Be Mine Tonight (11 page)

But she did have to get out of bed to answer the natural demands of her body, so after a visit to the toilet, she tossed back the drapes and watched the beauty of the pinkening sky.

It would soon be time for dinner. If she hurried, she might be able to join the others. While she had no desire to see their concern—or worse, their
pity—she didn’t want to make them worry more by spending yet another night closeted away in her room.

Plus she would be able to see Chapel.

She rang for her maid and picked a gown out of the sandalwood-scented interior of her armoire. The gown was a shade of deep rose, which would put color in her cheeks and brighten her eyes. Perhaps she’d add just a touch of rouge to her cheeks to help. If she looked too pale, Matilda was likely to march her right back to bed.

Eventually her sisters would return to their own lives, their own homes. The summer wouldn’t last forever and the house would be empty once more. Pru would miss them when they left, but the privacy would be most welcome.

Her maid came quickly, grinning and chattering about how pleased she was to see her mistress “up and around.” Within the half hour Pru was washed, dressed and coifed. Just going through the regular routine had her feeling better than she had upon waking. She had much of her energy back, and her corset didn’t make her stomach uncomfortable.

Her legs were a little shaky as she carefully maneuvered her way downstairs, but the drugs Dr. Higgins gave her always had that effect. It would wear off once she was up for a bit and had some food in her belly.

Given the hour, she went straight to the dining room, and found everyone just sitting down at the table. They were surprised to see her, of course, but everyone seemed pleased by her appearance.
Her father, the poor thing, looked so relieved that she feared he might weep.

Everyone made a fuss, of course, shuffling themselves around so that she might have the “best” seat at the table. Her sisters knew that, for her, the best seat was the one closest to the gravy, and so that was the one she got.

It was also the one on the immediate right of Chapel. Was that planned as well? She could see no trace of conspiracy on her sisters’ faces, but that didn’t mean anything.

He didn’t immediately say anything as she seated herself, but he watched her as carefully as a nurse watching her charge take its first steps. He passed her platters of food and held them for her as she made her selections, but he did not speak.

The only way to make this situation less uncomfortable was to make like there was nothing wrong.

She ladled gravy over the meat on her plate. “Are you having a good evening, Mr. Chapel?”

He smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. His eyes were dark gold with concern. “I am now, Miss Ryland.” He passed her the potatoes. “Would you care to have some potatoes with your gravy?”

Teasing. Not what she expected, but much more welcome. She glanced down at her plate, the contents of which were swimming in rich brown sauce, and smiled. “Of course, but I shall have to put more gravy on them. I do not believe I have quite enough.”

This time the smile did reach his eyes and she puffed up for having put it there.

After dinner, the entire party retired to the drawing room for drinks and diversions. Pru had no doubt that the diversions were for her benefit—and to keep everyone’s mind off her collapse the night before.

Father Molyneux regaled them with tales of his travels in the East. Pru’s favorite was the one about the singing camel—which, of course, turned out not to be able to sing at all. Perhaps she was simply ignorant, but she never would have thought a priest could be quite so well traveled, or so openly tolerant of other cultures and peoples.

“Mr. Chapel,” she said when the priest insisted that he could talk no more, “you must have some interesting tales of your adventures. Will you share them?”

He looked as though he would rather have his hand chewed off by mice. “I am not much of a storyteller, Mam’selle Ryland.”

“Rubbish,” Molyneux blurted, his teacup poised halfway to his lips. “Tell one of those stories you picked up about those knights.”

Was it the lighting or her imagination—did Chapel look as though he’d like to backhand Molyneux?

And knights? Chapel didn’t seem the type…no, wait. On closer inspection, he
did
look like someone who would know about knights and daring adventures of yore. In fact, it was very easy to imagine him as a knight atop a thundering steed, a sword at his side, chain mail glinting in the sun.

As girlishly romantic as it was, it was a vision she rather liked.

“Yes.” It was Marcus who spoke, watching Chapel with an expression Pru didn’t quite understand. “Tell us one of your knight tales, Mr. Chapel. Perhaps one about de Foncé.”

