Until his control splintered. With a ragged gasp, he buried himself inside her. His powerful body surrounded her, pinned her against the mattress with his muscular weight as he rocked into her.
Her pleasure vanished under a shocking torrent of panic. Frantically she realized that she wasn’t ready for this invasion, that she wanted himgone!She wanted to scream and pummel him with her fists, drive him away from her.
But she couldn’t. Not Simon, not after all his kindness and patience.
The quickest route to escape was to marshal the erotic and acting skills she’d perfected in the harem. She was a master of false responses, of making a man feel that he was the greatest lover in the history of mankind. She writhed and moaned and used internal muscles to bring Simon to a swift conclusion.
His shuddering groan reverberated through him and she felt the tension flowing from his rigid body. After a long, paralyzed moment, he rolled to his side, freeing her. She brushed her nightgown down to her knees, desperately relieved.
But when his ragged breathing was back to normal, he rested his hand on her midriff and said quietly, “We’ve been honest with each other until now,ma chérie. Don’t change that and lie with your body because you want to please me. Or escape me.”
She froze, afraid to speak, afraid of his anger.
Uncannily perceptive, he said, “I’m not angry with you. We went too far, too fast, and you weren’t ready for full intercourse. Then you were deeply upset and reacted in the best way you knew to escape from the situation. Am I right?”
She licked her dry lips before replying. “Yes. I’m sorry. Sorry! It was going so well until itwasn’t!” She wanted to weep but managed to control herself. “You understand more than I do.”
He grimaced. “I should have understood sooner and spared you such a bad experience. But I’m interested in the fact that you didn’t seem to find intercourse physically painful as you’d feared it would be because of the injuries you suffered. Was there pain that I didn’t recognize?”
She caught her breath, startled. There had been none of the agony she’d experienced in her last months in the harem. “You’re right! My body must have been quietly healing. I hadn’t believed that was possible.”
“But it’s very good news,” Simon said softly.
She shuddered as she remembered the damage inflicted on her by Gürkan. “I’m grateful for the healing, but horribly sorry that I fell off an emotional cliff and took you with me.”
“The falling was quite splendid,” he said wryly. “It was crashing at the bottom that was the problem. But I would rate tonight as progress even though we must now retreat some distance. Would you agree?”
She remembered the pleasure she’d felt before panic had kicked in. “We most certainly have made progress!” With a catch in her voice, she rolled against him and wrapped her arm tightly around his waist. “Oh, Simon,mon trésor! Thank you so much for your patience. Your kindness and your wisdom.”
He laughed a little. “I’m not sure I’m anyone’s treasure, but I’m pleased if you think so.” His voice softened to a whisper. “And I thank you for your courage and honesty,ma belle. We are traveling a far more turbulent road than what we expected when we agreed to wed, but isn’t it also a rewarding road?”
She realized there was a note of uncertainty in his voice. Dealing with her fears couldn’t be easy for him even though he was doing a magnificent job of it. “Our way forward is indeed turbulent and rewarding.” She laughed suddenly. “I have hopes that when we reach the end of this road, we will be boringly normal!”
Chapter 20
The journey from Brussels to the priory outside Namur passed without incident, which Simon suspected was a disappointment to Jackson. Being trusted as a guard had been a boost to his self-confidence.
The priory of Our Lady of Mercy was smaller than Argenté Abbey, but it was pleasantly placed on a hill west of Namur. Well-kept fields surrounded the walled precinct, and robed monks were starting the spring planting.
The gate guard admitted them readily enough, but they had a long wait in a chilly reception room before the prior emerged to greet them and learn their business. After a terse greeting from the obviously busy cleric, Simon introduced himself and Suzanne and explained their mission before showing the sketches of Lucas.
The prior looked at the pictures and frowned. “I’ll have the infirmarer summoned. He might be able to help you. Now if you’ll excuse me, Madame and Monsieur Duval, my duties call.” On the way out of the reception room, he ordered a young servant to bring the infirmarer, then disappeared.
“Apparently Kirkland’s helpful influence doesn’t extend this far,” Suzanne commented.
That surprised a chuckle from Simon. “Even Kirkland has limits.” His brief levity faded. “I wonder if sending for the infirmarer means that Lucas has been ill here. Or perhaps . . . died and is buried here.”
“Or maybe he’s the infirmarer,” Suzanne said calmly. “We’ll find out soon enough.”
He knew she was right, but it was impossible not to worry. The chance that Lucas was alive was too tantalizing a hope to release. And if he was alive, there was reason to worry about him.
The short, plump, elderly infirmarer walked with a cane and he certainly wasn’t Lucas, but he greeted them affably when he entered the reception room. “Good day, Monsieur and Madame Duval. I’m Frère Pascal. How may I help you?” His observant gaze moved from Simon to Suzanne. “Are either of you unwell? I’m not a physician, but I have herbal remedies that may be of aid.”
“We’re well, but we’re seeking information about my long lost cousin and your prior thought you might be able to help us.” Simon produced his pictures. “A possible Franciscan friar who looks very like him was seen in Brussels last year. Do you recognize this man?”
Pascal settled creakily on a wooden bench under the window and studied the pictures. “Why, I believe this is Frère Jude!” His gaze lingered on the image of the young Lucas. “He was a fashionable lad! Is that a naval uniform?”
“Yes, his ship was lost in battle and Lucas has been presumed dead for years.” Frère Pascal’s interested gaze led Simon to add wistfully, “If Frère Jude is Lucas, it’s a mystery why he would allow his family to believe him dead, so perhaps this isn’t my cousin.”
