A Daughter's Destiny (19 page)

“Are you sure?”

“Very.” She handed him one end of the strip. “Hold that over your breastbone while I put this in place.”

Brienne expected him to throw some jest at her, but he complied as she wound the strips around him, giving him enough room to breathe. He lifted his arms as she asked and then lowered them so she could reach behind him. When she tried to tie the last piece in place, she knelt beside him to make certain she did not hurt him by pulling the strip tight.

“Is that all right?” she asked, slipping her fingers beneath the topmost layer to be sure there was enough room to draw a breath.

“It is fine. Thank you.”

“You are welcome.” She smiled up at him.

His hands caught her face between them. Tilting her mouth under his, he drew her between his knees. His fingers loosened her braid as he slowly raised her up along him. Her hands slid along his legs when he pulled her to his chest.

She drew back. “Evan, you are asking too much.”

“I want only what you want to give me.” He leaned forward and tantalized her ear with his tongue. As a shiver raced along her, he whispered, “I want this pleasure you have for me.”

Pushing herself out of his arms, she tried to slow her frantic breathing. “What makes you think I want you to make love to me?”

“The way your eyes threw knives at Angiola when she was speaking to me. I never expected to see you act jealous when I simply greeted another woman.”

“I am not jealous!” she lied. When he arched a light brown eyebrow, she retorted, “I just do not like her!”

“Why not? You barely spoke to each other.”

“I do not have to explain my reasons to you.”

He stood and pushed the cushions from the benches onto the floor. Dropping pillows and a single blanket on top of them, he sighed as he dimmed the lamplight. “No, you do not need to explain. You need to—”

With a laugh, he pulled her into his arms and down onto the thin cushions. His lips clamped over hers, silencing her before she could speak. The pungent aroma of wine flooded into her mouth as his tongue caressed hers. Heated by his breath, the taste was delightful. Her fingers clenched helplessly against the blanket as he explored her mouth eagerly. All the dreams she had been chasing through her restless sleep last night coalesced into this moment when she was in his arms.

He released her wrists and swept his arm beneath her shoulders. Holding her to the cushions with the length of his strong body, he tasted the soft down of her cheek. She moaned with need as he teased her earlobe, and heat spiraled through her as his breath grazed her ear.

Her hands rose along his back. “If I hurt you—”

“You cannot when all I feel is pleasure.”

As his lips roved along her face, she sighed with wordless rapture. This must be a dream. Only in her dreams could she be in his arms and have him touch her so lovingly.

In the dim light glinting off the raindrops clinging to the window, she looked up into his face as he drew her to sit amid the crumpled blanket. A grin stripped away the unyielding fervor on his face as he laced his fingers through her hair.

“You are so beautiful,” he whispered.

“I am bruised and scratched and torn.”

“And beautiful.”

“Are you drunk?” She traced the curve of his jaw with her fingertip.

“Somewhat, but not so drunk that I do not want to hear you tell me that you want to make love with me.”

Through her mind flitted a score of reasons why she should tell him no. Even as they paraded in her head, she whispered, “Make love with me until both of us have had our fill.”

He laughed. “That might take forever.”

“Is that a problem?”

“Not at the moment.”

She stroked his chest above the strapping to find it surprisingly warm. Her gaze settled on his lips, and she knew she wanted his mouth on her again. Reaching for the hem of her ripped gown, she lifted it over her head and tossed it aside.

She reached to undo the laces of her chemise, but he pushed her fingers away and untied them. She moaned when, as the chemise opened, he bent to press his mouth in the hollow between her breasts. Pushing aside the last of her clothes, he led her to the buttons on his breeches. Her fingers quivered with anticipation as she loosened each one. He kicked the garment away to leave nothing to separate their heated skin.

