Page 47 of Ondine

She stared into his eyes, aware that she melted to his touch, the fever of his arms, the passion growing even now in his eyes, in the hands that stroked the length of her back, her naked flesh, silk to his touch.

She tilted her head back, prone to whimsy, careless of anything but the moment when he held her so.

He was then hers, completely hers, if only for the fleeting glimpse of time.

“Oh?” she murmured sweetly, fingertips light and seductive as the whisper of her voice. She smoothed them into his nape. “Do you say that you—autocrat and beast!—might purr and be gentle at my whim?”

“Aye, milady, be that whim the sweetest promise!”

Then she shuddered, for the whim was his. His lips touched upon her throat, found her pulse there, and wandered lower to close with fiery moisture over her breast.

“’Tis day!” she gasped, tugging upon his hair, for little will and strength did his purpose leave her to stand. “The light streams in, servants are about—”

“And I, milady, am, above all, master of that which I would call my own castle!”

“The light!” she choked, too late, for she was down upon the bed, he between her thighs.

“The sun casts even greater beauty over you than does the moon,” he told her hoarsely. “It brings velvet beauty to the fire of your hair; a satin finish to your flesh; the red of the rose to your lips; a sheen of emeralds to your eyes . . .”

She lost the meaning of his words. He had barely disrobed before he was in her, fierce and storming, casting her to netherworlds of sensation where she could but ride the waves and reap the splendor, stunned and shaken and trembling with awe and the volatile, primal ardor of the man.

She held to him, glad again of the time, gasping to the stroke of the staff that filled her again and again, and left her drenched with quivering elation . . . and then . . .

She twisted from him, worried. He thought her a petty thief, a common wench; he claimed her flesh as his, as if by right, and loving him, she gave it. Oh, that she had some restraint that dignity might remain with her!

Warwick was quickly on his feet, adjusted in apparel. Her back was to him, and to her further outrage he whacked her smartly against her derriere.

“Rise, milady, the day wastes. Rise!”

“The day wastes! You knave! Scoundrel—”

“Up!”

“Up! You, milord, may get out—”

“I give the orders, milady.”

“Orders! I am not your servant! Don’t you dare think to touch me again! You play the games, you torment me, and then you dare to come with this sudden command! Milord—leave my chamber!”

Dear God, but she was a fool! He was nothing but a lusting autocrat, and, by God, she’d had it with him!

He laughed deep within his throat, sharp now, impatient. “We return to court.”

Gritting her teeth, she dragged her pillow to her breast and fought him shrilly.

“You are mad, Lord of Chatham! We’ve just returned from court! Your quest is to trap a killer, yet you run—”

He came too quickly, strides long, body rigid, knuckles lifting her chin so that her sparkling eyes caught the hardness in his own.

“I never run, Lady. Do as I say.”

He strode from the chamber, heedless of the epithets that followed him.

He closed the door that separated the music room from the sleeping chambers and leaned against it.

No, he did not run. But now he did. For he was blinded; he knew not what he sought.

And the fear that rose in him was cold and horrible, for he dared not take the smallest chance in the future.

An agony of indecision struck him, for each time he touched her, she drove more deeply into his heart, and he could not use her as he had thought that day upon the gallows.

He had not been wrong; some lunacy was sworn against him.

Perhaps his enemy feared that he, himself, could not be touched, beaten, or slain.

And, therefore, any woman he called wife was in serious peril of her life, a peril that he now feared beyond imagination.

Jealousy had driven him from court. How and when she had become such a part of him, he knew no other desire, he did not know.

God! He had tried with all his strength to stay away from her!

Better ask man thirsting unto death to forgo water!

He was no saint, no monk, and could not watch her without the wanting of her.

Nor was he made of steel, but of flesh and blood, and such a man with both health and vitality that natural appetites must be appeased.

He ground his teeth tightly together, remembering his vow.

Aye; he had to release her! But first he had to protect her life, and for that time, by God, she would be his!

He could pray that in time he would be filled with her, know the magic that so bound him!

Find release from it! His promises he would keep . . .

But for now he would go to court, lay his case once more before Charles, and bring the king due on debts of loyalty so that the finest of the king’s guards would be set for her protection. None would dare touch her then!

For a moment he reflected on her, Ondine. His brow slowly lifted and he stormed back into her chamber, catching her half clothed. He twisted his lips in a dry smile and taunted her with both gentle humor and warning.

“Lady, remember, wives promise obedience. I am not mad that I say we return to court, but that matters not—the whim is mine. Then, I think, there is much to you we have not touched upon as yet. The reason you so dreaded to meet our king; the reason, too, you caught his fancy—platonic fancy?—is an intrigue that does fascinate me! So, you see, my love, it seems to me that you should scrape and bow, and bend with ease to my slightest wish—lest I find time to dig and discover that which you are so eager to hide!”

She threw her brush at him in one of her sudden piques. Warwick chuckled and ducked.

“And you accuse me of foul temper, love! If I am a beast, I have surely met my match in a water witch! We leave, my love, in an hour. Hurry.”

He laughed still as he closed the door on her.

Then he sobered as anguish swept through him.

He could not bear the danger into which he had cast her.

His lips hardened in a line, and he decided that he could count the days that remained to their marriage.

He would ask the king for a divorce immediately and make arrangements for her to be brought to the Colonies.

If she were rid of him, she would be safe.