Part 4 (2/2)
He touched the rolled ham to her lips. She opened her mouth and took in the tidbit, the delicate salty slice as sensual on her tongue as a kiss. She felt delightfully wicked, though she was safe enough since the booth was open to anyone who cared to look in this direction. After swallowing, she said, ”Surely teasing and antic.i.p.ation are the best parts of eating, and of flirtation.”
She was reaching for the ham so she could offer him a slice when he caught her hand. His gaze holding hers, he very slowly peeled off the glove. His warm fingers sent more s.h.i.+vers through her. When her wrist was exposed, he bent forward to press a kiss on the pulse point. ”Desire can be both tease and fulfillment, milady,” he whispered.
She gasped and pulled back, her heart pounding. She had not known that such arousal was possible. ”You must content yourself with the former.”
He smiled down at her. ”For me, your company is a deep satisfaction. I need no more for this night.”
”And there will be no tomorrow.” She tried to sound matter-of-fact. Already she was missing him and he wasn't even gone.
Gently he tugged the glove from her hand, finger by finger. ”There is always a tomorrow, even if we do not know the shape of it.” The glove slipped away and he breathed a kiss into the sensitive center of her palm.
She felt an intoxicating blend of fierce desire and pliant yearning. Instinctively she cupped her hand around his chin, feeling warm, firm flesh spiced with the provocative p.r.i.c.kle of hidden whiskers. He inhaled sharply at her touch. She let her palm trail down his bare throat, absurdly pleased that she could affect him as powerfully as he affected her.
To maintain her advantage, she peeled off her other glove and rolled a sliver of ham for her companion. He took it neatly, his teeth just grazing her fingertips. She gasped, realizing that she should have known she could never best him at erotic games. Though in this game, there were no losers.
He offered her a sip of wine, then turned the goblet and deliberately drank from the place her lips had touched, while his gaze held hers. His eyes behind the mask seemed light-colored, though the strands of hair dancing beside his face were dark.
She licked his fingertips when he gave her the next slice of ham. He laughed softly and stroked the inside of her wrist where her pulse beat swift with excitement. Then he skimmed his hand up inside the loose domino until he reached the edge of her sleeve. He caressed her bare skin, his fingers warm, knowing, indecently provocative. ”Ah, milady, how can you imagine that you are ordinary?”
She laughed softly, drunk with sensuality and the power of his presence. He offered her a marzipan disk imprinted with the image of a s.h.i.+p. She took the sweet with her teeth, and the taste of almonds and sugar melted across her tongue. Feeling wanton, she nipped at his fingers. ”I am ordinary, but the night is not.”
He placed another marzipan in his mouth and leaned forward in silent offering. Giddily she lifted her face and took the sweet. His lips were rich with the taste of wine and spice. She swallowed the dissolving marzipan, then nibbled delicately at his lips.
He made a rough sound in his throat and put his arms around her, his mouth opening on hers demandingly. Heart pounding, she closed her eyes, wholly in the pleasure of the moment. For an instant she felt rapture.
The moment shattered in a kaleidoscope of images. Fire, blood, death! Homes consumed by flames, screaming children stumbling over the bodies of the dead. Horror beyond imagining . . .
She gasped and shoved him away as devastation seared her mind. Pa.s.sion and danger were inextricably interwoven with this man.
And she knew who he was. She ripped off his mask and stared at the familiar craggy face, wondering how she could have been fool enough to be deceived. ”d.a.m.n you, Ballister! How dare you!”
After an involuntary flinch at being exposed, he said calmly, ”I needed more time with you, Gwynne. From the beginning, I have alarmed you. Some of that, I think, is because of my reputation. I hoped that if you had a chance to spend time with me as a stranger, not the Lord of Thunder, you would relax enough to feel what is between us instead of always running away.” He reached toward her with the warm, strong hands she had found so enticing. ”Now that you and I have spent an hour together as a man and woman rather than as Lord Ballister and Lady Brecon, can you deny that attraction?”
No, nor could she deny the ghastly visions triggered by his kiss. Too upset to think, she scrambled sideways across the bench seat and stumbled to her feet. ”Don't ever come near me again!” she said, voice shaking. ”Ever!”
She hurled his mask to the ground, then bolted from the booth even though her knees were almost too weak to hold her. She was halfway to the Grand Walk when a familiar voice called, ”Gwynne? What's wrong?”
She turned to the left and saw the green dominoed figure of Anne Tuckwell, her husband beside her. At the same time Norcott sprinted toward her from the right. ”My lady, are you hurt?”
”No, only . . . only upset.” Gwynne went gratefully into Anne's maternal embrace. She yearned for Lady Bethany, who would help her understand what had happened. Struggling to compose herself, she said, ”I must go home now, but there's no need for you to leave. If you walk me to the river, I'll hire a boat. . . .”
