Twilight of a Queen (28 page)

“I—I don’t think it would be good to depend upon being caught,” she said. “I might fall so hard this time I would not be able to recover.”

He stopped, his mouth a breath from hers.

“Wise woman,” he murmured. He released her and turned to walk away, leaving Jane to wrap her arms about herself, feeling bereft.

For the second time that night, she felt something inside her snap. She was as heartily sick of being wise as she was wearied of being virtuous.

Xavier had not taken that many steps when she charged after him, tugging on his coat to pull him about. He had time to utter one astonished oath before she flung her arms about his neck.

She dragged his mouth down to hers in a kiss that was bruising and clumsy. He stiffened for only a moment before he recovered from his surprise and banded her closer with his arm.

His mouth moved over hers with more assurance than her awkward efforts, teaching, wooing, and coaxing her lips apart. After the initial shock of his tongue invading her mouth, Jane learned quickly, meeting him thrust for thrust.

She buried her fingers in his hair, greedily drinking in the heat, the passion that was Xavier, as though it were some intoxicating brew she had been denied far too long.

It was Xavier who broke off the kiss, gasping for air.

“Hell’s fire, woman. I—I—”

“Yes?” Jane quavered, bracing herself for the humiliation of being thrust away from him.

But his lips curled in a piratical grin. “I have wanted you to kiss me that way ever since you made your first attempt that day on the beach.”

“I didn’t attempt anything. I told you—” Jane began indignantly only to be silenced by his mouth assaulting hers again.

She was not the only one kissing as though she could not get enough. The fierceness of Xavier’s hunger thrilled her, increasing her own desire tenfold. No matter how she angled her body, she could not seem to get close enough to him. When his cloak tangled in the way, she tugged at the clasp. Neither of them noticed as it pooled to the ground.

Jane shivered as Xavier caressed the curve of her breast, the touch as frustrating as it was tantalizing. The shawl she had worn tonight lay abandoned where she had been sitting near Meg. She had dressed for comfort, not bothering with a corset. But even her chemise and the light wool of her bodice were far too many layers between her and Xavier’s questing fingers.

When he fumbled with the lacings of her gown, he emitted a frustrated growl, starting to remove his injured arm from the sling. Jane stopped him, shamelessly loosening her bodice herself, enough that Xavier was able to thrust his hand inside.

Her sigh matched his as his fingers cupped her breast, warm, rough, teasing her nipple until it crested against his palm. His touch sent such fire through her, all the way to her core.

Her legs trembled and the next she knew, she was lying flat on her back, Xavier’s cloak spread beneath her. Jane
stared, a little dazed at the panoply of night sky above her. Never had the stars looked so bright or the moon seemed so full, laden with secrets and dark promises.

Why that should be so, Jane could not analyze. She felt as though she had walled off the rational part of her mind, silenced any whispers of conscience, surrendering herself entirely to sensation.

The cool breeze whispering over her exposed breast, the hot moisture of Xavier’s mouth as he knelt over her, laving kisses against her skin, the sweet heaviness pooling between her thighs.

In between kisses, he cursed the awkwardness of his sling, threatening to remove his splints. Her eyes narrowed to slits of pleasure, Jane gave her head an admonishing shake.

“You do just fine with one hand.”

“That is because you don’t know what I can do with two,” he replied wickedly.

Tugging at the hem of her gown, he slid his hand beneath her skirts. He trailed his fingers along her leg, pausing to tease the skin behind her knee, going no higher until Jane squirmed in frustration.

She retaliated by going for the buttons of his breeches. Intoxicated by her own boldness, she delved beneath the flap, closing her hand over the hot, hard length of his shaft.

Xavier clutched at her leg, his eyes widening as he emitted an astounded gasp. “Jesu, woman, you’ve run completely mad.”

He made a halfhearted gesture as though to stop her, only to groan as she stroked him.

“And—I am right beside you,” he grated.

She helped him to ease his breeches down. But as he shoved her skirts up higher out of the way, it became clear his broken arm presented a problem.

