Miles’s momentary pause in washing her was his only sign that he understood her question. She’d never really asked something so personal before, as if she were interested in him.
“My three elder brothers are very pig-headed men. Gavin’s never heard anyone’s opinion except his own and Raine likes to imagine himself as a martyr for all lost causes.”
“And Stephen?” she asked, drinking more wine, watching him through lowered lashes. His hands on her felt so very, very good.
“Stephen fools people into believing he’s a willing compromiser, but when it comes to the point, he insists upon his own way. Only for Bronwyn was he willing to look at someone else’s view, and she had to fight him—and still fights—for everything. He makes jests about what to her is life and death.”
Elizabeth considered this for a moment. “And you are their little brother. No doubt they will always consider you someone to be instructed, someone who must be taken care of.”
“And is that the way you are treated also?” he half whispered.
The drink, the hot water, made her loosen her tongue. “Roger thinks I have only a quarter of a brain. Half is missing because I am a woman, half of that gone because he remembers me in swaddling clothes. When I told him some of what Edmund was doing to me, he wasn’t sure whether to believe me or not. Or perhaps be didn’t want to see the things his own brother did or allowed to happen.
“Damn!” she said, half rising from the tub. With a violent jerk she threw the goblet across the room, slamming it into the stone wall. “I am half a woman. Do you know what it feels like to watch Bronwyn and your brother, to see them laugh and love? The two of them sneak little touches when they think no one is looking. Whenever a man touches me, I—”
She broke off, her eyes wide, her head reeling from the drink. “Make love to me, Miles Montgomery,” she whispered huskily. “Make me not afraid.”
“I had planned to,” he said throatily as he pulled her into his arms.
She still stood in the tub, and as Miles’s mouth came down on hers, she kissed him back—kissed him with all the passion, all the anger she felt at having been cheated of a normal attitude toward love. While other women were learning how to flirt, Elizabeth’s brother had been gambling, promising his little sister’s virginity to the winner, and Elizabeth had learned to use a knife. She had preserved her precious virginity and for what? The convent? For a life where she grew harder and angrier every year until she turned to stone—an unloved, useless old woman?
Miles pulled back from her slightly, controlling the kiss, keeping her from hurting herself as she tried to grind her lips against his teeth. His hands were playing up and down her wet back, his fingertips caressing the indentation of her spine.
His lips moved to the corner of her mouth, his tongue touching the tip of hers before he trailed to her cheek, kissing her while his hands toyed with her skin.
Elizabeth tilted her head back and to one side as Miles’s teeth ran along her neck and to her shoulder. Perhaps this was the true reason why she’d never allowed a man to touch her. Maybe she’d always known that unless she fought like a demon she’d succumb like this—wantonly, unashamedly.
“Miles,” she whispered. “Miles.”
“Always,” he murmured, nibbling her ear.
With one swift motion he lifted her from the tub and carried her to the bed. Her body was wet, her hair cold and clinging to her, but Miles wrapped a towel about her and began rubbing. The briskness of his rubbing sent new warmth through her and everywhere, every time he touched her she wanted more. She had a whole lifetime of touching to make up for.
Suddenly Miles was beside her, nude, his glorious skin warm, dark, inviting.
“I am yours, Elizabeth, as you are mine,” he whispered as he placed her hand on his chest.
“So much hair.” She giggled. “So very much hair.” She buried her fingers in the short black curling stuff and pulled. Obediently, Miles rolled closer to her, snuggled her golden body to the length of him.
“What does it feel like?” she asked anxiously.
“You’ll not know for a long while.” He smiled. “When we become one, there’ll be no fear in your eyes.”
“Become one,” she whispered as Miles again began to kiss her neck. He kissed her neck for a very long time before he moved to her arm, his tongue making little swirling motions inside her elbow. It was odd how little vibrations seemed to be traveling from her fingertips, across her breasts to her other fingertips.
She lay still, eyes closed, arms open, legs open as Miles touched her. Those big hands that could wield a sword, could protect a child from harm, could control to unruly horse, were tenderly, slowly setting her body on fire.
When his hand moved from her throat to her cheek, she turned her head and kissed the palm, put both her hands on his and began to make love to that hard delicate hand, scraping it against her teeth, tasting his skin, running her tongue around and around the hairs on the back of his hand.
She was rewarded by a primitive sound from Miles that set her heart racing.
“Elizabeth,” he groaned. “Elizabeth. How I have waited.”
Elizabeth decided she wasn’t really in the mood for more waiting. Instinctively she tried to wiggle further under Miles, but he refused to allow that. Instead, he brought his mouth to her breast and Elizabeth nearly came off the bed.
Miles chuckled at her reaction and she felt his laughter all along the length of her. Love and laughter, she thought. That’s what Miles had added to her life.
Miles’s lips on her breasts soon made her stop thinking. He straddled her hips, on his knees, his hands about her waist, squeezing, caressing, and gradually he began using his fingers to guide her hips into a slow, undulating rhythm.