Marissa Day (24 page)

“And how does our lusty Lady Jane?” she asked him. “If the dogs are on the trail already, we do not have not much more time. Does she itch, Thomas, and beg for you to scratch?”

“She . . . she is very willing.” He needed to lift his eyes so he could look on the queen’s face and feel her regard. Her gaze would clear his mind and drive out the confusion that racked him. But he kept his eyes lowered.

“Look at me, my Thomas.”

He could not refuse. Thomas lifted his eyes to her face. She was so beautiful, so filled with light and power. When the queen looked at him, all other things seemed distant, mean and tattered. She had granted him so much; his life, his rank and power in her unchanging realm. Anything she demanded, he owed to her. He was her captain, her lover, her confidante, anything she wanted him to be. His body and heart and soul all were hers to command. He would live or die at her word, and looking into her eyes, that was all he desired. His heart swelled with love, as it had from the moment he first saw her.

And yet, and yet . . . As she held him with her gaze and let him delight in her presence, Thomas remembered Jane, and the trust in Jane’s dark eyes.

“You are troubled,” she said. “You have never before been troubled in my service, Thomas. What is it?”

Perhaps there was a way out yet. A way that would save him from his own weakness. “If these Sorcerers work for the mortal crown, they will now search Kensington House. They will question the occupants. If they apply their magics, Lady Jane will not be able to conceal that she has been with me. It is my advice as your captain, Majesty, that I . . . that we try no more with Jane. The house has other weaknesses we can make use of. There is a greedy man, Captain Conroy, very close to the duke and duchess both. He can be had for nothing more than gold and the promise of power.”

The queen cocked her head at him. Color swirled in her eyes, as uncertain as night and moonbeams. His throat constricted. A fog of doubt seemed to have descended over him, and it felt more terrible than certain knowledge of her anger could be.

But then she smiled, and the fog broke apart before the sun of her regard. “It is well thought, Sir Thomas. But there are reasons to pursue this opening. Therefore, it is my wish you should continue.”

“Then let me go no more to her. She is . . . ready. She will call out to me. Her desire will break open the wards from within.”
Forgive me, Jane. Forgive me, but if I come to you again, I will not be able to leave.

“We must be certain, Thomas,” said the queen firmly. “We have no room for error here. Not with the babe so close to being born. No. You will go to her once more, and make utterly certain of her.”

“But . . .”

“I have spoken, Sir Thomas.”

“Majesty.”

She smiled, and she was so beautiful it sent a stab of pain to his heart. “Come now,” she raised him up. “Kiss me, Sir Thomas. Show me I have not lost your affection because I dared to command.”

She lifted her mouth to him. She was lush and perfect, the dream of what woman should be. Their lips met, and the kiss was soft and unendingly sweet. Her power flowed around him and through him, and within the space of a heartbeat his cock hardened to the point of pain.

“There!” But Queen Tatiana broke the kiss, laughing. “Take that to your Lady Jane and put it to good use!” She gave his cock a swift pat, and then walked into her bower, and vanished to his sight.

In the heart of that fantastic garden that was itself the heart of the Fae realms, Thomas Lynne’s knees buckled and he fell slowly to the ground

The queen had laughed, and because she did, he laughed. But along with the unanswered lust that raged in him, he was aware this was the first time he’d had to force such laughter. Before, her mood would have wrapped around him and taken him in like a lover. That intimacy was denied him now. Lady Jane stood between him and his queen, and he could no longer deny it.

Worse, the queen knew he had weakened. That was the reason she wanted him to go back to Jane. It was not the defense of Kensington House she was testing, it was him.

Never before had Thomas doubted his own strength. He had been a commander of men since he had come of age. He had faced threats both mortal and magical. He knew his own skill and his worth. But the idea of facing Jane again, of seeing the trust and love in her eyes before he took her soft and willing body into his arms . . . it was enough to bring him to his knees. When he was with her, he didn’t want to be the Fae queen’s captain anymore. He wanted to be the mortal man who could save Jane from the loneliness that plagued her.

The danger in these thoughts was beyond anything he had ever approached before.

He could not get close to her again. He must go, but he must keep his distance. He must find a way to remember the true glamour here was love. Jane’s love was a spell that would steal him away from his oath. He had all the love that man could ask for in his service to the queen. He needed no other. Yes. That was it. He must find a way to drive Jane from her senses tonight, but still preserve his detachment. Then, he must ready himself to leave the field, keeping the door between them open just enough for her to try to follow after.

If his heart broke in the leaving, the presence of his queen would muffle the pain and this unreasoning affection. Eventually, he would barely be able to recall Jane DeWitte’s face.

He had, quite literally, all the time in the world to forget her.

T
homas’s call did not reach Jane until the small hours of the morning.

Jane threw back the covers and scrambled from her bed. She didn’t bother with the lamp this time. She didn’t stop to think what she would do if someone saw. She didn’t think at all. She needed to see Thomas. She needed to look up into his eyes as she told him what she’d done. She needed to hear what he wanted to ask her.

Jane reached the short, shadowed corridor, and darted swiftly through the rose door. In the fire-lit chamber, she drew herself up, heart pounding, only to find she was quite alone.

For a moment, Jane couldn’t understand. She wondered if she might have only imagined the summons, but she dismissed that notion. She could not be mistaken about the resonance of Thomas’s call in her mind. Her next thought was he might be hiding somewhere. His mischievous nature made it possible, but as she circled the room, she had no sense of him. There was no sound of breathing or movement in the luxurious chamber, save what she herself created.

Jane frowned. Perhaps he was called away by some emergency? Disappointment sank in, although Jane tried to resign herself to it. They lived in the real world, and delays did occur.

