Читать книгу Midnight Eyes - Sarah Brophy - Страница 8

Robert leaned against her chamber door, panting for a moment. He still held her tight to his chest, his arms like steel bands around her.

“Perhaps you should put me down now,” Imogen whispered huskily, barely able to recognize the voice that shattered the silence as her own. She didn’t even recognize herself in the wanton who so willingly embraced a man who was essentially a stranger, for all he was her husband, in her bedchamber. But she was. Despite all that Roger had done to her, he had not robbed her of her ability to find pleasure in the touch of this man. The realization staggered and amazed her. It was almost frightening, and a part of her wanted to run away from this strange new sensation, but a deeper, more primitive part had turned to molten lead. That was the part of her that seemed to be making her decisions at the moment.

“Perhaps,” he said hoarsely and began to slide her slowly down his body till her feet made contact with the floor. She was unsurprised to find that he didn’t let her go. She couldn’t seem to let him go either. Not just yet.

She felt almost dizzy as the dazzling heat rose through her body. She was feeling things she could scarcely identify, wanting things she should not be able to bear, but if her mind struggled to understand this bewildering new world, her body seemed to know of it already. It knew exactly what it sought, and moved instinctively against Robert in the getting of it.

He moaned in the back of his throat and lowered his mouth to claim hers.

She drew in a sharp breath at first contact, then slowly her hands wound themselves around his neck. It was the first kiss she had ever wanted. She whimpered as she felt his tongue move along the seam of her lips. He answered her small whimper with a demanding growl of his own and she opened her lips in eager response to his primitive demand.

Her first true kiss.

It quickly deepened, taking Imogen to a place she had never known existed inside of her. She found herself helpless and entirely unable to resist his sensual invasion. Her body longed for this strange new self he was showing her. It was as if she had come alive after a lifetime of slumber, every nerve ending opening to the world in a whole new way.

He invaded her every sense.

Her fingertips buried in his hair, tingling with the feel of his warm scalp. She could hear the scrape of his stubbled cheek against her skin, his roughness against her smoothness, her mews, his half groans, the moist sound of his mouth plundering hers and the shush of fabric rubbing against fabric created the most exquisite music that Imogen had ever heard.

It was the song of Robert making love to her.

Making love. She only half understood what those words meant. She knew of dark deeds to be forgotten in the daylight, but she knew nothing of love between a man and a woman. Somehow, though, her body knew. It knew what it needed, and relentlessly pushed her toward the abyss of the unknown to get it.

It was in the part of her mind where the memories were freshest that a small doubt came to life. That small, rational region of her separated itself, hiding behind a cold wall of fear. It was almost overwhelmed by the sudden need of her body to learn all.

But fear was relentless and slowly froze her body’s needs. She lowered her hands to his chest and tried to push him away. It was no more than the fluttering of a butterfly and in Robert’s passion-clouded mind it barely registered. His body, however, was at one with hers and was instantly aware that she was no longer following him into the mad sensual realm they had stumbled upon. He struggled to lift his mind free of the lust that had taken hold of him and he couldn’t help but groan with frustration as he tore his lips free from hers.

Even though it was what she had silently asked for, she wanted to protest the sudden loss of the warmth of his mouth as she struggled to slow the rapid beat of her heart while she listened to Robert’s labored breathing. She found it oddly intoxicating that she could bring him to a state that equaled her own. His forehead leaned against hers, bathing Imogen with the sweetness of his breath.

It was a long moment before either of them could speak.

“I’m sorry,” Imogen finally murmured.

Robert lifted his hand to gently cup her face. “You have nothing to be sorry for.” He inhaled sharply. “It is I who should be apologizing for my behavior. First I rush you from your own wedding feast without letting you eat properly, then I behave like an animal without control over his lust.”

He slowly ran his thumb over the softness of her cheek and she shivered as she felt the rasp of his callouses against her skin. Without any conscious thought she reached up to hold his hand to her face when he made to move it away.

“I didn’t really mind,” Imogen said shyly, surprising herself as much as him with the truth of that statement. “I’m just not sure…”

Robert’s sharp laughter cut off Imogen’s confused apology. They stood so close that she could almost feel it inside of her as it reverberated through his chest. His laughter almost felt like her own.

“Well, I am sure. You need time and I should be giving it to you,” Robert ground out harshly.

He held her tightly to his burning need for a second, then carefully lifted her bodily away from him. Bereft of his support she had to lean against the door to support her suddenly weak legs. In confusion she listened to him prowl the room like a caged lion, his disgust and self-loathing almost a tangible presence in the room.

