The Countess (26 page)

“I care not why you have changed your thinking,” Duncan growled, then scooped her into his arms. “But I shall not grant you the chance to change it again.”

Indeed, 'twas a fair enough exchange.

E
glantine's tent had been prepared for them, the snowy linens turned down and the coals in the brazier lit. 'Twas quieter here, the raucous sounds of the celebrating company fainter with distance.

Duncan eased Eglantine to her feet, letting her slide down the length of him. He let the lady see his admiration for her, then bent to capture her lips with his.

Gently. He tasted her surprise then smiled at her own surge of ardor. Eglantine's lips parted, her hands framed his own face. She arched against him in silent demand and the heat rose between them, but Duncan touched no more than her face.

He kissed her lingeringly all the same, his fingertips sliding beneath her chin where her pulse thundered in perfect echo of his own. When Duncan lifted his head, her mouth clung to his and his name slipped from her lips like a sigh. She stretched to her toes, as though she would kiss him again, but Duncan smiled.

“There is no need to hasten, my Eglantine,” he murmured. “'Twill only be the first night of our handfasting this once, and I would savor every moment of it.” He loved how her eyes widened in surprise at that, loved how she shivered as his fingertips eased down the length of her throat.

Duncan swallowed as his gaze drifted over her. She was more finely wrought than he could believe, her skin so soft, its golden hue making her look even more like a goddess who deigned to let her toes touch the earth. On a night such as this, when so many marvels had already occurred, a goddess might even grant the most heartfelt wish of a mere mortal.

Duncan touched her temple and dared to ask. “May I see your hair unbound?”

“Of course.” Eglantine nodded and smiled in turn, her hands rising to make quick work of the tie.

“Nay, grant me the honor of unfurling it.” Duncan caught her hands in his, kissed her palms. Eglantine shrugged and he took the end of her braid in his own fingers. He untied the tether slowly then let his fingers slide into the thick silk of her hair.

The golden tresses curled around his fingers as he worked the braid loose, increment by increment. Her hair spilled over his hands, his wrists, his arms in a golden waterfall that shimmered in the light of the braziers. It smelled of sunshine and flowers, of Eglantine's own scent mingled with the wind.

Duncan caught his breath. “'Tis a treasure fitting of a king's horde,” he whispered, lifting a handful of her hair to his lips.

Their gazes met, the shimmer of desire in Eglantine's green gaze making Duncan's pulse quicken. His body urged haste but he forced himself to move with leisure.

“I would see you garbed in naught but your hair's splendor,” he breathed. Eglantine not only seemed inclined to indulge him, but, again, she would have seen the matter done in short order.

Once more, Duncan halted her busy fingers, then stood but a hand span from her as he loosed the knot in her girdle. “Let me,” he urged. “I would see all of you, explore all of you, taste all of you, my Eglantine.”

Eglantine's breasts rose and fell, revealing her awareness of him, and her eyes widened. But she did not move away. She stood as Duncan set to unfastening the neck and sides of her kirtle.

He folded his hands around her shoulders, savoring their strong curve. “I like that you are not wrought small,” he confessed. “I like your strength, Eglantine, your vigor and your passion.” He kissed her again and she rose against him, meeting him touch for touch and fueling his desire.

When he lifted his head, they both were breathing heavily. Duncan swallowed and smiled for her, then eased the weight of the wool from her shoulders, bending to kiss each increment of flesh as 'twas revealed. The whisper of his breath made her shiver and she arched her neck back, offering herself to him.

Duncan accepted. He kissed her ear, her throat, the smooth curve at the crest of her shoulder. He tasted the hollows around her collarbone and ran his tongue across her sweetly scented skin. He let his lips linger on the flutter of her pulse, reassured that she responded thus to him.

Eglantine clutched his nape and murmured his name. Knowing he could not continue with such restraint, Duncan left her chemise, easing the kirtle away with a thoroughness the task did not demand, running his hands over her as though he would memorize her curves with his touch. Her nipples beaded and her fists clenched, but Eglantine granted him his will. Their gazes locked as he traced the curve of her buttocks, before his hands ran over the length of her thighs. The heat in the tent rose by the time he knelt before her and he could smell the scent of her desire.

