Borrowed Vows (7 page)

Still he didn’t move away, and so she knelt up to embrace him, her arms encircling his hips. All her sensual fantasies blossomed into vibrant life now; she was a temptress intent upon making him want her. Erotic sensations quivered through her. Even these first moments transcended everything she’d known before. She was conscious of a sexual excitement that was almost too intense to bear, and a soft sigh escaped her as she put her lips to the forest of hair at his loins. His masculinity brushed against her, still unaroused as yet, but only, she knew suddenly, because he was resisting.

His unwillingness to succumb heightened her desire. She wanted to feel him hardening against her, wanted to make him surrender to temptation. Slowly, she lowered her lips still more, this time to the velvet shaft itself. The scent of him filled her nostrils, potent and stimulating, and at last she felt him stir beneath her lips, becoming longer and harder as need began to pulse through him.

Her nipples brushed against his thighs, and more delicious sensation shivered through her veins. Still embracing his hips, she caressed his back and buttocks, then, almost weak with a sensuous craving, she moved her lips luxuriously against his shaft, springing like hot steel from his groin. How virile and hard he was, and how exciting. For a heart-stopping moment she took the tip in her mouth, sliding her tongue over it and savoring the intense erotic pleasure of such an intimate caress.

The seconds hung, as if time itself had ceased, and she was lost in a wild torrent of sexual sensations that seemed to tingle over her entire being. She knelt before him as if in subjection, but he was at her mercy now. With her lips and tongue she stormed his masculinity, until he could resist no more and with a low groan dragged her to her feet and into his arms.

His lips crushed hers as he pressed her against him. Her breasts felt tender as her nipples rubbed on his flesh, and he eased his shaft between her legs, lifting her a little so that she was held upon it. His fingers twisted in the hair at the nape of her neck and his tongue moved against hers as the kiss deepened.

She’d been kissed before, by Richard and by Harry, but it had never felt like this. Surely he would soon take her to the velvet-hung bed that stood in the flood of moonlight streaming through the window. Oh, how she longed to lie beneath this man.

He drew away suddenly and took her face in his hands, his eyes bright with desire as he looked at her. “Rosalind, if this is some trickery, I will never forgive you...”

In that moment she saw his raw vulnerability, and it affected her as much as everything else about him. Surely the real Rosalind was the only woman on earth capable of remaining immune to his fascination? Fate—or some forgotten author—dealt him a diabolical hand with such a wife. Kathryn smiled. “No trickery, my love,” she breathed. “I just know now how much I love and need you.” Her needful fingers sank into the hairs of his groin.

He lifted her into his arms and carried her to the bed, where she soon lay with her golden hair in confusion against the coverlet. She reached up to him.

He joined her, putting his lips to one of her breasts and drawing the taut nipple deep into his mouth. More exquisite sensations gripped her and she held him close. She ached for him to penetrate the fastnesses that for so long had craved full satisfaction, but he held back. She felt the pendant cold against her, as if Elizabeth’s ghost tried to come between them, but not even a beloved shade could dampen his ardor now.

Kiss succeeded kiss as their caresses became more intimate and arousing. She was caught up in an oblivion of sexual delight. This man knew things even Harry Swenson hadn’t heard of, but where Harry had led her to heaven’s door, Sir Dane Marchwood took her effortlessly over the threshold. He didn’t penetrate her, though, but skillfully prolonged her agony of desire. He was lord of his art, the lover of her most abandoned and shameless dreams, and she knew that when the final moment came she would soar to such heights of abandonment and ecstasy that nothing would ever be the same for her again.

At last he moved over her, and her legs parted longingly. She felt his shaft touch her, lingering tantalizingly at the entrance before he pushed each inch slowly and exquisitely inside. She gasped with pleasure, and there were tears on her cheeks as she felt his entirety fill her for a few moments before he pulled out again to repeat the movement.

The pleasure intensified as his strokes began to quicken, and he closed his eyes as his own gratification approached. He whispered a name, but she couldn’t hear what it was.