Chapel was expressionless as he glanced at Marcus, but not when he turned to her, looking as though he hoped she’d absolve him. Whoever this de Foncé was, he was obviously a character Marcus knew of.

Since she couldn’t stand to not know something, Pru smiled. “I, for one, would love to hear a story about knights.”

The rest of the party concurred. Like any good man who knew when he was beat, Chapel accepted defeat with a small sigh and a resigned smile. “All right.”

He began the story by telling them of the knight named Severian de Foncé. He was a young, brave man who believed that his sword and faith in God would keep anything bad from happening to him. This arrogance made him rash and often he found himself in situations that he would not have escaped were it not for his faithful friends and companions.

Severian was in love with a young woman named Marie. Marie came from a wealthy family, so Severian was constantly trying to prove himself worthy to her family. He entered contests to prove his strength and bravery. He went on quests for treasure and secret assignments for the King of France to earn the gold to keep his future bride in the manner of life to which she was accustomed.

King Philip sent Severian and his friends on a quest for a mystical object, said to grant great power to whoever claimed it. The knights fought a long battle. Their swords were bloody, their bodies battered and torn, but they finally breached their opponents’ defenses. They found the object of their quest—or what they believed to be the object they sought.

“But it was an instrument of evil,” Chapel told them, the entire room—Pru included—hanging on his every word. “When Severian and his friends claimed it for their king, it placed a horrible curse on each of them.”

Pru’s eyes widened. “What kind of curse?”

Chapel smiled gently at her. “I will explain.” He went on to say that the curse was dark and powerful. It turned each of the men into a beast. They were powerful, able to take or achieve anything they wanted, but they were cursed to stay to the shadows, hideous and feared by any and all who saw them.

Severian believed that his love, Marie, would understand when she saw him. He believed that she would be impressed by his newfound powers and strength. When he came to her once he’d returned, she was disgusted by what he had become. When he tried to press his suit upon her, she fled from his embrace and threw herself from her balcony, committing the deadly sin of suicide rather than spend the rest of her life married to such a creature.

Chapel paused here, long enough that some of the party exchanged quizzical glances.

“But what of Severian?” Caroline demanded to know.

Chapel’s brow furrowed, as though some unpleasant memory accompanied his tale. “He was overcome by grief and would have ended his own life if he could have, but he was a coward and he slunk away into the shadows where he belonged, leaving his home and the life he knew, never to return.”

Matilda sighed. “How tragic.”

Chapel nodded. “Severian learned a valuable lesson, but it was hard-learned. He taught himself to control the beast inside him and to become a better person despite his curse. His rashness and arrogance cost him the woman he loved most, and he would not have her death be in vain.”

“Marie was a cow,” Pru remarked.

Chapel raised his brows. “I beg your pardon?”

“No woman who truly loved a man would turn her back on him because of a curse. If she’d truly loved him she would have learned to accept Severian as he was. Who throws themselves out a window because her lover has changed? Honestly?”

He obviously doubted the conviction behind her words. “You would not reject a lover who had turned into a beast?”

“A beast whom you just said learned to change the very behavior that got him into trouble in the first place. Even the fiercest beast is capable of gentleness, Mr. Chapel. I wish I could say the same of all men.”

Molyneux gave a sharp nod. “Well said.”

Chapel regarded her strangely, with an expression that looked oddly hopeful. “You have obviously never encountered a true monster, Miss Ryland. I pray you never do.”

She smiled at his melodramatic tone. Was she to take from that that
he
had met a true monster? “If I loved him, Mr. Chapel, he would never be a monster in my eyes. I applaud your knight for changing, but it is unfortunate that he did it for such an undeserving wench.”

Chapel looked as though she had dumped cold water over his head.

Marcus burst out laughing. “On that note, if you all will excuse me, I will take my leave.”

“Oh, Marcus, wait!” Pru rose to her feet. “I want to talk to you for a moment.”

