make me go, I pray you.
“No, stay and watch. Walk with me afterwards.” He looked away, glancing around the yard. “There. Go sit on the mounting block. I want to finish this.”
Obediently she crossed the yard to the heavy stone block nearest the stables. The grooms and ushers eased away from her as if afraid to touch her, some of the very young men in their midst staring at her pop-eyed. Surely they had seen her before? Perhaps not so closely, but did it make a difference? It had been a long time since anyone stared.
She settled herself on the block and arranged her skirts so they gathered the least amount of dust and grime on the hems. Sebastian reclaimed his sword and he and John began to work anew, blades clanging as they met. John was holding back, containing himself and his skill. It showed in the opportunities he did not take, the openings he ignored; it was plainly visible in his checked jabs, feints and swings.
If Sebastian noticed it, as well, she could not tell. His concentration was complete, so narrowed on John and their swordplay that she might well have been in the solar with her mother. Each time John broke their play to show him yet another attack or defense, he listened and watched intently, aping John as if his life depended on it. As perhaps someday it might. She shivered and crossed herself against the unchancy thought.
As she crossed herself, they resumed once more. The strain of fighting, of attacking and defending was beginning to wear on Sebastian. His shirt was soaked, his face dripping sweat. Even John’s hair had grown damp enough to wave. How much longer could they go on? When did they reach the point where no good could come of more?
As if he had heard her thought, John flung off his restraints and began to attack Sebastian with skill and daring. Beatrice, even in her ignorance, could tell that John’s work was far beyond Sebastian’s capabilities, far beyond those of anyone she knew. Sebastian knew it too; even as he tried in vain to defend himself against clever strokes, delivered with lightning speed, his eyes widened in admiration. Backing away from John, he flung up his sword in a gesture of surrender. John ceased his attack and put up his own sword, grinning devilishly.
“Where did you learn to do that?” Sebastian cried.
Since the match was clearly finished, Beatrice rose and moved toward them.
“In Paris and in Rome,” John replied. He crossed to the scabbards leaning against the wall and sheathed his sword. “It fed me.”
“You offered your sword for hire?” Sebastian said. His tone was odd, as if he was torn between admiration and displeasure.
“I did not care to starve,” John said, and handed Sebastian the other scabbard.
Sebastian shook his head. “How could you leave Wednesfield?”
“At the time, it was easy enough to do.” John wiped his forehead with his sleeve. “And that is all I will say.” He turned to smile at Beatrice. “Let us go into the garden, where the smells are sweeter.”
Beatrice glanced at Sebastian. He stared at her as if he could see through all her garments to her naked skin, his face tight. Desire crashed over her, the strongest wave she had felt this morning. How was she going to survive until they married if this is how she felt after one night of love play? And if she gave herself up to him now, would he not tire of her all the sooner? He had said he wanted harmony and she had claimed the same, but now she feared she would want more.
“Or perhaps you would liefer walk in the garden with only Sebastian for company,” John said softly. “I can as easily find my wife and see how she fares.”
Sebastian looked at John. “I am sure she would be glad of your company.”
I am not, hung in the air, unspoken.
John grinned as if Sebastian amused him. “Let me take your sword within. Shall we meet again in the morning?”
“I should like that,” Sebastian replied. He handed his sword to John, picked up his doublet from the ground and turned to Beatrice. “Come.”
They did not touch as they walked toward the garden, yet it felt as if he caressed her, held her; the distance between them crackled with awareness. She absorbed the smell of his clean sweat and the other indefinable scent that was his alone. It had filled her nostrils last night when he touched her; catching it now reminded her with aching vividness of all they had done together. The fine linen of his shirt still clung to his skin, no concealment for the strong muscles of his arms and back. He moved gracefully, sinews and muscles well-knit and balanced, his walk as pleasing as a dance.
The garden was empty when they entered it. Beatrice did not know whether to be pleased or dismayed. The emptiness tempted her to do things she ought to leave until nightfall.
“You wore blue again,” Sebastian said and took her hand.
His skin was a little rough, brushing against hers. “I wished to please you.”
“You do.”
At that she turned to look up at him. His mouth was tight as if he fought pain. “Sebastian,” she whispered, offering comfort, responding to the desire in his eyes, speaking blindly in lieu of a touch. She did not know which she did.
“Bea, this is madness.”
“I know.” She ought to apologize for her disobedience but she could not find the words, not when he looked at her like that.
He tugged on her hand and drew her closer. Her heart cried, Danger! and her flesh cried, Yes! Encouraged by his eyes and the way he pulled her nearer, she reached up, thrust her hand into the damp hair at the nape of his neck and pulled his head down to kiss him with all the hunger she felt. He responded instantly, mouth opening to hers, arms crushing her close against the strong, lovely length of him.
