Beauty's Curse (42 page)

Shrugging as if it didn't matter, this cruel rejection of her feelings, she traced the shape of his brows, the light pink scar on his temple, the dimple in his left cheek, his strong jaw—his lips.

He didn't move, as if he knew she needed to remember him by touch, as well as scent and taste. She closed her eyes, trusting her senses to show her his essence—that noble part of him that he hid so well.

“I want you,” she whispered, feeling his pulse accelerate. “You promised me an experience that I would remember with pleasure. You owe me this.” She nipped his lush lower lip, knowing his face by memory alone. “Don't you dare start thinking—just feel. Show me what your heart is saying. No lies between us. No words.”

His voice was strangled with emotion as he dropped his forehead to hers. “For once I need to speak the truth. You shower me with compassion, you share your vulnerability, and it slays me. Your caring is deadlier than a sword to the gut, and yet I can't push you away.”

“I don't want to be pushed, Rourke,” Galiana said between deep kisses that joined them at the mouth.

His body pinned her to the rough planks of the dusty lodge floor. She brought her arms up around his back and hugged him tightly. If she could spend her last hours on earth feeling like this, then she would gladly shuffle her mortal coil and meet God with a satisfied smile on her face.

Rourke's hands were everywhere: tangled in her hair, smoothing her waist, barely skimming her breasts, resting at her hips—

Her body was on fire from the inside out. Her legs were restless, and she needed to feel Rourke's skin against hers. Flesh to flesh, spirit to spirit—that was the only way she'd be satiated.

She unclasped the brooch holding her cloak together and shrugged out of it. Her tunic was too restricting. Clothing felt too heavy against her body; it was suffocating her.

Rourke's hands bumped into hers as they each sought to remove articles of clothing that were in the way. “Here—stay still,” he said, his hands caught between her hair and the tie of her undergown.

Gali relaxed and allowed him total control. She trusted him. His agile fingers quickly righted the knot, smoothing the tendrils of hair as if they were strands of silk.

For certes, he was holding her as if she were precious glass from the shores of Normandy. She didn't want to be held as if she'd break.

She desired him, as a woman desired her soul mate. Her body trembled with anticipation, toes curling against his hose-covered calf.

With strength Boadicea would have admired, she flipped her warrior to his back. “You're wearing overmuch, my lord.”

“I agree, my lady.”

His eyes stared up into hers, and she quickly asked, “What do you see, when you stare at me?”

She brought her face low, so that their noses touched.

“I see you, my lady, with your smooth, broad brow. Your oval eyes and your noble nose. Your pointed chin, that chin I've grown to admire in its haughtiness.”

Giggling, Galiana said, “I am not haughty.”

His warm palm lightly smacked her bare bum. “Not now,” he agreed before kissing her again and again.

When she could think again, she told him to stay still. “I'll have you as naked as me, my lord.”

“You're lovely,” he said, his hands smoothing over the flat expanse of flesh betwixt her ribcage and mound.

“Even gray and drab?” she joked, unconcerned about her looks as she reveled in Rourke's worshipping touch.

His index finger poised over the edge of her curls and she shifted teasingly.

With a groan, he grabbed her hips and rolled her beneath him, while she yanked his shirt off over his head. “Mayhap I'd not survive looking upon you, my lady, in color.”

“You are a charmer, Rourke,” she said, running her hands over his muscled chest. Golden brown swirls of hair led the way to below his hose, and her fingers followed the path.

He grabbed her wrist. “Let me. You would have me reach my peak too soon. Patience, my lady.”

“I'm tired of having patience, and I'm most tired of being a lady.”

He nuzzled her neck, his warm breath tickling her skin, and her nipples peaked with anticipation.

“What would you be?”

She arched her neck backward. “Wanton. I would be a slave to your touch.”

Rourke's thick, hard penis thrust against her belly. “This touch?”

Whirls of pleasure seared through her bloodstream, spiking her sensitivity to new heights. “Hmm,” she answered, trying to widen her thighs to allow him access to her woman's core.

She'd known it would be heavenly, when they had time to do it right.

“Stop.”

Her body did as directed, but the pulse in her neck beat rapidly.

“I will brand you with my tongue, my hands. You will never have another lover who knows your body as well as I.”

His masterly touch matched the demanding cadence of his words as his mouth, tongue, lips, and fingers caressed her spine, her neck, her breasts, her belly. She could barely breathe at such a heightened state of need. “I'm ready, my lord. I couldn't be more ready.”

Her legs quivered, her skin ached, and if she didn't find release soon, she'd go mad. And then he spread her thighs with his knee and plunged into her welcoming moistness. Her inner muscles clenched around his hard length and convulsed with repeated quakes of pure pleasure.

He held her close, until her trembling ceased, then whispered in her ear.

“We're not done, my lady.” His pelvis thrust forward again and new spirals started at the base of her spine.

“I promised you pleasure, and you will have it.”

Rourke had visited heaven, and it smelled like lavender and lemon. Heaven tasted like honey, and mint, and felt as soft as mink. He'd visited, and now he had to spend the rest of his dreary days on earth, a place that would forever be dark and murky without Galiana to light his way.

She was quiet as they left their lodge. He'd never be able to come back without thinking of her, in all of her generous glory. She was the best lover he'd ever had, because she gave her heart in every touch. She'd said she hadn't given him her love, but he was branded by it, just as he'd branded her with his.

What was he to do?

Disobey his liege and risk being beheaded for a chance at happiness? Did he deserve such a thing? His prim miss … Nay, she wasn't prim, and he could never again think of her as plain; to him, she was as vibrant and beautiful as any woman could be—and then more. She made him think he could be a better person.

