The King's Falcon (Roundheads & Cavaliers Book 3) (76 page)

‘Better?’ he teased.

‘Yes.
 
Oh.
 
Yes.’ Her hands slid around his waist to his back and she laid her mouth against his shoulder.
 
In between kisses, she said rapidly, ‘Stop worrying.
 
It’s all right.
 
I know who you are.
 
I know
exactly
who you are – and I know what you’re
not
.’
 
Then, with scarcely a pause, as she found the dressing on his arm, ‘What’s this?
 
You’re hurt.’

His throat tightened and he held her very close for a moment.

‘It’s nothing.
 
Little more than a scratch.’

‘It doesn’t
look
like a --’

He silenced her with a kiss. Then, caressing her arms as he slid the gown away, he unlaced her stays and tugged the ties of her petticoats free. Piece by piece, her clothing floated to the floor.
 
And when she was left with nothing but her stockings and shift, he turned her so that her back was pressed close against his chest and his hands were free to cup her breasts.
 
Athenais gave a sobbing gasp and her head fell back against his shoulder.
 
Ashley promptly took advantage of that small, exquisitely sensitive spot that lived beneath her ear … and the gasp became a moan.

He had always known that if and when she was ready for intimacy again, it would be not unlike their very first time together; that he would need to exert every ounce of control he could summon in order to feed her desire whilst keeping his own in check.
 
But it was more than that, he now realised.
 
He wanted her body to rediscover forgotten responses and to remember what was possible between them.
 
At this precise moment, for example, he knew she was aware of his own arousal pressing against her back; knew that it excited rather than alarmed her. And though her involuntary movements were a sort of torture, he was glad of them.

Athenais felt every part of her body coming to sizzling life.
 
She felt like the girl in the story who’d slept for a century and been woken by a kiss. Every pore and nerve and pulse was alive and singing, responding to even the lightest touch and craving more. Every inch of her skin tingled and burned. Sparks rushed through her veins and gathered into a liquid inferno deep in her belly.
 
She’d forgotten how the crescendo could soar so swiftly into desperate and unstoppable need.
 
How could she have forgotten that?
 

Ashley caressed her breasts through the fine lawn of her shift and then slid it aside to find her skin.
 
She shuddered as the sharp darts of pleasure shot through her and then, pushing his hands aside, turned back to face him, pushing her fingers into his hair and dragging his mouth down to hers.
 
He kissed her back … and then lifted her up and carried her to the bed.

For a moment, while he discarded the rest of his clothes, she sat perfectly still watching him.
 
Then, with a slow, sinuous movement she pulled the shift over her head, tossed it aside – and smiled at him, as if in triumph at her own daring.
 
Ashley took one look at her, clad in nothing but her stockings and that wild mane of tangled red hair and felt the air drain from his lungs as a single, heavy pulse throbbed through his body.

‘Holy hell,’ he managed to say. ‘Are you trying to kill me?’

‘No.’ She frowned, as if trying to puzzle it out. And then, with interest, ‘Could I?’

‘Yes.
 
Oh God.
 
Don’t do that.’

This as she lay back against the pillows and stretched her arms above her head so that her back arched and her hair tumbled away, partially unveiling her breasts.

And that was when she realised something that had always existed between them but that she’d never previously noticed.
 
She had power over him; power to tease and torment – even make him beg, if she chose. Just for a moment, the idea was exhilarating … until she realised that it wasn’t a power she wanted.
 
The fact that it was there and that Ashley surrendered it to her freely was enough.
 

Smiling, she sat up, held out her hand and said wickedly, ‘Come and stop me, then.’

The gold-flecked green eyes lingered on her, dark and intent.
 
Then, repaying her in kind, Ashley lifted one brow and said, ‘Now?’

‘Yes.’
 
As always, the beauty of his body stopped her breath and sent fresh waves surging through her.
 
‘Please.’

He settled beside her, every inch of him hot and hard, and slid one muscled thigh between hers. Athenais gave a sobbing moan and pressed closer. Then his hands were on her again, leaving trails of flame in their wake; trails that his mouth turned into a wild conflagration. She writhed against him uttering incoherent little sounds. He could feel the tension building and knew exactly how close she was to completion. He also knew she was fighting it.
 
Knew it even before she said gasped, ‘Ashley … please.
 
I can’t … can’t …’

‘Then don’t try, darling.
 
Just let me.
 
Let me give you this.’

And with his mouth at her breast and his fingers stroking knowingly elsewhere, he sent her hurtling over the edge.

Minutes later, when the tremors in her body subsided a little and her breathing started to settle, he smiled deep into her eyes and, with seeming laziness, resumed his caresses. His own body was screaming with need but he blocked it out, concentrating on Athenais’s response.
 
And when he was once more sure she was ready, he finally allowed himself the almost painful delight of driving, inch by exquisite inch, into the hot, sweet bliss she offered him.

Much later, sated, drowsy and still entwined with each other, they talked a little.
 
And the last thought Ashley knew before sleep overcame him was that, now she was finally his again, there was nothing in the world that he wouldn’t do in order to keep her.

*
 
*
 
*

It was late on the following day when they joined Francis and Pauline downstairs.
 
Inevitably, the newly betrothed couple were in the midst of something that might have been an argument if Francis had been playing his part.
 
Grinning down at Athenais, Ashley paused just outside and door and took a minute to eavesdrop.

‘I can’t do it,’ Pauline was saying flatly.
 