Her mouth bruised, her heart hammered, hot tension built in the depths of her belly. He was hard against her, his arms were hard around her, she wanted to crawl under his skin and never come up to the light of day.
He put her away from him, his mouth leaving her bereft.
“No, Bea, no more.”
Shame cascaded through her. She had been wrong, she had misunderstood him.
As if he could hear her thought, Sebastian shook his head. “Do not look like that.” He laughed uncertainly. “It is not your fault. It is mine.” Color seeped into his face. “I cannot contain myself.”
“We said we would not meet until tonight,” she whispered. “And we were wise. But I could not stay away.”
He brushed the back of his knuckles against her cheek, the caress she was coming to love. “If you had not come to me, I would have come to you.”
Only by force of her will did she keep herself from yearning into him. Taking a deep breath, she stepped away from him, out of the worst of the peril. She could not make herself leave him altogether.
“Then if we are to be together, we must be careful,” she said. “I do not want to shame myself.”
“Nor I,” he said, sighing. “Very well. I will keep an arm’s length away.”
She walked a few steps away from him along the nearest path, listening for his footsteps behind her. When the sound did not come, she turned. He was where she had left him, frowning at the garden.
“What is it?” she asked.
He shook his head. “I do not wish to walk here.” He looked at her, the frown clearing. “Come with me to the pool.”
She looked at him doubtfully, aware that far from spying eyes they were more likely to behave as they ought not. Her skin prickled with heat on that thought and a little demon whispered, Is that not the very reason to go?
“Yes,” she said.
Together they left the castle, passing under the arch the gatehouse into the wide world. Though the pool had been their favored meeting place when they were younger, she had never gone there in Sebastian’s company. The constraints of her girlhood rose up, whispering that it was unseemly for her to leave the castle without escort. She silenced the voice with the reminder that she was no longer an unmarried maid who must be strictly careful of her honor. In the world’s eyes, she was a widow, a woman with a certain amount of freedom. More to the point, she walked in the company of a man who was for all intents and purposes her husband.
At the pool, he spread his doublet on the ground for her to sit on. When she was settled, he stretched out on the turf beside her, head pillowed on his hands, long legs crossed at the ankle. She was surprised that he did not touch her and her surprise told her that she had imagined, in some hidden place in her heart, that he would seduce her as soon as they arrived. She had not expected that he would take her remark about needing to be careful so much to heart that he obeyed its dictum here, where no one could see what they did.
Still, despite the uneasy hunger of her flesh, she was glad he had not tried to lie with her here. She had warned him that she would not be tupped in a meadow like a goosegirl and she had meant it. Perhaps the vow also stayed Sebastian. Whatever the source of his restraint she could not fight it, not when it gave her the safety she had asked for. Let her enjoy this peaceful time with him as best she could.
She moved closer to the tree until her back pressed against the trunk, wriggling until she found a comfortable seat amid the roots. Sebastian, his eyes closed and his chest rising and failing in slow deep breaths, did not stir beside her. She leaned her head back and closed her eyes.
With sight closed off, her other senses came alive. Below her, the river whispered against the shore, the sound cool and silky. Above, birds sang and shouted, a riot of noise against the barely audible rustle of leaves. The breeze brushed against her face, sweet with the green smell of the river. Her breathing slowed and her heart calmed; she remembered the peace she had found a fortnight ago. It was back, grown a hundred-fold, not least because of the man drowsing beside her.
How could this be? Did she dream? Or had the long painful years with Thomas been the dream? It did not matter. If she dreamed she did not wish to awaken
“Bea.”
Sebastian’s voice was pitched low; if she had been sleeping it would not have roused her.
“Yes?”
“Is there anything else you have not told me?”
She opened her eyes and looked down at him. His eyes were still closed, his body still relaxed as if her answer could not matter to him.
“I do not know what you mean.”
“You did not tell me you were a virgin. Is there anything else you have not told me?”
She cast her mind over all the secrets she had kept—Thomas’s heavy hand, her virginity, her reasons for lying with George—and all the things that had shamed her. Sebastian knew them all. There was relief in that—there was nothing left for him to discover, nothing that might turn him away from her. His kindness in the last fortnight even gave her some hope that he might turn towards her.
“No, there is nothing else. You know the worst of me.”
He opened his eyes. “And the best of you, too.”
She remembered his rough voice demanding that she strip away her shift and blushed. He grinned and levered himself up on one elbow.
“Have I ever told you how beautiful you are?” he asked.
“Yes,” she whispered, abashed by the look in his eyes, a mixture of laughter, desire and something else, something that made her breathless.
“Did I ever tell you that when you blush you look sweet enough to eat?”
Her face burned. “No.”
“Kiss me, Bea.”
If she kissed him that would lead them into danger, the danger they had agreed they must avoid.