“This might go better if you were the one on top,” he murmured ruefully.

“But I have never,” she started, only to realize the foolishness of her protest. She gave a shaky laugh. There were a lot of things she had never done before, including surrendering to her passion for a man, making love to him not within the civilized confines of a bed, but beneath the stars, the wind whistling through the stone titans, the sea pounding at the base of the cliffs.

Xavier kissed her again, manfully denying his own desire, trying to slow the pace of their mating to something a trifle more tender, but Jane would have none of it.

Afraid that if she paused to reflect for but a moment, she would flee, retreat to the corner she had been living in all these years. She clambered atop Xavier, easing down, his hard length stretching and filling her as her skirts fanned about them.

He braced his hand upon her hip as he bucked beneath her, guiding her until she caught the rhythm for herself. Her head thrown back, she rode him hard, faster and faster. Every desire, every anger, every grief she had ever suppressed swelled inside of her, finding voice in her broken cry as she climaxed.

Panting, dizzy, she collapsed beside Xavier and to her horror, promptly burst into tears. Xavier lay on his back, his eyes closed, his chest rising and falling as he sought to recover his own breath.

Jane rolled onto her side, trying to stifle her sobs, but it was impossible that Xavier not notice. He raised himself up, peering over her shoulder, trying to see her face.

“Jane?”

She couldn’t answer for the tears clogging her throat.

“Oh, hell!” He sighed. “I was afraid this would happen. I just didn’t imagine your regret would come so soon.”

“N-no! Not re-regret. It is just that I have n-not felt for s-so long. Perhaps n-never. I d-didn’t think I could—”

She doubted that he would understand. No man could. But to her surprise, he urged her to face him and gathered her close to him. He cradled her close to his chest, her tears soaked his shirt, but he did not seem to mind.

He rocked her, murmuring, “I know. I know, dearest heart.” Strange as it was for this rugged corsair, she believed that he did understand.

Being held so tenderly and comforted by anyone was a sensation as novel to Jane as the passion had been. She savored every one of his rough whispered endearments, the kisses he brushed against the top of her head.

As she regained some control of herself, she was appalled to realize she had not even noticed whether Xavier had reached fulfillment. In her marriage bed with her late husband, William’s satisfaction had been of the greatest importance, hers of no account. A wife was merely meant to endure.

She drew back a little, so she could peer at Xavier anxiously, scarce knowing how to frame such an awkward question.

“Er … did you … were you able to—”

“Oh, yes.”

“G-good. I am so glad,” she said, provoking a laugh from him.

“Me too.” He grinned at her and Jane flushed.

What an idiot he must find her. She had no idea what sort of women he was accustomed to bed, but she doubted any other had treated him to such an awkward display. Pouncing at him like a cat in heat and then dissolving into a puddle of tears.

“You must think me quite insane.” She sniffed.

“We both are.” He brushed aside the moisture from her cheeks with the pad of his thumb. “I blame it on the moon.”

“Or these stones.” Jane said, attempting to return his smile. “Miri told me that according to legend they are daughters of the earth, petrified long ago to save them from witch-hunters and to be perpetual guardians of the island. They are supposed to be infused with a special magic.”

“Oh, I believe it. I have heard other legends regarding such monoliths. I doubt we are the first couple to succumb to passion beneath their shadows. It is rumored that they have the power to make men potent and women fertile.”

Fertile?

The word struck Jane with all the force of a bucket of cold water dashed in her face. She sat up, clutching at the region of her womb.

“Oh, God, oh God. What I have done? How could I be so careless? Not again.”

She scrambled to her feet as though by standing she could force Xavier’s seed to flow from her womb. She cast a nervous glance up at the omnipresent stones as though they might even now be weaving their fatal magic upon her. Distracted by fears of what might be the consequence
of her reckless actions, she plucked at the bodice of her gown to tuck her breasts back inside.

“We—we should be getting back. We will be missed,” she stammered.

Xavier stood more slowly. He managed to hike up his breeches, but she was obliged to help him with the buttons, which only rendered the moment more awkward.