She turned her head to excuse herself from Chapel, and of course to apologize if her remarks had insulted him in any way, but he wasn’t there. Pru raised her gaze to see him exit the room via the French doors. He was slipping out for his evening cigarette, no doubt.

Either that or he didn’t agree with her that Severian’s Marie was a wench.

P
ru did not see much of Chapel over the course of the next two nights. He was present at dinner, and though he conversed with her as though nothing were amiss, he did not come to the library at all—at least not while Pru was there.

He was avoiding her, and she could not help but wonder if he spent his evenings with the little maid. Her heart told her no, that it was not another woman who kept him from her, but her mind had a hard time accepting that.

Then again, the reason he avoided her might be entirely of her own making—except that she had absolutely no idea what she might have done to deserve his dismissal.

Well, maybe there were two things she could
think of: Number one, that she bored him and he had decided to stop trying to charm her. Or, number two, that he had taken offense at her remarks about the story he had told them all in the drawing room two nights earlier.

Of the two ideas, the former sounded the most likely, even if she did not want to believe it.

Perhaps it was her illness that put him off. She hated thinking that of him, but she could understand if that was the case. Blood could be so off-putting for some people, not to mention frightening.

Or, she thought as she slipped on her earrings, perhaps there was nothing amiss at all. Perhaps his attitude meant nothing other than the fact that he didn’t have to be all over her every time they were together.

Disappointing, but not nearly as final as her other thoughts. Why waste time trying to make a villain or libertine out of him? The worst he could do was break her heart, and a broken heart didn’t seem like that much of a tragedy given her circumstances.

In fact, she rather fancied the idea of having her heart broken. She didn’t know what it felt like, but she’d read enough novels and poems to know that heartbreak generally followed a grand passion or romance.

Either of those was certainly worth a little pain, were they not?

Why could it not have been Marcus who caught her fancy? Why did they end up being nothing more than friends? She and Marcus could have
been having an affair for months now. She knew Marcus, there would be no trying to guess at what he was thinking or feeling.

But it wasn’t Marcus who made her heart beat faster. It wasn’t Marcus with whom she wanted to spend the long evenings when she couldn’t—wouldn’t—sleep. She wanted Chapel. Part of his appeal was that he treated her like a person, not a lesser being. And he didn’t treat her like a sick person.
God, please don’t let him start now.

So here it was, the night of her little evening party that had been postponed due to her illness, and she was dressed to catch Chapel’s attention.

Her gown consisted of a tea-colored
peau de sole
underskirt topped by accordian-pleated chiffon in the same shade. Ivory lace in a large floral pattern topped the chiffon, allowing a bit of the delicate fabric to trim the decolleté. The tiny sleeves hugging her shoulders were chiffon as well.

The neckline was low and her breasts were pushed high against the gown’s snug bodice. As her maid laced her into her corset, pulling the strings tight, Pru prayed that she would not have one of her attacks that evening. So far, she did not feel the least bit uncomfortable.

Pearls completed her ensemble—pale golden pearls that shimmered in the light and made her skin look like alabaster. They wrapped around her neck and dangled from her ears. Her hair was piled loosely on top of her head in a elaborate coiffure that looked as though it might tumble loose at any moment, but was in no danger of any such thing.

She looked good. There was no remaining bruising beneath her eyes. Her cheeks were flush, her eyes bright. She looked healthy and robust—enough that even she was content to believe it for a bit.

And come tomorrow it might be a reality. Oh, thank goodness for the party and the diversion it brought, for she didn’t know what she would do if she had to spend the entire evening wondering what would be found tomorrow if—
when
—they finally breached the cellar entrance.

But that didn’t stop her from uttering a little prayer as she descended the stairs from her room. Nor did it keep a frisson of disappointment from trickling down her spine. If—argh,
when
—they found the Grail, there would no longer be a reason for Chapel to stay in Tintagel. Unless, of course, he decided to stay for her.

It was a chance she wasn’t prepared to take. Yes, he might stay for a bit, but realistically she knew he couldn’t stay forever, nor would he be likely to want to. If they did not find the Grail, her chance to experience a grand passion would leave with him. Her chance to live what was left of her life to its fullest would slip through her fingers.

