Kathleen E. Woodiwiss(28)

Slowly Ruark’s face retreated. With trembling effort Shanna collected herself, and, as he stared at her, she drew a deep, ragged breath. She struggled to rise from his grasp, succeeded—then found herself seated on his lap.

“Is not the bargain met, m’lord?” she questioned in an unsteady voice.

Without comment Ruark handed her the papers, and she tucked them safely in her muff. She would have slipped quickly from his lap then, but his arm was about her waist and held her firmly in place. With the panniers further restricting her movements, she could not escape him. Her eyes searched the golden flames smoldering in his eyes.

“Was there more to your bargain than you spoke?”

“Nay,” Ruark smiled leisurely. “But I would be onto the first one now.”

Shanna struggled, but his arms were about her, pressing her close to his body. His voice was a hoarse whisper in her ear.

“Madam, strain your mind and try to realize what it is like to stay in a small, gray room and count the stones for the thousandth time, to know the nearest measure of it, its length and breadth and height; to see again the days that have passed as scratches on an iron door and to know that morning will add another mark and that each moment passing draws you closer to a noose; and to wonder helplessly if the pain will be terrible or quick. Then into that narrow world is thrust a beauty such as yours with its dream and its hope. Aye, Shanna, my wife, I did lust in my dungeon, but mark you this,” his eyes gleamed as his face drew near to hers, “before the door opens again you will be a wife in every way.”

And Shanna realized his hand was already beneath her skirts and boldly high on her thigh. Her gasp was neither light nor coy, and she grasped his wrist and tugged it away with much determination, only to find that behind her back his fingers were loosening the laces of her gown.

“Ruark!” She twisted and brushed his arm aside.

Suddenly it seemed he had twice the normal number of hands, and her own flew in a flurry to maintain her modesty. Finally she caught both of his and hugged them tight against her midriff in an effort to keep them still. Then a new realization dawned. In the struggle, her skirt had been pulled from beneath her, and her bare buttocks rested full against his loins. His manhood beneath the silk breeches was bold and hard against her. Even now his hands were slipping away from her grasp and creeping up her sides, pulling her closer to him.

“Sir, you are no gentleman!” she gasped in outrage.

“Did you expect to find one in a dungeon?”

“You are a cad!” she panted, trying to pry his hands away.

Ruark laughed softly, and his breath brushed her throat. “Only a husband,” he replied, “well warmed and willing.”

Shanna fought to reach the small window so she might fling it open and cry out, but her wrist was caught and held to her side. She struggled with renewed energy. Then his hand was hot upon her naked breast, and her free hand snapped forward like a striking falcon but was stopped a bare inch from his laughing face. His grip was iron hard but gave her no pain, and with easy strength he clasped both her wrists behind the small of her back. Shanna drew a breath to shriek in anger, but his mouth smothered her outcry. Her head whirled in an ever quickening eddy, and she struggled against the intoxication of his kiss.

“Ruark! Wait!” she gasped as his lips lifted from hers. His fingers were at the dainty ribbon on her chemise, freeing her bosom.

“Nay, Shanna. Yield to me now, love,” he murmured thickly against her throat. His face lowered. His mouth was scalding upon her breast, and she was devoured in a searing, scorching flame that shot through her like a flaring rocket.

“Oh, Ruark,” she panted in a whisper. “Oh, don’t—please—” She could not draw a deeper breath. “Oh, Ruark—stop—”

The warmth spread until her skin seemed to glow. Her hands were free now but could only press his head closer. He moved and was hot and hard between her thighs. Her lips were dry, and her tongue flicked out to moisten them. In a last weak effort at modesty she tried to shield herself from the probing staff.

“O, love—love,” he rasped, taking her hand and leading it to him, closing his lean fingers over hers. “I’m a man. Flesh and blood. No monster, Shanna.”

His mouth was upon hers again, and his tongue was insistent until she met it with her own, first with hesitancy, then with welcome, then with passion. He was pressing her down upon the velvet seat.

Her sanity argued, this is madness! Her passion whispered slyly, let him come!

And he came to her, a first sharp piercing pain that made her gasp followed by a warmth deep inside that made her sob with pleasure. He began to move, and he was kissing her, caressing her, loving her—