One Knight's Return, page 10
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.
Surprise flickered in Melissande’s eyes and, for a moment, she seemed uncertain what to say. They stood close to each other in the golden light, the chamber silent save for the crackle of the fire and the slight sound of the lady’s breath. Quinn could hear his heart thundering in his ears as their gazes held once more. He saw her gaze darken and her cheeks flush and knew she softened toward him once again.
Quinn did not intend to let such an opportunity pass.
He took the step that brought them toe to toe. She did not flee, but only watched him, and he was certain she held her breath. He lowered his head slowly, encouraged when she only waited, then captured her lips with his. To his delight, Melissande hesitated only a moment before she placed her hand on his chest and leaned into his embrace.
It was precious little, but that was all the encouragement Quinn needed to deepen his kiss.
Melissande might have been determined to deny her reaction to her husband’s touch, but Quinn’s admiration undermined her plan. His caress interfered with her power to protest and left her hungry for more. His words, his appeal, his smile, all combined to dismiss her resistance. All her life, her wits had been seen as her greatest asset, but when Quinn caressed her, it seemed that only pleasure was of import.
Surely it was no crime if she enjoyed her husband’s skillful touch just this one night?
Surely she had no ability to do otherwise.
Melissande was seduced and she knew it well.
Indeed, she was already attuned to Quinn’s touch. His hand cupped her nape and the heat of his palm there weakened her knees. He was so powerful, and yet he was so tender with her. Melissande felt cherished. The wonder in Quinn’s expression when he touched her hair had startled her. He had shown a weakness, if only for her hair, and Melissande found herself suddenly more willing to surrender.
To experience all that Quinn could show her of this new pleasure.
It was clear that lovemaking was not new to Quinn. If they were compelled to mate this one and only time, she should make the most of the opportunity.
Unable to resist temptation, she spread out her fingers, exploring. His skin was warm yet unyielding, and she felt the pulse of his heart beneath her hand. It quickened its pace, right below her fingers. The sign that he was affected by their embrace encouraged her and Melissande dared to lean closer.
What if she could stir him as he stirred her? That was a most intriguing notion.
She moved closer, ever closer, even as she parted her lips for his kiss. He made a sound of pleasure that reminded her of a growl, then his other arm wound around her waist. Her breasts brushed against his chest and that touch made her nipples tighten. She slid her hand into his hair, opening her mouth to his kiss, and gripped the hair at his nape.
Quinn bent and swept her off her feet, swinging her into his arms. He spun around, never breaking his kiss, and Melissande found herself on the bed. He loomed over her, his lips on her cheek, her jaw, her earlobe and trailing down her neck. She gripped his shoulders, liking how the hard strength of him fit beneath her hands. Quinn trailed a row of burning kisses along her collarbone, across the swell of her breast, then captured her nipple within his lips.
Melissande gasped in surprise. She clutched at his hair as he teased her with his lips and tongue. She felt something new fire to wakefulness within her, something marvelous.
Quinn’s hand slid lower and Melissande caught her breath as his fingers slipped between her thighs and she felt their warmth. She gasped but Quinn lifted his head and smiled slowly, the intent in his eyes nigh stopping her heart.
“Leave this matter to me, my lady,” he whispered. “I swear upon my very soul that this will not hurt.”
Melissande did not even think to question her trust in his word. She had lain back for only a moment before his fingers sent pleasure flooding through her. She parted her thighs, wanting only more of what he could give. Quinn chuckled but then his fingers continued their sweet assault and Melissande was lost to sensation. She closed her eyes as Quinn kissed her other breast. Heat rose beneath her skin and she marveled that she had not known of such desire.
And that she had tried to avoid it.
Quinn touched her with increasing boldness, his caress making her writhe on the fine bed. It was too hot in the room and there was too much tension beneath her flesh, yet there was no escape from the pleasure he was determined to give. She both wanted immediate release and wished the sweet torment would last forever. Her very blood simmered with newfound need.
Melissande grasped Quinn’s hair and drew him back for her kiss, her embrace demanding as it had not been before. She felt her own kiss turn fiery and her own hands caress him boldly. She slipped her tongue into his mouth and explored him with abandon.
Melissande felt his hardness nudge against her hip and felt a sense of triumph that Quinn was aroused as well, even though she was just learning how they could please each other. Though she had not looked upon a man before, there were horses bred at Annossy and she had watched.
Quinn’s fingers were relentless, just as his kiss demanded even more. Melissande arched against him, rubbing herself against his chest like a wanton. She was too aware of him, of every sensation, of the velvet of the coverlet beneath her back, of the soft mattress beneath them, of the strength of the warrior who claimed her as his wife.
“Drift with the tide, my lady,” he whispered. “Do not fight it.”