The very thought was enough to make her chest tighten to the point where she struggled to draw breath. Better not to think of it.

Tonight was her night to seize the moment. And to seize Chapel.

It wasn’t simply passion she wanted. She wanted to feel loved and treasured. She knew that he
would give her that. Once upon a time she had been a normal woman with all the hopes for the future that came with her station. Many of those hopes had been taken from her, or she had given them up. She had a chance to grab something that she believed would be truly special, something fleeting and all too rare.

The party was held in the music room on the ground floor. Folding doors opened the far wall into the peach drawing room, doubling the entertainment space and giving guests a place to dance if they so desired.

It wasn’t a large party, perhaps fifty to seventy-five locals—gentry and families of good standing. Her father had even invited the local curate so that Father Molyneux would have a contemporary to converse with. Although, as far as Pru was concerned, Mr. Feathers was a tad too pious and judgmental to make friends with the French priest.

But Molyneux was the least of her concerns. She entered the room, smiling and greeting the guests who caught her attention or sought her out. She stopped and said good evening to her sisters and their husbands and paused long enough to give her father’s arm a gentle squeeze.

She did all these things as though guided by an unseen hand. Meanwhile, her gaze was constantly scanning the room, searching for a familiar golden head.

Her heart leapt when she finally spotted him. He was exiting the room through the French
doors, out into the garden. Perfect. She would have him all to herself for a moment.

It seemed to take a lifetime to weave through the crowd, even as small as it was. Everyone wanted to chat with her. It was her own fault. The excavation took so much of her time that she was rarely in the village anymore. She had shirked many of her old habits and responsibilities. She would have to remedy that.

Finally, she reached the exit. No one seemed to notice as she slipped through the doors after Chapel. Turning the handle, she stepped out into the cool night.

She stood for a moment, in a puddle of light that spilled out onto the cool stone, allowing her eyes to adjust to the lantern-lit dimness.

A flash of snowy white cravat and the glowing tip of a cigarette caught her attention and she moved toward it, leaving the safety of the doors for the darker fringe of the garden below. It was like leaving one world and traveling into another, unfamiliar and exotic. It was a trick of her mind, of course, but anticipation flared in her belly all the same.

Her skirts swished against the shallow steps. Grass tugged at her hem as she made her way toward Chapel, her heart beating a little harder with every step. Never in her life had she been so apprehensive about a meeting with another person. Never had she been so afraid of being rejected.

“Pru?” His voice was sharp, almost a reprimand. “What are you doing out here?”

“And a good evening to you as well.” It came out a bit sharper than she had intended, but did he have to make her feel every inch the idiot for seeking him out?

She could see his face now, illuminated by the flare of his cigarette as he inhaled from it. He had the good grace to look abashed as he exhaled. “Forgive me. Good evening, Pru, what brings you out here?”

As if he didn’t know. “Looking for you,” she replied honestly. “You have been avoiding me these last few days. I thought I might ask why.” There, she’d asked what she wanted to ask.

Now he looked indignant. It was an arrogant expression, one that he wore well. “I have not been avoiding you.”

He offered her the cigarette, a gesture that both surprised and warmed her. It was something shared with a close companion, and a choice not normally given to a woman of her station. She took it, rolling the slender length between her fingers.

“Please.” It was all she could do not to roll her eyes as she raised the cigarette to her mouth and tentatively inhaled. “Do not insult my intelligence by trying to deny it.” She coughed and handed the cigarette back to him. “What I want to know is why. Is it because I’m…sick?” It made her stomach roll to even think it.

His handsome face creased with a scowl. “Of course not. Is that how low your opinion is of me?”

“I did not want to believe that, but I cannot think of any other reason for you to go out of your way not to see me.” How brazen she was now compared to her youth. Somewhere over the last year or so she had begun losing patience with coyness and it had been increasing ever since.

“Can’t you?” He took one last draw off the cigarette and flicked it into the fountain. Better that than the bushes, she supposed. “Not one?”

