He felt her thighs quivering about him, and slowly lowered her, so that her feet were once again on the floor. But her legs wouldn't hold her and they buckled. He caught her, holding her, touching his forehead to hers, as he fought to regain his breath.
"You've destroyed me,” he said. “You have me behaving like a randy lad."
"It's only fair,” she whispered, as her hands fluttered over him, stroking his roughened jaw, “you've turned me into a brazen hussy."
When his pulse slowed, and he could breathe without gasping, he withdrew from her and lifted her into his arms. He carried her to the bed, where he helped her remove her dress. He went to the washstand and returned with a moistened towel, and cleaned them both before shucking the rest of his clothing and climbing into the bed with her. Exhausted slumber claimed them both.
It was dark when they awoke. He donned his dressing gown and rang for a servant. He ordered food for them both and a bottle of wine, while Emme stayed safely hidden behind the bed curtains.
When the food arrived, he filled a plate for them with cold meats, fruit, and cheese, and filled their glasses with wine. He then tossed several pillows onto the rug before the fire, as Emme emerged from the bed, wrapped in the sheet. Her dark hair was a wild tangle down her back, and he could see faint traces of red on her neck and breasts from his whiskers. She walked toward him and placed a chaste kiss on his cheek.
He touched his fingertips to her abraded flesh, and said, “I'm a brute."
"I love the feel of your whiskers on my skin,” she said.
He considered his response carefully. It was an admission that he felt compelled to make, but that he was uncertain of. “This craving I have for you is like nothing I've ever experienced. I've always kept a tight rein on my passions, but with you."
She kissed him, marveling at her own boldness. “For which I am incredibly grateful. It would be rather inconvenient if my endless desire for you was one-sided."
They sprawled on the carpet, his head in her lap as she fed him bits of cheese and fruit. Along with the meal, the servants had delivered a letter. It had arrived by special messenger from London while they slept. He opened it and read the familiar scrawl.
"Is anything wrong?” she asked.
"Alistair has gotten himself into a fix financially, again. I'll take care of it tomorrow. I don't wish to discuss him."
Emme smiled and stroked his hair. “Then what shall we discuss?"
"Tell me about your sister. She seems like a lovely girl."
"Larissa and I have always been close. Our father was distracted, I suppose is the best way to describe him, and mother never really understood us. If we spoke of something that was outside the realm of normal experience, it always unnerved her."
"What is Larissa's gift? Is it like yours?"
"No, Larissa has visions of things that will happen. Sometimes they appear disjointed or out of context and it can make them difficult to interpret. When Papa died, she saw it happen, but the vision was so confusing she couldn't do anything to prevent it. She's always blamed herself."
"Guilt is a hard thing to live with, especially for one so young."
Emme smiled. “Larissa has always been very defiant, fierce and full of life. She's never worried overmuch about the proprieties."
He reclined again, his head nestled beneath her bountiful breasts. “Unlike my properly wanton wife?"
She laughed. “Yes, unlike your wanton wife."
They feasted and then returned to the bed. They made love slowly, languorously, with the initial urgency sated. They slept again, and as she slept, the spirits came. Emme rose from the bed, disentangling herself from Rhys’ arms. He stirred and rolled to his back, but did not wake. She left the room, naked, her steps slow and sure as she made her way down the hall toward the tower.
The draft woke him and the cold air chilled his naked skin. He noted the empty bed and rose immediately, donning his dressing gown and grabbing hers as he walked into the hallway. She was already out of sight, but the open door gave her direction away. Quickly, he traversed the steps into the tower room. She stood before the window again, naked in the moonlight, her eyes pale and sightless as she stared out into the cold night.
"I could make her jump,” she said, looking at him over her shoulder. Her features were different somehow, there was a tension in her face, a tilt to her lips that was Elise. The hair on his body stood on end, and gooseflesh rippled over him.
"As someone made you jump?” he asked.
She laughed, a cold sound that rasped across his skin like a sharp blade. “I never jumped, Rhys. I took such pleasure in making you a cuckold that I would never have ended it."