The fan of his breath made Melissande shudder from head to toe, then he dragged his teeth across her tight nipple. The heat radiated through her and still it grew hotter. She tangled her legs about Quinn until they were entwined, his strength only feeding her pleasure, and wanted some release she could not name.
“Follow it, follow it,” he urged. “Trust it.”
Melissande did. She rode the pleasure and let it take her wherever it would; she let Quinn do with her whatever he would, trusting that she would find satisfaction beneath his touch. It was a wondrous surrender, a moment in which she realized the cost she had borne in managing every detail herself, in administering Annossy alone, in having complete responsibility for all matters herself. She surrendered to her husband, believing he knew best, letting pleasure take its due.
And she was rewarded.
A mere heartbeat later, Melissande felt Quinn’s fingers brush against her with greater force. She cried out as pleasure thundered through her and gripped his shoulders in the tumult. She was both free and sheltered in Quinn’s protective embrace, and she could imagine no better place to be.
Then there was only Quinn angled over her, the steady rhythm of his heart against her own, a gleam of satisfaction in his golden eyes.
It was more than sufficient. She stared at him, filled with awe, and he smiled slowly.
To be sure, it had not hurt.
He had kept his pledge and she should see him rewarded.
But for the moment, Melissande was spent. She curled against his chest, sighed, and dozed against his warmth, content.
Chapter 5
Quinn propped himself on his elbows and studied his new wife. The fingers that had dug into his shoulders rested on his upper arms. Her eyes were closed, her lashes delicate on her cheeks. Her lips were parted and her cheeks flushed. The glorious golden tangle of her hair spread itself across the linens beneath her, glinting in the light. Quinn could feel its silkiness wrapped about his fingers. He wanted to kiss her to wakefulness again, but let her doze instead.
The scent of Melissande’s release was intoxicating. Quinn was glad that she had been pleased—and against her every expectation.
Indeed, it had even been against his own.
She stirred and her lips parted, and Quinn could resist temptation no longer. He bent and brushed his lips across hers. Melissande’s eyes flew open and he feared what she might say.
To his relief, she smiled. “That did not hurt,” she whispered and stroked his upper arms. He liked that she seemed to want to explore him and smiled back at her. “You kept your vow.”
“As is my inclination in all matters.”
“But it is not done, is it?” There was a wistfulness in her tone.
Quinn shook his head. “Nay, my lady, we have only half done the deed.”
She nodded, though her smile was less confident than it had been. “I do not know what to do next.” He recognized that she had braced herself for the inevitable and wished he could ensure that it did not hurt, even the once.
“Fear not, my lady, for I do.”
Her smile was fleeting but she did not recoil.
Quinn eased his weight over her, glad that she parted her thighs for him. “I shall try to be gentle.” He caught his breath and closed his eyes at the promise of their union, willing himself to proceed with caution.
It had been so very long.
Melissande’s grip tightened on his arms and he heard her breath catch.
Quinn leaned lower, crossing his arms beneath her and cupping her shoulders within his hands. He smiled down at her and kissed her again, feeling some of the tension ease from her. He must proceed slowly, regardless of how long he had been alone, regardless of how much he wanted to hasten. He had to be slow and careful, so that Melissande might taste the pleasure mating could bring.
Quinn closed his eyes in pleasure as he eased inside her. She was warm, like satin left in the sun, and unbearably soft. He moved and heard her gasp.
He froze, his eyes flying open.
Melissande smiled. “Just a twinge,” she whispered and he was glad that she wanted to reassure him.
Quinn eased deeper, watching her closely, and she inhaled sharply. Her gaze was unswerving, though, and her eyes began to sparkle with newfound confidence.
“It is not so bad as that,” she confessed, to his relief. Her smile turned impish. “I want more, husband.”
Her demand thrilled Quinn, though he still moved slowly.
Her smile broadened and she lifted her knees, welcoming him as he had never expected. Quinn froze.
“You like that,” she murmured.
Quinn could only nod.
“Tell me how to please you, husband,” she whispered. “It is only fair that we each have some pleasure this night.”
Quinn could not find the words.
Evidently, his silence tempted his bride to guess.
Melissande arched against him, pressing her breasts against his chest. She rubbed them there, a move that she clearly found pleasurable, then ran her hands over his shoulders and chest with proprietary ease. She explored him more boldly and Quinn welcomed her touch.
“Does that please you?” she whispered. She tightened her legs around him. “And this?”
Quinn’s pulse pounded in his ears, his chest was tight and still she coaxed him further.
“Melissande... I...” Quinn could not form a coherent thought to save his life.
