Once Upon a Kiss (25 page)

Dominique
could feel the blood drain from her face. “What?” she persisted, scrambling to
cover herself once more. “You must tell me! What is it? My brother? Has he
returned?”

Finding
what he searched for—his breeches— he jerked them up from the bed
and tugged them on, glaring down at her as he laced his ties. His green eyes
smoldered with contempt— or her? himself? Either way, it pained her to
see it, for she knew at once that he regretted what had passed between them
last night.

Still,
she could not.

Her
cheeks grew warmer, for she watched him shamelessly despite that he glowered at
her. Despite that her brother might very well be riding through those gates,
and might soon discover her perfidy.

His
eyes narrowed with displeasure. “They are leaving,” he apprised her.

For an
instant Dominique could not think clearly. She shook her head, uncomprehending.
“Who is leaving?”

“Graeham,”
he snapped. With his laces bound, at last, he turned to go. “Your betrothed,
lest you forget.”

Dominique’s
heart twisted with the unfair accusation. God’s truth, but she’d not
participated alone! She wanted to shout at him, rail at him, but was too
stunned even to speak. He didn’t bother to glance back at her, and slammed the
door as he left the chamber.

Choking
back a sob, Dominique found her regret the instant he left. Springing from the
bed, she flew at the door, striking it once with her fist, and crying out in
anger. Yet her rage was directed more at herself than at Blaec, for sweet
merciful Christ, how could she have been so witless last night?

Turning
her back to the door, she leaned against it, her limbs shaking. Never had she
despised herself more than she did in that instant—never had she felt
more the fool.

She
loved a man who could not love her back... and in loving him, had betrayed the
man she was bound to wed—not to mention her brother, who would be enraged
when he discovered what she’d done.

Aye, she was a
fool.

How, in
God’s name, had she embroiled herself so deeply? Had Graeham come upon them
this morning whilst they slept? Dominique could not help but wonder. And fret.
If he had spied them in just such an intimate lover’s embrace as she’d awakened
in this morn, she could not blame him for despising her. Aye, and she could
well understand why he would go.

Jesu,
what would William say? Perhaps that was where Graeham had gone—to
William. That possibility both dismayed her and filled her with hope. For even
still she prayed the alliance could be salvaged. It had to be salvaged, for
else wise... well, she could not bear to think of else wise.

It
seemed Blaec took great pains to avoid her the rest of the day. Dominique knew
very well he’d not accompanied Graeham to London. She discovered that he’d been
commanded to remain at Drakewich—an edict that had enraged him beyond
reason, she knew, because his angry bellows had reached her all the way into
her chamber.

Returning
the courtesy, she avoided him too—as well as Alyss, for she was in no
mood for companionship. She busied herself with any diversion she could
find—nothing of consequence, of course. If ever she became lady of
Drakewich, she would assume the duties of chatelaine. Until then, she had no
right to the keys—nor was Drakewich in dire need of her direction. It
seemed the seneschal performed his duties all too well. She was not needed
here, nor was she wanted, it seemed.

With
little better to do, she wandered to the mews to gain another glimpse of the
birds Graeham kept, and was astounded once again at the wealth hoarded therein.
But standing there, staring at the gyrfalcon, she was accosted anew with every
memory and emotion she was trying so hard to forget.

Abandoning
the mews, she visited her palfrey within the stables, making certain the animal
was getting proper care, and then, with nothing more to explore, she closeted
herself within her chamber—waiting, though she knew not for what.

Perhaps
she hoped Blaec would come to her—and then again it was more likely she
simply feared being faced with his wrath if she faced him unexpectedly. As of
yet, she wasn’t certain what to say to him.

Surely
he could not blame her for what had happened between them last eve? Dominique
blamed herself, but
he
had no right to place the blame solely at her feet—nor
would she receive it wholly.

With
every hour she spent alone, her fury grew. So, too, did her anguish and her
confusion. She missed the evening meal apurpose... yet she wanted nothing more
than to see him. She tried to sleep, but could scarcely close her eyes.
Whenever she did, the previous night’s memories came back to torment her.

At last
she could bear it no longer, and she arose from the bed, tossing off the
coverlet, fully intending to seek him out once and for all. She found and lit a
taper against the darkness of the tower chamber. As she lifted it up, she
startled suddenly, nearly dropping the taper when she heard the antechamber
door open, and then close.

For an
instant Dominique froze, uncertain what to do. Holding the candlestick before
her with trembling hands, she turned to face the door, her heart racing.

It was
impossible to keep his distance.

Even
knowing it was wrong.

Even
knowing the price they would pay—might have already paid—for he was
certain Graeham had spied them together.

Like a
drunkard after taking his first swill, Blaec was forced to seek another, and
another... and another.

He had
fully intended to spend the night within Graeham’s chamber, as far as he could
from her—but his feet had continued up the tower steps, defying him even
as he commanded himself to go back.

God
damn him to hell, but he could not.

And
tonight he had not even the wine to use as an excuse. He went with a clear
mind, and free will, and a leaden feeling in the pit of his gut that was the
essence of his betrayal.

Upon
opening the door to his chamber, he found her standing barefoot before him,
dressed only in her
chainse
. Her auburn locks were loose, her curls wildly disheveled
as though from slumber. He tried to speak, but the sight of her staggered him,
rendered him speechless. He’d expected to find her abed—had hoped to, or
so he’d told himself—so that he could see her, satisfy his curiosity, and
then turn and go.

But she
was not. And he knew damned well he would not have left her, even had she been
deep in slumber.