“I dare not.”
“One little kiss. It can do no harm and I will stop there.”
One corner of his mouth was higher than the other in the smile she could not resist. She bent and pressed her mouth to his. His hand cupped her cheek, thumb gently stroking her cheekbone and the corner of her eye. His mouth was soft, gentle on hers, its touch building warmth, not heat. No kiss she had ever received had been so sweet. Slowly, reluctantly, she lifted her head, looking down into his eyes. The mischief and desire had fled, leaving only warmth. Holding her gaze with his, he groped for her hand and pressed a kiss in the center of her palm, then laid her hand on his chest. Under her palm, where the kiss still tingled, his heart beat, steady and strong. Her own heart skipped, made foolish by the look in his eyes.
“Did I not say I would do you no harm?”
“Yes,” she said distractedly.
He frowned. “What is it?”
“Th-the kiss. It addled my wits.”
His uneven grin widened his mouth. “Would you care for another?”
“Oh, yes,” she said and bent forward again
This kiss was as sweet and warm as the one that had preceded it, Sebastian’s mouth and hands as gentle. He stroked her cheek, her neck; his touch made her shiver. She sank deeper into the kiss, drowning in its sweetness until breath left her. Putting her hands on his face, she lifted her head.
“That has not cleared my head,” she said.
His eyes glinted. “I did not promise it would. I only asked you if you wished for another. Give me a third, dearling.”
“No,” she whispered.
“Sweetheart,” he said in a pleading tone.
“No,” she said again, attempting sternness and finding laughter instead. Her heart felt as if it had been fashioned of swan’s down, floating lightly within her breast. Exhilaration sang in her veins, source of the laughter that bubbled up within her. Her joy frightened her but she could not quell it.
“I shall die without it.”
“I think not.” By dint of will, she glowered at him.
“You are cruel, fair lady.”
“The better to win your love.”
“You have it,” he said, grinning at her.
“I beg leave to doubt it.”
“Kiss me and know my heart is true.”
“And aid you in achieving your end? I am no fool.”
“Bea, please.”
Quickly, she leaned down and kissed him, a bare touch of her mouth to his.
“There.” She gathered herself and began to rise. “You have had your kiss. I must go.”
As quickly as she stood, he shot to a sitting position and seized her around the hips. Tripping on her hem, she staggered and began to fall. Sebastian caught her and eased her onto his lap, his arms tight around her.
“Now, sweetheart, you are my prisoner. You must buy your freedom with kisses.”
She glanced at him through her lashes, the flirtatious look she had not practiced in years. Where once she had used it in calculation, now she used it in play. “And if I do not desire my freedom?”
His arms tightened, his eyes glinting hot blue. “Then I may kiss you to my heart’s content.”
Despite knowing how unwise it was, she leaned closer to him, tilting her face up to his. His eyes darkened and she waited, her stomach quivering with excitement and longing, for his mouth to swoop down on hers. It had been a hundred years since she had played like this and her happiness was shot through with sorrow for the wasted time.
“My lord!” The voice came from near the lane.
Sebastian stiffened, his face darkening. “If he does not have good cause for seeking me...”
“Let me up, Sebastian,” Beatrice murmured, her happy mood crashing down as she had known it must. It had been too short a time... “Do not let him see me so.”
“Wait.” He grabbed the back of her neck and kissed her, his mouth hot and hard. “We will finish this when I send him on his way.”
With that he lifted her to her feet and stood. His man strode across the field toward them, his cap off. He reached them and bowed, his gaze fixed on Sebastian as if she were not present.
“A man at the gate said you might be here, my lord. His grace the earl wishes to see you as soon as I may find you.”
“Do you know why?”
“I am not in His Grace’s confidence, my lord.”
“Do not be a fool if you can help it. You are cleverer than that.”
The man sighed. “Aye, my lord. A rider came in earlier with letters for the earl. I expect he wishes to speak to you about one of them. He did bid me hurry, so you might attend him all the sooner.” Go now, his stare said.
Sebastian sighed. “Very well. I shall return to the castle. Go, tell the earl you have found me and I follow.”
“Do you not wish me to wait for you, my lord?”
“Ned, if I wished you to wait, I should say so. Go, do as I have bidden you.”
“Aye, my lord.” He bowed again and trotted the way he had come.
Sebastian turned back to her, his mouth twisted in a rueful smile. “I’ll warrant your father is good enough cause.”
She stepped into arms that seemed to open for her, resting her hands against his broad chest and finding more shelter than she had expected. “So he is. It is probably as well. I dare not think where paying my forfeit might have led.”
He kissed her forehead. “I have not released you from payment. I have only deferred it. I will claim it in your bed tonight.”
“As you will it,” she murmured.
He grinned, mischief and laughter returning to his eyes.
“Remember that.”