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He was looking down at her, his eyes so blue and vibrant. The heat in them burned her skin.
“I am not afraid of you,” she repeated, more to convince herself. “I am the Lady of Somerford, and you are a mercenary. I give the orders. Do not forget it, Captain.”
He didn’t seem angered by what she had said; his smile grew broader. “Then order me to show you what the mercenary can do for the lady.”
There was no doubting his meaning, it was there in the glitter of his eyes, the curl of his hips. He wanted her. He was offering to give her as much pleasure as he had last night. More. And she had only to ask…Well, wasn’t that exactly what she wanted?
“Have you shown many ladies what you can do, Captain?” she asked.
Some other emotion flickered in his confident blue eyes. Surprise? Confusion? Annoyance? The timbre of his voice cooled. “Are you interested in my fidelity, lady? Or my prowess? I can give you my body, I can give you the pleasure you crave, but be warned…my heart is my own.”
“I’m not interested in your heart,” Rose said, and was sure she meant it. She needed him as a lover, and he was offering himself to her. Some devilment made her ask, “This was not in our original agreement. How many extra marks would you charge me, Captain, for this service?”
“No extra, lady. It would be entirely my pleasure.”
Briefly, Rose wondered if she had lost
her mind entirely, and then she didn’t care. There were probably far worse things to come. Just for now, let pleasure reign.
“Very well, Captain, we have a bargain. Come to me…later, when everyone is abed.”
He bowed as if he were her obedient servant, when Rose knew very well that he was not. She had not promised, she told herself, as she whirled away. She could always change her mind and not let him in. But she knew, deep in her heart, that it was too late to go back.
Too late, because she did not want to.
The air was still and sweet with summer. Rose stood a moment, staring into the night. Across the Mere, Burrow Mump rose against the star-filled sky. Tonight the island seemed a long way away. Tonight she had put aside dreams and ghosts. Soon they might be all she had to comfort her, but for now there was a flesh and blood man to be enjoyed.
You want him. Constance’s voice sounded in her head. And yet you are afraid of him.
I am afraid of how he makes me feel.
Like a woman? scoffed Constance gently. You should not be afraid of that. Every woman should feel such pleasure at least once in her life. Some feel it not at all. I was lucky with my husband. Now is your chance, Rose. Do not allow it to slip by.
And if he has changed his mind?
He won’t. I have seen the way he looks at you.
Rose felt the color in her cheeks and turned again to the window, her dark hair smooth as a velvet cloak around her. She had combed it and left it unbraided, wrapping her thin robe about her nakedness. There was only one small candle flickering by the door. She sat in darkness by the window, knowing that when he came she would see him first.
Rose had few advantages where Gunnar Olafson was concerned, but that was one.
She did not feel like herself. Just now her body might be cooled by the evening air, her heartbeat even, her thoughts measured, but as soon as he touched her all that would change. She would lose her equilibrium. She would become nothing more than another willing woman in his arms. So any advantage was worth pursuing. Aye, she would sit in the shadows and watch him in the candlelight, and pretend she was in charge of the situation.
Rose’s mind drifted back to the moments by the Somerford chair, and the Norse carvings whose meaning he had explained to her. Gunnar was like those carvings—in some ways he was brutal, in others he was beautiful, and always intensely seductive…
The knock on her door was soft, but still Rose jumped. Her breath sounded very loud in the silence, and she pulled her robe closer about her, suddenly wishing she had not undressed. And yet how foolish to think another layer of cloth could protect her from Gunnar Olafson!
“Lady?” His voice was muffled. He knocked again.
Rose did not expect him to wait indefinitely. He would think she had changed her mind, or he would feel foolish and leave. No man liked to feel foolish. Mayhap it would be best if she did not…
The door opened wide.
He stood on the threshold, the candlelight catching in his hair and eyes, playing shadowy games with his handsome face and impressive body. His hand was on the hilt of his sword, and he had it half out of its sheath, ready. He was frowning into the chamber, trying to pierce the shadows.
“Captain Olafson.”
His gaze moved swiftly to the window. Slowly, he returned his sword to its scabbard, and came further into the room, closing the door behind him and dropping the bar in place. The candle flame wavered, darting crazily on the walls and ceiling beams. He did not seem to care that she could see him and he could not see her.
