“It isn’t a malady; it’s just old age,” Sophonisba said, waving her stick at Wick. He came immediately, drew back her chair, and helped her to her feet.
“You’re the best of them,” Sophonisba told him, as she always did. She pinched his cheek and then looked triumphantly around the table. “Born on the wrong side of the blanket, but he’s just as much a prince as his brother here.”
Lady Dagobert turned purple with indignation at this breach of decorum, but Prince Dimitri looked as if he was biting back a smile, which was a point in his favor.
As Wick was helping Sophonisba straighten her skirts and get her stick in the right position, Gabriel bent down at Tatiana’s shoulder. “You see,” he said quietly, “nothing you could say would ever embarrass me.”
She looked up, dimples in evidence. She’d make a lovely princess; even close contact with Sophonisba wouldn’t shake her composure. Plus, she knew languages.
She was perfect.
His aunt’s chambers were on the bottom level of the tower. It took them a good twenty-five minutes to reach the door of her room, as she constantly paused to rub her ankle and complain about the flagstones, the damp, and the way he held his arm—too stiff for her liking, she pronounced.
The moment the door closed behind her, he turned about and bolted up the stone steps.
He’d been gone for almost two hours. At this rate, Kate had had more than enough time to absorb each picture in Aretino’s book.
M
eanwhile, in Gabriel’s chamber, Kate had opened the salacious little volume, peered just long enough to ascertain that, yes, Aretino’s men provided little comparison to Gabriel in the most pertinent area, and closed it again. She didn’t have any wish to examine engravings of men and women intertwined on a bed. Or on a chair, or anywhere else.
She had the living, naked body of Gabriel in her mind, and nothing could interest her besides that.
She put the book down and walked over to a large table set up before the window. Gabriel had forgotten to show her the pot that once held a child’s toys, but she guessed it was represented by a carefully arranged collection of shards. To the right of these was a piece of foolscap, covered with precise, beautifully written notes about the pot.
But that wasn’t all the table held. There was another fan, besides the one he had tossed her. It looked even older, and the paper was peeling from its delicate spines.
There was a small book entitled
The Strangest Adventure That Ever Happened, Either in Ages Past or Present
, a little pile of copper coins, roughly formed and obviously very old. A chart appeared to calculate the motions of seven planets, and a little vial was marked “Diacatholicon Aureum.” Kate picked it up curiously, pulled the cork, and sniffed, but couldn’t tell what it was.
Finally she picked up a much-thumbed journal called
Ionian Antiquities
, moved back to the velvet chair, and began to read. Twenty minutes later, after an exhaustive and probably learned discussion of Desgodets’s
Les Edifices Antiques de Rome
, she moved to the bed.
She told herself to wake the moment Gabriel’s feet sounded on the marble steps, the very moment the door opened. She could leap off the bed and it wouldn’t look in the least as if she was inviting him to join her.
When Gabriel opened the door to his chamber Kate was curled like a small kitten in the middle of the bed. Her wig was askew, and bright strands of hair had fallen over her face. She’d taken her slippers off, but otherwise she was dressed as when he had left her.
She was bloody beautiful. Her skin was honey; Tatiana’s was cream. Tatiana’s cheeks were dimpled and round; Kate’s cheekbones were just this side of gaunt. Tatiana’s lips were pillowy and soft; Kate slept fiercely, her lower lip ruby red, as if she had bitten it in her sleep.
After one glance, his rod was straining his breeches again. Gabriel turned away with a silent groan.
He had the one night, only this one night.
Walking silently behind the screened area of his chamber, he opened a little wooden door that stood about waist-high, reached in, and rang a bell that sounded in the kitchens.
A moment later he heard the trundling, bumping sound that indicated the lift was on its way up. He waited until it was at the top of its journey, then reached in and grabbed the pail of boiling water and dumped it into his bathtub, released the rope, and sent the bucket back down to the kitchens again.
He almost splashed himself with the next bucket and realized that he couldn’t get his coat wet, as he had to return downstairs, if not for dinner, then for the dancing.
Neatly and quickly, with the sort of fastidiousness that he gave to every task, he stripped off his coat, waistcoat, shirt, and breeches, draping his clothes over a chair. He left on his smalls; it was Kate’s turn to be naked.
