Wrung out, she collapsed back onto the table and he leaned over her, still deep inside her, and took her in his arms, to kiss her throat, her breasts, her bare arms.
Dazed, she stared up at him. The eyes that bored deep into hers were bright with a hunger for her that had not abated, but when he spoke they softened, and his words nearly made her weep.
“My Elizabeth, for so many years I have lived, dreamed and breathed the memory of you and finally my dreams have come true.”
She raised her head to clasp him round the neck, responding freely and without thought, kissing his mouth, grazing his jaw line with kisses as he murmured endearments and his hands roamed over her and his gentle words spun their magic.
“It was torture to have to pretend to be as much a sadist as Reynolds, but now you know the truth.” With infinite tenderness he smoothed her skirts then adjusted his breeches before helping her down from the table and cradling her in his arms. “The truth is that I love you. I always have. Reynolds would stamp upon any suspected tenderness like he would a spider. I had to say the things I did.”
Reynolds? She didn’t have to say his name for Charles interpreted her stiffening.
She felt his lips upon the top of her head. “I put a sleeping draught into his wine. He’ll be out for a good long while.” He smiled and stroked her cheek and she felt her insides curdle at the unexpected, almost unknown gesture of tenderness. Almost instantly, she jerked into realisation.
He reached for the two goblets. “A toast.” Handing her untainted wine to her, he held his a hair’s breadth from his lips, smiling at her across the rim.
Oh, God, what had she done? She didn’t want him dead. Even if the lovemaking she’d just experienced was nothing more than Charles’ desire to prove the power he held over her, she still didn’t want him dead.
Worse, she didn’t believe that that was the case. He was a man of honour. He always had been.
“A toast, that we can be together, Elizabeth.” His eyes bored into hers, anxious, for the first time. “For always. I want that with all my heart.” A shadow crossed his face. “Is that what you wish for, too, dear heart?”
Wordless, she nodded. Oh, how she wanted it but it could never be. Silas would pursue her to the ends of the world. He’d see her dead before he’d see her as another man’s. Before he’d see her dishonour him. She knew the force of his determination. By all that was holy, there was not one inkling of hope that Elizabeth would ever be free to be with Charles.
The stark realisation was like a punch to the gullet. Her future stretched before her as an endless passage through years of pain, despair, disappointment and humiliation. What joy was there once she was released if she had to spend the rest of her days by Silas’ side? She’d rather be dead.
She quivered as she stared at his goblet, poised for movement, the horror of what she had intended possibly coming to pass, replaced by the irrefutable knowledge of what she must do.
Her hand trembled as she gently clasped the stem of Charles’ goblet, forcing her lips into the curve of a smile. “We have a tradition, when we make a very serious toast—” she could barely get the words out—“that lovers must drink from each other’s goblet.”
She closed her eyes. Death would be swift, she knew. She needed it to be, for she had never contemplated taking her own life in all her years of torment. Her will to live had been too strong. But what future was there for her when the alternative was to become murderess to the man she loved?
Yes, loved…but could never have. She’d rather death than live with the knowledge that Charles would be forever lost to her.
She tensed and at the last moment opened her eyes. Found herself staring into his—grey and tinged with slight puzzlement—before he returned his gaze to the faint, tell-tale mist that hovered above the crimson liquid.
She took a deep breath. The cold, steel rim of the goblet intended for Charles pressed into her lower lip, a gentle pressure to precede the sudden, excoriating pain that would quickly follow.
Cowardice was not an option. She’d brought this upon herself.
“No!” She heard his voice, loud in her ears.
Startled, she blinked just as she registered the glancing blow that knocked her goblet from her lips. Gasping, she stepped impulsively back to avoid the spill of crimson from staining her skirt. The wine pooled on the table, fizzing softly beneath the guttering candles, the pale grey foam an ominous testament to her guilt.
Hiding her face with her hands Elizabeth turned away, hunched against his inevitable anger. He’d know the poison was originally intended for him. That when she’d given him her body it was as a sop for his forthcoming death…but that she’d been too cowardly at every turn to follow through.
She didn’t realise the great, wrenching sobs were coming from her until she felt his touch. A tender caress, not the violent clubbing she half expected.
He turned her in his embrace, forcing her to look at him as he brought his face down to hers. Though his voice was low and controlled she heard the struggle he waged to speak calmly.
“The poison was intended for me, wasn’t it?”
Miserably, she nodded. “And for Reynolds.”
The confusion of his thoughts was plain, but it was plain also that he was trying to reason her motivations as clearly and quickly as he could.
“Yet you allowed me to make love to you, just now. You were not unwilling.” He souded as if he could not reconcile her recent enthusiasm in his embrace with a death wish for him.
“Silas gave me the poison.” She licked dry lips. Better to give full disclosure now. She’d be punished, either way. “When I learnt that you had returned to have your revenge, not because you still cherished the memory of me, I hated you. Silas planned to see us to safety once our captors—you and Reynolds—were out of the way.”