Claire Delacroix (127 page)

“You did not think it pertinent to tell me the truth sooner?” he demanded coldly.

“If I had my wits about me, I would not have told you at all!”

Naught she could have said could have restored Rowan’s mood more readily than that admission.

She was addled by him as well. Now, there was encouragement!

“Indeed?” Rowan leaned against the rail, watching her as he grinned with undisguised satisfaction. “And what happened to your wits, Bronwyn of Ballyroyal?”

“Naught of import.” She folded her arms across her chest and stared at the distant coast. A faint blush tinged her cheeks, the sight heating Rowan’s blood.

Rowan was most reassured to know that he was not alone in losing the battle against sensation here. He leaned closer and whispered so that his breath feathered across her throat.
“What could have distracted you from your clear thinking?”

“I said, naught of import.” She took a step away and cast an arch glance his way. “Though you may have distracted me once, rest assured that you will not do so again.”

“A challenge!” Rowan made to close the distance between them, but she moved away before he could capture her in his arms. He considered her for a long moment, then stepped quickly after her.

But not quickly enough. Indeed, her eyes began to dance with mischief that she vexed him again, the sight dismissing any sense of victory he might have felt.

How irksome that she could guess his intent so readily as that! He greatly preferred to be considered unpredictable and did not care that this lady seemed able to read him so well.

Rowan folded his arms across his chest and glared at her, a choice that
Bronwyn
seemed to find amusing.

“Truly. When did you intend to tell me the truth?” he demanded.

She arched a fair brow. “With luck, never.”

“Never!” The word exploded from Rowan’s lips. “And how did you intend to manage this deed? How did you anticipate that you would lie to me when we crossed Ballyroyal’s threshold? Do you imagine I would not notice that you and my intended were one and the same?”

Bronwyn rolled her eyes. “Oh, you are not so blind to all around you as that.”

“I thank you for that meager credit.”

“But you would never have come to Ballyroyal.”

“What is that to mean?”

“Only that I would have fled your side in Dublin and you would have found some other kirtle to chase in my stead.” She shrugged and turned out to sea. “You are, after all, a
man unenamoured of obligation.” She cast another glance his way. “Why would anyone imagine that you would keep any pledge?”

Rowan scowled, uncertain what to say. To live a life unfettered by obligation was indeed his ambition, though it sounded far less noble a pursuit when Bronwyn stated it so.

“I mean to win my quest,” he insisted.

“Aye, purely so that your foster mother does not disinherit you. How noble an intent! What manner of fool are you to not perceive that winning this quest will only win you all you say you do not desire?”

“What nonsense is this?” Rowan took a step back.

“Oh, do not feign ignorance with me!” Bronwyn’s eyes flashed like sapphires in the sun. “If you win this heiress bride, then Margaux will not cast you out, is this not so?”

“Aye,” Rowan agreed warily.

“And so, you will be indebted to the bride and her father, no doubt answerable to various duties and responsibilities. And this Margaux will burden you with an estate, or an inheritance, or some matter that persistently requires your attention.”

“Nay, not Margaux …” Rowan began to argue, but then he recalled that Burke had declined his mother’s legacy. And Luc had his own mother’s holding to call his own, not to mention that of his heiress bride.

Margaux had no heir. Rowan’s heart stopped at the truth of it.

Ye gods, this could not be right! Margaux would not entrust him with anything of value.

Would she?

But even if she did not, there was the matter of the heiress’s holdings. He supposed it was not unreasonable to conclude that duties might be expected of him there.

Though he had never thought that far.

Bronwyn lifted her chin in triumph. “You will have responsibilities if you win this wager, Rowan de Montvieux, of that there is no doubt. Fortunes do not fall into hands unwilling to labor for their maintenance.”

Rowan stared at her, marvelling that he could have missed something so painfully evident. It seemed rather foolish to admit in this moment that he had seized upon the challenge of his brothers and thought no further than that. He had been dared and he had accepted the terms, purely because the odds of success were so long.

But Bronwyn’s explanation made it clear that he was striving to win the one thing he was certain he did not desire.

