“It is worse, even, than I supposed,” Lady Blanche said.
“What do you mean?” Alissende asked in a cautious tone.
Her mother’s fingers were laced demurely in front of her slim waist, and her expression was serious, but there was a definite glint in her eyes that Alissende could not remember having seen there before.
“You are in love with him.”
Alissende’s mouth opened—gaped, actually—but before she could speak, Lady Blanche shook her head and held up her hand to indicate that Alissende needn’t struggle with trying to respond. Giving her daughter an affectionate smile, she came closer and brushed a stray tendril from her cheek.
“Do not fret,amie. Grown woman or not, you are still my child, and I have been watching you and Sir Damien carefully these past weeks. I watched you those many years ago as well, but I kept silent, thinking the decision you made then was necessary at that time. I can see what is happening without words needing to be spoken.”
“But I do not know how I feel about him. Not truly,” Alissende finished weakly.
“Of course you do not,” Lady Blanche said in commiseration. “Even at its most sublime, love can inspire confusion.” Patting Alissende’s hand, she leaned in and kissed her cheek, and Alissende breathed in her sweet lily-of-the-valley scent, letting it soothe her for just a moment, though she pulled back as her mother said, “But now I have another question for you.”
“What is it?”
“Why do you believe Sir Damien does not feel the same affections for you,ma chérie?”
Alissende shook her head, backing away from her mother with a laugh that edged on bitterness. “He does not; you must believe me in that. Aye, he is a man as any other, with a man’s needs, perhaps, but we talked of the past only recently. What he lived through and the cruelty he endured when he was interrogated by the Inquisition—”
She rubbed her fingers over her brow, trying not to think about it overmuch, as she knew by experience that it would do naught but make her feel worse. It was the same wall of unalterable, cold truth that thrust itself before her every time she attempted to see her way around it, and it hurt too much to keep confronting it. “Nay, he has been too much changed by his experiences to go back to any of the feelings we may have shared before.”
“You might be surprised,ma fille. What is in a man’s heart is not always apparent on the surface—or sometimes even fully known to himself.”
Alissende sank back again into her chair in response, and Lady Blanche crossed her arms with a sense of determination that sent a tingle of warning up Alissende’s neck.
“Ah, well,” her mother murmured, looking down in thought. “That part of it is neither here nor there. We must deal with what we know to be true right now.” She met Alissende’s gaze again. “You care for this man who has taken on the temporary role of your husband. Above and beyond the terms he himself set for your behavior in front of others as a married pair, he has begun to dally with you in ways that you are finding…unsettling, yes?”
Mute in her misery, Alissende simply nodded, but Lady Blanche was not content to let her get by with only that.
Covering the space between them in a few steps, she sat and took her daughter’s hand in a grip of feminine encouragement and alliance. “Nay, Alissende,” she chided gently, “that is not the strong and capable daughter I raised. It is time to show some spirit,amie,for a woman gains naught in this world by sitting and wringing her hands when confronted by a difficult problem or a stubborn male. The question that begs answering now is the same one I asked you but a few moments ago. Sir Damien has issued you a challenge, of sorts, in the liberties he is taking during these training sessions he has instigated with you.”
Her kind eyes glinted as she smiled, raising her brow in an expression that was both fierce and mischievously wicked. “Now what do you intend to do about it?”
He had been playing with fire, and he knew it.
Damien brooded on that truth as he slipped into the cool darkness of the village chapel, grateful for the chance to be alone for a few moments as he tried to pull himself into some semblance of self-control. His estrangement from God notwithstanding, this was the most peaceful and private place that he had been able to think of when the urge to retreat had come upon him. Between masses it was generally deserted, and so he sat at the front, in one of the pews that stretched beneath the Madonna statue on the Epistle side of the altar.
And then he tried to think.
He was rapidly losing command of the situation with Alissende. For four days now the raw, erotic heat had been building between them until it had reached an almost unbearable pitch, tormenting him whenever he was in her company—and still he kept stoking the flames with a touch here, a whispered word there, a stolen kiss…
By God, he’d been able to think of little else these last days, it seemed, except for lavishing such caresses upon her body.
Her naked body.
He almost groaned aloud now as the thoughts, the sweet, hot images, swept over him anew, giving him no rest. In a short time he was due to meet with her again for another of the infernal training sessions he’d so foolishly initiated with her, and he knew without a doubt that no matter how much he told himself he would behave and maintain a certain distance as they worked together, he would end up abandoning all noble intentions when presented with the first good opportunity to taste her lips or to brush his hand over her delicate curves.
Curves normally reserved for true husbands or lovers.
That she seemed to respond in such delightful ways when he stole those caresses only added to the thrill of them for him. Her cheeks would flush, or the sweep of his palm across her breast would cause her nipple to tighten into a tantalizing bud beneath the fabric of her gown.
And just yesterday, before she’d caught herself and pulled away, blushing more deeply than he had seen her do before, she’d instinctively pressed back against him, molding her body to his in that way he remembered from long ago. He’d almost carried her from the yard and into their bedchamber at that moment, to bring their teasing to sweet, satisfying completion.
But of course he hadn’t. He couldn’t, no matter how badly he wanted her. She was a forbidden fruit to him, not only by right of the agreement they had struck or the trust broken between them long before that but also because he had nothing meaningful to offer her. Not anymore. He could give her less now as a man than he might have five years ago, for now he was but a shell of his former self, forsaken by God, the scars on his body only a hint of the damaged soul that slept within. He could not forget that.
Ah, but you need not restrict your passion to only customary practice,a sly voice inside him asserted.There are other ways of appeasing desire. Ways that would allow you to touch Alissende…to taste and enjoy her and she you, without actual consummation. Ways that you once both delighted in with each other…