He frowned, studying her with narrowed eyes. If the man had not thought she had taken leave of her senses before, now he must be convinced of it.

“What is wrong, Jane? What did you mean,
not again?”

She was loath to answer him, but she supposed she owed him some sort of explanation. She ducked her head, shamefaced.

“When—when I was fifteen, I was smitten with my guardian’s master of the horse. I gave way to my passions and ended up conceiving a child out of wedlock.

“My little girl was stillborn, which was accounted a blessing at the time. But I never conceived again. God’s judgment against me, I fear, because of my sin.”

Xavier snorted, shocking her by swearing. “God’s blood, woman. Even if I was sure I believed in the Al mighty, I would think He would have greater affairs to tend besides cursing some poor girl for a slip from grace that was none of her fault. His wrath should have fallen upon this horse master for seducing you. You were but fifteen.”

“Old enough to know the difference between right and wrong,” Jane said.

Xavier took her by the chin, obliging her to look up at him. “So what we did here tonight—that felt wrong to you?”

“No,” she whispered. That was what made her so confused. “But—”

“There is no but,” he interrupted her, drawing her close again. “Perhaps we were a trifle reckless. I confess I am accustomed to having congress with women of a more experienced stamp, who know how to protect themselves from any unwanted consequences.”

“You mean prostitutes.”

“I prefer to call them ladies of enterprise who know how to give a man good value for his coin.”

When Jane frowned at him, he chucked her chin and smiled ruefully. “I never laid claims to sainthood, Jane, or even to being a good man. But while I may be an unconscionable rogue, you have nothing to fear on one score. There is one thing I would never do.”

“And what is that?”

“I would never abandon my child or his mother.”

He meant every word, Jane was staggered to realize. His voice was husky, his expression fierce in its sincerity. She well understood the reason for it. Beneath this man’s tough façade, the shadow of the boy denied by his own father lingered.

Yet how many who styled themselves noblemen would have found no fault with the Chevalier Louis Cheney’s behavior? Any woman rash enough to give herself outside of wedlock must stand the consequences, the man free to walk away. It was the way of the world.

But clearly not Xavier’s way. He kissed her again, her brow and her eyelids before settling on her lips. Jane sighed, longing to tell him how much his assurance meant to her, how much she respected him for it, how much …

She loved him
.

But that was something she hardly dared acknowledge to herself let alone Xavier, so she held her tongue. Burying her face against his chest, she feared she had already committed enough folly for one night.

P
ORT CORSAIR DROWSED IN THE MID MORNING SUN, THE
channel waters as calm as the activities on the dockside. Or lack of them. By this hour, the fishing boats had been launched. Only one small carrack rode at anchor, being loaded in preparation for a trading voyage to the mainland on the next tide.

Xavier wended his way past barrels, crates, and coils of rope as he had done every day since they had returned to this side of the island. He drew in a deep breath, filling his lungs with the tang of salt air as he flexed his fingers protruding from the edge of the sling.

His hand felt stiff and he longed to be rid of the cursed splint. The docked ship filled him with a longing even more
familiar, to be at sea again, to feel the waves swelling beneath him.

But the urge was no longer as simple and uncomplicated as it had once been. He had done the one thing he had sworn he would never do, forged a link that would keep him tethered to dry land.

Jane
.

He had had leisure enough this past fortnight to regret that wild night among the standing stones. The leisure but not the inclination. All he had to do was think of Jane’s soft eyes and generous lips and his body stirred with the urge to repeat their folly all over again.

But he ought to have known better. Jane was nothing like the doxies he usually bedded whenever he made port. Experienced women who knew how to make certain there were no consequences of their liaisons.

This time there damn well might be consequences. Jane was mortified to discuss her womanly functions with him, but when he had pressed her, she admitted that her courses were a week late.

For another woman, that might be nothing to fret about. But according to Jane, she had always been as regular as the flow of the tides. That figured, Xavier thought wryly. That a woman as dutiful and proper as Jane would be punctual in everything. Except the one time that she hadn’t been, the time her body had swelled with child.