He wasn’t holding on to her anymore. He levered his weight off her and braced his arms against the wall, looming over her without keeping her captive. She could have moved away, walked out. But that deep, tender tone of his voice held her prisoner more than his hands ever could. And her heart was beating strangely.
When she made no move to leave, he lowered his head until his lips were a scant breath from hers. A lock of his hair fell forward, tickling her. He grinned. “Mayhap, milady, we should begin over again.”
“B-begin over again?” she whispered, her lashes already fluttering downward in anticipation of his kiss.
“Aye,” he murmured. “I am Sir Gaston de Varennes, lord of this chateau. And you, chérie?”
“Celine.” She lifted her mouth to his. “Celine Fontaine.”
“Celine.”
He wasn’t questioning or scoffing this time, merely accepting her name before he sealed his lips over hers and accepted her kiss.
Her heart filled with hope and longing and so many feelings she couldn’t begin to sort them out, couldn’t do anything in that moment but moan softly when his arms closed around her. He kissed her, held her, enfolded her in his heat, his strength, his life, until she could only slide her hands across the broad muscles of his chest, along the corded sinews of his neck, until she was twining her fingers through the dark curls at his nape.
At her light caress, his arms tightened. They held each other, tighter, closer, kissing until Celine knew she would faint and didn’t care, until time spun out beyond counting.
Time.
When he finally lifted his mouth from hers and allowed them both a breath, she lay her head against his chest, closing her eyes, asking the question she couldn’t bear to ask. “Do you believe me, Gaston?”
His breathing was fast and shallow and she could hear his heart pounding. “I believe you are not who I thought you were. I believe you are not a woman who would give unwavering loyalty to a knave such as Tourelle. And you are too intelligent to be taken in by any lies he might tell you.” His voice took on a rough, unsteady edge she had heard only once before, when he had rescued her from the river. “And I believe more than aught else that I want you to stay with me.”
She glanced up to find him gazing down at her with that look of unfamiliar darkness swirling in his eyes again, and her own eyes burned with sudden tears at the bittersweet impossibility of what he asked. “And what about the game you like so much?” she asked with a pained smile, though she knew the answer made no difference. “What about playing tables with all those different, pretty opponents?”
He grinned down at her. “Does it vex you so, little wife? Do you care so much?”
She thought of keeping her secret, but didn’t. “Yes.”
His expression softened. His eyes, his voice, his very touch softened. He cupped her face in his broad, callused palms. “Then for you, chérie, I shall give it up. I vow to you that I shall never play another game of tables.”
She closed her eyes, too late to stop a tear that slipped from beneath her lashes. “You would give it up ... for me?”
He kissed the drop of moisture away. “Aye.” His fingers wove into her hair. “I want you, Celine. And you are worth that price. Or any other.”
His kiss stole her breath before she could reply or ask any more questions.
Then hunger took control of them both.
All the fire and suppressed longings they had been battling for three weeks spilled over and swept them away in one swift cascade. He walked her backward, a single step. She came up against the wall but barely felt the impact, pressing herself into the heat of his body. He didn’t bother with sweet preliminaries this time. She didn’t want them. His tongue demanded entry and took it, thrusting against hers. She kissed him back, long and hard and deep, her hands sliding into his hair as he lifted her, until the soft juncture of her thighs cradled the hard arousal barely concealed by his tight leggings.
She inhaled sharply at the contact, but never gave a thought to stopping him, felt herself soaring and falling all at once, drugged by his kiss as she always was. He held her tight with one arm across her back and she wrapped her legs around his hips. He slid his other hand between their bodies and she shuddered, not with fear but with anticipation.
She didn’t want to think of the future or the past or any time at all but this moment. This sweet now. She was trapped in this place, this time, this marriage, these feelings she did not want to fight ... and all of it urged her to give in to what they both wanted. She didn’t care anymore what he called it, or what she called it. All she knew was that she could not feel so much for him and be so wrong about what he felt for her.