“Do you regret what happened?” He had to ask. Her silence unmanned him. He'd never meant to hurt her—but he had. And he would again.

“No regrets.”

They rode along, and finally she said, “This is it—the path back to the castle.” She reached for his arm. “I am glad that we made love, Rourke. It was beautiful, and I will never regret it. If that's the only memory I have of you to keep me warm while I am in Scotland, I will make it be enough. But you need to promise me that when you retire from this life, you will come to me.”

“You'd wait?” Rourke couldn't imagine such an offer. Then remembered Margaret's promise to Jamie. Mayhap love was that overwhelming. That strong. Nay.

“I'm your wife.”

“You won't be,” he said harshly. “I'll divorce you.”

She sighed. “In my heart, then, we'll belong to one another still.”

“I'll not make you any such promises, other than the ones I already vowed. You'll never go hungry, and you'll have a place to live.”

“I have my own property.”

“In Scotland?”

“Well. No. But I could buy some.”

“Let me do that much.”

He heard the oath she muttered and laughed bitterly. “I am trying to soothe my own pride, for it feels like I'm abandoning you.”

“Fate is forcing our hands, mayhap.”

“I must put the country first. I pledged, and I swear it's the only honorable thing I've ever managed to maintain.”

She protested.

The insight to his own character was not wanted, nor did he appreciate seeing himself in such a dismal light. “I need to finish it.”

Her horse came next to his, and Galiana blew him a kiss. “All right. We need not talk of love, my lord. Let us discuss our strategy.”

Rourke's admiration for his wife grew. “Constance of Brittany wants power. At the scene of his murder, Robbie had Brittany's device, a small token. Like a shield.”

“A token from a lover, mayhap?”

“Galiana, how many lovers do you think Constance has?”

She sniffed. “How many does she need to see her son on the throne?”

Rourke closed his eyes, letting the wind play over his face. Galiana had an excellent point. When it came to matters of court intrigue, some noble members felt no price was too high.

He used to agree.

“Mayhap Robert deliberately left the token in sight so you would have a clue to follow.”

Rourke opened his eyes to the drab gray world around him. “Or what if the murderer left it as a false trail?”

“'Tis no wonder your head aches all the time. Intrigue around every corner. When you find one answer, another questions pops up like a weasel in a garden. I will be your eyes, Rourke.”

“I need you to use the ring. It should give off some sort of signal when it nears the Breath of Merlin.”

“So what? We will wander the halls until we get a sign? Do you not realize how large Windsor is, my lord?”

“It might not be the best plan, but we are in a hurry. Besides, I grew up with the royals, and I know a trick or two.”

“All right. And I can ask—subtly, of course—if Robert had any high-born lovers.”

Rourke groaned. “We can't invite any suspicion.”

They reached the stables, where Jamie was waiting with Will. “Well, lass, how did it go?” Jamie helped Galiana dismount while Will took her horse. Rourke felt he should be doing more, but now was the time to pull away, both emotionally and physically.

He had a country to save for a king.

Galiana could feel Rourke leave her as if he had sliced her from his body. She supposed this was a handy skill for a spy, but as his lover, it hurt.

She answered Jamie's question. “It went as well as could be expected. The queen is lovely. My lord Rourke is stubborn, and honorable, and I might just hate him.”

Stalking past Rourke and Jamie, she tapped Will on the arm. “Serve me, if you please. I must get to my room and bathe before meeting Rourke for a private lunch. If I go on my own, I'll no doubt get lost, and I'm starving, so we mustn't have that. When I don't eat, I frown and frowning causes—”

“Wrinkles,” they all answered in unison.

Embarrassed, she lifted her chin and hoped the tears she was trying so hard to hold back wouldn't fall.

“It would be my honor to help you, my lady,” Will hedged.

Jamie cleared his throat. “But somethin's happened whilst ye were gone.”

“What?” Rourke's question was sharp.

“Yes, Jamie, what? I see now that you're pale. Is it Franz? Has he worsened?” Galiana made for the entrance to the stable to help the ill knight, but Jamie caught her arm.

“Franz is missing,” Jamie paused. “Godfrey is dead; jumped from the top of the ramparts, with a note saying he killed Robbie.”

Galiana brought her knuckles to her mouth to stifle a gasp. Godfrey had seemed such a decent man.

“Too neat.” Rourke kicked the mix of straw and dirt at his boot.

“Aye,” Jamie agreed. “Will and I both thought so, too.”

Oh yes, she reminded herself. In a spy's world, nothing was ever as it seemed at first glance. “Franz left the chamber this morn? Obviously.” She waved the question away. “He hasn't returned. Robert dead; Godfrey admitted to it—Magdalene!” She snapped her fingers.

“What?” Rourke stared in her direction.

“I got lost yesterday after we arrived, and I overheard a conversation.” She blushed as she recalled her attempts at eavesdropping, “A man—I believe now it must have been Godfrey—was arguing with the lady, and she asked if he'd killed Robert. He said nay, that it hadn't been him. But he was going to blackmail her with whatever he knew.”

“Franz.” Rourke's jaw clenched, and Galiana wished she had the right to soothe his anger over the betrayal.

“He's sick, man. We saw it. No way could he have pushed Godfrey.” Jamie shook his head, not believing it.

“I cleaned his wound that first night, and it was but a scratch compared to some of the other wounds ye've all had.” Will sighed. “But I assumed it got infected. I never imagined he would be pretending.”

Galiana remembered seeing Franz's banked fury back at Montehue Manor and wondered if he'd been hiding his true nature all along. “How did he come to join your party?” Her mind was spinning around like a top.