A few moments later he looked at the bathing room with satisfaction. He had lit candles on every surface, and placed a glass of wine within tempting reach of the bath.
A length of toweling on his arm, he returned to the bed and sat gently next to Kate. Her face had smoothed out now, and her lips were curled in a little smile, as if whatever had worried her earlier had stolen away, leaving her in a happy dream.
He pulled a pin from her hair. She didn’t stir. He pulled another, and another, until he had all the hairpins he could see. Then he tried a gentle pull on her wig, but nothing happened.
Her eyelashes fluttered and he thought she was waking up, but she merely rolled over so her shoulder and back were presented to him.
In fact, Kate was carefully regulating her breathing and wondering desperately what to do. She had seen with a flicker of an eyelash that there was a naked chest bending over her.
Aching desire made her want to open her eyes and wrap her arms around his neck. She wanted to pull that beautiful body over hers and let her fingers run over his chest and back. It was an all-consuming fever that pounded in her chest and sent licks of fire down her legs.
But the cautious part of her brain had her frozen in place, her eyes shut, trying to persuade Gabriel that she was still sleeping. She was afraid.
He was too tender, in the way he was carefully pulling her hairpins, as if frightened to wake her.
He was too beautiful, sitting beside her, nearly naked in the golden light of candles.
He was too much, too everything. With a pang she knew exactly what was frightening her: It was the terror that there would be no satisfying life without this prince. That he was everything to her, and that without him she might as well go back to Mariana and spend her life wretchedly protecting the tenants.
“Kate,” he murmured, and she realized that his lips were against her throat, pulling back her hair, drifting over her ear. “It’s time for your bath. I have a tub full of steaming water waiting for you.”
“Ah . . . hello,” she said foolishly. But she didn’t turn over. He had pulled off her wig, and one hand was stroking through her hair. It felt so tender that she let herself drift, eyes closed, feeling only the sensual stroke of his fingers.
Then she suddenly realized what was happening and tried to stop him—but it was too late. His nimble fingers had unfastened all the buttons down the back of her gown. She sat up, clutching her bodice.
“Gabriel,” she said warningly, narrowing her eyes at him.
“You promised I could kiss you anywhere,” he said, hooking a finger into her bodice and giving a gentle tug.
“I don’t remember saying that! And why aren’t you wearing any clothes?”
“I am wearing my smalls,” he said. And then added wryly, “Except for the part of me that isn’t.”
She looked down, just long enough to see that, in fact, a part of him was jutting straight out the top of his waistband.
“You shouldn’t,” she protested, but at that moment he bent down and pressed his mouth on hers. Even so, she kept talking, but the words fell away as his tongue traced the soft line of her lips.
“I could kiss your mouth all night,” he whispered.
Kate told herself that kisses were what she had promised. True, she hadn’t thought that he would be naked . . . But at least he was wearing smalls. Even if they didn’t seem to cover that part of him.
A small part of her will gave way, and she wrapped her arms around his neck. He responded instantly, taking her open mouth and pulling her against his bare chest. Kate melted, a sensation so overwhelming that she began trembling all over. He kissed her until wildfire danced in her veins, until desire slid like brandy through her limbs.
“Gabriel, I . . .” she whispered.
“Hush, sweet Kate,” he said, pulling back. “I’m going to take your gown off now.” Without waiting for an answer, he slowly drew forward the gown, pulling it over the tops of her breasts, over her corset with the wax inserts, down to her waist.
“My arms,” she said, with a gasp. “I can’t move.”
“
My
kiss,” he said, and his voice made the wildfire burn higher. It was hoarse, as if he was holding on to his control as best he could. He didn’t free her arms.
She watched as his hands deftly unlaced her corset and then pulled it wide. Her bosom friends were tossed to the ground; her breasts, pushed high and rigid by the corset, fell into his hands like ripe apples.
He froze for a moment, and then pulled her chemise tight across her bosom. It was silk, as frail as gossamer.
“Oh God,” he said, sounding as if the word was ripped from his lungs. “I’ve never seen anything more beautiful. Never.”
Kate’s lips parted to say something, but no words came out because Gabriel had rubbed a slow thumb across her nipple. The feeling smoldering in her legs burst into flame. A choked cry came from her lips.