As he leaned her back against the pallet, myriad sensations exploded along her skin as it touched his for the first time. His hand cradled her head as he bent to taste the curves which had known no other man's caress. Blazing liquid pleasure across her skin, he sampled the dusky valley between her breasts. The rough texture of his whiskers burnished her skin, heightening the fiery yearning in her. As his tongue climbed her breast's curve to draw its very tip into his mouth, she breathed his name.

He laughed as his lips continued to explore her. As she writhed with the passion he incited, she sought to discover every pleasure along him. His eager moans matched hers as he entwined his legs with hers and leaned over her. When her hungry mouth met his, she urged him closer. She wanted to touch every inch of him.

Her cry of rapture raced from her throat to his when he began to caress deep within her. Dissolving into the sweet pleasure, she became the rhythm he was teaching with his probing stroke. Her body arched toward his, craving the ultimate enchantment he could offer her.

When he moved over her again, she wrapped her arms around him. His lips covered hers as he brought them together. She gasped, opening her eyes to see his face wondrously near to her. The hard lines were softened slightly by the desire glazing his eyes.

She cried out in delight as he moved deeper within her, creating a storm of rapture whirling around her. As his mouth covered hers, she strained closer to him. Clutching his shoulders, she gave herself to the escalating need. Faster, more urgently, adding to the tantalizing torment, he sought each bit of passion within her.

She became lost in their combined need. Its potency erupted through her, splintering her into shimmering droplets of joy. Through the storm of her ecstasy, she knew that they were one for that perfect second. For that moment, it was enough.

Brienne woke with a start. She sat and searched the darkness. Where was she? Something cold dropped on her. Rain! Where
was
she?

When a gentle hand stroked her bare back, she drew in her breath to shriek. She let the air back out in a soft sigh as Evan's touch reached through her terror.

He draped the blanket over her shoulders and pulled her away from the drip coming through the wagon roof. “What is wrong, honey?” He kissed her bare shoulder. “Are you all atremble at the prospect of sharing more of this?”

“I wish that was it.”

“Then, what is wrong?” he whispered, his voice abruptly serious.

“Can't you feel it?” She wrapped her arms around herself. “It is out there. Waiting, eager, sure of victory over me … over us.”

“What are you talking about?”

“I thought you would know.”

His hands on her shoulders leaned her back against him. She closed her eyes and welcomed the comfort of his strong body. “I know, honey,” he answered as he placed his arms over hers. “I am just surprised that you believe me.”

“I have believed part of it from the beginning.” She laughed before correcting herself, “Almost from the beginning.”

He sighed so deeply that she could hear it from within his chest beneath the strapping. “Neither of us doubt that someone may still be following you. I hope they will not look for us with an Italian theater troupe.” He tilted her so she could see his smile. “Besides, I would like to be an actor for a while.”

“When aren't you acting, Evan?”

“Now, honey.” The gentle pressure of his mouth against hers increased steadily as he wrapped his arms around her. “I want you more now than ever. I want to feel the silken texture of your skin against my mouth. Not just your lips, although they are sweet as honey. All of you.”

She sighed as he placed his lips in the curve of her neck which was still damp from the drip. The water boiled away beneath the heat of his kiss.

“Do you know how crazy I have been with longing,” he whispered, “to loosen your clothes and discover the loveliness underneath?”

“I know.” Her fingers quivered as they smoothed his hair back from his face. An answering hunger twisted within her as she wanted to melt against him like late snow warmed by a spring morning.

“When I think of tasting the curve of your breast”—he brushed his lips against her as his fingers glided along her thigh—“or the length of your slender legs, I fear I will explode with the craving for you. To dream of satisfying that yearning deep within you, to feel you all around me while your breath is warm against my mouth …”

He seared the rest of his longing into her lips. As he leaned her back into the soft cocoon of the cushions, she pushed aside her fear. All she wanted now was rapture.

Chapter Twelve

Brienne washed her face in the icy water of a brook. Fumbling for the bit of toweling she had brought from the wagon, she gasped as her fingers touched a leather boot. She wiped water from her eyes and looked up. “Evan!”

