Page 34 of Anice’s Bargain

She exhaled a shaky breath. His touch was rough with calluses, but warm and lightly scented with cedar. He wanted to know her, to make her happy.

Why had she uttered that ridiculous secret? Of all the things she might have said, why must it have been that one?

“Tell me, Anice.” His caress was soft as a butterfly’s wing as it drew over her cheek. “Who are ye? Who is the secret lass ye dinna want others to see?”

Her heartbeat thundered in her ears. This was too much. Too quickly. She had only met him days ago. This man was her enemy. The reminder fell flat in her mind, for he did not act like a foe, not when he was so very much like a lover.

Regardless, it would be impossible to tell him the truth, especially when he saw her exactly the same as everyone else: a dowry, an opportunity, a woman of great beauty with no other true value.

However, he had never told her she was beautiful. While many others had composed sonnets and sent gifts to praise her appearance, never once had James so much as said she was lovely.

She opened her eyes and found he stared down at her with quiet, glittering determination. As though he truly did want to understand her.

“Passion,” she whispered. “I want passion.”

She waited for a heated kiss, for that delicious press of his hardness against her pelvis. But he did not pounce upon her as other men might have. Instead his hand fell away from her face. “Passion? That is truly yer secret?”

His skepticism was obvious in the slow repeat of the word. Her throat went dry. She had to work harder to see him convinced.

After all, it was something she wanted. And it was a far safer confession than the truth, than facing her own inadequacies in life about being nothing more than a beautiful face.

“Aye.” Anice swallowed, her throat so dry, it stuck to itself. “I have always been handled delicately, like a flower that might wilt in one’s hands. I…I want passion. I want strong hands on my body, searing kisses, a man who can push at the boundaries of my imagination.”

He tilted his head. “Push the boundaries of yer imagination?”

Mayhap that had gone a trifle far, but there was no backing out now. “Aye.”

“And what are the boundaries of yer imagination?” he asked, after another long pause.

She bit back an irritated sigh. Why couldn’t he just launch himself at her as any other lusty courtier might? Why did he have to be so considerate? So thorough?

“I…” She bit her lip. “I liked what we did last eve.” Her cheeks scorched with heat. “When you…” Words failed her and required searching. “When you touched me.”

He gave a soft chuckle. “Ye’re giving me a fair amount to consider, lass.”

Anice’s tension splintered with a laugh. “I know.”

“It’s what ye truly want?” he asked.

The playful awkwardness melted into sensuality and drizzled over her like warm honey. “Aye,” she said again.

He put an arm around her waist and drew her against the wall-like strength of his large body. “Ye liked it when I kissed ye?” His fingers brushed over her lips so gently she might have thought it was the wind, had she not caught his wonderful scent.

She hummed her approval. Her stomach fluttered with anticipation where this might go. More kisses. More touches. More. More. More.

“When I cupped yer breast, did ye like that as well?” The pressure of his hand was unmistakable against the side of her breast.

Her breath caught. “Aye.”

“When I teased yer nipple too?” His fingers toyed unabashedly over the hard peak of first one breast, then the other.

Her knees went soft and dropped from underneath her. He tightened his hand around her waist, keeping her fully upright, being her support.

“And when I drew up yer skirt?” His voice was a low growl against her ear.

Prickles of delight raced over her skin. She could not so much as speak over the power of her own longing.

“Lady Anice?” A man’s voice sounded from the castle. Drake.

Anice stiffened. It was one thing to whisper of such inappropriate touching among themselves in the dark, and entirely another to be caught. She quickly slipped her hand into the crook of James’s arm and urged him forward. “Pretend as though we were merely walking,” she hissed.

Which was exactly what he did. He strode as easily from the shadows as though they had been out for an innocent stroll, rather than discussing his illicit deeds from the previous night and setting her body to burning.

“Good evening, Drake.” Her greeting was overly cheerful, a fact confirmed by the narrowing of his eyes in obvious suspicion.

He inclined his head respectfully, but not before shooting a dark stare in James’s direction. “Lord Werrick grew concerned when ye did not return after the sun went down.”

It was too late to be out, she knew. Regardless, she hadn’t expected Drake to come after her as though she were a child. Irritation vexed her. She climbed the stairs and called for Piquette, who took several moments to appear, most likely having been chasing squirrels about in the orchard.

Her irritation with Drake dissipated suddenly when he strode past her and discreetly pushed a bit of parchment into her hand.