Rival Desires (Properly Spanked Legacy 1)

Alas, sleep brought no respite from her worries. She dreamed of fire almost the minute she closed her eyes. The flames flew at her like birds, hissed at her like snakes, and seared wherever they touched her. Mama, Papa, I’m waiting here. Where are you? Jacqueline, you were to have waited with me. How could you leave me alone?

She called out for them, and told them she was so, so sorry, although she didn’t know for what. Still, the flames grew as high as the buildings looming over her, threatening to enfold her and turn her into fire. Unlike Armide, the warrior-sorceress she’d played in the opera that evening, she had no power, no strength to save herself. The fire was hot and suffocating, alive with the shrieks and screams of those around her. Was she on stage? Was this a dream? No, it was real life, real fire, all over again. No, no, no…

A voice sounded through the flames, and hands reached out to rescue her. “Miss Layton. Miss Layton!”

Ophelia came awake with a gasp. She wasn’t in a wall of flame, but in the inn’s garret room, surrounded by darkness. Wide eyes and golden hair swam before her, illuminated by the moon. Mr. Drake was holding her, leaning over her in the bed.

“Miss Layton, you were having a nightmare,” he said. “Please, be calm.”

Her throat hurt when she swallowed, as if she’d been trying to scream in her sleep. “There was a fire,” she said, though barely any sound came out. Her throat ached as if it had been shredded by glass.

“There’s no fire here. It was only a dream. We’re safe now.” He stroked her long, loose hair, still damp from her bath. His touch felt so gentle, so soothing, that it took her a moment to think of the impropriety. She wore only her thin chemise, and he was in shirtsleeves, his legs fully bare. She ought to tell him he must leave, that he should not be in here, but the words wouldn’t come because she was too befuddled. She’d never been so near a man in his state of undress.

“Are you awake now?” He moved closer to put a steadying arm around her. “Miss Layton?”

“Yes, I…” She was half in a world of fire, and half in this world where Mr. Drake embraced her, his strong, muscular body so near beside hers.

“It was f-fearsome,” she whispered. “My nightmare.”

“Don’t worry, please. You’re safe here. Shall I light the candle?”

She didn’t want him to. She felt better in the darkness, but he reached beside her bed and lit it anyway. He looked back to her and his expression altered, his eyes widening as he stared. He’s seeing me without the wig and makeup, she thought. Seeing that I am blonde and small, not dark-haired and powerful like Armide. Mr. Drake was so close to her. Was this how common ladies and gentlemen conducted themselves, with this easy proximity?

“Would you like me to stay here with you?” he asked. “To keep the nightmares away?”

She trembled at his softly spoken suggestion. It wouldn’t be proper for you to do so, sir. That was what she meant to say, but instead she answered, “Yes, I’m frightened. Please…”

For the fire frightened her still. It had been so loud and hot, so out of control, that it seemed to have imprinted itself upon her psyche, so it still blazed in her mind. She could still smell traces of smoke on Mr. Drake’s skin, although he’d clearly bathed and washed his Viking’s hair. As he bundled under the covers beside her, she wondered if she smelled of smoke, too.

Next she knew, they were lying quite together beneath the blankets, his warm legs right against hers. He leaned on one arm and stroked her hair with the other, studying her with a kind, almost fond expression. She shouldn’t allow it, she knew. She ought to tell him not to touch her, but it felt so reassuring. Perhaps he’d had nightmares too. Would he only touch her hair? No, now he stroked her face, and she realized she was still shedding tears.

“It’s been such a fraught night,” he said. “I don’t want to be alone either.”

She leaned into his touch, even though she knew this was against the rules of decency and God’s will. “I’m not sure how to feel,” she whispered. “I wish I were at home, and none of this had happened.”

“I wish that too.”

His eyes were deeper green by candlelight, a strange, enticing shade of green she’d never encountered before. His jaw was square and strong, textured with a shadow of stubble. He was so close to her, this strange, fascinating male, and she thought, why not touch that stubble to satisfy her curiosity? How did such rough, masculine features feel? When she traced light fingertips along his jawline, his expression changed again, grew more intent. His hand covered hers, stroking it, gentle and rough at the same time.