The Libertine (Taskill Witches 2)
Page 22
Her honesty was startling.
Did she truly not believe it, or was it the fact that she was left aroused and bewildered that brought about that reaction? Lennox pulled on his coat. “The ritual will need to be repeated and reinforced.”
He quelled his smile. Tapping his finger against his bottom lip thoughtfully, eager to see her plead with him some more.
She peered up at him, so pleasingly oblivious to her disheveled state—her breasts on display, her hair escaping from her lace cap to tumble down past her shoulders, so fetching—as she awaited his words.
“I believe you rode to Somerled last night, is that correct?”
She nodded.
“Tell me, do you ever take an early-morning canter?”
“No, I haven’t.”
“Would you do so, in order to pursue your...desire?”
Her cheekbones colored.
“Your heart’s desire,” he clarified, amused.
Her eyes flickered. “Would it be helpful?”
It was clearly against her better judgment, but she was responsive all the same.
He half turned away lest she see his smile. “As I mentioned earlier, the ritual would be better performed in the early morning, when the spring blossoms open and nature is at her most fertile and inviting.”
It was another boundary that he was suggesting she cross to reach her goal.
Her pretty mouth pursed.
How she liked to assess the danger, he noticed, watching her eyes flicker. She was not as easily led as he initially thought. When she had walked into Somerled he had assumed she had come there on a whim. Now he realized she had probably considered it at great length.
He did not wait any longer. “Do you know the place where the lane forks on the way to Saint Andrews, where there is an old oak with a broken limb that reaches down to the earth and beckons like a hand.”
She stiffened, turning her surprised gaze to him.
“Ah, I see you do.” He nodded his head. “I will meet you there when the sun tips over the treetops.”
With that parting instruction he took his leave, not allowing her time to respond or think on it any more before he was gone. With luck that would create a sense of obligation in her and she would have to attend, no matter how hard she fought her desire to submit to him in the full light of day.
At the door he paused briefly, turned back and bowed in her direction.
Heady female arousal swelled from the place where she half sat on the bed.
Lennox breathed it in, allowing it to fire his loins—allowing her vitality to infuse him and fuel his craft. As he stepped out of her room and shut the door, he cloaked himself by means of magic. If anyone sensed a presence and emerged from one of the many doorways in the corridor, they would see only a shadow.
* * *
Lennox left her in such a state of arousal that Chloris had to pace her bedchamber for a long while before it began to pass. Plumping the pillows into shape, she undressed and put on her nightgown. Then she assumed a reposed position on the bed and closed her eyes.
When she did, she felt as if he were still there, arched over her, whispering his seductive words as his warm breath teased over her skin. Turning on her side, she pounded her pillow again and pulled the covers higher, attempting to block out the thoughts. Then she realized that she would be readying to meet him in just a few hours, and that sent her further into a spin. Could she even begin to consider it?
It has to be done. If she felt this disturbed after the next stage of the ritual, then she would have to reconsider. She’d come this far, and she did feel different. There was no doubt about that. The stable boys began work at dawn, and she would ask them to saddle a suitable mount for a morning ride.
When she eventually fell into a restless sleep, Chloris dreamed of the Witch Master. The Witch Master, holding her with his hands about her waist—holding her steady, despite the unruly magic he unleashed around her. Somehow, that soothed her, and she drifted on the sensation until she awoke suddenly at dawn, gasping for breath—awoke from a much more frightening image: Gavin.
Gavin with his hands wrapped around her throat.