The knowledge that it was her own fears and confusion that had caused his torment haunted her. She had never meant to cause him pain. She wrapped her arms around her middle, feeling his pain in her own body in much the same way she had felt his laughter. He thought his clean lust had frightened her, when instead it was her dark memories of another’s twisted perversion that had forced her to turn from the passion he offered her so freely.

Suddenly it seemed to her that those memories weren’t as important as the feelings that had come to life inside her with Robert’s touch.

“I don’t need all that much time.”

She said it so quietly that it took Robert a moment to hear it. His shout of grim laughter caught her by surprise.

“You don’t have to lie to save my feelings. Of course you need time to get over the fright and disgust caused by the insatiable animal you have married.” He slumped into a chair by the fire. He buried his face in his hands and tried to control the guilt and desire that raged in conflict through his body. Imogen could still feel it like it was a presence under her skin.

It was that new pain that made her decision for her.

Carefully she followed the sound of his ragged breathing and knelt slowly in front of him. She slid a hand up his thigh, partly for support, but mostly because she liked the feel of his coiled strength. Robert lifted his face, startled first by the voluntary touch and then by the look of earnestness on her face.

“Don’t say that. I know what fear and disgust feel like, and I didn’t find either in your kiss. It was beautiful and I wasn’t exactly fighting you off, if you remember.”

“How could you fight me? I’m at least twice your size,” Robert said darkly, trying to deny himself the comfort she offered.

“But you never used your size against me.” Her hand tightened over the tenseness of his thighs. “You stopped,” she whispered, and that knowledge was like a shaft of light into the darkness of her world. He hadn’t tried to harm or overwhelm her. He had stopped the second she had wanted him to. He had given her the choice. With that revelation came another, equally startling one; she chose to feel more of the fire he had built in her with just the touch of his lips on hers.

“May I touch you?” she asked, her face flaring with embarrassment at her own daring. She refused to be daunted, however, and took his sudden silence as an affirmative.

Robert’s breath stopped as he felt her small hand begin to move caressingly over the length of his thigh. “Lean back,” she murmured, and Robert found himself mutely complying, unable to resist the chance to feel her touch on flesh that craved it. She moved till she kneeled between his muscular thighs and carefully moved both her hands to his face. She ran a fingertip over the whorls in his ear, the fine hairs on his brow, the bridge of his nose.

“So soft,” she purred as she ran a thumb over the satin of his lips. Robert inhaled sharply as he felt the small tip of her finger trace the moist skin just inside his mouth. He couldn’t resist drawing it in even farther and gently sucking on it, all the while keeping his eyes locked on her flushed face. He watched in fascination as a faint shudder ran through her body, and felt an answering quake through his soul.

“It’s odd,” she whispered with awe, “that such little things can feel so large. I can feel your tongue all the way to the pit of my stomach.”

She slowly pulled her finger away, mimicking the action that his body burned for. She trailed the damp tip down his neck, tickling his Adam’s apple and the hollow of his collarbone. She mewed with frustration when the silky edge of his tunic stopped her explorations. She tugged ineffectually at the cloth, needing to touch the warm male skin that lay intriguingly beneath.

Suddenly Robert surged forward and all but tore the valuable cloth from his body.

Smiling with satisfaction and with her bottom lip caught between her teeth, she moved her greedy fingers over him. Burying her hands in the springy hair on his chest, she sighed at the decadent pleasure of the feel of him under her palms. When she found the small masculine nipples that hid there and teased them gently, Robert had to grit his teeth to stop himself from sweeping her up and taking this exquisite torture to its only natural conclusion.

Unaware of just how tenuously Robert had control of himself, Imogen followed the path of his hair down to his navel, and then spread her hands out to cover his lower abdomen.

The ripple of muscle encased by satin-soft skin entranced her at first, then her sensitive fingers became aware of other ridges, ones that marred the perfection of his smooth skin. Scars. She felt a kinship to scars and the pain that had caused them, she thought sadly. Gently she followed their lines with her fingertips, feeling the pain that lingered on these badges of his wars.

Some were old, almost indiscernible, others puckered and new. One, just above his hipbone, still gave off the heat of healing. Robert stilled her hand with his and made to move it away from the ugliness of his healing flesh.

“No,” she murmured softly, then lowered her head and gently kissed it.

Robert was struck dumb. He stared uncomprehendingly at the bent head of the woman who knelt at his feet. It was a selfless act, meant to both reassure and comfort. Robert had never been the receiver of such an action and found himself swamped by emotions he could neither name nor deny. His vague feelings of protectiveness and concern had crystallized into a solid reality that, he realized with sudden awe, could all too easily be mistaken for love.