Eglantine gripped his shoulders as she swayed slightly on her feet. “Duncan, I would have you hasten.”

But he shook his head. “Not this time.”

When the wool pooled around her ankles, he stood once more, cupped her buttocks and lifted her against himself. He kissed her soundly, then swung her in his arms and lay her upon the bed. She reached for him but Duncan evaded her touch with a smile.

“Patience,” he chided, shaking a finger at her. Eglantine laughed lightly and lay back. He removed her boots and cast them aside, intrigued by the finery of her stockings. He let his fingers trail up the slender strength of her legs, past her knees, and watched as her cheeks pinken as his fingers brushed her thighs. Duncan could smell her, he knew the import of the glitter in her eyes, but he forced himself to take this slowly.

'Twas more difficult than he had expected.

He untied her garters with deliberation, then bent to kiss the inside of her thigh. Eglantine shuddered. She was impossibly soft and sweet and Duncan lingered there, running his tongue beneath the lip of the garter, raining kisses upon the dimple in her knee.

Eglantine moaned. Duncan slipped his fingers beneath one stocking, easing it lower with excruciating slowness. He kissed each measure of her bared to his gaze, nipping at each mole, laving each curve with his tongue.

He repeated his attentions upon her other leg, noting how Eglantine rubbed her hips against the mattress when he paid particular heed to her feet. He was harder than ever he had been, everything within him urging him to hasten when he slid beneath her sheer chemise. She parted her thighs, tempting him the sight of her, but Duncan gritted his teeth and held his course.

He eased up the length of her, rolled his tongue within her navel as his hands folded around her waist. He eased the linen higher as he progressed, baring her to the golden light and his gaze.

She was perfection. His kisses fell on the tiny lines on her belly that evidenced the children she had borne, a mark of her selflessness. The similar lines upon her breasts, wrought of giving Jacqueline her breast, won the caress of a fingertip. Her nipples were ruddy and taut, their peaks the shape of a child's mouth. Duncan closed his mouth over her and Eglantine arched against him with a cry. Her hand locked in his hair, her breast filled his hand, her hip bumped against his erection.

Duncan pulled away, his own fist clenched in the linens. He heaved a ragged sigh and looked upon his flushed and willing partner, his golden goddess made flesh, and shook with desire.

Eglantine smiled and pushed him to his back. “My turn,” she whispered and set to unclothing him with the same leisurely thoroughness. He watched her as she moved, intrigued by her grace, amused by her wonder. Her kisses set him on fire, the caress of her fingertips drove him mad, the sight of her was more than he could endure.

He caught his breath when she closed her hand around him. Duncan thought he might explode with his desire and knew that if she touched him any further, he would. He snared her hand and rolled her to the bed beside him. He propped himself on his elbow, his arm wrapped around her shoulders, then slid his free hand down the length of her.

He met her gaze as his fingers slid into her slick heat. She gasped and arched against him. Duncan touched her with care, slowly bringing her passion to the boil, the sight of her feeding his own. She writhed against him, she gripped his shoulders, she flushed to her nipples. Her legs twined with his, her hips bucked, she was wet and hot and sweet. She cried his name but he granted her no quarter.

And when she arched off the bed with a scream, he knew he had never felt such satisfaction in any achievement as he did in pleasing Eglantine.

She took but a breath before she smiled mischievously and closed her hand around him once more. Duncan caught his breath and the lady pushed him to his back.

“My turn,” she murmured with intent, her fingers driving him to distraction. Duncan found himself heated and writhing. He clutched the linens by the fistful in his desire for control, but Eglantine showed no haste to be done. She knelt above him, the firelight kissing her curves and painting her with gold.

When she urged him within her, Duncan nigh fainted with pleasure of her heat closing around him. But the lady moved with deliberation, echoing his slow pace, drawing out his passion longer than he might have imagined possible. His hands fell to the narrow span of her waist, hers landed upon his chest. And she kissed him with a thoroughness that made his heart clamor.