She stepped closer and tapped a fingertip in the middle of his chest. “Do not offer me the lie that you did not see the truth of it,” she said softly. “You are keener of wit than that.”

He apparently was not, but Rowan was not inclined to make his lack of intellect clear—though he would not question why he cared what she thought of him.

“I do not want any responsibilities and Margaux knows the truth of it,” he declared, his calm tone in marked contrast to his pounding heart. “She would never entrust anything of import to me, at least not if she wished to see it maintained.”

He grinned, hoping he achieved some measure of his usual disregard. Bronwyn did not smile, and Rowan had the distinct sense that she was disappointed in him.

Not that that was of any import at all.

“Well, you should know that Bronwyn of Ballyroyal is
not
the wealthiest heiress in all of Ireland.” Her tone was cool and composed, as if she were discarding naught of greater import than an old stocking. “I lied to you to ensure you took my dare.”

Rowan found this appalling, no less that she so readily admitted to her crime. That must be why her claim stung.

’Twas not often that Rowan was tricked, and never so successfully. Perhaps this was admiration he felt for her. Clearly he felt something, for his heart hammered and he could not summon a clever word to his lips as he regarded her.

“You can seek your fortune elsewhere, now that we understand each other.”

That she could dismiss him as readily as that, as readily as he was wont to dismiss former lovers, was not welcome in the least.

Rowan propped his hands on his hips, feeling the need to argue the point. “But I pledged to win you.”

“But you must succeed by the Yule.” Bronwyn looked him straight in the eye. “I assure you, Rowan de Montvieux, you will not win me before this Yule or any other. You had best seek to win your wager elsewhere.”

“Do you imply that my word is worthless?”

Bronwyn laughed. “Aye! What else would I assume of a man who desires no responsibilities! To keep a pledge or fulfill an oath is an onerous weight indeed. Nay, you are not the manner of man to cling to mere words.” She smiled brightly, her acceptance of this annoying as naught else could have been.

Rowan glared at her, but the lady was untroubled by his response.

“ ’Tis fair enough that you cannot find what you desire in me,” Bronwyn declared, her manner so blithe that Rowan’s eyes narrowed as he watched her. “And truly, ’tis enough for me to be so close to home. We should part in Dublin and each pursue our own path.”

Rowan could not find the precise argument as to why this course would be unsuitable. He certainly had no particular
affection for this vexing creature, even if Bronwyn was unlike any woman he had ever known.

Aye, he should seize this chance and abandon the entire quest! He should let Margaux disinherit him, he should find a troupe of travellers and live unfettered as he so desired. Bronwyn was right—he desired naught he could win by success in this.

But Rowan could not summon the words to declare he would do precisely that. He supposed that was because he owed Thomas a decent training as a knight. Aye, an
obligation
at root! Once Thomas won his spurs, then Rowan would walk away from this knightly life.

But ’twould be five years before that was done.

Rowan leaned his elbows against the rail, ensuring he was close to Bronwyn’s side but not touching her. He could smell her skin, and the lazy thread of desire that unfurled in his belly brought words other than a ready agreement to his tongue.

“Nay, that cannot be done,” he said amiably.

“What is this?” Something flashed in Bronwyn’s eyes then was quickly subdued, though Rowan knew he had struck a chord.

He smiled at her, feeling as if matters were shifting in his favor once more. “It cannot be done,” he insisted mildly, liking the way her eyes flashed in anger. “Though ’tis true that I hold naught in esteem and my word is worth less than naught, the same cannot be said of you.”

She took a sharp breath, her gaze fairly cutting him in half. “Me?”

“Aye, your sworn pledge is naught with which to trifle and, as I recall, you did pledge to serve me for a year and a day.” Rowan let his smile widen. “In exchange for your freedom.”

Crimson flooded her cheeks and steam high rose from her ears. “You would not compel me to that!”

“Indeed I would,” he agreed easily. Rowan told himself that his intent was solely to annoy her as she annoyed him, and there could be no doubt that she was infuriated.

He leaned closer, determined to twist the knife in the wound. “In fact,” he reminded her cheerfully, “you might recall that I granted you a chance to win your freedom sooner, yet you failed the test.”