She raised her head, her hand still moving caressingly over the heated skin of his stomach. “Now, now I know you,” she breathed, leaning forward to press a kiss on the center of his chest and rest her cheek on him. “I know you in my mind; I can see there the lines on your face, the scars on your body.”

He raised a shaking hand, and cupped her head with it, holding her to him. It would be so easy now to take her, he thought wildly. She was alive to desire; it would take only a little push to tumble her headlong into the waters of serious passion. God knows he wanted to; his body was swollen and straining with that want.

But suddenly, mere want wasn’t enough. Not on its own.

Not when he was newly aware of the complexities of desire. They were complexities that warned he would need far more than an animal coupling on a hearth rug. He needed more than her awakening passion; he needed her mind, her trust, her heart and her soul.

He needed from her all the things she had somehow managed to take from him with just a kiss to his battle-scarred body.

He lifted her bodily off the floor and held her against him tightly, nestling her into his lap. She squirmed for a moment; unaware of how the feel of her body moving against his fractured his control. “Stop moving,” he said hoarsely.

A silence descended between them as she curled herself comfortably against him, enjoying the warmth that emanated from him. Imogen sighed her contentment.

An almost-peace had descended over her.

While her body was still tingling with a curious sensitivity, there was a certain serenity to be found in being held in this man’s arms. She lifted her hands and tucked them under her head. His arms held her tight, enclosing her within his warmth and she felt so safe that it would be easy to forget the specter of Roger that had haunted her always.

She furrowed her brow as she realized that there were many things she didn’t seem to understand in this strange new world that Robert had opened to her tonight.

She didn’t understand the fires he built in her, didn’t understand the vulnerability she had heard in his voice, didn’t understand why he was now just holding her as if she was a child when moments ago he had been reacting to her as if she was in fact a whole woman, not one weighed down by her own hidden scars. She wanted him as if that really was true and it was even more amazing to realize that as he would never force her, she was going to have to coerce him. She had no idea how it should be done, but she would give it her best shot, she thought with a smile.

“Is touching and holding all that is between a man and his wife?” she asked in a small voice. Somehow, it didn’t come out sounding as she wanted it to. She wanted to sound knowing and sensual, but instead she sounded awkward and nervous.

Robert had to clear his throat before he was able to answer. “No,” he growled tersely and closed his eyes, hoping against hope she would leave it at that, if only for his sanity’s sake.

She arched a brow. “But you stopped. Why?”

“Because I was getting carried away and it will be better for you if we wait till we know each other better before I show you all that is between man and wife.”

She thought about it for a moment, struggling to find the words. “Aren’t we supposed to get carried away?” She ducked her head and added clumsily, “I was enjoying it.”

Robert squeezed his eyes more tightly shut as a wave of pure, white-hot longing washed over him. He was on fire. Her words were almost as seductive as her small hand, but he didn’t want to be seduced, or to be a seducer.

It wouldn’t be enough, he realized, not now when he sensed that there was so much more than a brief, physical pleasure at stake.

“I’m glad you were enjoying it,” he said as evenly as he could and rested his chin on her silky hair. He opened his eyes and stared into the orange flames of the fire, searching deep inside himself for the strength he was going to need to turn down what she offered so sweetly. “I want you to always enjoy what we do together and to that end, I think we—I, should go more slowly.”

“You think I’ll enjoy it more if we go more slowly? You want to go slowly?” she asked doubtfully.

He smiled, more than a little gratified by her obvious impatience. “I want many things, and slowly is the way I’ll get all of them, not just some of them. For tonight all I want to do is to hold you for a while, if you will let me.”

She gave a small shrug, trying to manifest an acceptable level of unconcern. That her body was still on fire she tried to ignore. After all, if he could, then so could she.

“Does this ‘going slowly’ mean that after you are finished holding me for a while, you will return to your own rooms?” she asked as calmly as she could.

His arms tightened around her almost painfully for a moment before he was able to deliberately relax them a little. “No,” he said firmly. “From now on we sleep in the same room. Always. That is part of the going slow.”

She experienced an almost overwhelming desire to slap his dictatorial face at that moment, her passion changing like quicksilver into anger. She struggled to get out of his lap.

“Well, I hope you like the floor,” she said imperiously, moving with confidence that she wasn’t quite feeling to where she knew the bed to be. She dragged off the top fur and threw it in his general direction.

He caught it easily without conscious thought, momentarily stunned by her sudden flare of temper.

A part of him could laugh at her feeble attempts to control him. Didn’t she realize that he was entirely beyond her control? All he had to do to shatter all her illusions of being in control was stride over there and physically drag her into the bed. One small woman could hardly be expected to hold her own in any physical confrontation against him.

