Castle of the Wolf (22 page)

As Little Red Riding Hood now entered the woods, she met the wolf But Little Red Riding Hood didn’t know what a bad animal he was, and was not afraid of him….

Cissy shot a look to the wolf at her side. She wasn’t afraid of him either, but … Nervously, she gnawed on her lower lip. The prospect before her was a bit daunting, considering.

She frowned and threw another glance at her husband. He did not wear a hat, so the sunbeams falling through the roof of green overhead created shimmering highlights in his dark hair and made it gleam. He concentrated on the path ahead, handled the reins with competent ease. She wondered whether he knew how much assurance he radiated. While most of the time he seemed to be on the defensive, he now wore a relaxed expression. It made him look younger, smoothed the harsh lines that bracketed his mouth. And that mouth…

His mouth looked more relaxed, the lips more sensual. More approachable.

Cissy licked her lips.

More
kissable.

Heat rushed up into her face, and hastily she lowered her head. She could not help thinking about his lips and how they had moved over hers when he had kissed her. They had felt soft and strong at once. And when he had kissed her hand, they had been hungry. Masterful. As if he had wanted to devour her.

And the bad wolf jumped out of bed and devoured poor Little Red Riding Hood…

Cissy shook her head, yet she could not stop wondering what it would be like to be devoured by this particular wolf. To have him strip her of all social conventions, all daytime façades, and to consume her entirely. She shot him a glance from the corner of her eyes and suppressed a shudder.

Fenris finally halted the gig on a small, sun-filled clearing where a large boulder sat amidst the grass like a fat little troll.
A troll?
Cissy smiled at her fancy. Her father would have been appalled: trolls were creatures of the northern countries. She watched how her husband gracefully slid off the box seat. He turned around and looked at her.

“I hope this is to your liking,” he said. He leaned his hip against the moss-covered rock and crossed his arms in front of his chest. It was a nice chest, to be sure, broad and muscled.

Cissy swallowed hard. She remembered how she had uncovered that chest when he had lain unconscious, the satin-soft feeling of his warm skin over the hard steel of the muscles beneath. The crisp black hair that had tickled her fingers while she had opened the buttons of his shirt. The utterly adorable hair around his navel.

“Celia?”

His deep, raspy voice snatched Cissy out of her reverie, her memories—erotic memories. Heat flamed up in her face, and she quickly dismounted, nearly stumbling as her feet hit the ground.

“Fine,” she said, and tried not to notice how his brows shot up. “A nice place this is. Very nice. Quite suitable for a picnic, is it not? Oh, well, I say that is why you have picked it, but still…” She was babbling like a fool! “It is very nice. Lovely.”

Be quiet. Quiet!

She gave him her gayest smile, smiled and smiled until her cheeks hurt. “Shall I spread the blanket next to that stone…rock? And the horse—oh, the horse. I—”

“You can sling the reins over that low branch over there.” He narrowed his eyes. “You are not nervous, are you? After all, this was your idea.”

“Me? Nervous?”
I squeak like a mouse
, she thought with disgust, and forced herself to laugh even more gaily than she had smiled. “Of course not.”
Food. Think of the food
, she admonished herself sternly. He had already taken out the basket Cook had prepared for them.

Cissy took a deep breath and then went to secure the horse, smiling, always smiling. She carried the large, bulky blanket over to where her husband stood, tall and lean like a greyhound.

“A nice spring outing we will have,” she chattered, while she spread the blanket. He sat down and leaned against the boulder. She knelt, keeping the basket between them. “And a nice day—sunny, almost warm.” He helped her to unwrap the small parcels of food. “Yes, rather warm for spring, don’t you think?” His warm fingers brushed against hers when they both reached for the same plate, and all breath seemed to rush from her. “I…I am quite surprised, I have to admit,” she choked out, “I would not have thought it would ever get warm again after this winter. But now it is and… and…” She looked up.

His green eyes twinkled. “Here.” He held out a pewter tankard. “Have some wine.”

Embarrassed, Cissy stuck her nose into the tankard.
I am sure he just wants to silence me.