“I have to taste you.” With one swift movement, he put his hands to her chemise and wrenched. The silk parted as sweetly as a sliced peach falls in two.
“Gabriel!” she cried, but she could tell he didn’t even hear her. He was looking intently at her breasts, his eyes blazing.
In his hands, her breasts didn’t look too small. They didn’t look as if they needed bosom friends to plump them up. They looked lush and round, exactly the right shape.
Then he bent his dark head and she felt the touch of his lips on her breast. She’d seen it in Aretino’s pictures—men suckling women as if they were babes in arms. She had wrinkled her nose and turned the page, convinced that the Italian was depicting some sort of ludicrous perversion.
But at the touch of Gabriel’s mouth she felt a surge of pleasure that was unlike anything she’d felt in her life. She couldn’t breathe, and a cry came from her throat. Gabriel sucked harder and a thumb rubbed across her other nipple; Kate’s mind went completely blank and her body arched up, a moan breaking from her lips.
“I knew it,” he whispered roughly. He raised his head just long enough for her to see the mad exultation in his eyes. “I—” But his words were lost as he lavished attention on her neglected breast. And for her part, Kate had no ability to shape words, no power to do anything other than writhe under him, gasping.
When he raised his head again her body was throbbing, the blood singing through her legs. “Gabriel,” she whispered.
He returned to her mouth, kissing her punishingly, making her arch against him, lost in a firestorm of sensation and desire.
When she broke away, she knew perfectly well that her will was sapped, the whole practical side of her dismissed, as if it didn’t exist. “Please let me move,” she begged huskily, her eyes wandering over his chest . . . the chest she hadn’t been able to touch because her arms were still trapped by her gown.
He moved back without a word, but she saw the way he was struggling to draw in air.
With a swift movement Kate swung her legs over the edge of the bed and stood up. She shrugged her arms from the sleeves of her dress, but held it to her waist, letting his hot eyes appreciate her.
“What’s fit for the goose is fit for the gander,” she told him, a smile stealing over her lips.
His eyes widened and she slowly, slowly let the gown drop to the floor. Gabriel had ripped her chemise to the waist, so she pulled it off her shoulders, but didn’t let it fall, holding it to her breasts, pulling it slowly past her nipples, shuddering at the feeling of silk rubbing parts made tender by his mouth.
Gabriel made a movement, as if he were about to fling himself off the bed, but she stopped him with one glance.
“You undressed yourself,” she said, letting one hand slide from her collarbone, down over the curve of her right breast, down to the frail silk of her chemise as it clung to her hips.
“Please,” he said hoarsely.
Kicking her gown away from her feet, she turned her back on him and saucily walked over to the table. “You look a little hot, Your Highness. Perhaps the fan will help.”
Picking up the fan he had handed her a few hours ago, she sauntered back toward the bed. “I always use it when I’m overheated,” she crooned, flipping it open and fanning her face. Then a bit lower, her breasts. A bit lower . . . Her chemise rippled in the breeze.
“I don’t know why it is,” she said, “but I seem to be uncommonly overheated at the moment.”
“Kate,” Gabriel said, his voice a groan. “You’re no virgin. Tell me you’re not a virgin.”
Her smile slipped, and the fan fell to the floor.
Gabriel lunged off the bed as if he were possessed, jerking her into his arms. “I didn’t mean that the way it sounded.”
Kate tried to say something but the feeling of his body against hers had stolen her logic again, sent her into a storm of sensation and desire. His body was hard and demanding against her, delivering an unmistakable male demand that made her knees buckle.
“You’re a virgin; I know you’re a virgin and I respect that,” Gabriel was saying into her hair. “I would never imply otherwise, darling. It was just the cry of a man who was wishing that fate was different.”
She curled against his chest, feeling his heart thumping wildly. “You’re wishing that I was the hussy I feel like,” she whispered. Excitement curled tighter in her stomach. She raised her head to meet his eyes. “Tonight you’re just a man, remember?”
“I don’t know if I’ll survive this night,” he said raggedly.
A smile curved her lips and she broke free of his arms. “I hadn’t finished undressing. Are you planning to expire before that happens?”
“No,” he choked.
Somehow her poor chemise had clung to her hips. With a little wiggle, Kate sent it sliding down her legs, over the butter-colored hair that covered her most private area.