Lord Of Danger, Stuart, Anne [my miracle luna book free read txt] 📗

require his absence. He could scarcely ask her to explain.

“I’ll wait for you around the next turn,” he said finally, reluctantly, and she nodded, seemingly accepting.

He knew how to listen, and he couldn’t rid himself of the notion that she might race back upstairs and try to cut out her incestuous brother’s heart. It was the sort of thing she’d probably dream of. But there was no sound of running footsteps as he paused one turn down on the curving staircase. Only a faint, animal-like sound, muffled, silenced.

He knew how to listen, and how to move. He remounted the steps, his thick leather boots silent on the stone, to find Lady Claire huddled in a tiny heap on the landing, her fist in her mouth to silence her sobs. She was shaking, so hard he thought she might shatter with it, and the tears were streaming from her beautiful eyes and turning her face into a mottled, miserable mess.

The muffled sound became a choked sob, and he told himself he should disappear back down the stairs, to give her privacy until she could compose herself. He hated women’s tears—like most men he felt helpless in the face of them, and a hasty retreat seemed the better part of valor.

But he couldn’t do it. He couldn’t leave her there in a crumpled heap to cry her eyes out He took a step closer, but she didn’t notice. He stared down at her for a long moment, and then he simply reached down and pulled her up on legs that could barely hold her, wrapping her shivering body in his strong arms and holding her against him.

The sobs broke free, noisy, ugly, wrenching. She was no beauty when she cried, and he couldn’t resist her. He stroked her hair, smoothing it away from her tear-streaked face as he murmured soft, soothing words of comfort And she clung to him, Lady Claire did, crying her heart out, accepting the solid comfort he could give. Gradually the crying lessened to a few stray sobs. She shuddered, took a deep breath, and he was about to release her and step back, telling himself he wasn’t reluctant, when she caught his arms and shook him.

Her beautiful green eyes were red-rimmed and swimming with tears, but her anger and fierceness were back. “I want you to kiss me,” she said.

He couldn’t quite believe her words. “What?” he said stupidly.

“I want you to kiss me,” she repeated. “I need you to kiss me. I don’t care that you’re married, I don’t care that you disapprove of me and think I’m a silly, stupid female. I don’t care that kissing me would be endangering your immortal soul. I want you to kiss me so that I don’t have to think of him kissing me.” Her voice was deep with loathing.

“It won’t endanger my immortal soul,” he said slowly, sure of no such thing. And he swiftly brushed his lips against hers in a chaste kiss.

“No,” she said. “Not like that. I want you to kiss me the way he did.” And she reached up and put her open mouth against his, twining her arms around his neck.

He hadn’t kissed a woman in years. Gwyneth had never been fond of kisses, or at least of his, and he’d been chaste since she left him, never even tempted. And now the first woman who’d been able to get past his stern morals and strict guard was pressing her body against his, demanding he kiss her, and it would have taken a saint to resist. And Thomas du Rhaymer, much as he regretted it, was no saint.

He cupped the back of her head with his hand, holding her still, calming her, and then he began the process of showing her what a kiss should be like, slowly, using his mouth to gentle her, nibbling lightly at her lower lip. She shuddered in his arms, and then she stilled, tipping her head back to allow him better access, pressing her body up against him so that he could feel her breasts through the layers of clothing that bound them.

He’d forgotten how sweet a woman could taste. Or maybe no woman tasted as good as Claire of Summersedge—he was entirely ready to believe that She kissed with complete innocence, following his lead, letting her tongue touch his, as she moved closer still.

He slid his fingers through her tangled hair, slanting his mouth across hers, deepening the kiss, feeling his soul slip away and no longer caring. He could make his confession later. He could repent later. But how could he repent of something that felt so miraculously wonderful?

He was out of breath, and so was she, and yet he didn’t want to break the kiss. Neither did she. Once he pulled away, regret and recriminations would follow. As long as his mouth was caught with hers there existed nothing in the universe but the two of them.

A sound broke them apart A distant shout from the courtyard beyond the window, and he fell back, away from her, horrified at what he’d done.

“I must beg your forgiveness, my lady,” he said in a rough voice. “I should never have touched you…”

“I made you do it,” she said in a small voice.

He was afraid to look at her, he who was afraid of nothing, even death. “No,” he said, shaking his head.

“You were distraught, you didn’t know what you were asking. I took advantage of you.”

“Oh, stop it,” she snapped, strength returning to her voice. He forced himself to look at her, and the color was back in her cheeks. Her eyes were bright, and the life had flooded back into her body. If she’d looked brutalized and beaten before, now she looked radiant.

“It was my fault, not yours,” she continued in a practical voice. “And you were noble indeed to indulge me. I’m the one who took advantage, not you.”

“We shall have to disagree on that,” he said stiffly, returning to his usual stern self.