Her head came up, and she stared into the dying fire. She would not fail them. With her dying breath, she would not shame them. And they would all be avenged.
Simon walked down the hallway and paused outside the door of his and Isabella’s room. Quietly, so as not to disturb her, he turned the knob and let himself in.
To his surprise she was sitting up in bed, softly illuminated by the last vestiges of the fire. She turned to look at him as he closed the door behind him and the anguish in her eyes robbed him of breath.
He stood awkwardly in the doorway, not wanting to intrude on what was obviously a private moment, but at the same time, he felt an overwhelming urge to reach out and comfort her.
She turned away, wiping at her tears with the back of her hand. He found himself closing the distance between them, and he sat down on the bed beside her. A long silence ensued, and finally, he looked up at her. “Want to talk about it?”
She kept her head turned away, her throat working up and down as she swallowed back sobs. “I dreamt of my mother,” she said shakily.
“I’m sorry,” he murmured, knowing there was little he could do to comfort her. Even though he never knew his own mother, there were times when he keenly felt her absence.
She turned her gaze to him, her eyes bright with tears. Her pain tore raggedly at his heart, making him feel incredibly helpless. Her lips parted ever so slightly, and he reached out a hand without even realizing it, smoothing it over her tear-riddled cheek.
No force on the earth could stop him from kissing her. Her lips invited him, her eyes implored him. And if he didn’t, he might well explode.
He lowered his lips slowly to hers. Her swift intake of breath denoted her surprise, but she made no effort to break away. Gently, he brushed his mouth across hers, the brief contact with her lips sending jolts of exquisite satisfaction all the way down his legs.
Not content with the feather-like kiss, he returned to her lips, this time letting his mouth linger on hers. His tongue moved slowly forward, outlining her full bottom lip. She tasted of heaven and he wanted more.
She opened herself more fully to him, inviting him further inward. He sucked her lip between his teeth, savoring the feel and taste of her.
To his surprise, her tongue darted forth to meet his and they tentatively dueled as if each were experiencing their first kiss. And in a lot of ways, it was his first. For never had he kissed any woman in this manner. Tenderly, patiently, slowly.
He captured her sigh and swallowed it completely. Working his hand around her neck and up into her hair, he deepened his kiss, moving his lips over hers with more urgency. Her hands slipped around his shoulders and gripped him tightly until he felt the imprint of her fingers in his flesh.
Forgotten were her tears, her sadness, as he lowered her back to the bed, laying her gently upon the covers. His mouth never left hers, their ragged breaths coming in spurts as their lips moved hotly together.
From the back of his pleasure-induced euphoria came a distinct warning. At first he ignored it, lost in the feel of her, but it became louder and more insistent. He was taking advantage of a woman in her most vulnerable state. A member of royalty, no less.
With more restraint than he ever thought he possessed, he tore his mouth away from hers and quickly raised himself off of her. He ran a hand through his hair, ashamed to even meet her eyes. When he did, they were alight in confusion…and desire.
“You mustn’t look at me that way,” he said hoarsely. “I cannot think straight when you look at me thus.”
She quickly glanced away, but not before he saw hurt reflected in the glimmering pools.
“I’m sorry,” she murmured. “I don’t know what came over me. My actions were unforgivable. You must think me the lowest of baseborn women.”
He grasped her by the shoulders and turned her to meet his eyes. “It is I who should be apologizing, Isabella. What I did was disgraceful. I took advantage of you in a most unpardonable manner. I only hope you can find it in your heart to forgive me. I admit, I do not always think clearly when I am in your presence.”
A peculiar light glinted in her eyes, and her lips twisted in the semblance of a smile. “Your apology is accepted, my lord. As long as you don’t apologize for kissing me.”
“It won’t happen again,” he said firmly. It mustn’t happen. Not if he was to keep his wits about him.
She mumbled something as she rose from the bed, and he had to strain to hear. But surely he hadn’t heard correctly. For it sounded very much like she said, “I sincerely hope you are mistaken.”
He shook his head. He had gone too long without adequate sleep. His mind was playing tricks on him.
When she turned to face him again, the Isabella of a few moments ago had disappeared. In her place stood the calm, confident Isabella. The one who could take on the world, not the vulnerable, fragile woman he had held in his arms not three minutes before.
“What did you learn at the tavern?”
He turned so that his feet rested on the floor, but he didn’t rise from the bed. “I have the direction of a captain who might be able to help us,” he replied. “He has a ship and has sailed countless times into the North Sea, at least according to the men I spoke to in the tavern. We’ll look him up in the morning.”
She nodded, an excited gleam to her eyes.
“Now, I propose we rest,” he suggested.