But he didn’t laugh.

The fear and uncertainty that had fueled her outburst was painful for him to see and that pain killed any desire to laugh, cold. So much had changed so quickly that all she could try and do was to stop it spinning totally out of her control.

He looked at her standing defiantly beside the bed and a wave of protectiveness washed over him. She stood there, trembling like a wild animal caught in a trap to which she knew there was no escape, but at the same time she fought so bravely for that fear not to show.

Fear was the last thing he wanted her to feel. Somehow he knew that she had already known so much of it in her life that he didn’t want to create any more for her. He wanted her strong and whole of spirit and if that took letting her think she had him cowered, then so be it.

“As my lady wishes,” he said simply, the ghost of a smile playing over his lips. “Although the floor doesn’t look too inviting. I think I will stay where I am. The chair might make an acceptable bed,” he ended doubtfully.

She listened, with bewilderment, as he calmly prepared to take his rest in the chair. She had been expecting an argument at her angry challenge, and was half disappointed that he hadn’t given her one.

In no time the room was settled into silence and Imogen panicked a little. “You’re not going to sit there while I change and get ready for bed, are you?” she asked stiffly.

“I can close my eyes if you like,” he rumbled mildly, as if the mere idea of her being naked before his gaze hadn’t inflamed his senses. He pulled the fur up to his chin, trying to deny his body’s reaction, even to himself.

“How can I know that I can trust you?” Her eyes narrowed. “You might look.”

“Little One, you’re just going to have to learn that I am a man of my word. If I say I’m going to do something, then I do it.” He yawned loudly. “Besides, I’m too tired to look tonight. Good night.”

She glared furiously into the darkness, trying to gauge if he mocked her or not.

“Robert, are you awake?” she whispered, but silence was her only answer.

She hesitated for a moment before beginning to undo the gown’s lacing, clumsy at the unaccustomed task but reluctant to call for Mary’s help. There should be no need for help on a wedding night and Imogen’s pride demanded that the fact she did need help had to be kept private.

Robert’s eyes squeezed tightly shut and his hands clenched into painful fists. This self-denial would surely make him a candidate for sainthood, he thought savagely. He ground his teeth together, causing a satisfying shaft of pain. It was the hardest thing he had ever had to do. The temptation to open his eyes and enjoy the sight of her body almost overpowered him.

The knowledge that she would never know if he looked or not tormented him. The pleasure he would feel at the sight of her would almost be worth the guilt he would feel over his small deception. At least it would if lust was all that was at stake, if he could be satisfied by brief carnal pleasure, but it wasn’t and he couldn’t.

So instead he listened.

He listened to the sound of her strained breathing as she tried to undo the more difficult fastenings. He listened to the small, satisfied sigh she gave as the dress finally came undone and slid from her body in a quiet whoosh of fabric.

He knew she was now naked.

Sweat broke out on his upper lip and he quickly licked it away as he strained to hear more. He listened as she shook out the dress and threw it over the trunk and was barely able to stop himself from groaning out loud in protest as he heard her slipping a chemise over her tiny form.

He dared open his eyes again only when he heard the bedclothes shift as she snuggled down under the covers. The dying fire cast a warm glow over the room. In it he could just see her head above the furs, her unbound hair spread out in a dark cloud around her head, hiding the pillow from his view.

“Did you look?” she whispered suddenly, breaking into his thoughts.

He felt a glow start in his chest. Despite the strangeness of their all-too-new, arranged marriage, she trusted him to answer such a question truthfully. It proved that his decision to slow things down had been right. By waiting, he wouldn’t find himself caught with just a pale shadow of a true marriage.

“No, Little One, I didn’t look.”

She yawned, her eyes closing as sleep slowly stole over her. The last words she spoke before sleep finally claimed her kept Robert awake long into the night.

“I don’t think I would have minded all that much if you had looked just a little.”

Robert shifted uncomfortably in the chair. His sleeping mind roamed over battlefields, making him frown.

In the dream, the killing was done, and he’d been sent to count the dead.

He was wounded; blood streaming forth till everywhere he looked was covered with it. The bodies on the field were endless and to count them, he had to reassemble them.

He was covered in their gore, and no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t seem to finish the task. There seemed to be no end to the corpses. There was field after field of the dead.

It was a nightmare he knew well and it always continued until he managed to shake his mind free from the coils of sleep.

Robert twisted uncomfortably in the chair again; his brow furrowing as the silent battlefield of his dreaming filled with a whimpering. His dream self tried to hunt for the living amongst the dead, but despite his increasingly frantic efforts he couldn’t find anything alive in this familiar nightmare world; couldn’t find the source of the sound of living pain.