‘I’m an actress. I can’t be a Viscountess.’

‘I know.’

‘And I don’t want to be Lady Wroxton, either. Everybody would laugh themselves silly.’
 
She stopped.
 
‘What do you mean – you know?’

‘I mean, I know,’ came the patient reply.
 
‘In case you haven’t noticed, I don’t particularly want the title myself.
 
So I thought we might try a half-measure.’

‘How is that possible?’

‘Quite easily. As far as the theatre goes, you’ll still be Pauline Fleury.
 
But in private life, I wondered … I hoped you might perhaps agree to become Pauline Wroxton.
 
No title, you see … just plain Madame.’

‘And I suppose you’ll be just plain Monsieur Wroxton?’

‘Well, yes.
 
That was the general idea.’

There was a long silence. Finally Pauline said bluntly, ‘Are you sure you won’t mind?’

‘Not in the least.
 
Now … are there any other obstacles you’d like to raise?’

‘No.
 
That is – I’m not raising obstacles.’

‘Yes you are.
 
You said you’d marry me and now you’ve got cold feet,’ replied Francis sounding surprisingly cheerful. ‘Just so long as you know you’ve only the rest of today to cavil because tomorrow I’m going to see the priest and arrange a wedding.’

Pauline pounced. ‘You’re not Catholic.’

‘No.
 
But the priest doesn’t have to know that. And, having been brought up in the high church of Archbishop Laud, fortunately I’m the next best thing. Anything else?’

‘No.’ There was a pause.
 
Then, on a note of laughter, she said, ‘God – you’re annoying.’

‘I know.
 
Fortunately my charm compensates for it.’

Leaning against the wall with his arm around Athenais, Ashley was shaking with laughter.
 
He whispered, ‘They’re better than a play, aren’t they?’

‘Yes.
 
But, unlikely as it seems, they’re perfect for each other.’
 
And she put her hand to the door.

Francis and Pauline drew apart without any signs of haste.

Ashley grinned and said, ‘I believe congratulations are in order.
 
When is the happy day?’

‘As soon as possible – before I’m forced into desperate measures,’ replied Francis, looking far from desperate. ‘Just a small affair, we thought.
 
Yourselves, of course and Jem; Cyrano, too, if he’ll come.
 
And a handful of folk from the theatre … just those the Duchess here chooses to honour.’

‘Ask Marie d’Amboise,’ begged Athenais on a gurgle of laughter.
 
‘She won’t come – but the look on her face will be beyond price.’

‘Maybe.’
 
Pauline looked at Francis.
 
‘What about your mother?’

‘Hell will freeze first,’ he replied in a tone that suddenly could have cut bread.
 
The razor-edge disappeared as swiftly as it had come and he said, ‘Ashley … I’d hoped you might agree to stand up for me.’

‘I’d be delighted.
 
If you’re sure?’

‘Sure?’
 
Francis looked nonplussed.
 
‘Of course I’m sure.
 
Why wouldn’t I be?’

Before Ashley could open his mouth, Athenais said bluntly, ‘Thanks to whatever happened at Honfleur, he thinks you doubt both his honour and his integrity.’

‘Athenais.’
 
Ashley’s voice was very soft but there was a warning in his eyes. ‘Leave it.’

‘No, Athenais.
 
Don’t.’
 
Francis stood up and faced Ashley squarely. ‘I know what she means.
 
We both do.
 
And if you really want the truth --’

‘I don’t, particularly.’

‘Then you should.
 
The truth is that I didn’t doubt anything about you – either then or now.
 
How could I?
 
You’re my brother in everything but blood. But the man with me that night was The Falcon; hard, cold and efficient as a blade.
 
And what worried me … what
still
worries me is how much they’ve made you do and how much more they’ll demand of you.
 
And how long you can go on doing it before you either break or become the thing you’re already struggling not to be.’

The silence that followed this unexpected declaration lingered on, lapping the edges of the room.
 
Then Athenais broke it by walking over to Francis, putting her hands on his shoulders and reaching up to kiss his cheek.
 

‘That was exceptionally well-said.
 
Thank you.’ And, turning to Ashley, ‘At some point, you should tell Francis what you told me yesterday.
 
But not now.
 
Now
,’ she said, sitting down next to Pauline, ‘we have a wedding to plan.
 
Starting, I suggest, with what the bride is going to wear?’

Glad of the change of subject and even more grateful to Francis for letting the previous one drop, Ashley listened to the ladies talking about gowns and flowers and who to invite to the ceremony.
 
It quickly became apparent that Athenais was demonstrably more excited about the event than Pauline seemed to be.
 
She bubbled about which church they would use and whether Pauline’s best amber shot-silk needed to be re-trimmed with new lace.
 
She looked flushed and happy.
 
And, try as he might, Ashley couldn’t detect even a hint of envy or wistfulness on her own account.
 
As far as he could tell, it hadn’t seemed to occur to her that he could have offered her the same future Francis was giving Pauline but that he hadn’t.

Something in his chest tightened to the point of pain but he hid it behind a smile.
 
The possibility that Athenais was doing the same made him feel sick.

Francis was just starting to note the names of those he, Pauline and Athenais agreed should be invited from the theatre when their discussions were interrupted by the pealing of the doorbell.
 
Relieved at the chance to escape, Ashley immediately stood up and volunteered to answer it.

For a moment, when he saw who was on the other side of the door, he wished he hadn’t.
 
It was the usual messenger from the Louvre, with a letter in one hand and a purse in the other.