She exulted in his every thrust, and her very consciousness seemed in peril as at last an explosion of emotion carried them both toward the brink of consciousness. She heard his shuddering breaths and felt him tremble against her and inside her, but her own body seemed to dissolve in joy as she clung to him, her lips pressed to the damp saltiness of his shoulder. The pendant shone in the moonlight, and she closed her eyes to shut it out. Please don’t let it be Elizabeth’s name he’d whispered. Please...

At last he sank against her, but they remained one, joined in that most exquisite of ways. Gradually he softened inside her, but as his lips found hers again, she knew they’d make love many more times before dawn lightened the sky.

This was a night she wanted never to end. But it was only a dream. Only a dream ...

Chapter Eight

Kathryn was asleep in Dane’s arms. Dawn lightened the sky, and Marchwood Castle was ghostly in a summer mist when Alice came quietly to the bedside.

“It’s time to go now, my dear,” the old woman whispered.

Kathryn’s eyes flew open. For a moment she didn’t know where she was, but then memory returned. Dane. She reached out toward him, but suddenly there was the loud and incongruous beat of rock music. Marchwood and its lord had gone, and instead she’d awakened in the Gloucester apartment. The music came from the alarm radio by the bed.

Shocked and dismayed, she could only lie there. She didn’t want to be here, she wanted to stay in her dreams with Dane! As the harsh music jangled her nerves, she reached out to silence it and then slumped back again. She felt oddly dazed, like she was just regaining consciousness after an operation.

Then she glanced toward the dawn shining palely through the open window. The cathedral rose above a low mist, and she could hear the birds beginning the morning chorus. Modern sounds drifted in vaguely through the air as Gloucester began to stir for a new day, and with them came cold common sense. It had only been a dream, none of it had really happened, so what point was there in resenting having awoken? Okay, so it had been a humdinger of a dream, but that still didn’t make it fact. It was just a very lucid dream.

She gave a rueful smile. If she was honest with herself, the whole thing had been brought on by wishful thinking. A lover like Sir Dane Marchwood was what every red-blooded girl wanted, so in her sleep her subconscious had rooted around in the memory banks and unearthed an old book or movie with the perfect hero.

The chink of bottles sounded outside, and curiosity got the better of her, so she got up to see what it was. A milkman was making his daily delivery at Jack Elmore’s door and whistled as he walked along the alley.

She shivered, for the misty air was cool and she was naked. She put her hands to her breasts, remembering the silk nightgown she’d left on the floor in Dane’s bedchamber. Then she frowned at herself. She didn’t leave any nightgown anywhere, because there hadn’t been a Sir Dane Marchwood. She’d dreamed him, plain and simple. That was the end of it!

She made some coffee and went to sit on the windowsill in her robe. The sun was up now and the mist had gone. Seagulls called across the rooftops outside, reminding her that Gloucester wasn’t all that far from the Severn estuary. She sipped the coffee and gazed along the alley to the street. Without warning a crystal-clear flashback swept over her, and suddenly she saw Dane walking through the darkness from his carriage. The illusion was so strong she gasped and closed her eyes. When she opened them again the alley was empty.

She put her coffee down. This was crazy. Was she sickening for something? Was that it? Or maybe the dream had been brought on by indigestion! Yes, maybe the food she’d eaten last evening had lain a little heavy, or something. Maybe it still was this morning. Maybe. Somehow she didn’t think so. But then her glance fell on the literature the janitor had given her the night before. There, on top was a leaflet about Marchwood Castle.

Shaken, she stared at it, and then gave a self-conscious laugh. Of course! She’d flicked through so much tourist information the previous night she didn’t even remember reading this one, but the fact that she had was all the explanation she needed for the dream. This was probably the last thing she’d read before going to bed, and when she’d fallen asleep it had gotten mixed up with her sexual frustrations and an old movie plot!

She leaned across to pick up the leaflet. On the front was a view of the castle from across the meadows, showing an incongruous blend of beautiful terraced gardens and gray stone fortifications. Another view, this time from the village, showed how the battlements and towers rose above the surrounding trees and rooftops. There was a skimpy map on the back, with the castle in the center and lines radiating all around to show how far away the nearest towns and other attractions were. The text wasn’t very detailed, just a vague outline of the castle’s history, but it did mention a Sir Dane Marchwood who’d been knighted in the courtyard by King Richard II in the fourteenth century. And there was a sentence about some cannon from the field of Waterloo. So here she had two of the elements of her dream, Sir Dane Marchwood and Waterloo. There was a clear link between her nighttime adventures and this stupid piece of paper!

