“Perchance, I should give you a small demonstration of how cold your misguided view is, lady wife. Mayhap then you will not be so eager to be rid of me.” His breath whispered softly against her mouth as he looked at her breasts. The mounds ached to have his lips against them once more. Her breathing deepened, rivaling the beat of her heart. He adjusted his hold, pulling her arms higher. The gesture forced her more vulnerably forward and he groaned in approval.
Beginning at her captured wrist, he lightly caressed her through the thin material of her long tunic dress. She sighed and trembled, giving little resistance. He ran an uneven trail down the limb, under the curve of her elbow, over the pit of her arm, and down the side of her slim waist.
Leaning her head back against the wall, she bit her lips to suppress a moan. The heat of his gentle hand moved over the sensitive curve of her breast in a teasing press. She didn’t think to fight him as he stirred the lustful fire inside her. The wave of pleasure she felt, as his breath fell hot against her throat, frightened her.
“Methinks my touch does not repulse you as much as you would like.” Brant leaned close to her ear, but the words hardly registered. “You might have to lie with a man a hundred times before you carry his babe or only a dozen. When you finally do, there is no certain way to make sure it is a boy. You might have to carry several before you beget a male. That would mean even more time in the marriage bed. What think you of that, Ice Princess?”
“That is not possible.” She could barely focus on what he said, or the responses she gave. An intense ache formed between her thighs and her hips begged her to lean more fully into him. He was all around her, yet he scarcely touched her. Closing her eyes, she offered him her mouth. “Stuart would not lie to me.”
“Yea, he would. If he thought doing so would get him this keep and my title.” Brant let his lips brush the side of her cheek. Della panted. Her breast pressed fully into his palm and he grabbed the soft mound of flesh, giving her the caress she unwittingly sought. He rubbed hard against her nipple until it slipped out of the top of her gown. She’d been so entranced by him that she hadn’t felt him loosen the dress laces. Massaging the exposed bud with the tip of his finger until it was erect, he caused a soft moan to escape her.
“Nay, I cannot believe it. Stuart would not lie to me. He is not like you.” Della tried desperately to remember why she must fight him, why she must hate him. She moved her head away. Like a faint beacon in the back of her mind, she recalled his unreasonable anger and deliberately said the only thing she could think of to protect herself. “Do you forget why you are here, m’lord? Do you still think I played you false?”
The words would anger him, but that anger was the only way she could drive him away from her. It took him a moment to understand what she asked, but the second he did, he stiffened and dropped her wrists. With a flick of his finger, he covered her nipple with her gown.
Della sensed an acute pain at his withdrawal and slowly moved her arms back down to her sides. Her sex was moist under her skirt and she wondered if she started her woman’s time a sennight early. It would be unusual if she did.
That would explain the mysterious sensations in my body, she reasoned, needing to make sense of all she felt.
“Explain yourself. What were you doing here with Quinn, if not playing me false?” Brant’s accusing gaze shot sparks of fire.
Della suddenly grew very tired of his assault on her character. His dizzying caresses left her weak and vulnerable and she didn’t have the strength to keep fighting him. Defiant, she lifted her chin. “You are an unscrupulous man and you are overly jealous in nature. It’s a wonder you let me out of your sight for more than a moment. Mayhap you should chain me to the bed by my leg, lest I try to go to the garderobes alone.” She pushed violently past him and took several strides across the floor. Kneeling, she picked up the tunic Quinn had dropped in his haste to escape her husband’s wrath. She was angrier at the betrayal she felt in her body than at him, but she blamed him anyway.
Damned pagan curse!
“Do not turn your back on me,” Brant ordered. “You will leave when I say you can.”
Della stood and turned, her mouth open in disbelief. “You lout. For your information, you are more to Quinn’s taste in bed partner than I am. As for your mistrust of my virtue…” Brant pointed his finger in warning. Della raised her arm and launched the long tunic at his head. “Here! It was to be a surprise—a gift for helping me with my father’s funeral.” He caught it against his stomach. “But it would seem you are not deserving of the consideration. I should let you walk about the manor dressed as a pauper. As to the others I made you, I will have them burned immediately. I would never give them to you now. Go to Blackwell Manor and live there. Go anywhere, just leave here.”