He tossed her the stockings that were hanging on the bush. “You shall catch your death of cold out here. Why didn't you have Giovanna warm you some water so you could wash in the wagon?”

“I considered it, but when I went to the door of their wagon, I think—that is, they were … busy.”

When he chuckled, she had to smile, too. In the week they had been traveling with the Teatro Caparelli, she had found it easier every day to smile. They were almost to London, and there was no sign of anyone pursuing them. Even Evan had admitted to that last night while they helped take down the backstage after a performance.

“You are a good guest,” he teased.

When she pulled on her stockings, he ran his finger along her leg. She batted away his hand. “How are your ribs after all that work yesterday?”

“You should have asked me that last night.” He nuzzled her neck.

“I did not want to halt you from doing what you were doing just then.” She laughed. “That is why I am asking now.”

“I am trying to do the same thing now.”

Standing, Brienne tapped the frozen grass with her toe. “Not out here.”

When he came to his feet, she could not miss the wince that dimmed his smile. He waved aside her sympathy before she could speak it. “I am getting better.”

“You would be getting better more quickly if you told Sal the truth. Then he would not have you carrying those heavy backdrops.”

“Don't dress me down, honey.” He gave her that roguish grin that always sent delight sparkling through her. “Dress down … now that sounds like a good idea.”

“Can you think of nothing else but making love?”

“Why should I when thinking of you is so much fun?” He draped his arm over her shoulder as she slipped her feet into her shoes. “How about some breakfast? Signora Benedetto was preparing it when I passed their wagon.”

Her nose wrinkled. “I think I would rather skip breakfast.”

“Now you are thinking as you should.” He took her hand and led her back to their wagon. “Shall we work up an appetite first?”

Laughing, she went with him into the wagon. She wanted to hold on to this joy—and to him—for as long as she could.

The days fell into an easy pattern. Each morning, while the men set up the scenery for the afternoon's performance, Brienne shopped with Giovanna for the day's food. Angiola offered no help, preferring to loiter near Evan.

“Do not concern yourself about her,” mused Giovanna as they wandered along the single street of the small town where they had arrived after midnight. “Angiola tried to put her claws in Pietro, but my brother was too smart to fall for her ploys. Evan is as wise.”

Selecting eggs for the soufflé they would eat between the two performances they did each day, Brienne said, “I am not concerned about Evan.”

“Good. I am glad to see him happy at last.”

“At last?” She hesitated, not sure what she wanted to ask.

“Has he not told you how he and his family had a huge argument years ago? He has cut himself off from them, making for himself the life he wants.” Giovanna smiled. “A life with you.”

“I am not so certain of that.”

Giovanna put her hand on Brienne's, stopping her from picking up a chunk of cheese. “Didn't your mother teach you the signs that show a man is in love with you?”

“Evan? In love with me?” Her laughter did not need to be feigned. Picking up the cheese, she handed it to the woman selling it to have it weighed. “A pound, please.”

“Mayhap you do not see the truth because you do not see how he looks at you when he thinks no one is watching,” Giovanna argued, clearly unwilling to change the subject. “It makes my heart sing. I never thought Evan would find a woman he loved more than his freedom, but I believe he has.”

“That is absurd!”

“Possibly, but 'tis true.”

Brienne decided the best answer was none. After paying for the food with the coins Sal gave her out of the money collected after each show, she walked toward where children were watching the men prepare the stage. She listened as the youngsters peppered the men with questions, but did not stay. She did not want to talk with Evan or have him draw her into his arms until she could think over Giovanna's words.

As she hurried to where a portable stove sat outside the wagons, she shivered. The cold wind had not cut through her while they had been sheltered by the village's buildings. This village could not be more than another week from London. Then she would get the truth—all of it—from Grand-mère. Then Evan would be gone, hiding from a man who would kill him because he had failed to steal the vase from her.