But then he said, “Have you read any of Grimm’s treatises? Tell me, what do you think of his theories on folk literature?” And because his father, too, was a scholar of mythology and history, it was a joy to discuss the latest theories and developments with Fenris. All the time he was solicitous and courteous, passed her plates with cold chicken and roasted pork and filled up her tankard again and again. The wine must have relaxed him, too, for after they had eaten all bits and crumbs, he held out an inviting hand. “Come here, Celia. Let us sit together and enjoy this lovely day.”

Surprised but pleased, she scooted over to him and allowed him to draw her into his arms so that she sat with her back against his chest. His hands rested over hers on her stomach, and his fingers painted fiery little circles on her skin.

“Much better,” he sighed. His warm breath tickled the suddenly sensitive shell of her ear, making her shiver. “Are you cold?”

“No.” How breathless she sounded. “No…just…” When he rubbed his cheek against her hair, she froze.

“Mmm. I like this.” Oh, yes, he had definitely had too much wine! He would have never touched her like this when sober; she was sure of it. “You have been a little jumpy today, haven’t you?”

“Jumpy?”

“Mmhm.” His arms tightened around her. “Like a wild doe. But now I have you…”

He could not have given her a better opening. So she gathered all her courage and blurted out, “Well, yes, I wanted to talk to you about that.”

“Hm?”

His hands were so large and dark against her own.

Cissy swallowed. “About our marriage, that is. The…the consummation…”

She felt his body tense behind her, and his arms fell away from her. “What about the consummation?” he said. He used his most chilling tone.

“Fenris.” She half turned to look at him. His expression had become shuttered and remote, while his eyes had darkened dramatically. In anger? “Fenris, please…” Without volition, her hand rose to cup his strong, stubborn jaw. “I have been wondering why our marriage is not consummated yet. I…” Once again, she felt the heat rise in her face, but doggedly she went on, “As I understand it, for this, legs are not really…necessary.”

“As you understand?” he sneered. When she would have shrunk away from his sarcasm, his hand came up to shut around her wrist like a vise, his fingers biting into her soft flesh. “And what do you know about the consummation of marriages? What would my lovely wife know about coupling?”

Oh, how wonderful. It was back to the demon wolf.

Cissy averted her face and bit her lip to keep from crying. Bawling like a baby would not help her, even if, with a few words, all the joy seemed to have been sucked out of the day. “You’re coarse,” she choked, while she tried in vain to free her wrist.

“Have you had a merry go with the stable lad back at home?” he asked. Such an ugly tone; she had never heard it from him before.

“No.”

“Has he touched you like this … ?” His free hand groped her breast. “Made you hot and panting?”

“
No!
” The more she fought, the tighter his fingers gripped her.

“Have you two had a merry go among the hay bales, is that it?”

Cissy choked. Heavens, Fenris was an utter dimwit! Anger swept away her dismay. Her head jerked up. “Don’t be ridiculous!” she spat. “What would I want with a man of nearly sixty?” That, she saw with satisfaction, surprised him.

“Oh,” he said, the ugliness leaving his face. Then his eyes narrowed. “Well, what then? How would a gently bred young lady like you know of such things?”

Cissy rolled her eyes. “We lived in the country, for heaven’s sake! And besides, if you must know, there are books and such!” She glared at him, willing him to wither under her gaze.

All he did, however, was blink. “Books and such.” His grip on her wrist relaxed.

“Yes.” Thinking about Mrs. Chisholm’s cards, she felt heat rise in her face and ducked her head.

His thumb rubbed over the pulse in her wrist. “What exactly do you mean by ‘and such’?” There was no more anger in his voice, only mild interest.

Cissy shivered a little as the callused pad of his thumb drew another circle over her sensitive skin. She bit her lip as, unbidden, the pictures from the cards rose in front of her inner eye: a couple in a cornfield, her breasts bared and pouting, the skirts rucked up over her hips. She sat with her legs spread wide, so his hands could—

“Celia?”

She stared at his hand around her wrist and imagined…imagined…

He let go of her wrist and put two fingers under her chin. With gentle pressure he lifted her head. “What did you mean by ‘and such’?” he repeated, and she thought she could see a glimmer of something new in his eyes.

She licked her lips. “Cards,” she murmured.

One black brow shot up.

“Um …” Her face glowed, and she very much wanted to pack their things and drive home again. This outing had been a stupid idea. A really, really stupid idea.