Eglantine was the one. She was his lady, his woman, his partner. She had his heart and Duncan did not want it back. She had come to him, defying belief and expectation, just like an old tale. 'Twas destiny that brought them together, he was certain of it, and naught would ever tear them apart.

He slipped his thumb between the two of them, wanting to share the rising storm. She gasped then writhed above him, driving him mad with her heat and desire. Duncan strained to hold himself back, he touched her with increasing vigor, he felt a surge of delight when Eglantine cried out once more.

'Twas then and not a moment before that he caught her close and drove deep into her heat, arching high off the bed and roaring as he spilled his seed within her.

And there was naught but Eglantine, her warmth and softness, her scent and her touch. Duncan buried his nose in her hair with a sigh of satisfaction, then kissed her temple as his eyes closed.

“Ah, Eglantine, I do so love you,” he managed to murmur before sleep claimed him.

* * *

Sleep evaded Eglantine.

Duncan's words echoed in her thoughts throughout that long night. She laid and watched the silk billow above her, savored the heat of his arm around her waist, listened to the lapping of the sea—and wondered.

No man had ever said he loved her. Not even Theobald, with all his charming lies, had ventured so far as this. It had been she who had been so anxious to confess tender feelings.

And it had been her confession that had changed all. Aye, Eglantine could mark the change in her relations with Theobald from the very moment she had confessed her love—he had won, he knew it well, and he had begun to exploit her weakness for him from his new position of power.

She had been fool enough to let him.

But Duncan, Duncan was different from Theobald in so many ways. He was spared the other man's cool composure, though indeed, his impassioned charm was not without allure. And the words had fallen from his lips as though he could not halt them, not as though he would urge her surrender.

Eglantine was shocked how readily she wanted to believe him, even knowing all she did of men, even doubting all she did of Duncan's deeds.

'Twas true that this Duncan was a poor liar. She studied him as he slept, as though she could determine the truth in the lines of his features, the sweep of his dark lashes, the unruly tide of his hair. Her gaze fell to his lips time and again, remembering their weight upon hers. He had been uncommonly gentle in his loving this time and Eglantine realized her previous charge of savagery had stung. She regretted those words and wished she could take them back, but they were said and he would not forget them soon.

But despite her charge, Duncan was no savage. He was both more gentle than any man with whom she had mated and more passionate. He granted her the choice of whether to welcome him to her bed, whether to consummate what was begun. She knew that if she denied him at the very portal, Duncan would cede to her will. He might rage about her capriciousness, he would have much to say of the matter—but he would not force her, he would hurt her, he would not take what she did not offer.

'Twas astonishing to realize how fully she trusted him in this matter, at least. But what of the rest? What of Alienor? What of the destroyed foodstuffs? What of the missing deed? For the first time in her life, Eglantine's responsibilities warred with her own desires. She had no right to ignore those issues—though in this moment, she was sorely tempted to do so.

'Twas easy to forget responsibility with Duncan in her bed. He made her feel as though there was naught but they two. Eglantine sighed and brushed the weight of one lock from his brow, knowing she had never felt so treasured in a man's embrace.

Or so warm. Indeed, she was heated from head to toe, cradled against Duncan's strength and warmth, and had no intent to move. So, she lay there sleeplessly, watching him, marveling at the tenderness that welled within herself.

She must have dozed, for the weight of a small hand upon her arm made her jump. Eglantine turned toward the touch and met the solemn blue gaze of Esmeraude.

“
Maman
?” she asked, then patted Eglantine's arm as hope lit her eyes. “Up?”

Eglantine smiled, seeing no harm in this indulgence. It had been thoughtful of Célie to ensure that Esmeraude slept elsewhere the night before, but now that they had rediscovered each other, Eglantine did not want to lose this affection with her daughter.

She leaned closer and touched her fingertip to her lips. “Shhh! We must be quiet. Duncan is sleeping.”

Esmeraude immediately echoed the gesture,
shhh
ing loud enough to wake the most besotted soul.

Then she grinned. “Duncan will tell me a story?”

Eglantine chuckled beneath her breath and rubbed noses with her daughter. “Everyone does not always want to tell you a story,” she teased. “And he is asleep.”