Unexpected Pleasures Page 12

  Justina shook her head. “My son would remain his ward. He will never give that up.”

  “Not without persuasion, I’ll grant you my agreement to that fact, but it can be done.”

  Something hard appeared in his eyes, a look that she had seen only a few times, but it drew a shiver from her. His teasing nature was a façade tonight. Synclair had come looking to claim her and now he even had her consent.

  “What are you about, Synclair?”

  “I am here for you, just as I told you before.”

  “And you shall take me by any means available?” There was a tartness to her tone and she didn’t bother to soften it. He was tarnishing her image of him but her cheeks heated once again because she found that streak of ruthlessness far too attractive.

  “Yes.” Curt and blunt, his voice offered her no relenting.

  He began crossing the room with her hand clasped in his. Synclair didn’t cut around the people watching the entertainers, he walked in front of them, maintaining his grasp on her hand when she would have tugged free. He didn’t ease his pace or his hold until they were near the stables and she saw his groom waiting with his stallion. More of his men waited there as well, proving that he had planned exactly what he would be about this night. The hair on the back of her neck stood up.

  “You did that most purposefully.”

  “I find it interesting that you are surprised to see that I do not act without considering every detail.”

  A groom came forward and placed a thick cape over her shoulders. It had a wide hood that the man raised and placed over her head. Her breath came out in white puffs and she pulled the heavy fabric around her gratefully. Another man led a mare forward that was fitted with a side saddle.

  Synclair grasped her waist and lifted her onto the back of the mare before his man handed her the reins. Moonlight cast silver light over his face, showing her his satisfied smile.

  He fitted his foot into the stirrup of his saddle and mounted his stallion. The animal tossed its head, eager to be off. The knowledge that he had planned to take her to his bed tonight sent need through her veins. It was as potent as French wine, undermining her ability to reason. It should have annoyed her but she could not deceive herself by saying that she was not happy to see his men waiting with a cloak for her.

  Synclair kicked his horse into action, sitting firmly in the saddle and moving with the stallion in perfect harmony. Her mare followed and his men closed around her. A ripple of some emotion went through her, but she wasn’t sure exactly what it was. Perhaps it was fear, or pride in seeing him act as a lord, rather than as a knight serving his master. He deserved it, she felt that firmly in her heart. No matter what his position with Curan Ramsden, Lord Ryppon, it had never eluded her notice that Synclair would one day take his place alongside the man as an equal. He was a true knight, one who had been hardened on the field of battle. At court, there were many who proudly displayed their golden knights’ chains, but they never did without their comforts.

  For the moment, that included her.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Synclair was at home in the night with nothing more than his stallion and men. He would ride with those men, every bit as capable as they with the sword that hung from his belt.

  The landscape had changed much since their last ride together. Snow blanketed everything. Ice was collecting on the bare limbs of the trees and the wind howled with a mournful sound, as though it was crying for the loss of life now that winter was here.

  She shivered and pulled the hood of her cloak further down to shield her face. The animal she rode was eager to make its way to a warm stable but the hunting house did not come into view. Instead, Synclair rode past the road that would lead to the King’s forest. His men kept her mare following, even when she tried to pull up on the reins. The mare wasn’t interested in standing still with her hooves in the snow.

  They rode on, her muscles tightening as the distance between the palace and them increased.

  “Where are we going?”

  The wind ripped her words away but she noticed a slight tensing of Synclair’s shoulders in response to her question. He turned his head, only part way so that he might look back at her. His lips were still formed into a smug grin and he offered her no reply. He turned around and continued to ride. There was no light except for the moon, and the only sound was the horses’ hooves followed by the wind. Every fireside story she had ever heard whispered began to rise from her memory. Tales of human-eating beasts and witches who preyed upon those foolish enough to venture out into the woods after darkness fell. Justina found herself grinning for she believed none of it and in fact, enjoyed the night.

  Synclair had no fear of them either, it appeared. He rode forward, never easing their pace or turning to look back at her again. He seemed to be confident in his direction, and she gasped when a faint light twinkled through the black, ice-covered branches of the trees. She stared at the light, like a starving person might a meal laid out on a table, her eyes remaining on it as they rode closer. A house materialized out of the shadows, its stone walls looking dark and cold in the moonlight. A single lantern was hanging from the foot of the stairs that led up to the front doors. A lone candle flickered inside the glass panes that kept it from being extinguished by the night wind. It hung from a large metal ring fitted onto a large hook, and as the wind knocked the lantern back and forth, an eerie sound rose from it.

  One of the front doors opened as they gained the steps. Another lantern was held high as a woman peered out into the night. She nodded and opened both doors wide in welcome.

  Synclair was already off his horse and he made a straight path toward her. His hands were warm against her waist, making her aware of how chilled the ride had made her. He lifted her down and her knees felt stiff. He gripped her hand and guided her up the stairs while she struggled to control her skirts and the heavy cloak. The thick fabric was pushing down on her skirts, collapsing her boned slip and making it a chore to avoid stepping on her hem. She heard a soft grunt that sounded suspiciously like amusement before Synclair bent and swept her off her feet.