She took a deep breath. “Adeckoferoticcards,” she said.

“A deck of erotic cards?” His second eyebrow joined the first. “Ahhh, how very interesting. I did not know such things would…appeal to you.” His body relaxed, and a rare full smile flitted over his face. Instead of gripping and groping her, his hand settled on his left leg. In a probably unconscious gesture, he rubbed the stump as if the amputation hurt. And with a pang of remorse, Cissy suddenly understood his earlier anger and the hateful words.

She touched his arm and searched his face, feeling the need to comfort him somehow. “Fenris…”

His lips curved. “You have to show it to me sometime,” he said. And then he bent his head to capture her lips with his own.

The kiss started like their first, soft and sweet. But then his tongue slid hotly into her mouth, entwined with hers, and it was as if the world fell away. Cissy felt a curious tug in her stomach, as if he did not just caress her tongue, but her insides, too. She lifted her body a little and moaned.

“Mmmm.” He drew back and nibbled on her lips. “You wanted to talk about the consummation of our marriage,” he growled between nibbles. “What did you have in mind?” He took her lower lip between his teeth and tugged.

“Oooh.” Her back curved like a bow so that her breasts pressed against his chest. “I wanted to seduce you,” she admitted breathlessly—and could have bitten off her tongue the next moment. Heavens! The wine must have befuddled her brain. “Er…”

With deft fingers he opened the buttons of her spencer jacket. Then his hand glided up from her waist until it cupped one breast. “How interesting.” His kisses became more intense. “Let’s do that later. For now…” He drew the back of his hand over the upper swell of her breasts, and suddenly her brains were addled by more than the wine. She thought she heard him mutter something unflattering about stays, but the blood hummed so loudly in her ears and her breasts tingled so deliciously that she couldn’t quite be sure.

“Ooooh.”

“You like that, don’t you?” His lips slid down her throat, and his tongue was like fire on her skin. “Do you know what I would like?”

His moist breath fanned over her, making her gasp. Cissy slung one arm around his head and buried her fingers in his thick hair. “What?” Now she finally understood why some of the people on Mrs. Chisholm’s cards had loony smiles on their faces.

“I’d like to experiment a little.” He looked up so that he could meet her gaze. “Will you let me?” His fingers still played with her breast, gently kneading her flesh.

Cissy stared at him, willing the sensual fog to clear from her brain. Tip-tap, his fingers moved against her. His eyes were darker than usual, and there was a slash of color high across his cheeks. His lips seemed somehow fuller, his expression almost vulnerable.

“Will you let me?”
he had asked. But what he had meant was,
Will you trust me?

Hope blossomed in her chest, a warm glow that seemed to fill her being. She gave him a wide smile. “Yes,” she murmured. “Oh, yes.” And she closed the distance between them to kiss him.

She heard a chuckle rumble in his chest. “So much enthusiasm.” She wriggled against him, and he groaned a little. “Let me—perhaps I haven’t quite lost my touch after all,” she heard him mutter. His finger slipped under the neckline of her dress and into the valley between her breasts. “So eager,” he breathed, and kissed her neck, licked her collarbone.

“Mmmm.” She arched against him. “Fenris…” And felt how his fingers became bolder in response.

“Sweet Celia, so sweet… Let me…” Gently he turned her so that her back rested against his chest. His hands covered her breasts. “See how perfectly they fit into my palms?” he murmured against her ear. “How I’ve longed to touch your bare skin.”

Cissy quivered at his words.

His mouth played with her earlobe. “I’ve imagined what it would be like to touch you. At first your skin will be soft and cool like silk.” His hands stroked down her belly. “And here it’ll be as white as milk.”

With a sigh, she pressed her shoulders against him and lifted her middle a little. Even through the material of her dress she could feel the heat of his body, surrounding her, enveloping her. She felt as if her body would slowly melt.

“And then”—his voice dropped deeper and turned hoarse—“it will heat to my touch until it will be all covered in sweet dew.”

Cissy’s skin prickled with the images he evoked. “The heat is already there,” she gasped. It made her a little afraid, the way her body felt, so strange and new, as if it were no longer her own. She hadn’t expected that, this curious new vulnerability.