“This?” Melissande stretched up and kissed his ear. The gentle touch of her tongue, the sensation of her breath there, the brush of her lips, all combined to make his blood nearly boil. She ran a line of kisses down to his nipple, then teased it as he had teased hers. Quinn was on fire. He ran his hands down her back, locked his hands around her waist, and moved deeply inside her.
She smiled, a siren with her gleaming hair beneath her and a thousand promises in her eyes. Quinn gripped her hips and claimed her with a trio of strokes, each deeper than the last.
Melissande drove him onward, rising against him with a passion he had not dared to share. Her legs tightened around his waist, her arms locked around his neck. Quinn was trapped within her, captured by her, enfolded and encircled by her warmth. She urged him to a frenzy with a determination that stole his breath away.
His eyes flew open as her nails dug into his shoulders once more. Quinn realized that she was reaching the crest again. Her eyes were glittering and he nearly laughed aloud that they should find such harmony unexpected.
Melissande was his bride and partner for all time. She was his and his alone—and Quinn would pleasure her until his dying day.
At that realization, Quinn’s release swept through him in a torrent and he roared with satisfaction. He moved against her, ensuring that she would find her pleasure, and smiled as she gasped in wonder again. They clung together then fell to the mattress, still entangled in each other, still breathing heavily.
Quinn lifted a hand and pushed a stray tendril of hair back from Melissande’s cheek. It twined around his finger, as if to hold him fast to his lady’s side, and he kissed it.
“Melissande,” he whispered, awed that she was his wife. “My lady Melissande.”
She opened her eyes and granted him a sleepy smile that warmed him through to his soul. She curled against him and slept, even as he marveled at his good fortune.
He had feared this mating might be a trial.
He could not have been more wrong, and he was glad of it. This was a sign that their future was bright together. They might have started badly, but all would improve from this night onward. They would have sons and rebuild Sayerne and rule their estates in wealth and harmony for decades. They would have every blessing and every joy.
Quinn could not wait. He rose from the bed with reluctance, knowing that they would sleep better with some minor alterations. He washed them both, then retrieved the lady’s chemise and managed to tuck her into it without awakening her. He watched her sleep as he donned his own. He extinguished the lanterns, put a little more fuel on the brazier, then climbed back into the great bed. He pulled the covers over them both even as he tucked Melissande tightly against his side.
He did not miss that her lips curved in a smile.
He did not doubt that he was responsible for her satisfaction.
Before he slept, Quinn resolved to prompt her smile each and every night.
Against every expectation, he was the most fortunate man in all of Christendom and he would ensure Melissande never doubted his joy in that.
The blood on the linens was a rude awakening the next morning.
Melissande blinked but the incriminating red spots remained. She had awakened alone in the great bed and had peeked, guessing what she would find but startled at the brilliant red stain on the white linen.
Her maidenhead was gone.
She and Quinn were wed beyond any dispute.
What would happen to Annossy? Would this marriage lead to the destruction of all her family had built? Of all she had defended? What did her new husband know of administration? And how much would he take from Annossy to rebuild Sayerne?
She was not certain she wished to know.
Worse, she had broken her own pledge to await Arnaud. It was true that Tulley had compelled her to do as much, but she had not needed to meet Quinn abed with such enthusiasm. How could she have forgotten herself? How could she have heeded sensation and ignored all else of import? What manner of wanton was she becoming?
How much more base would she become in this man’s company?
The possibilities were terrifying.
Quinn was already tending the fire, wearing only his chemise, the morning light picking out the glints in his hair. That he granted her a satisfied smile over one shoulder did naught to lessen Melissande’s guilt.
Even now, she felt her blood simmer at Quinn’s slow smile. Had she forgotten every virtue she had been taught to uphold?
What else would Jerome’s son convince her to forget?
“Good morning, my lady.” Quinn strolled back toward the bed, intent in his eyes, and Melissande was shocked that she warmed in anticipation of his touch.
“There is naught good about it!” she replied, hearing the fear in her own tone.
Quinn paused, watching her. Melissande knew it was unfair to blame him for her own failings—unless this had been his scheme. She pushed a hand through her hair, not surprised to find that it had tangled in the night since it had not been braided. She was a ruin and was surrounded by the scent of their mutual pleasure. She might as well have been a whore.
It would be easier to blame Quinn if she had not been so weak.
“I thought that last night’s deeds would have made this morning a sunny one,” he said, speaking with care.
“Last night’s deeds are why all is in disarray,” she said, feeling her tears rise. “I might have been at home at Annossy this morning. I might have slept with my hair braided and the linens unsoiled. I might not smell of...carnal union.”
The corner of Quinn’s mouth quirked before he sobered again. “Some might say that a woman is always at home with her husband beside her.” He raised his brows. “And that the marriage bed should smell of carnal union.”
“Some like Tulley, perhaps.” She was no better than a tavern wench.
