His lips parted, showing a glint of teeth. “I would stay with you.” His head dipped slowly, and in the taut, endless moment before his lips touched hers, Rhiannon could think only that she could not turn away even if her very life had hung in the balance.
His kiss teased like the tantalizing flight of a butterfly. His possession eased, then advanced, a sensual assault both urgent and enticing. Desire flowed into Rhiannon’s loins. Lucius’s teeth nipped her lower lip, creating tiny darts of pleasure. His tongue soothed, then probed the slick lining, demanding more.
Rhiannon trembled beneath him. Her mouth opened as if in welcome, her arms entwined his neck as if in need. His body came down on hers, the ridge of his arousal pressing against her thigh. The small part of her brain that had been protesting her surrender fell silent. She was a woman, he a man, and the night was dark.
Yet even as the sweet ache in her breasts rose and the liquid heat pooled low in the hidden place between her thighs, the scornful whisper returned, taunting. How fitting that the granddaughter of Cartimandua should open her legs for her enemy.
Shame seared her. She gave a sharp cry of protest. When Lucius gave no response, she slapped his chest with her palm. She tore her lips from his, twisting as she fought to free herself from his weight.
He swore softly and shoved himself off the bed. His gait was angry as he strode to the window. He stood, unmoving, hands fisted at his sides and stared out into the black night. Rhiannon swallowed hard, her fingers knotting the edge of the coverlet. Had she gained another day’s reprieve? Or had she succeeded only in tapping his rage?
At length he turned and approached her. She tensed as he drew near, but he merely took up a brass handlamp from the table near the bed. Crouching at the brazier, he touched the wick to the coals and blew gently until the flame leapt to life.
He repositioned the lamp on the table with careful precision. His eyes were hard, his expression grim. When he reached for her with an abrupt motion, she flinched.
He frowned and drew back. Rhiannon struggled to remain calm. Would he force her now? Would it have been better to yield to his advances when his mood had been light?
“What manner of man do you belong to, Rhiannon?”
She drew a shaky breath. “None.”
“Every woman belongs to a man. Have you a husband?” When she didn’t answer, he added softly, “I won’t hurt you as he did.”
“What?”
“I won’t beat you. You needn’t fear my hands.”
Dear Briga. How could Lucius know that Niall had indeed taken to striking out at her? Not often, and never in the company of others, but Rhiannon suspected that Owein had known. The fault was her own. If her womb had provided Niall with a living babe, he’d never have felt the urge to hit her. And Edmyg never would have gone to Glynis’s pallet to seek a son.
“He should be castrated.” The compassion in Lucius’s eyes was harder to bear than his anger. “Put your thoughts of him aside. I promise you will enjoy every moment in my bed.”
“Your vanity is astounding,” Rhiannon whispered.
He grinned suddenly, the dimple in his cheek deepening and his eyes taking on the impish glint of a lad. “Why not put my arrogance to the test? You may well find yourself begging for my conceit.”
An unexpected laugh bubbled into her throat. “You are far too sure of yourself.”
He touched her face, the roughened callus on the pad of his thumb curiously gentle on her cheekbone while his fingers caressed the sensitive skin behind her ear. Against her will, her eyelids fluttered shut.
Abruptly, he stepped back, leaving her bereft before she recalled she should be glad of his withdrawal.
“Please leave,” she said, but the words held little force.
In answer, he lowered himself onto the bed and took her hand in his. He began a thorough kneading of her palm, first stroking with firm pressure, then tracing the skew of lines with a feathering touch. An aching response pulled low in Rhiannon’s belly. The small smile tugging at one corner of Lucius’s mouth told her that he was well aware of the effect of his touch.
Her face flamed and she snatched her hand away. “Why do you woo me? You are a Roman defiler. You have only to spread my legs.”
“I wish your pleasure.”
“You seek your own.”
His teeth bared in a smile that looked almost painful. “True enough. Yet I find I anticipate your satisfaction even more.” His voice dropped to an intimate whisper. “Would you care to know what I dreamed last night?”
She drew her knees up and wrapped her arms around them. “No.”
Lucius rose and paced around the bed until he stood behind her, not touching, but close enough that the heat of his body seeped through the thin barrier of her tunic. “You came to me while I lay abed. You flowed over me like wine and I drank you in.” The heat of his breath was on her neck, the musk of his sweat in her nostrils. “First, I savored your lips …”