Passions of the Ghost (13 page)

“It was a long time ago.” But he needed to talk, and she knew it.

“Tell me,” she said softly.

The girl’s name was Morwenna, and she
was young and beautiful. Lithe and fair, she had slanting black eyes and a shy smile that also had a fascinating knowing quality to it. As if she possessed a wisdom far beyond her years.

He was smitten the first time he saw her. But then he was at an age to be smitten by love. Not lust. Reynald was the sort of boy who lifted women above mere receivers of his baser instincts. Perhaps he had inherited something of his mother’s romantic nature, but he was firm in his beliefs: that a lord must be pure and good to all those of lesser standing than himself; that he must abide by the rules and laws of the world he lived in; that he must love God and try to be fair; and that he must always be honorable.

Morwenna was his mother’s new serving maid, and from the little glances she was sending him, he knew she admired him, too. Reynald started stammering in her presence, and his face would flush bright red. If she didn’t know how he felt before, he told himself, then she knew it after that.

And so she did.

Her shy smiles grew more frequent, and her glances lingered, and sometimes he was sure that she brushed against him apurpose as she was moving by.

Then, one memorable night, she came to him in the darkness.

“My lord,” she whispered, standing by his bed. She was wearing a robe made of dull wool, but she made it beautiful.

He took her in his arms, a little clumsy and inexperienced, but he loved her truly and was eager to please and be pleased. There was no resistance, she came willingly, melting against him, and their mouths fused in a hot, mindless passion he would never forget.

He was so bound up in the pleasure of the moment—his first love—that at first he didn’t feel the pain. Only an unpleasant stinging at his throat, and then a sudden warmth as liquid began to spill over his chest and shoulder. He reached up to touch it, and held his fingers up to the light of the rush.

Blood.

He didn’t believe it, but he knew at the same time that she had hurt him, and he had to stop her. With a cry, he flung her off him and the bed. He heard the dagger clatter to the floor.

She began to scream like a banshee, as if she were the wounded party. But by then Reynald was clutching at his throat, wondering if the spinning in his head and the gathering dark lassitude meant he was dying. There was blood everywhere.

Servants came running. And his mother, wailing, with terror in her eyes when she saw her son. The last thing he remembered, before the blackness swept over him, was the girl he had loved being held by two men, her face twisted with fury and hatred. She looked like a stranger.

“Why did she do it?” Amy’s voice was bringing him back. “Apart from the fact I can’t imagine setting out to seduce someone, then trying to kill him, she must have known she’d be punished.”

“She was acting under orders.”

“You mean she was—”

“Aye, an assassin.”

“Oh Rey, Rey,” she breathed, her fingers fluttering over him, until he caught them and stilled them in his.

“My father had many enemies, damsel. We never found out which of them realized that the best way to deal my father a mortal blow was to murder his only son and heir. Me.”

Amy was resting her head on his shoulder, and her breath warmed him. “What happened to the girl?”

“My father had her killed, or maybe he killed her himself. He was like a madman, they told me afterwards. Morwenna was tossed from the north tower, down into the ravine. They searched for her body, but it was never found. Her bones are probably still there, somewhere. No one could have survived such a fall.”

She shuddered.

“Sometimes in the night I hear her screaming. I knew nothing of what was happening at the time, so it must be a dream, although it always seems very real.”

“I’ve seen the ceiling painting. I didn’t realize what it meant.”

“Morwenna floating through the sky with the birds? Aye,” he said grimly. “I think the artist was drunk at the time.”

She chuckled.

“I was close to death, for many weeks I struggled to live, and even then I recovered very slowly. So slowly. It took me a long time to heal.”

She murmured sympathetically, snuggling closer, and her curls tickled his throat.

“I made a vow as I lay in my bed. I swore that I would remain chaste until I met a woman I could trust completely.”

“And did you? Remain chaste?”

“Aye. There has been no one I have lain with since. There were women I have kissed, even embraced, but we have never given our bodies to each other. I haven’t broken my vow, damsel.”

