She had won!
Why then did she feel as if she had lost?
A big hand covered hers, stilling her when she had begun to tug mindlessly at the hairs on his chest. “You mean to pluck me bald, demoiselle?” he asked her with quiet humor.
Briar lifted her head. He was smiling, and as she gazed at him, she was once more puzzled by her fascination for a face which, taken feature by feature, was not all that fascinating. The broken nose and sharp, angular lines of cheekbones and jaw and brow. The wild, dark hair that was in desperate need of a comb. He was watching her, his black eyes brooding, expectant, secret.
Suddenly Briar felt a senseless, almost unstoppable urge to confess to him what she had done. The words had already begun to thicken her tongue, but she gulped them back, terrified by her own lack of control.
Remember who this is! Remember what he can do to you! Have you not learned well in the past two years that you can trust no one?
Great men had no hearts, only cold ambition and self-interest. Witness what Radulf and Filby and the king had done to her family.
And what of your father? Was he not a great man? And yet he loved you.
That was true, he had loved her. He was also kind and generous, and see where it had gotten him?
“Demoiselle?” His voice brushed over her skin, making her shiver. “You are deep in thought.”
Should she tell him now? How she meant to destroy him? Was it wise to do so, when he had her alone? Best to wait, to choose her moment, to make sure of her own safety first. Men like Radulf, Briar had learned, would not think twice about removing an annoying obstacle in their path. Men like Radulf spoke sweet words, even while they were plotting evil deeds.
“My lord—”
He leaned over her, his mouth smiling, his eyes like dark stars. “’Tis best I tell you now, lady. I am no lord.”
The timid knock on the door was an unwelcome interruption. He was no lord? What did he mean by that? Did he intend to try and hide his identity from her? Mayhap he was already planning when he could use her again…
Her heart bumped, and Briar knew to her horror that she wanted him to.
Yes, yes, if you lie with him again you will draw him in further! So deep that he will forget where he ends and you begin, until there is no escape.
The thought was feverish. Briar did not trust herself. She wanted him again, aye, but were her reasons pure? From the moment she saw him in Lord Shelborne’s hall, her body had cried out to his in a manner that was as old as time. Was that vengeance? Was that revenge? Nay, surely ’twas lust and desire!
“Jesu,” she whispered in anguish.
Radulf had stiffened at the knock upon the door, and now he glanced at Briar with a frown that would have made a lesser woman flinch. He grasped her in one arm, reaching down with the other to the floor by the bed, where he had lain his sword.
“Do not fret,” Briar managed, her throat dry. She tried for a smile and felt her mouth stretch unnaturally. “’Tis probably only a servant come to see whether we are in need of more wine….”
The knock was repeated, louder this time. Not a servant then, thought Briar. A servant would never pound upon a door so vigorously. No, this fist sounded masculine, and large.
“Ivo?” A deep voice, muffled by the wood. “Ivo de Vessey!”
Briar had opened her mouth to reply that there was no Ivo de Vessey in here, when Radulf sat up. He ran his fingers down her arm, and then cupped her breast in a possessive fashion she wasn’t at all sure she liked, especially when her nipple perked up in instant response.
“Aye, Sweyn?” shouted her tormentor. “What do you want? I warn you, you have chosen a most inconvenient time.”
The door opened and the owner of the voice peered in. He was tall and fair, a handsome man Briar vaguely remembered seeing standing in the group beside Radulf, in the hall. Sweyn—was that his name?—raised a blond eyebrow as he took in the scene before him. Belatedly Briar ducked behind her lover, using him as a cover for her nakedness.
Ivo smiled, enjoying feeling her warm body and her warm breath upon his bare back. A strand of her hair lay upon his hip, the curled end tickling his thigh. He twined it lazily about his finger, examining the smooth fineness of it.
Sweyn was grinning at him, but Ivo was in no mood to put up with his friend’s humor.
“Well?” he demanded in a surly tone.
Ivo had no intention of leaving Briar just yet. Aye, his body was insatiable where she was concerned, but it was the manner in which he satisfied it that surprised him. Not just with a selfish need to take her, although he had enjoyed the taking very much. There was more to it. He had wanted it to last forever, and had brought her again and again to her fulfillment. He had found pleasure and pride in gazing into her hazel eyes as they darkened with desire, flared with surprise, then blurred with ecstasy.
Aye, and she was as surprised by the situation as he. If Ivo was not mistaken, here was a woman who had not known much joy. Her unhappiness made a bond between them, more so than he had felt with any woman for a great many years. He didn’t know why she had brought him here, allowed him the use of her inexperienced body and showed him her passion, but he felt a longing to protect her, to keep her from har