Much Ado About Marriage (32 page)

Footsteps sounded in the hallway, and just as suddenly as he’d been pulled into this odd awake-dream, Thomas was released. All that was left was the strangely glowing amber amulet, warm against his chest.

For a long moment. Thomas merely stared, his heart thudding as hard as if he’d just run a race. Outside his room, a servant passed carrying a load of firewood for someone’s bedchamber. As the servant’s footsteps faded, Thomas forced himself away from the mirror. He yanked the amulet from his neck and threw it into the writing desk with the other jewelry, then slammed it closed. Heart sill racing, he stacked every book he could find on the top.

“Bloody hell, I’m becoming as fanciful as Fia!” He rubbed his face with both hands, his heart returning slowly to a normal pace. He forced a laugh. “Mayhap
I
should be the one writing plays.”

Shaking his head, he pulled out the sheaf of papers and took a chair as far away from the writing desk as he could find. A sensible, straight-backed chair with solid legs that rested firmly upon the ground. Then, with only an occasional glance toward the writing desk, Thomas read Fia’s play.

Och, now, what might you be doing?”

Thomas jerked upright, slamming his head into the stone fireplace. A huge puff of soot billowed into the room and he began to cough, one hand wiping his streaming eyes, the other uselessly fanning the ashy air.

As he staggered away from the fireplace, one foot came down squarely on Zeus’s tail. The dog yipped and Thomas spun away, tripping over a chair, his arms flailing uselessly.

For a second he tottered unsteadily . . . then crashed onto the floor in a cloud of soot.

Fia blinked in amazement. She’d just come to find her animals, who for some strange reason continued to migrate to Thomas’s bedchamber the second she opened her door each morning. He was usually up and gone by the time she arose, so she had been surprised to find him still in his room. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”

He put a hand to his head but made no move to rise.

“Thomas?” Fia tiptoed closer, peering through the haze at his blackened face.

Thomas’s hair was no longer gleaming black, but a dull, dusty gray. Black soot splashed trails across his head and shoulders, leaving only his neck and a small triangle under his nose the color of flesh. His eyes, which had filled with tears at the sudden fall of ash, were so reddened they could have frightened off the most stout-hearted of heroes.

Fia sank to her knees beside him, heedless of the ash dirtying her gown. “Thomas! Can you rise?”

“Aye,” he choked out, rubbing his eyes with the back of a grimy hand. “Only . . . give me a moment to . . . recover my . . . breath.”

Sweet Saint Catherine, if this is the luckiest man in the country lying here in the soot, then God help England.

She choked back a laugh, carefully wiping some of the soot from his face with the edge of her skirt.

He took a calming breath and shot her an irritated look. “God’s breath, you scared me nigh to death.”

“I’m sorry; ’twasn’t my intention. What were you doing with your head up the chimney?”

“The flue was stuck,” he answered shortly.

“Why would you worry about that? There’s no fire.”

“Aye, but ’twas making a breeze.” He was thankful Fia hadn’t come a moment earlier, or she’d have seen a place cleared of soot where he’d moved the lever to open the secret compartment. He’d been smearing it back over when she’d startled him.

Fia tilted her head to one side. “Do you think you can stand?”

Zeus shuffled over and sat beside Thomas, his tail thumping uncertainly, stirring small puffs of soot.

“Och, look at that. Zeus has come to see how you are.”

“’Twas all his fault,” Thomas grumbled, then sent a hard
look at Fia when she giggled. “Thank you, Mistress Mirth, but ’tis not a laughing matter. I was nigh killed.”

Zeus tilted his head curiously at the familiar voice coming from the soot-covered face. He leaned over and sniffed loudly at Thomas’s ash-blackened hair, then promptly sneezed in his face.

“Damn cur!” Thomas reached for Zeus, but the dog scrambled out of the way, his crooked tail wagging as he hid behind the high bed. “That mangy, good-for-nothing, ill-mannered, foul-smelling—”

“Half-eared,” Fia added helpfully, still kneeling at Thomas’s side.

Thomas favored her with a flat stare.

She bit her lip, knowing that to burst out laughing would be a grave error.

