“Wait a minute! What—” She tried to sit up, too late. He had already captured one of her feet in his gloved hands—and she couldn’t wriggle out of his grasp without exposing even more of her nakedness. She froze, her breath coming in short, sharp little puffs.
“Ma dame, I only wish to do what is best for you,” he said, all innocence.
His gauntlets were soft and warm, the leather worn smooth by years of use, his fingers incredibly strong as he started massaging her foot, his thumbs pressing into her sole with small, circular motions.
Celine bit her bottom lip to repress a little moan of pleasure. “P-please stop that,” she requested as calmly as possible.
He kept right on working over every knotted little muscle, rubbing and kneading with perfect, gentle pressure. “I would not be accused of mistreating you, Christiane. If you are too fatigued to work this day, you may sleep as long as you like.”
Celine couldn’t speak; she was too busy holding her breath, trying not to let him know how absolutely wonderful it felt to have him do what he was doing.
After a long, slow massage, he released that foot and shifted to the other. A small sound escaped her.
His gaze leaped to hers, that small grin playing about his mouth. “I could arrange for a bath as well,” he offered. “A large tub of hot, steaming water, here in your room. Would you like that?”
God, this wasn’t fair. He was using really underhanded tactics now. And he had practically read her mind. She released a slow breath, not trusting a word he said for one second, but not wanting to end his tender attention to her aching feet, either. “And all I have to do in return is...?” She already knew the answer.
He tilted his head to one side, sending a lock of dark hair tumbling over his forehead. The look was incongruously boyish for a powerfully built man dressed all in black. “It is simple, Christiane. All you need do is admit the truth. I will escort you to the King personally. Simply agree to speak to him, and you need never lift another finger here.”
Wrapping both arms around herself to hold the sheet in place, Celine sighed and managed to move her legs beyond his reach. “As I’ve told you before, and as I will probably tell you again, I can’t possibly do that because I don’t know anything.”
His gaze sharpened. He didn’t try to recapture her. “Christiane, do you not see by now that your stubbornness serves you ill? You will give in now, or you will give in later,” he said quietly, “but you will give in.”
Celine just stared at him in defiant silence. She wasn’t going to argue it with him. He wouldn’t believe her, she couldn’t convince him, and that was that. All she could do was face up to whatever annoyances he heaped on her until she managed to get out of here and go home.
“Very well.” He shook his head, looking almost genuinely regretful. “Then you’ve no time for sleep or a bath, my lady wife, for your duties await. But I would have you remember, this is your choice, not mine.”
“Fine.” She started to get out of bed.
He didn’t move.
She stopped, her cheeks warming. “Would you at least turn around, please?”
He remained where he was, half reclining on the bed, looking very much like the lion on his tunic: all casual power, poised and ready to pounce even as he relaxed. His smile looked a little hungry. “Do I cause you discomfort?” he asked softly.
Celine swallowed hard. He was at it again, using his sensual skills on her—not to seduce or persuade this time, but to intimidate. He thought she was an apprentice nun, a girl who had spent her whole life in a convent. He wanted to make her uncomfortable. Wanted to make her run from him like a frightened rabbit, so shocked by his behavior, so fearful of what he might do, that she would say anything to anyone to be free of him.
Well, she wasn’t going to be intimidated. She knew he had strong reasons to avoid consummating their marriage. He wasn’t going to touch her, and she wouldn’t be shocked by anything else he might do.
“No, monsieur, you do not,” she said lightly, remaining where she was. “I thought I might make you uncomfortable. I wouldn’t want to be accused of trying to seduce you again. Believe me, it’s the furthest thing from my mind.”
“Is it really?”
“Yes. So, if you would turn your back—”
“Trust me, little nun, I am not so taken with your charms that a single glance will set me ablaze.”
“Fine. As long as you remember that this is your choice, not mine.” Celine finally let go of her white-fingered grip on the sheet and got out of bed, turning her back on him.