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“Do you still want me?” she asked uncertainly, reining in her wild emotions.
He nodded without hesitation. “You and the babe.”
“But—” What was that look in his eyes, what did it mean?
He pulled her close again, so that she could not read him.
“Tonight I will stay here with you. I will send Sweyn back to Lord Shelborne’s with Mary. Do you think Lady Jocelyn will mind?”
She hesitated, a tiny spark of rebellion catching heat at the ordering note in his voice. But she quenched it.
“Jocelyn will not mind, Ivo.”
He didn’t seem to notice her uncharacteristic compliance as he rose to his feet and went out to give Sweyn his new orders.
Sweyn didn’t argue, although Mary insisted on speaking to her sister. When she returned she looked a little dazed, and her glances at Ivo were suspicious. Shortly afterward they were gone.
Ivo stood and stared at the river. The shock of Briar’s confession was wearing off. He knew he wouldn’t turn away from her. It was not in his character to do so. He would care for and protect her until death. That was what he had been trained to do. But even if it were not, even had he been one of the boatmen out on the river, he would have remained by her side, whether she wanted him or not. Briar was carrying his babe and suddenly his life’s choices had narrowed down to one.
Ivo had loved before, and it was not the thought of loving a woman and being responsible for her that worried him. It was the fear that she might be taken from him. And that he might be unable to stop it happening, that he might fail her in some way.
As he had failed Matilda. He hadn’t been able to save her, had he? No matter how much he had loved her, his love had not stopped her death at Miles’s hands. And it still hurt just as much as it always did, for Ivo’s love had not died with his sister. Once Ivo loved it was forever.
To his cost.
He tipped back his head and gazed at the stars, like tiny molten balls in the black furnace of the sky. A babe. His and Briar’s. A de Vessey. Ivo did not doubt the babe was his. Did that make him as arrogant as Briar was always accusing him? He thought now that he had known, from the moment his seed spilled into her, he had known that this was meant to be. They were meant to be. Struggle though they both might, the fates had already decided. Briar was Ivo’s, and Ivo was Briar’s, and there was an end to it.
The door opened behind him. He felt the warmth spill out, and the sweet scent of Briar. The stars swam before his eyes, and Ivo turned to her.
Her face was pale from crying, and she looked uncertain, though trying to hide it with an indifferent mask. Sheltering her heart in case he shattered it, even after he had sworn to stay with her. His brave, beautiful love who had been so wounded by others.
He took a step forward, looking down into her eyes, and deliberately bent his head and kissed her. Captured her lips. Passion surged into him, and he felt the answering heat in her.
“Ivo,” she gasped, arms clinging, pressing closer.
He lifted her and carried her int
o the dwelling, closing the door behind them.
Briar felt herself slip into a warm, heady waking-dream. Ivo’s lips closed on hers, tenderly, but with a hint of urgency. He had said he wanted her, and she could feel the truth of it in his kisses.
His hands stroked her shoulders, her back, as his mouth drew her deeper into the dream. Briar’s breasts felt heavy, achy, and she moved against him, enjoying the sensation of her soft flesh against his hard-muscled chest. He turned and slid his thigh between hers, lifting her with his hands about her waist, bringing her closer.
“Ivo,” she murmured. She ran her hands over his shoulders, tugging her fingers through his hair. He bent, pressing his face to her breasts through her gown. It was not enough. She needed his mouth on her bare skin, she needed to feel his tongue on her.
Ivo must have felt the same, for he began hastily pulling at ties and knots, drawing the garment over her head and tossing it aside, leaving her in her chemise, stockings, and shoes.
He stood and looked at her, his eyes hot. Then gently, he knelt down and began to undress her. Briar closed her eyes, her mind full of the sensation of his calloused fingers on her feet as her shoes were removed. Warm, determined, his hands caressed her ankles, her calves, her knees, rolling each stocking down the curving slope of her leg. She opened her eyes and gazed into his.
He smiled up at her, and suddenly dizzy, she placed her hand on his shoulder to steady herself. The other she used to touch his jaw where the bruise still showed, his cheek, his mouth. His gloved fingers fondled her thigh, and she ached with wanting.
Ivo stood, lifting her with him, and carried her to the bed. Briar lay back and watched as he removed his wolfpelt cloak, and then his tunic and shirt. His skin shone bronze in the firelight, while his face was all shadows. He unlaced his breeches, and she reached out to touch him. He felt hard and hot, and at the brush of her fingers he groaned.
“Briar.”
But when she would have gone further, he eased back and hurriedly stripped off his boots and breeches. He stood before her now, naked, apart from his glove.
“Will you take that off for me, too?” Briar asked, with surprising shyness.