It was a sharp, ear-piercing scream that finally dragged his mind back to full consciousness.

By now, the fire had gone out entirely, and the cold had started to seep its way into his bones. At his age sleeping in a chair was no easy thing, he thought morosely, and he couldn’t quite contain the strangled sound that escaped as he tried to struggle upright.

The scream had died and the whimpering returned.

Imogen lay in her bed, tossing and turning, her limbs flailing as she tried to fight off her own night demons. In seconds he was by her side. He pulled her up into his arms as he called her name sharply, his voice infused with a cold panic he had never felt for himself.

Her skin through the chemise was cold to his touch, but a thin film of sweat covered her face.

“Imogen,” he called again, more loudly, shaking her as gently as his fear would allow. She moaned, thrashing her head from side to side but remained in the world of her own imagining. Ice clutched at Robert’s heart, filling his voice with a desperate need.

“Imogen. Imogen. For God’s sake, Imogen, wake up.”

She suddenly opened her eyes wide and screamed. She lifted her hands to her face as her body was racked by loud, heaving sobs.

It no longer mattered to Robert whether she slept or woke; her pain was all too shockingly real either way. He gathered her fragile body to his and rocked her back and forth, running his hands up and down her back to soothe her pain. He found himself babbling words of comfort that even he didn’t fully understand.

Imogen woke in the sheltered warmth of his fierce embrace.

For the first time in longer than she cared to remember, she didn’t shed her night tears forlornly into her pillow. No, they were being absorbed into the blood-warm skin of Robert’s chest and matted into the hair there. It was Robert’s muscular arms that held her gently tight, the rumble of his deep voice seeping into her bones, dulling her lingering fear.

Robert waited patiently for her to cry herself out but still he couldn’t let her go when calm descended.

Now he was holding her for his own comfort and reassurance.

He needed her close, needed to know that she wouldn’t break in two if he let her go. The sound of her gut-wrenching sobs had torn into him, leaving him helpless in the face of her raw, open grief. Many moments passed before he dared to move her slightly away from him so that he could look into her face and reassure himself that her demons had indeed fled. Her face was red and her eyes a glassy pink, but the fact that she tried to smile up at him made her the most beautiful being he had ever seen.

He wiped away her last tears with the pad of his thumb. He stared at the droplet of saltwater that beaded on his skin briefly before rubbing them in thoughtfully. He tried to find words of comfort and reassurance, but they eluded him.

He mightn’t know how to be softly caring, he thought with a silent sigh, but years of training boys to be men had taught him to be practical in the face of others’ raw emotions.

“Do you want to tell me about it?” he asked quietly.

She sucked on her bottom lip and shook her head.

He took a deep, fortifying breath. “Sometimes these things don’t seem so bad if you talk about them. They shrink a little if you bring them into the real world.”

“No, they don’t,” she said, her voice roughened with her tears. “Sometimes you talk about them forever, yet they are still big enough to destroy you.”

Robert hesitated for a moment, but couldn’t push her. Perhaps with time, she would share her scarred soul with him, would give him the chance to kiss her wounds as she had kissed his. Until then, he would have to be patient.

He ran his palms down her arms till he was holding her hands. “Would you like me to stay with you?” he asked in a carefully neutral voice, afraid to show just how much hope he attached to her answer.

For a moment Imogen couldn’t breathe. She hadn’t even realized that she wanted him to stay until she heard him say the words, and a part of her shrank from the whole idea of letting a man into her bed, especially with the dark nightmare still chilling her skin. That fear was drowned out by her far-greater need right now for the cleansing comfort he offered. Hesitantly she reached her hand up to the middle of his chest. “Yes. Stay. Please stay.”

Robert didn’t hesitate in case she changed her mind. He wrapped his arms around her back and gently leaned forward till they were both lying on the bed with him outside the covers. It wasn’t the way he wanted to share her bed, but he could sense the nervousness underlying her boldness and he didn’t trust himself enough to crawl in beside her. When she immediately curled her body into his as though she belonged there, he knew that he was doing the right thing.

He closed his eyes and savored the perfection of their simple embrace. It didn’t matter that his body was chilling down rapidly in the cool chamber, not when the warmth of her trust was enough to heat him. It also didn’t matter that only an absolute terror had driven her to accept him in her bed. The fact that he was there was a thing he hadn’t dared hope for yet. It didn’t matter that the closeness of her body was swiftly re-igniting his unfulfilled desires, causing an ache in his body that was as much pain as pleasure. There would be time enough for him to indulge those desires, soon.

All that mattered was that Imogen was curled up trustingly in his embrace and was sleeping peacefully there.

Home.

He was finally home.