Beauty's Curse (15 page)

Her mother insisted she learn to be a lady and to have a lady's skills at running a home. Would Rourke appreciate her talents?

She'd gotten the impression that he traveled much, so mayhap a home-and-hearth style of woman was not the kind of wife he needed. Or—she gulped—would he think to dump her at his home and forget about her whilst he gallivanted around the world?

Reaching for the latch, she inhaled and then slowly entered the room. Someone had covered the windows with thick curtains to block the waning afternoon sun, but enough light remained that Galiana could see.

She took note of the giant bed in the center of the room. Clasping the chains of her belt so they wouldn't jangle, Gali eyed the large sleeping form at the edge of the mattress. Rourke slept on his belly, and the fur cover had slipped from his shoulders down to rest at his hips.

Gali felt a small measure of relief to see that he wore his undershirt. If he'd been naked, she'd probably have run.

Or not, she thought with a delicious shiver.

She crept the fifteen steps across the room until she'd gone as far as she could. Galiana stole another peek at the sleeping Adonis who would be her husband, then dropped to her knees so she could reach beneath the bed.

Fingers outstretched, she couldn't feel anything. So she peeked beneath the frame, crawling forward and praying she wouldn't get caught. She breathed in a mote of dust, and it took all of her willpower to hold back the cough.

Her eyesight adjusted to the gloom beneath the bed, and she searched for the flat, rectangular chest that might be her salvation. Ah, she saw a burnished copper handle and tugged backward until, with a final pull, she freed the chest.

“What are you doing?”

Oh no. Like a thief caught in the act, she sat back on her heels, both hands still on the trunk. Her cheeks burned with humiliation as she bravely lifted her gaze.

Rourke's golden gray eyes were squinted, and Gali wondered what it was he could see. For certes, she was not at her best and, for the first time in her entire life, she wanted to be beautiful—for him.

“Galiana?”

“Aye,” she acknowledged.

“What in the devil's name are you doing beneath my bed?”

“Well …” Her heart thundered before she remembered something he'd said to her. “It's, uh, complicated.”

Leaning on his side, Rourke furrowed his brow.

“I see. Well, if it's games you want to play, my lady, then you didn't have to sneak around beneath the bed.”

As quick as lightning in a summer storm, he reached over and unerringly grabbed her upper arms to pull her to him. She landed with an unladylike thud on his chest, and Galiana was so surprised she didn't even think to jump back off.

Instead, she reveled in sensual heaven. Rourke smelled better than she remembered, with his skin warmed from sleep. His cheeks remained lightly stub-bled, and she reached out to brush the flesh with the tip of her index finger.

It was as if he were staring at her, even though she knew he couldn't see. His lashes were dark, with gold tinting at the tips, and the golden gray orbs of his eyes seemed to catch fire with an unearthly light the more she stared into them. Knowing she couldn't be seen, or judged, allowed her the freedom to enjoy this stolen moment.

His hands brushed up from her lower back, entangling in the curls of her hair until his fingers reached her neck. A low moan caught in the back of her throat as he deftly massaged the muscles along her nape.

Galiana closed her eyes in satisfaction. Then she opened them again; she didn't want to miss one nuance of Rourke's expression. He seemed to be enjoying the touch of her skin as much as she was.

He gently lowered her head until their mouths were a hair's breadth apart. This was the kiss he'd teased her with earlier, she thought, and her belly tightened with anticipation. There was no mistaking the hard jut of his penis at the apex of her thighs.

She pressed down, instinctively cradling his manhood, and he captured her lips while crushing her to him in a primal embrace.

“God's bones, you madden me,” he whispered roughly.

This was power. Yet she was as helpless to it as he seemed to be. His lips were full, and his tongue teased the seam of her mouth. She didn't hesitate, and eagerly accepted his kiss. Their mouths warred, thrusting, then accepting, before starting all over again. His teeth nipped her lower lip, and the sensation spiraled to her woman's core. She shifted her body so that her thighs widened atop him, allowing him closer access to the part of her that throbbed with pleasure.

He turned, rolling atop her and pinning her to the mattress. Holding her wrists above her head with but one hand, he rained kisses along her forehead and the tip of her nose. Was this wrong, to want him like this?

They weren't married, but they would be.

But they weren't.

“What's wrong?”

“Nothing, my lord,” she answered shyly. Her body thrummed with desire so loudly she wondered if he could hear it.

He dropped his forehead to hers, and she heard his breathing change as he fought to gain control. “You are the most responsive woman I've ever met, my lady.” His hand slowly traveled up her waist until he paused below her breast. She stilled with anticipation. When he finally cupped her, she exhaled and pushed her aching nipple against his palm.

“Kiss me again, my lord,” Galiana lifted her face to his, kissing whatever part of his skin she could reach.

“Nay,” he growled low. “I'll not take you yet. This night will come soon enough. We must be wed.”

Realizing Rourke was not going to finish what he had started made Galiana flush with embarrassment, and, after a second, she pushed him off of her. Every wonderful feeling she'd had faded until all that was left was the reality.

He was able to say no. She would not have done so.

Rourke was the champion in the play of power, and Galiana found she didn't like it.

“Are you all right, Galiana? You are an innocent, and I shouldn't have taken advantage of your curiosity.” He reached out, and even the brush of his fingers against her sensitized skin caused her to squirm.

“Don't apologize,” she said as primly as a nun.

“Galiana.” He scooted toward her, so she quickly hopped from the bed to stand on trembling legs—he needn't know how badly she still wanted him.

“I've just come for a cloak. I'll get it, and be going.” She scrambled for the trunk handle. “You go back to sleep, Rourke. I'm sure you need your rest. My apologies for waking you. I'll see you downstairs,” she babbled, controlling her new emotions as best she could.