He saw her laughter anyway, for his gaze narrowed and without warning, he grasped her shoulders. “It has just occurred to me that I am so very, very dirty, whilst you are so very, very clean.”

Before she could comprehend his intent, he pulled her against him and then rolled her under his long length. She was trapped on the dusty floor, soot rising in a foggy cloud around them.

His ash-covered face loomed above her, his white teeth gleaming as he grinned.

“You—you—” Words failed her.

His grin widened. “You must take your medicine.” With deliberate slowness, he wiped the back of his hand on the front of her dress, lingering an unnecessary length of time on the swell of her breasts. “You owe me a forfeit, my lady.”

A long smudge led down to where his hand cupped her intimately. Heat flared through her body, and she had to
bite her lip to keep from pressing against him. “Laughing is not against our rules, so I owe no forfeit.”

“Ah, yes. Our rules. I had forgotten them. What were they again? No dancing, correct?”

“In public—yes, that’s one. And for you, no shouting.”

“I hope my surprised yell when you snuck up on me doesn’t count.”

“Nay, not this time.”

“That’s generous of you.” He traced a sooty finger down her cheek. “My other rule was ‘No public displays,’ I believe. ’Tis a good thing we’re in private now. I find I’m rather fond of public displays here.”

She had to laugh. He was so tempting when he was like this—mussed and smiling, charming and teasing. How could she resist?

And yet she must. The last three days had been difficult. She’d found herself staring at the wall that separated their bedchambers, restless and lonely in her bed.

Thomas shifted and winced, his hand going to his forehead.

“You’re wounded!”

“I’ll have a bruise or two. No more.”

Duncan had always said that sometimes you had to grab fate by the throat to make it yours. She’d thought that was a rather violent way to do things, but perhaps there was something in it.

“Does it hurt”—she placed her hand on Thomas’s chest—“here?”

His gaze went to her hand. “No.”

Her heart thudded harder. “Good. But mayhap you hurt”—she moved her hand to his hard stomach—“here?”

His chest rose and fell faster, as did hers; the air about them suddenly charged.

“Nay,” Thomas said in a husky voice. “It doesn’t hurt there, either.”

Slowly, so slowly, she slid her hand to his codpiece and rested it lightly there, her fingers curved around him. “Mayhap you hurt . . . here?”

She almost couldn’t breathe. Never had she been so daring, so bold. Would Thomas reject her? Send her away? Tell her—

Thomas slipped an arm about her waist and kissed her, his entire body aflame. He needed to feel her against him, under him,
with
him.

She reacted as he’d known she would, with wild abandon. She strained against him, her arms about his neck, her tongue seeking his. Her hips lifted in an unconscious invitation. He had to steel his every nerve against the urge to immediately bury himself into her, so intense was the pleasure.

But this time he wanted to linger, to savor, to explore. He pulled back and looked into the smoky blackness of her eyes. “Easy, comfit,” he whispered, then bent to gently nip her full bottom lip, laving the mock injury with his tongue. She moaned and closed her eyes, her thick lashes black crescents on her cheeks.

He smiled gently at the gray streaks that marred her creamy skin and whispered against her mouth, “I fear I’ve shared more of this soot than I intended.”

She blinked up at him, comprehension rising slowly in her arousal-clouded eyes.

“I’ve always wanted to make love in front of a fireplace.” She chuckled, the sound running through him like a rushing brook through a parched plain.

“You look more like you’ve been
inside
a fireplace, comfit.” He placed small kisses along her delectable mouth and firm, rounded chin.

“As do you,” she murmured, igniting him with the need to take her there,
now
. “Stop talking, please. Just kiss me.”

He did so as he slid his hands into the luxury of her hair, instantly welcomed by the silky curls. He ran his hands past her waist to the curve of her hip and on to the firmness of her thigh.

With an impatient tug, he pulled her skirts up until he could cup the roundness of her leg in his hand. She was made for his hands, he thought possessively, kissing her with renewed passion.

Fia gasped as his hands began their ascent past her knee. Just as she tensed, his mouth was on hers, warm and demanding, his tongue questing. She threw one arm around his neck and placed the other on his back, running it up and down the hardness of his rippling muscles. When he touched her, she forgot everything else. Even all smudged with soot, he was still heart-rendingly beautiful.