She looked fit to kill him with her bare hands.

The very sight of her fury cheered Rowan immeasurably. He grinned at her, reached out, and flicked a fingertip across the end of her nose.

“Imagine, we have only just begun to explore the pleasure we can grant each other,” he teased, waiting for the flash of her eyes before he whistled between his teeth. “An entire year of satisfying each other’s every desire. It should grant you even your fill of me. Perhaps I should become a male courtesan, after that.” Rowan grinned, bracing himself for a spate of angry words condemning his vanity to hell and back.

He was not prepared for the slap of Bronwyn’s hand across his face.

Nor for the force of her blow.

He jumped back, affronted that she had struck him. “Ye gods, what was that?” He touched his burning cheek with his fingertips, but the lady was not ready to back away.

“That was for being even less worthy of merit than could be believed!” she snapped, her eyes flashing and her cheeks flushed. “That was for your shameless seduction, that was for feigning that you had any heart at all. And that was for denying me the one thing I want most in all the world, solely because you can!”

Rowan spread his hands. “I am all yours.”

She cast him a look so lethal that he took a step back. “Bastard!” she muttered through her teeth.

Rowan inclined his head in agreement. “Indeed.”

“Shameless knave!”

“Undoubtedly.” He grinned. Indeed, he was tempted to kiss her soundly, even if there was a risk of her slapping him again.

She leaned closer and whispered through her teeth. “Mercenary!”

That charge hit home as naught else could have done. Rowan straightened angrily. “Nay,
ma demoiselle
, it is you who used me for your own ends, seeing only to your own advantage.”

She lifted her chin, her eyes widening as she mocked him. “Woho, the pot calls the kettle black.”

“Then you do concede your trickery?”

“I concede naught to you.”

“You have before and you will again.”

She laughed then, as never a woman had laughed when faced with the prospect of Rowan’s lovemaking. Her eyes flashed as she leaned toward him, the creamy length of her throat leading his gaze to the top of her untied chemise.
His
chemise. She looked so desirable, so determined to challenge his every expectation, that Rowan could think of naught but dragging her back to their cabin once more.

“You will never touch me again, of that you may be assured, Rowan de Montvieux.”

’Twas not precisely what the knight longed to hear. “You desire me, you know you do,” he insisted, but her arched brow said otherwise.

Her eyes, though, were bright, and he knew that anger such as this did not come from naught. Nay, she cared for him, she desired him, and Rowan knew the truth of it.

Why else was she so concerned that he hold love in esteem?
Rowan chuckled at the truth of it. Aye, he would have Bronwyn begging for his touch before they were done! He stepped closer, savoring how her eyes narrowed assessingly at his move.

Oh, she would be his again within moments.

The captain’s voice rose as he changed the course and Bronwyn raised her gaze to look over Rowan’s shoulder. A faint smile teased her lips and her expression turned welcoming, that look bringing his advance to a halt. When she waved and smiled, Rowan spun to find the captain granting her a salute.

Something dark twisted in his gut, though Bronwyn’s next words stole his breath away.

“I desire a man of substance, not some knave whose word cannot be trusted,” she declared under her breath. “Is Baldassare not a handsome man? Aye, a man with fine manners and a fat purse, a man who knows how best to treat a lady.” She sighed. “Perhaps ’tis the call of blood to blood, but I cannot resist the allure of a Venetian man. And now that you have shown me the pleasures to be found abed, well, I cannot resist
him.
”

She brushed past an astonished Rowan, her gaze fixed on the other man. “I would guess his lovemaking would not be
mediocre,
” she murmured.

Nay! This was not right! Bronwyn’s desire could not be so fleeting as that! Her desire could not be so fleeing as his own oft was!

Could it?

“You cannot do this!” he bellowed

“Watch me,” she muttered through her teeth, casting him a glance so stubborn it nigh stole his breath away.

Rowan lunged after her. “You cannot go to him! You cannot leave
me
to pursue
him.
”

Bronwyn resolutely kept her gaze fixed on the captain, a
smile upon the ripe curve of her lips. “ ’Tis precisely what I intend to do.” She untied her chemise a little more, casting Rowan an arch glance.