Relieved to have some sort of rational explanation, she glanced through the leaflet again. Well, one thing was certain, her curiosity was aroused. Until this moment she hadn’t decided where to go on her first full day here, but now there was no contest. Marchwood Castle was open to the public, and she intended to take a look.

The decision made, she took a shower and dressed in jeans and a blue check shirt. But just as she was about to leave, she noticed something odd. The tourist literature was in an unusually tidy pile. Unusual for her, that is. As she recalled, the night before she’d left everything scattered over the table, she certainly hadn’t bothered to arrange it neatly. Something wasn’t right.

Slowly she looked around the apartment, and next noticed her supper dishes. She’d left them in the washer and forgotten to switch it on; someone had put that right, and now the dishes were not only washed, but had been removed from the washer and put on the shelf!

Her unease increased as she continued to look around the apartment. When she dressed, she hadn’t taken much of a look in the closet, she’d just grabbed the first things that came to hand, but now she saw that everything was far too carefully arranged. On arriving, she’d just unpacked any old how and put everything away with minimum regard to creases, so this excessive tidiness certainly wasn’t her doing. She saw the reflection of the dressing table in the closet mirror, and turned sharply to look at the cosmetics placed so neatly on the polished surface. If she’d bothered to do her face this morning, she’d surely have noticed them, but instead she’d just used some moisturizer. She felt suddenly cold inside. Someone had definitely been here while she slept!

She went through into the drawing room again, and for the first time saw her jewelry box on top of the TV. She’d left it in a suitcase in the bedroom, but someone had found it! She gasped. Oh, no! How much had been taken? She hurried to see, but to her astonishment, everything was still there. She couldn’t understand it, for some of the pieces were expensive and worth stealing. Why go to the trouble of breaking in if the only purpose was to tidy up and then inspect jewelry without taking it? If indeed theft had been the intention.

Her first thought was to call the police, but even as she picked up the phone she knew how stupid her story would sound. Well, officer, it was like this. Someone poked around in my apartment, washed a few plates, cleaned up a little, riffled through my jewelry and make-up, and then took off without stealing anything. She could imagine how plausible that would sound! Deciding there was no point in reporting anything, she put the receiver down again.

Then she noticed the telephone answering machine was blinking to show there was a message. God, she must have slept like the proverbial log not to have heard either the intruder or the phone ringing.

She pressed the button and Richard’s voice came through clearly. “Hi. I guess you’re asleep now. I just called back to say again how great it was to get that second call from you. I’ve hated the quarreling too, and can’t bear to know you’re so far away. If you really mean it when you say you’ll cut the vacation short and come home right away, I just want you to know there’s nothing would make me happier. I wish to God I’d told Brand to go play with his own shaft, but I didn’t, so I’m stuck with it. Well, kind of stuck. Now I’ve taken a look, I’m sure the problem’s probably not as bad as he thought. A little judicious dimension-tweaking here and there might just do it, and if I’m right, I won’t have to stay here more than a few days. As for Phoenix, well, you were right, Brand intends to preen his incompetent feathers on that one. Still, he is retiring, and I’m the favored son right now. Aside from that, I could be back in New York by the weekend, and if you could be back there too ... Need I say more? I love you, Kathryn, and want to forget all about the past few months. I don’t care now if we can’t have a family, I just want you. I know I’ve been a selfish pain for far too long now, and being apart, even for this short time, has proved you’re more important than anything else. Just come home, sweetheart. Love you.”

Kathryn stared at the machine. What was he talking about? What second call? As for calling her sweetheart and all that stuff about cutting the vacation short and starting anew, all she knew was her last call to him had ended with her thinking seriously about divorce! Was he being facetious? She rewound the machine and listened to the message again. No, he wasn’t that good an actor. He meant what he said.