She
said nothing, though her lips parted to speak.

If she
asked him to leave, he wasn’t certain he could comply.

The
light of the candle illuminated her beautiful face... her brilliant sapphire
eyes, and her bosom, clad in the most diaphanous white cloth he had ever
beheld. Fine from use, and unpleated, it fell short of her ankles, telling him
that the garment was far from new.

It
occurred to him suddenly that, while she had fine, new gowns—one less
after he’d all but destroyed the one fashioned of his own stolen
cloth—the majority of her garments were thread-worn and long outmoded. It
implied that, for all his pretty words, her brother did not value her overmuch.
The fact that he’d simply left her, without remaining to witness a ceremony,
had seemed strange at the time... yet now it began to make sense. Nay, William
could not value her, or he would have remained—regardless of the
hostilities that lay between them.

If she
had been his own blood, he would have remained by her side, until the last
instant, guarding her honor.

He
found himself regretting that he’d destroyed the crimson gown. It was no wonder
she’d worn it so oft—and no wonder she’d taken such pride in the accursed
thing. It was likely the only thing her brother had gifted her with in years.
His gaze was drawn to her coffers—merely two, confirming his suspicions.
That she should have so little baggage for all her worldly possessions was
inconceivable. His gut twisted with the realization, and he found himself
wishing he could bestow other gowns upon her. Found himself wishing that it
were his right to do so.

Forsooth,
he found himself wishing she were his bride... that he might shower her with
all that her heart desired.

His
gaze returned to her. She stood proudly, though her eyes were fraught with
apprehension, and he could not help but recall the way she’d protected her
brother, defended him, even when the bastard did not deserve it—nay, he’d
not missed William’s bow being lowered in the forest. But he’d not been wholly
certain, and so he’d let it pass. Still, while he could bring himself to
believe that it had been an accident—and it may well have been, though he
sorely doubted it—he knew as he gazed at the woman standing before him
that she was innocent of her brother’s treachery.

A
vision of her hastening after him in the bailey when first she’d arrived at
Drakewich, defending her brother’s honor against his insinuations and outright
accusations accosted him.

Why was
it the unloved fought so hard to gain what could not be held?

The
question tormented him, for he could have been speaking of himself. He cleared
his throat, glancing out the window. From this side of the keep, the moon was rarely
visible. Once more, the night was black, the stars too far and too few to lend
their meager light. He was glad she held a taper.

Tonight
he wanted to see her.

She
stood unmoving, her exquisite sapphire eyes fixed upon him... as though she
feared what he would do next... what he would say. Her breasts rose and fell
softly. Recalling the way he’d awakened this morn, cradling her soft flesh
beneath his palm, he was undone.

“Where
were you going at this late hour?” he asked hoarsely. His heart hammered against
his ribs.

Her
brows drew together and she shuddered, though the chamber was not cold. “I...”
She glanced away, closing her eyes, swallowing.

And he
knew.

Yet how
could he blame her for something he could not even control in himself? He
thought to put her at ease, to tell her so. “Last night happened by no fault of
your own,” he said honestly. ‘The fault was mine.”

She
peered up at him, shaking her head, her eyes welling with tears. “Nay...” She
averted her gaze to the bed. “If... if only it were so,” she replied miserably.

“Last
night was inevitable, Dominique.” As tonight would be. He swallowed thickly,
for betrayal was no easier the second time around. But he could not help
himself. “I...” He, too, glanced away, his heart hammering. “I could not stay
away,” he said with no small amount of self-contempt.

For an
instant the silence engulfed them, surrounded them, a silence in which the
beating of their hearts ticked the seconds by, drew them out to agonizing
lengths.

Her
features screwed with anguish as she faced him again, her eyes gleaming with
unshed tears. “I—I did not want you to stay away,” she confessed with
trembling lips.

Blaec
needed to hear no more.

Dominique
cried out softly at the intensity in his gaze. He moved toward her with
purpose, and God’s truth, she thought she would swoon. Without a word, he
removed the candlestick from her hands, placing it down upon the coffer beside
them. Its light shone between them, casting their distorted images upon the
whitewashed ceiling.

She
gasped in surprise as he knelt at her feet, touching her hem. He glanced up at
her as he lifted up her
chainse
, silently pleading for her consent. She gave him a jerky
nod, and her heart pummeled against her ribs as he bent and touched his lips to
the bare skin of her calf. Gooseflesh arose and spread, like wildfire, to her
arms. Her breasts ached for his touch.

With a
soft cry, her head lolled backward as his lips began a slow ascent upon her
legs, first one and then the other. Above her, the orange light of the taper played
their every motion against the ceiling. Erotic. Every muscle in her body
tautened as he moved up the length of her body, inch by inch, lifting the
chainse
mere
fractions each time.

Merciful
heaven, she thought she would die with the exquisite pleasure!

His
tongue and his lips, they worshiped her, lapping and kissing, nipping at the
sensitive flesh of her inner thighs until Dominique swore she could bear it no
longer.

She
could not speak to stop him when he lifted the chainse even higher, to the apex
above her thighs. Her legs trembled traitorously. Clutching the cloth of her
gown within his fist, he held it at her belly as his mouth rose, finding and
exploring her most secret parts. She swallowed convulsively.

All the
while she watched the ceiling, seeing their shadows in motion, her heart
tripping wildly.

Dominique
felt her legs buckle beneath her, but he was there to catch her. Crying out,
she fell to her knees, facing him.

His
arms entwined about her, crushing her. “Shall I continue?” he asked, his whisper
harsh and rasping.