“Take me,” Fia whispered, the words wrenched from her secret heart as if he had placed her under a spell.

He slowly lowered his mouth to place an almost reverent kiss on her lips. She groaned and kissed him back, her whole body writhing with urgent passion. He plunged his tongue into her mouth in an insistent, seductive rhythm and she unconsciously ground her hips against his, her hands tugging at his clothing.

He began to loosen her dress. As her skin was exposed to the chilly air, her nipples hardened. He moaned and his mouth, hot and insistent, covered one taut peak as his hand cupped the other. She gasped, arching into him.

“Don’t stop,” she whispered.

Without ceasing to ply his heated tongue to her breast, he managed to free her dress and he stripped it from her, his eyes burning.

He lifted himself to look at her, his eyes moving slowly from her face and beyond, lingering on her body until she thought she would burst into flames from embarrassment. “You are so beautiful,” he murmured.

She tugged at his shirt. “Undress.”

He stared at her, a sensual smile playing across his lips.

“Undress,” she pleaded again.

“Nay, sweet lady, I’ll have you undress me,” he whispered against her mouth, his hands never still.

She moaned and writhed as he nipped at her ear, his hand sliding up her thigh to brush ever so lightly against her moistness.

She began to pull on his shirt laces, crying out when they refused to loosen.

He chuckled and grabbed her frantic hands. “Softly, my sweet.” His brown eyes glinted warmly into hers as he leaned forward to gently brush her lips with his. The kiss deepened and she felt his hand slide between her legs to thread gently through the curls.

Hot, molten liquid rushed through her veins. She was afire with want. She threw an arm about his neck and ran her other hand over his shoulders, down his back, and lower, kneading his firm muscles. She reached to cup his manhood and he groaned into her mouth—and moaned again as she stroked him through the cloth.

She tried to undo the lacing, cursing her trembling fingers, yet still he did not help her. Frustration made her bold.
“Undress,”
she demanded, thrusting her hips against him for
emphasis. His eyes clenched shut as though he were in pain.

“Sweet Jesu, do not move!” he hissed, his face strained, a damp sheen moistening his lip.

For a second he lay still, his forehead dropping to rest against her cheek, his breathing rasping harshly through the room. Then his fingers were tugging and yanking at his own laces with satisfying desperation. In an instant he was naked, his skin warm against hers.

He pulled her legs apart and positioned himself above her, his eyes staring directly into hers as he lowered himself into her. There was an agonizing second of fullness as he ground his hips against her.

“By the saints,” he whispered between clenched teeth. Before he could withdraw to sink into her again, she tensed and then threw back her head as wave after wave of pleasure rippled through her.

Her heat nearly singed Thomas as she clutched her legs about him, and he could not withstand the pressure of her reaction. Spiraling through heaven, she sent him over the edge without even moving.

For a moment they lay spent, legs intertwined as their breathing returned to normal. Thomas lifted himself to look down at Fia’s flushed face and couldn’t resist placing a kiss on the corner of her mouth. It looked like a dewy cherry, ripe for a taste.

She peered at him from beneath heavy lids. “I have soot all over my clothing.”

He chuckled. “Aye, and your face as well.” He kissed her nose. “Yet you manage to look beautiful all the same.”

She smiled as her eyes drifted closed.

“What’s this? ’Tis but midday, madam, yet you look to be asleep.”

“I know,” she murmured, not opening her eyes. “You’ve made me very, very tired.” She shivered and a slight frown turned down the corners of her mouth. “I would sleep, but for the cold.”

He laughed softly. “I promise to have a roaring fire awaiting you next time.”

She grimaced drowsily. “Only if you get thicker carpets. I’m certain I’ll have bruises.”

“Witch,” he said with a grin. He spread her skirt over her like a blanket. “I give you so much pleasure you nigh expire, and all you can do is complain.”

She chuckled sleepily, the sound settling around him like a warm woolen cloak. He draped a leg across hers and pulled her to him.

She nestled against his chest, and slowly fell asleep. He watched her a moment before a noise in the corridor reminded him that some servant could knock upon the door at any moment.

He scooped her into his arms, then laid her gently on the huge bed. She snuggled into the mounds of pillows and blankets, then did not stir.