A new, cold thought struck her then. What if he had been caught?

No, impossible. How could he be caught? What could catch a magician? But he had said there were other magic workers, Sorcerers and wizards, and she understood so little of this part of him. In truth, she had avoided probing too deeply. She had feared that dwelling too much on magic would make her change her mind and run away from Thomas.

Now, though, her willful ignorance bred worry and that worry pressed beneath her heart like a stone. Jane clasped and unclasped her hands, glancing repeatedly toward the door.

This is useless.
She drew in a deep breath and forced herself back into a semblance of calm. She would compose herself to wait for a reasonable time, and if Thomas did not appear, she would leave. She was going to visit at Mrs. Beauchamp’s tomorrow afternoon. If Thomas was not there, she could easily find some excuse to ask after him.

But probably nothing was wrong. Probably he was merely making her wait to increase her desire for him. Probably this was another game.

Keeping this thought firmly in place, Jane tried to decide which sofa would be the best to be found on. She would sit there cool and composed, her skirts arranged just so. She also found herself wishing Thomas had thought to provide this otherwise very usefully furnished apartment with some reading material.

It was on her second circuit of the room that she noticed a pillow had been placed on one of the low, round tables, and on this waited a white . . . object.

Jane moved forward to inspect the object, and found it to be a penis. It was life-sized and carved of what was probably ivory.

A blush burned in her cheeks and she looked around, to see if Thomas had appeared, and was appreciating his joke. But she was still alone, with the object on its green velvet pillow. It must have come from the cabinet where he kept the ropes and oils and so many other . . . articles. She could not imagine what had possessed Thomas to leave such a thing lying about, even here. At the same time, she found herself wondering what those intricate carvings would feel like against her hand. Would they compare at all to the real thing?

Oh, surely this is nonsense.
Jane looked around again, told herself she was being decidedly ridiculous and picked up the object.

It was heavy for its size, and most realistically carved, with ridges, a blunt head and even rough testicles. It was not, she judged, as thick as Thomas’s cock, but it seemed to be fully as long. The ivory warmed quickly against her skin. To her shock, the first, familiar stirrings of desire also warmed within her.

She put the false cock down at once and stared at it, as if it might turn into a snake and bite her.

How could this be? It was a carving, a toy. A very strange toy. Becoming aroused by it was as ludicrous as being stirred to desire by a Greek statue. It was not the object itself, she reasoned, it was the reminder of what it represented. Holding it reminded her of the delight of holding Thomas’s erect cock, and of stroking him while she felt his hands fondling her breasts and spoke in his seductive voice.

Warmth spread through her, and Jane felt her pussy soften. Desire blunted self-criticism and strengthened curiosity. She settled herself on the backless sofa and picked the ivory cock up again. It still held the warmth of her hand. She ran her fingertips over it, feeling the long ridge on the underside, the slight indentation at the tip, the roughness of the carved balls. She imagined touching Thomas so, first with one hand and then with two. He’d groan and command her to go slowly, to let him savor her touch. She’d obey, which would be both difficult and enjoyable. She might even rub her cheek against his velvet hardness. She stroked the ivory cock against her cheek to test the sensation, and her breasts swelled with longing. Oh, yes, that would feel good.

Jane’s breath caught in her throat and her nipples began to tighten. They ached to be touched. Where was Thomas? She needed his hands on her. She needed his cock, not some ivory toy.

And yet, and yet, if just fondling this toy brought on her desire, what would happen if she . . . touched herself with it.

But she was, and the wickedness of it sent a bolt of warmth through her. Why not? Why shouldn’t she? No one was here to see, not even Thomas, and she was so hot now. She rubbed her thighs together, but that only increased her agitation, and made her clutch the shaft of the decadent toy more tightly.

Slowly, she brought the hard ivory cock to her mouth and touched it to her lips. It was warm as skin now, and the shape of it against her sensitive lips was so evocative she let out a sigh. She circled her mouth with the tip and a shiver of pleasure ran down her spine. It did feel good. Not as good as Thomas’s living cock, but good just the same. She opened her mouth a little ways and slowly ran the tip of her tongue up the longest of the carved ridges. Her nipples peaked, pressing against her chemise, begging to be touched. She licked the cock again, thinking of Thomas, of how he urged her on and praised her responsiveness. She thought how his control left him when she sucked on him and how he ordered her to take him deeper and harder.

She plunged the ivory cock into her mouth, images of Thomas filling her mind.
That’s it, Jane, that’s it!
cried his hoarse voice from memory.
Suck me hard! Show me how you love my hard cock in your pretty mouth!

Almost without her realizing it, Jane’s free hand crept to her breast and squeezed.
Touch me there, Thomas. You know how I like it.

Oh, this was torture, licking and sucking on this false cock while touching herself. Hot desire filled her. Her pussy was drenched with her need. She wanted to come, here and now.

She’d put the toy in her mouth and it had felt good. How good would it feel inside her pussy?

Torn between desire and laughter, Jane fell back onto the longue’s curving arm. She tried not to think. She just lifted the skirts of her nightdress and chemise, baring her thighs to the fire-warmed air. Her nipples were deliciously hard under the layers of cambric and muslin, aching to be touched and toyed with. Jane pressed the tip of the ivory cock against her clit and gasped. She melted back against the velvet sofa and the puddle of her skirts. After her disappointing experiments with touching herself while she was apart from Thomas, she had not expected this game to feel so good, so like the real thing. The desire was certainly real, and the burning need. She sprawled across the sofa, legs open wide, holding the false cock between her legs.