She stroked his scar, and he knew her fingers would be gentle, although he could barely feel her touch. Although his flesh had closed over the wound, healed in a fashion, he had never regained all sensation in the area. He would never be as he was. He was scarred in body and mind and heart; Morwenna had seen to that.

“I can’t believe you haven’t been tempted, Rey, even a little bit,” she said, a smile in her voice. “You’re still a man. Even if you are just about perfect.”

He smiled, too. Her body against his was arousing him, and the sound of her voice was like an aphrodisiac. “I am very much a man, damsel,” he said, his voice dropping, “and I have met many beautiful women. But whenever I thought of breaking my vow, I swiftly remembered Morwenna, and it was enough to sober me. No matter how beautiful those women were, in my heart I didn’t trust them.”

Amy shifted away so that she could look up and meet his gaze. It was almost dark in the room, apart from the light from the lamp, and he could see the gleam in her green eyes and the shine of her lips. He wanted to kiss her and put a stop to the talk, but there were things to be said before they could take the next step forward.

“Do you trust
me
?” she whispered.

There was so much unspoken in her question. The reasons she was here with Jez, what she had done in the past, her murky confession. It was as if she was asking him how it was possible for him to trust her, after all that.

Reynald wanted to tell her that he trusted her more than any other woman he had ever known, that despite what she had told him of her reasons for being here—or perhaps because of it—he believed in her completely and forever. The words were there, in his head, but he couldn’t utter them—he would be lying. There were too many conflicting emotions pulling him one way and then another. In the end all he said was, “In this moment, damsel, yes, I trust you.”

He knew it wasn’t the answer she wanted, but to heal the sadness in her eyes, he began to kiss her, his lips gentle, seeking, and felt her instant response. She made a little sound of contentment, and perhaps anticipation. Her hands slid around his neck and clung here, as she wriggled herself up onto his lap. His rod was rock hard. She must have been able to feel it. But, apart from another little murmur of pleasure, she didn’t speak. He cupped her shoulders with his hands, then slid them to her waist, lost in the wonderful sensation of Amy.

Her fingers were gliding across his broad shoulders, then they delved into the opening of his tunic, enjoying the exploration of bare chest and hard muscle. She reached for his cuffs and tugged the tunic off him, then removed his shirt, too, so that he was naked from the waist up.

She didn’t know where to start, her hands hovering, fingertips barely brushing against his warm skin as she tried to explore all of him at once.

“So many scars,” she whispered in wonder. “So many close calls, Rey. It frightens me to think of what your life has been like.”

“I am the Ghost,” he reminded her, amused. “No one can kill me.”

“Don’t get too cocky,” she retorted, tapping his chin with her finger. “There’s still the dragon.”

Serious Reynald chuckled, even though it wasn’t funny. He felt light-headed with happiness. Amy began to press little, biting kisses to his skin, and he groaned with the sheer pleasure of it. She shoved him back, so that he was lying across the bed, and climbed on top of him, tugging at the waist of his trousers. She followed its descent with more kisses, each one longer and hotter, her mouth open. And then her tongue…

“Amy,” he gasped, his body lurching up.

“Do you want me to stop?” she whispered, staring back at him, her face flushed and beautiful.

“Jesu, no.”

She smiled, “Good, because I don’t want to either,” and went back to her kissing. She was stroking him through the cloth of his trousers, as if he were a gift she couldn’t wait to open, and he was caught between not wanting her to stop and wanting her to stop so that he didn’t lose complete control.

“Damsel…”

“You said not to stop.” This time when her fingers closed on him, it was flesh to flesh, with nothing between them.

He’d never lost his ability to maintain control before. Always the memory of what had happened with Morwenna had stopped him from going any further than his vow allowed. But this time it was different. This time, he didn’t want to stop, and he didn’t have to.

Is Amy the woman I’ve been waiting for?

He reached down and drew her against him, rolling over so that she was underneath him. His breath was coming quickly, and he knew he was heavy on her despite the soft mattress and the weight he was taking on his arms and legs.

Suddenly, the man who was always in control was afraid of what he might do. He didn’t want to frighten her, but it was as if the part of him that had been able to halt his baser instincts had vanished. The years peeled away from him, and he felt hot and wild, like the youth he had never allowed himself to be.