“Galiana.” Rourke's voice had returned to its lord-of-the-manor cadence, and she felt such resentment that she actually stopped to hear his directive.

“I will have you. Tonight.”

Galiana fled the room, pulling the trunk behind her. Arrogant man! To think she'd enjoyed his touch so much that she would have given herself to him—marriage vows or not!

She was wanton.

A lady would never have responded to Rourke's kisses the way she had. She was ashamed. She'd been trained to be one thing: a lady her parents could be proud of—virtuous, beautiful, courteous, charming and capable of running a household. Tears smudged her vision as she dragged the trunk down the hall.

Her parents had trusted her, and look at what had happened!

Getting shackled in marriage to a stranger served her right. Her belly curled at the thought of being shackled to Rourke. He was a tempting punishment. For certes, Satan knew what he was doing when he dropped Rourke into her path.

She reached the door of her chamber and pushed it open. Dame Bertha hadn't come back from the kitchens, and yet Galiana didn't feel as if she was alone. Pulling the trunk inside, she called out for her brothers. “Boys?”

Mayhap they'd come to share a new plan of action to escape the manor, or “haunt” it. She peeked behind the heavy drapes over her window.

“Ed? Ned?”

Concern took the place of self-pity as she peered beneath the bed. Her trunk, already empty from her wild search for something to wear, remained open and barren.

Nobody was in her room. Chills broke out over arms, and she rubbed them as she walked to the window. “Stop frightening yourself, silly goose,” she said aloud.

Tying the drapes back so that the fading natural light, magnified by the mountains of white snow, could penetrate her room, she looked out to see as far as she could see.

Was that a person at the tree line? She squinted, but then shook her head. It had to have been a trick of the mind. Dusk created its own mysteries. Add to that the falling snow in a storm that wouldn't quit, and what fool would be out in such weather?

It had been just a week ago that she'd welcomed the snow as a new beginning. A new year, with new resolutions. Ha.

The snow was suffocating. A trap. And she, the pampered lady of the manor, would be traveling in it with her younger brother and a band of warriors who were being led by a blind man.

Galiana sighed deeply. She saw the plumes of smoke coming from the village and hoped the people there were faring well. Surely they all knew what to do. If they could but make it to the manor, she'd let them in, but mayhap they were better off in their own homes, taking care of their families.

She'd ask the bailiff, on the odd chance that she should be performing some sort of miracle.

Miracles.

She pushed away from the window, and walked to the trunk that would, God willing, hold an answer to her prayer. It wasn't locked, which made it seem less like she was stealing from her mother. Galiana opened the lid and then sat back with a gasp.

Emerald green silk. Ruby red damask. White fur so soft she had to bury her fingers in it before holding the stole to her cheek.

“You found the trunk, then?” Dame Bertha paused at the threshold of the open door.

“Aye. This is a treasure chest. See?” Galiana held up the green silk tunic that had been embroidered with polished emeralds. The style was classic, and it would need very little refurbishing.

“'Tis even more beautiful than I remembered.”

Galiana floated across the room, so delighted with her finds. “And look! This red dress will but need some trim—the dark mink, mayhap? And, oh, what fortune! Silk undergowns.”

“Ye've a talent with the needle, my lady,” Dame Bertha encouraged. “Ye'll fit in right smart with those ladies at court. I brought yer wine and another candle.”

“Thank you. Will you stay?”

“I've work to be done, my lady, but I'll be back in time to help you dress for dinner.”

Engrossed with her creations, Galiana nodded absently, setting her wine on the table by her bed.

When Dame Bertha came back hours later, Galiana was on her second candle, and the gowns were laid out in various pieces as they awaited completion. “Oh my,” the old woman said. “You've made quite a mess.”

“Mess?” Her creative bubble burst, and Gali rubbed her lower back. “Never mind that. Have you seen the twins?”

“No.” The woman pointed to the open chamber door. “No glimpse of our Ned.” She winked conspiratorially. “And that old priest hasn't been to the hall yet either.”

Her belly clenched as she asked, “Rourke?”

“Aye, he's at the head of the table, in your father's seat at the dais. He's callin' for ye—told me to tell ya to hurry, that ye're keepin' the men waiting. He's not letting Cook serve afore ye get there.”

Anger kindled. “He assumes much.”

Dame Bertha sucked in her lower lip. “He's a right good-lookin' man, my lady. Them's the kind that expect things to be given to 'em, and they get it, too,” she laughed.

It wasn't fair. Galiana welcomed the rebellious thought, then nurtured it. Her chamber was cozy, with the candlelight dancing and the dark outside her window like a curtain. She didn't want to go down to the hall.

Why should Rourke always get his way? Because he was a man? A very, very handsome man? She remembered the embarrassment she'd felt when he'd rejected her and decided that, mayhap just this once, he wouldn't get his way. She would take back some of the power for herself.

“What are ye thinkin', my lady Galiana? 'Tis your brothers' faces I usually see wearing that mischievous look.”

“Aye?” She grinned, then put her hand to her forehead. “I don't feel well, Dame Bertha, and I would appreciate it if you would send my regrets to the hall.”

“Oh, no, ye don't.” The old woman's eyes grew wide and round before crinkling back into the folds of wrinkles.

“Why not? We all know that I can't let my brother be taken to the tower, so I will marry Rourke—tomorrow, even. But why should he get to pull on the strings? I'm no puppet, and I'm tired of being made to dance.”

Galiana dragged a basket from behind her trunk, pawing through the contents until she found a jar of white powder. “Perfect!” She held it out to show Dame Bertha. “With some expert application of this, I'll look wan and sick, a smudge of candle soot, and he'll think I'm dying.”