”Nonsense, Norcott and I will take you home. George, wait in our booth for Sally and William to return.” A protective arm around Gwynne's waist, Anne turned toward the river landing. ”Can you talk about it?”
What, after all, had happened? Gwynne had flirted with a man, and now regretted it. ”It was . . . not a great matter, except to me. I am not suited to adventures, I think.”
She glanced back and saw Ballister standing in the supper booth, a blacker shape against the shadows of the night. Even at this distance she could see the tension in his cloaked figure, and knew that he wanted to rush after her. Those clever, provocative hands would be clenched with the effort of controlling that impulse.
The pull between them was undeniable-despite the horror of her visions, she yearned to return to his arms. She wondered if he had bespelled her, for she had never felt such a compulsion before.
Deliberately she turned away and concentrated on the walk back to the river landing. Ballister was mysterious, compelling, the most fascinating man she had ever met-and tonight it had been made blindingly clear that he was even more fearsome than she had imagined.
Aching, Duncan watched Gwynne flee to her friends. He supposed he should be grateful that she didn't send the two men to beat him. Perhaps she thought that a mage might do her friends an injury.
As she left, she glanced back at him. Her burning gaze was implacable.
Then she was gone. He retrieved the mask from the ground. She had yanked it from his head with such force that one of the ties had broken. Numbly he removed the domino and folded it around the mask. Now that he had alienated her forever, there was no point in disguising himself.
He dropped a handful of coins on the table and headed for the river. His thoughts circled obsessively all the way back to Falconer House. He had hoped to charm Gwynne into accepting their mutual attraction, and at first it had worked. She had been as warm, playful, and responsive as he had known she could be.
Why had that kiss destroyed the very human magic that bound them? He would swear that she was as eager as he. It wasn't only that she recognized him and was furious over his deception. He had seen fear in her when she cursed his name and ran away. How could she think he would ever hurt her? Ordinary women might find him fearsome, but she was no ordinary woman.
Her kiss would haunt him forever.
He had hoped to be able to retire without being seen, but when he entered the foyer of Falconer House, he saw that the door to the sitting room was open and Simon was sprawled in a chair by the fire. His friend glanced up and made a lazy gesture. ”Join me for some brandy and tell me how your night's hunting went.”
Duncan grimaced and entered the sitting room. After laying the bundled domino and mask on a table, he accepted brandy and folded into the chair on the opposite side of the fire from his host. He took a sip of the brandy, then another, glad to have the spirits burn through his numbness. ”My hunt was a disaster. It's time for me to return home.”
Simon's brows arched. ”Without Gwynne? I thought you were determined to win her, whatever the cost.”
Duncan's laughter was bitter. ”I've destroyed whatever hope there was.” Succinctly he described the events of the evening, and the catastrophic ending. ”She'll not forgive me for deceiving her-that I'm sure of.”
”Perhaps she won't, but the two of you aren't done with each other. Though that kiss triggered an explosion, it's also a sign of the incredible amount of energy between the two of you. You're like opposite poles of a magnet, inexorably drawn together.” Simon closed his eyes and frowned. ”When I imagine the two of you together, the energy is like a city burning. Fate will draw you together again. That I guarantee. ”
Duncan rubbed his aching temples. After this disastrous night, he wasn't sure whether Simon's prediction was a source of hope-or of threat.
SIX.
G wynne managed to regain a semblance of calm on the boat ride back to Richmond. Once they were safe in Lady Bethany's drawing room, she dismissed Anne and Norcott with a.s.surances that she was fine, and many thanks for the exciting evening.
Lady Bethany wasn't fooled, of course. Eyes narrowed, she waited until they were alone before saying, ”You look as if you've seen your own ghost, my dear.”
Gwynne sank into a chair, trembling, and was grateful when Athena jumped into her lap. The cat's purring warmth helped her keep her voice steady as she described her encounter with Ballister, including the visions of doom. She ended by asking, ”Is he evil, Bethany?”
”Not at all, but good men can cause evil without intending it.” Expression troubled, the older woman rose. ”Get ready for bed. I'll prepare a posset that will help you sleep.”
Knowing her friend's skills, Gwynne asked, ”Is it more than a sleeping draft?”
Bethany nodded. ”I'll use a potion that will calm you enough for me to ask questions without upsetting you again. I need to know more about those visions.”
Gwynne needed to know more, too. Athena in her arms, she returned to her room and rang for her maid, glad to exchange corset and petticoats for a cambric nightgown. She brushed out her hair and was braiding it for sleep when Lady Bethany appeared with a gently steaming goblet. Gwynne tied the end of her braid with a ribbon, then took a sip of the spicy drink, wondering what it contained besides warm milk and wine.
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