  “I can walk.”

  His chest rumbled and she heard him chuckle clearly.

  “Not with so much fabric wrapped around you, you cannot, and the steps are icy.” He angled his head to look down at her. “And more importantly, I am enjoying carrying you.”

  He made quick work of gaining the inside of the house. The woman was still standing there, an apron pinned carefully over her bodice and falling down to protect her skirts. She wore a linen cap, too, and a set of keys that marked her as the housekeeper and not simply a maid. Those keys would open locks on cabinets that held silver dinnerware and linens and spices. All of the expensive items that she would be expected to keep an accounting of for her mistress.

  “Bring Lady Wincott some mulled wine to cut the chill.”

  Justina felt her eyes widen but there was no hint of repentance on Synclair’s face for the fact that he had so boldly used her name. Instead, his expression was set into a mask of determination, far harder than she had seen aimed at her in a long time.

  Since the day he’d dragged her to the chamber at Amber Hill he had locked her into.

  “What is your game, Synclair?” She kicked her feet but he only clamped his arm around her knees tighter to control her.

  “I am merely playing the game that you are shackled to, Lady.” He aimed a hard look into her eyes. “But be very sure that I play to win the prize.”

  He carried her up the stairs, through the open doors of a chamber that was grander than the one they had shared before. In spite of his odd manner, she couldn’t suppress a ripple of passion from moving through her body. They had shared a scorching night once before, and her flesh was eager to do so again.

  The doors closed and he lowered her feet before lifting the cloak off her shoulders. Removal of the heavy garment allowed her gown to be supported by her boned slip once again. Her gown was made for evening
wear and the bodice was cut in a wide square neck that allowed a great deal of her cleavage to be seen. His gaze settled on the swells of her breasts as he tossed the cloak onto a nearby chair.

  “I’m glad I thought to bring the cloak. We couldn’t have those lovelies frostbitten.”

  Justina moved away from him, going further into the chamber. A fire was warming the air and there were a few candles lit on a table, but not enough to make the room bright. Synclair grinned at her while pulling his riding gloves off.

  “And now to enjoy the prize I have managed to bring home.”

  “Home?”

  One of his eyebrows rose. “Aye, this house belongs to me now. The housekeeper is good, but I will leave her direction to you.”

  “Stop it, Synclair, I am not wedding you.”

  But she wanted to, yearned to. How was it to marry a man that you enjoyed being with? Her soul cried out for her to experience it.

  “I shall always treasure knowing you thought to honor me in such a way, Synclair, which is why I did not want to accompany you here. Biddeford will destroy you if he can and I refuse to aid him in that quest.” She shivered with the dark possibilities, her heart aching.

  He walked forward, closing the distance between them with slow steps. He reached out and cupped her chin in his warm hand, raising her face for a kiss that was both soft and simple. It pierced her heart with tenderness.

  “I understand your thinking, Justina, but I told you clearly that I came to court for you, and I have no intention of leaving without you. Defeating your guardian has always been my goal. If he was fool enough to order you to my bed and think he will regain you, I shall happily show him the error of his ways.”

  His eyes darkened, and as he stepped back, his expression lost every trace of softness.

  “Now, we shall not have you worried about lying to the viscount should he gain the opportunity to ask you about this evening.”

  His gaze traveled over her, slipping over the curves he knew so well and that she had enjoyed him learning.

  “What do you mean?”

  One light eyebrow rose. “I mean, sweet lover, that I intend to ensure that you have plenty of details to report.”

  He worked the buttons loose on his doublet and shock held her silent while he finished opening the garment. He shrugged it off, revealing a linen shirt. He opened the cuffs before raising his hands to the collar.

  A rap sounded on the door. “Enter.”

  Her face heated with another blush because she had forgotten about the mulled wine he’d requested. The housekeeper appeared with a tray held securely in both hands. Synclair turned to make sure that the woman saw the state of undress he was in. She did not blink nor did her expression alter even a tiny amount.

  “Ah, some mulled wine should warm my lady quickly.”

  There were twin goblets and a pitcher on that tray. The housekeeper lowered herself before placing the tray on the table and retreating from the room.

  “You are entirely too sure of yourself.”

  He chuckled, his lips rising into a smug grin.

  “Admit it, Justina; you are enjoying the fact that I have stopped waiting for you like a gallant knight.”

  “You are misbehaving.” He grinned instantly at her words. “I will not reward you with praise.”

  His smile faded into a hard line. “Not yet anyway. I will maintain hope to hear many things that praise my efforts from your lips later tonight.”

  “You should not say such things; it is a sin to speak so.”

  “Why? It is the truth. I have brought you here to tumble, and I plan to do a very good job of it.”

  Synclair moved to the table, lifting one goblet and taking a sip from it.

  “Come and drink with me, Justina.”

  A shiver moved across her skin, and she shook her head before thinking. It was pure response, from deep inside her. A sort of recognition of his ability to do exactly what he proposed, even if she decided to resist.