There was something threatening, something harsh in his tone, as though he thought her a liar or a simpleton. She didn’t like either suggestion.

“No.” Her arms folded across her chest. “Unless, of course, kissing me was just a game to you and you have decided to move on to a target who might live long enough to give in to your seduction.”

Oh, it was cruel of her, and it showed on his face. “Kissing you was one of the biggest mistakes of my life.”

That was more cruel than anything she could have thought of. The words were like a punch in the stomach. “I see.”

She moved to walk away, numb and rejected, but he grabbed her by the arm. “No, you do not, you little fool.” He pulled her closer until she could feel the heat and smell the tabaccoed warmth of his breath. It did not occur to Pru to fight him, not when she wanted to be closer to him.

Only when she could feel his legs against hers through the layers of her skirts did he ease the pressure on her arm. His fingers released their
hold on her to move around to her back, holding her prisoner in a more gentle manner.

His expression softened, but his eyes were bright and dangerous. “Do you know why kissing you was a mistake, Pru?”

Lifting her chin to meet his gaze took almost all of her resolve. The rest was spent on trying to keep her chin from quivering. “Because you did not like it?”

“No.” Pru shivered as his warm breath caressed her cheek. “Because I liked it too much. So much that I’ve thought of little else since.”

Butterflies burst free behind her ribs. Elation made her brazen. “Would you like to do it again?”

His only answer was a low groan before lowering his head and claiming her lips with his. Pru gasped against his mouth, parting her lips for the bold intrusion of his tongue. He tasted sweet and smoky, his lips so smooth and firm her knees trembled.

His fingers were gentle but firm, the strength there obvious as one hand pressed against her spine, the other cupping the curve of her bottom. He pressed her against him so that her hips cradled him, and even through the layers of fabric between them she could feel the hardness of his body.

His hands slid up her back to her shoulders and neck. His fingers were warm against her bare flesh, so gentle as they caressed the ridge of her collarbone. Like the whisper of a sweet breeze, they drifted up her throat to her jaw and then back, cupping her head as though he were afraid
she might pull away before he had his fill of her mouth.

The pressure of his mouth eased to a lazy exploration. He kissed her as though they had all the time in the world, when he knew damn well that they didn’t. Pru railed against the restraint in his embrace. She wanted his body pressed full against hers once more. She wanted fierce fingers biting into her backside. She didn’t want restraint. She wanted passion.

All her life had been restraint. She could not afford to spend any more time behaving as she thought she should. She wanted him to treat her as a man treated a woman he desired so much it consumed him, and she wanted to be consumed. Desperately, she caught at his shoulders, feeling the muscles there beneath his clothes. She tried to pull him closer, but he wouldn’t budge. Her fingers clenched into fists as she rose up on her toes, trying to force her will upon him, but he was stronger.

Changing tactics, she pushed against him rather than pulled. She pressed herself full against him, gasping at the delicious shock of the softness of her body meeting the muscled hardness of his. The move caught him off guard and broke the contact between their lips.

“Please,” she whispered, peering up into the dark pools of his eyes. “Don’t treat me like something fragile. Treat me like a woman you desire more than anything in the world. Please, let me feel that just once.”

They stared at each other for the span of a
heartbeat before he lowered his head once more. He hesitated.

“Please, Chapel.” Her hands came up to hold his face—such a sad and beautiful face. “I want you to be the one to show me what it is to be loved.”

His grip on her tightened. Then Chapel’s control snapped.

Chapel didn’t just kiss Pru, he devoured her. His lips plundered hers, his tongue savoring the hot, sweet taste of her mouth. He held her tightly so she could not escape—his hands once more on her back, on the delicious curve of her bottom, pressing her against his pelvis. Could she feel his erection? Did she have any idea how badly he wanted to possess her?

Could she feel the sharpness of his teeth against her sweet, hot tongue? All it would take would be a tiny bit of pressure and her essence would be on his own tongue. She would be rich and earthy and sweet in the way of chocolate rather than pure sugar. Would she accept fangs and cock with a warm rush of heat or would she reject him?