He said nothing, only continued to stare down at her, his gaze hot and black.
He’d shared something so personal with her that she felt compelled to do the same. “Nicholas,” she said, her voice wavering. “There’s something you should know about me. I’m a witch . . . except my magic is useless to me. That’s the source of the headaches, a curse placed on me so I can’t use my magic—necromancy.”
As she spoke, the heat cooled from his eyes and he arched a quizzical brow, listening to her hurried speech.
After a thick moment of silence, he said, “I see.”
Damn that mulled drink.She felt foolish now and wished she’d kept her mouth shut. “I just thought you should know,” she murmured, looking away from him, cheeks hot.
His finger tipped up her chin, forcing her to look into his eyes. “Your secret is safe with me, Gillian. But let’s keep it a secret, aye? No summoning ghosts, or the servants will talk.”
“You don’t believe me.”
He opened his mouth, brows raised earnestly, as if to deny it, then his mouth snapped shut. He exhaled through his nose. Finally he said, “I believe that you believe. But more importantly, Iknowthe great majority of Scotland believes and would love to burn you for it.” He chucked her chin lightly. “Necromancy is not anecessary skill for a countess anyway, mind, so let’s not speak on it again.”
His tone was even, but there was a slight crinkling to the corners of his eyes. He was amused. There was also a thread of steel in his voice. He expected her to obey.
Gillian gazed up at him, sullen, her bottom lip heavy. “Are you forbidding me, my lord?”
“Aye. I am.”
He was not accustomed to anyone questioning his edicts, nor would he tolerate disobedience. Gillian really wished she’d kept her mouth shut now. If Rose discovered how to break the curse, Gillian would have to defy him and be secretive about it. She’d not wanted to do that.
She stepped away from him and tried to pull her hand from his. “I told you. It’s of no use to me, anyway.”
He held her fast and with a quick tug brought her up against him again. His other hand slid around behind her back.
“In the event your headaches disappear and you’re able to converse freely with the dead”—this was said with dry mockery—“then I want you to ignore them. Understand?”
Gillian would not lie to him, so she stared off to the side stubbornly.
He sighed. “I see you are going to be a trial.”
Her cheeks burned hotter. “I apologize for being such an inconvenience.”
His body molded to the length of hers, hot and hard. She tried to ignore her response to him, but it wasdifficult. Her heart raced, her palms damp with anticipation. She could smell him, feel the heat of him.
“You’re forgiven,” he said dryly.
She looked at him from beneath her lashes and saw the wry twist of his mouth.
“You’re teasing me.”
His palm on her back—hot even through layers of clothes—pressed her closer. He lowered his head, his mouth near her ear. “It’s you that teases me. Let’s return to my chambers.”
Gillian nodded, his edict forgotten in the shivers that raced over her from his warm breath blowing softly against her ear. He started to raise his head. Gillian turned hers so that her mouth brushed his lips. He froze, and Gillian drew back a fraction to see his expression.
Candlelight flickered across his face, reflected in his black eyes. She’d been bold, but she could not help herself with him. He was her husband now, after all, and she wanted to touch and kiss him. She leaned into him, kissing his mouth, darting her tongue to taste his lips. He was firm and cool, flavored faintly of his mulled drink.
He made a rough sound, then pressed his mouth to hers, roughly at first, then gently, as if restraining himself. Gillian’s free hand clutched at his shoulder, her other hand squeezing his. Already she felt the dampness between her thighs, the excitement of what was to come. His mouth was soft, the faint bristle of beard beneath his bottom lip scraping her skin. His tongue teased her, touching her lips briefly, sending a tingling of sensation from her mouth to her belly.
His hand untangled from hers, sliding into her hair and cupping the base of her head. He deepened the kiss then, his tongue pushing into her mouth, joining with hers. Gillian lost track of how long they stood there, their mouths mating, her hands clinging to his shoulders as if she were falling—and was falling, carried away by a raging storm, helpless to resist it.
When he took his mouth away, she whimpered, turning her face to follow, and he groaned, kissing her again. She could taste his hunger, and her body answered it, hips shifting closer. He broke away again, catching her face between his hands.
Gillian could barely open her eyes, but when she did, her heart snagged. Had he looked at her so last night, as he’d made love to her? As if she were the only woman in the world, and the only one he wanted. She whispered his name, her hands sliding up his chest restlessly, her eyes drifting shut again as she leaned heavily against him.
“Not here,” he said, his voice rough. He kissed her again, a hard, possessive kiss, his fingers curling hard in her hair. Then he took her hand and led her back to his chambers.
