Her hand gripped the cross more firmly, but she didn’t resist him. “This was hers. She wore it always.”
Relief washed over him.
He wanted to kiss her, craving her mouth, but thememory of what happened between them last evening—the way she had reacted to his advances—kept him at bay.
Elizabet’s heart fluttered at the intensity of his gaze. He made no further advances, merely stared, tugging gently at the crucifix.
Some part of her prayed he would kiss her now. Some other part of her screamed in fear.
Fear of losing her freedom.
Fear of losing her heart.
She remembered the way her mother had wept so bitterly when she was alone, broken-hearted, while her lovers were at home with their wives. Her chastity, her mother had claimed, was the one thing that stood between Elizabet and the very same fate.
He glanced at the crucifix and then back up into her eyes.
“It was a gift to my mother… she gave it to me before she died.”
He continued to stare at her, his eyes gleaming strangely. “Beautiful,” he said softly.
Elizabet felt her legs go weak. She swallowed convulsively as he tugged once more on the crucifix, with a little more determination. Sheer will kept her from tumbling into his lap.
She held her breath.
“Did no one ever tell you how beautiful you are?”
Elizabet’s entire body quivered at his words. She shook her head, her heart beating more furiously still, her lips feeling suddenly parched as he continued to stare into her eyes. She wetted her lips with her tongue, watching his expression intently.
His eyes never left hers.
He tugged a little harder on the crucifix, drawing her to him, and Elizabet found she hadn’t the will to resist. If he kissed her, she would not deny him.
She swallowed convulsively.
God forgive her for her wicked thoughts… in truth, she was worse than her mother, because she was a wanton without a cause. Her mother, at least, had been able to claim her daughter’s best interests.
Her hand fell upon his thigh, and she was keenly aware of his nakedness beneath the blanket.
He lifted a hand to her nape, tangling his fingers gently into her hair and shivers raced down her spine.
“We should go in now,” she proposed, trying to find some measure of reason amidst the insanity of her thoughts.
“Should we?” he asked her, his voice husky.
Elizabet shuddered softly.
Jesu, he was tall and strong and his skin seemed so soft and yet so hard. She wanted more than anything to reach out and touch his face. She wanted to kiss him again, wanted to feel the delicious weight of him bearing down against her.
He watched her, his eyes slitting with desire, and Elizabet wasn’t so naive she didn’t understand the turn of his thoughts.
Hers had gone there as well.
“’Tis a lovely crucifix,” he murmured, and bent nearer, closing the distance between their mouths. It seemed to Elizabet that he hovered so near... so blissfully near... but so very, very far.
She would never have the nerve to crane her neck upward, to touch her lips to his. She could never be so bold as to kiss a man. But, sweet Mary, she wanted to.
In that instant, there was nothing she had ever yearned for more.