  He watched her over the rim of the goblet, sending a bolt of anticipation through her. The man was planning her seduction. She could see it glittering in his eyes. Part of her was tempted to make him work harder at it just because she needed to feel like her consent was something worth striving for.

  Such a pitiful thought, and yet, Justina realized that it was very true.

  There was a soft clink as he sat the goblet back on the tray. “Maybe you are correct, the only intoxicating influence needed is our reaction to each other.”

  Indeed it was almost too much to control. Justina felt heat rising from inside her. Passion was beginning to twist deep in her belly.

  Synclair sat down and stretched out one leg toward her.

  “Come, Justina, show me how well you can cater to my needs.”

  His voice was mocking but there was also a hint of need, and that was what drew her forward. He sent so much passion through her, and she needed to know that she affected him the same way.

  “As you will, my lord.”

  She muttered the meek words with enough heat to raise one of his fair eyebrows. Leaning over, she wrapped her hands around his boot, watching the way his gaze lowered to the swells of her breasts. She took her time removing the boot, and she could tell that Synclair enjoyed the view while she lingered over her task. By the time his second boot was removed, his lips were thinning, and she recognized his straining control. But he stood up, branching his feet wide.

  “Now the britches.”

  Her heart accelerated, pumping faster behind her stays. Sensation rippled across her skin, going down her back and over her belly. She knew that so much dwelling on him would lead her to trouble. Now, her hands shook as she reached for his waistband and opened it. She craved another taste of that hard flesh but his silence promised her that he was not going to grant her what she wished unless she asked him for it.

  Just as she had before.

  She pulled his pants down, and his cock pushed against the fabric of his shirt, but she was prevented from seeing it completely, even when she knelt to pull the pants away from each foot when he lifted them.

  But being on her knees did not belittle her. Smoothing her hands along the outside of his legs, she gently stroked her way to his knees where the top of his socks were. She rolled the thin fabric down to expose his skin. Now her hands began to move up again, her skin against his. She did it slowly, lingering over his calves and up further to his thighs. His breathing increased and in the silence of the chamber she heard a log shift in the fireplace. That didn’t matter; her senses were alert and soaking up all the tiny details of touch and scent. It seemed as if it had been years since she had filled her nose with the scent of his skin. Far too long since she had touched him and listened to his breathing to see if he enjoyed her hands upon him.

  His breath caught when her hands made it to the curve of his backside.

  “French me.”

  His voice was strained but she heard the desire. He was attempting to play a game but in truth, he was as much caught in it as she was. That drew her to him, toward surrendering to the passion once more because she had never felt so close to any other man. Nor had she ever suspected that any of her partners had cared whether she enjoyed their attention.

  “Ah, and do you think you have the strength to stand in place while I do such? A man should stand firm, if he wants that particular kiss.”

  He chuckled, the sound dark and promising. He reached down and caught the back of her head. “I assure you, I would rather die than move away from your sweet lips.”

  She slid her hand down and over the warm skin of his inner thigh, stopping only when she felt the sac that hung beneath his cock. He flinched, just a tiny motion but she witnessed it.

  “So sure, are you?” She stroked the wrinkled skin of that sac, gently touching it while her passage began to warm and heat.

  The hand in her hair tightened. “I am sure that I can reciprocate well; the question, will you be able to impress me with your fi
rm stance when it is your turn? Two may play the game of teasing, Justina.”

  She drew in a stiff breath and his hand gently rubbed at the tense muscles of her neck. Her clitoris began to throb between the folds of her slit. She trembled while her fingers gently toyed with a man’s flesh. It had been a very long time since she had been affected so deeply while being intimate.

  “Come, Justina, pleasure me, and while you are doing it, think upon the fact that I plan to repay you touch for touch and rapture for rapture.”

  He pulled his shirt off, allowing her to see his length clearly. The head of his cock was flared and red. The slit glistened with a drop of fluid that she leaned forward and licked away. She had done it before, but tonight she heard his swift intake of breath and shivered with enjoyment because she had caused him to respond to her. That knowledge was like dry tinder, cast down onto the gentle flames building inside her. It caught instantly, making her hungry for far more.

  Her hands moved up, stroking along his member, gently gliding over the satin-smooth skin. A man’s cock was every bit as sensitive as her own slit, and the memory of the last time they had lain together made her eager to take her time teasing him. The French court was even more traitorous for women than England’s. But it seemed that French women had learned to beguile their men with more than the parting of their thighs. The technique of frenching had come back from campaigns and the King was rumored to enjoy it most well.

  Justina smiled. She planned to make sure Synclair enjoyed more than any man ever had.

  She leaned forward, allowing her jaw to relax and open to take his girth. His skin smelled of soap, and the head of his cock entered her mouth completely.

  “Holy Christ.”

  His hand returned to her hair, but this time he cupped the back of her head, gently guiding her toward what he craved. She heard his breathing become rough and hurried, a tiny indication that he was being pressed closer to the point where his control would fail and his body would take command.