Looking up at the big, naked man on top of her, Amy was wondering if she’d done the right thing. Physically, Rey was probably the most masculine man she’d ever encountered—strong and powerful. Even dangerous. Should she be afraid of what she’d unleashed inside him?

She wasn’t. She wasn’t afraid at all.

Amy was looking forward to it.

With agonizing slowness, he ran one shaking finger over the full curve of her breast, stopping when he felt her nipple erect through the silky black material of her dress.

Amy whimpered.

Fascinated, he rubbed her nipple between his thumb and finger, sending delighted shivers through her. She arched her breast into his hand, just to let him know she was enjoying what he was doing, and he reached for her straps and slid them down her arms.

Her breasts popped free so dramatically that Amy giggled. He smiled back, but he wasn’t about to be distracted from his main focus. His hands came down, hot against her skin, cupping her firm, rounded flesh and squeezing just enough. Then, as if he couldn’t wait any longer, he bent his head and licked her with his tongue.

Her breath caught in her throat in something that sounded like a purr, and she ran her fingers through his short hair, petting him as he caressed her. To encourage him further, she rubbed her thigh against his hip, but the dress she was wearing was so tight that it was awkward to move her legs at all.

Impatient now to feel him against all of her, Amy struggled to get the dress off, but the bodice was caught about her waist and the straps were still halfway down her arms, imprisoning her.

“Rey,” she gasped.

He seemed to know what she wanted. Easing back, he rose up onto his knees and caught hold of the hem at her ankles, sliding it up. It peeled off her like a second skin, uncovering her knees, then her thighs, and finally the tiny black panties that were all her underwear consisted of. Reynald drew in a shaken breath and dragged his eyes upward to hers.

“I want you,” he said, and it was a promise and a warning rolled into one.

Trembling, Amy took him in as he knelt at her feet, every inch the virile male. “Yes,” she told him.

It was all the encouragement he needed.

With a soft growl, Reynald reached for her panties and ripped them off.
Well, that’s a first.
Next he closed his big hands around her thighs and lifted them, and her hips, clean off the bed, and buried his face between them. Amy shrieked. But he hadn’t finished yet. His mouth on her was hot and greedy, taking her by surprise. She bucked, crying out in mindless pleasure.
Orgasm Number One.

When she came to, he was kissing his way up her body. She gave a languid wriggle and moaned, as he reached her breasts. She could feel the head of his erection against her, and it felt so big she wondered if she should panic. But she didn’t feel like panicking; the opposite in fact. She wanted him, and to prove it to them both, she arched upward and tried to slide herself onto him.

His turn to groan. He eased inside her, taking his time, and she turned her face and kissed his shoulder. He was panting, trying to be gentle, but she didn’t want gentle. Amy reached down and grasped his buttocks, and the momentum lodged him fully inside her.

The head of his penis touched something, and her eyes widened. She’d never believed in G-spots, but there was definitely something going on. Rey moved, pressing deeper, stroking her inside, and…

Orgasm Number Two.

“How did you know about that?” she gasped, coming back to earth. “I thought you said you’d never done this before!”

He looked genuinely puzzled. “Know about what?”

Hmm, she thought, perhaps it would be better to keep him in the dark, for now. Amy wasn’t sure how much pleasure she could cope with. “Oh,” she breathed, as he began to move again, and he grinned. Too late, he’d worked it out for himself.

He was pressing into her harder now, the muscles in his arms and shoulders standing out with tension. She rubbed her hand over his jaw, feeling the rough texture of stubble, then he was gasping out her name, lifting her hips in his hands so that he could go even deeper inside her. And then he let go with a roar, and…

Orgasm Number Three.

Was she still alive? After such mind-blowing pleasure, she could quite happily die.

“Amy,” Rey panted. He was lying on his back beside her, his chest rising and falling as if he was having trouble breathing. He dragged himself up onto one elbow and leant over her. “Did I…?” he seemed to be trying to ask her if he’d hurt her.