Read Online Lord of a Thousand Nights by Madeline Hunter - Free Book Online
Authors: Madeline Hunter
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head against the stones and fought back the panic that always threatened when she considered that possibility.
Ian walked over to her. “Your being a Graham will not work against you anymore. No Armstrong will sit in judgment of you. Morvan Fitzwaryn will be the lord soon, and if anyone demands a reckoning, it will be him. He is a fair man.”
Perhaps it was the flickering candlelight, but she thought that she detected concern and sympathy in those fathomless eyes. She saw so little of either any more. Her spirit lurched hungrily at the notion that someone believed her.
He just stood there, a hand span away, completely comfortable with the silence between them. His expression did not change, he did not move, but suddenly, clearly, the mood between them altered as if a different air had been let into the chamber. His long gaze unsettled her, and the wariness she had first felt when he entered returned. His presence here, his personal questions, his belief in her innocence, had produced a strange intimacy.
“Let me leave,” she said. “I have a friend in Edinburgh who will help me. I will be safe.”
He reached out and stroked her jaw and chin in that affectionate gesture he had used two nights before. “I can not.”
Her skin prickled where he touched her. The room held an unnatural stillness. Candles flickered behind him, casting his face in shadow, but still she could see the firm jaw, the straight mouth, the eyes looking down intently. She could hear herself breathe, could feel the aura of his power and maleness, could smell his compelling, faint scent. She thought his gaze would absorb her.
“You can. If my father demanded my safety, it was merely a gesture on his part. He does not care about me.”
He slowly shook his head. “It is not just that.”
What, then? She almost asked, but she didn't have to. The answer throbbed between them, frightening her, finally splitting through her ignorance with its intensity.
His hand took her long plait and eased it up from her back until he held its length. He slid off the ribbon that secured its end and began letting the thick tresses unwind, combing them out with his fingers. “You have been avoiding me, Reyna,” he said, watching his hands. “Hiding from me.”
She glanced down at that hand stroking higher and higher, working out the plait, occasionally grazing her through its thickness. A shaky, weakening, delicious fear spread all through her. “Not hiding,” she lied, trying to sink back into the stone wall. “I have been evading all the men. You warned the women were to avoid misunderstandings.”
“It is a little late for that with me.” He slid his fingers under her hair until they rested behind her ears and he cradled her face in his palms. “And I misunderstood nothing.”
“That is not fair.” She tried not to look at his wonderful face, vainly seeking some safety from the uncontrollable and unnameable feelings. A demanding expectation swirled through her, pulling apart her secure sense of purpose. His rough hands felt so warm, so welcome on her skin. The contact soothed and terrified her. “What happened in your tent was not my intention. You took advantage of me.”
He smiled. Dear lord, what a smile. “A very small advantage, considering your vulnerability. I could not help myself. Just as you could not help that you enjoyed it.”
He stepped closer.
Do not do this
, she cried.
It is cruel and dishonorable of you.
But her trembling mouth would not speak.
Stop him, fight him
, her mind urged desperately.
For your sake and your pride. For Robert.
But his closeness and gentle touch summoned that irrational yearning so long denied, so overpowering, and she could only hold her breath and watch the face bending down to hers.
Warm lips on hers, gentle, soothing, luring. Kisses brushing her cheek, shocking her ear. A dangerous swell in that sensual power streaking out of him, into her, and arms pulling her into a tight embrace.
Her mind
Ian walked over to her. “Your being a Graham will not work against you anymore. No Armstrong will sit in judgment of you. Morvan Fitzwaryn will be the lord soon, and if anyone demands a reckoning, it will be him. He is a fair man.”
Perhaps it was the flickering candlelight, but she thought that she detected concern and sympathy in those fathomless eyes. She saw so little of either any more. Her spirit lurched hungrily at the notion that someone believed her.
He just stood there, a hand span away, completely comfortable with the silence between them. His expression did not change, he did not move, but suddenly, clearly, the mood between them altered as if a different air had been let into the chamber. His long gaze unsettled her, and the wariness she had first felt when he entered returned. His presence here, his personal questions, his belief in her innocence, had produced a strange intimacy.
“Let me leave,” she said. “I have a friend in Edinburgh who will help me. I will be safe.”
He reached out and stroked her jaw and chin in that affectionate gesture he had used two nights before. “I can not.”
Her skin prickled where he touched her. The room held an unnatural stillness. Candles flickered behind him, casting his face in shadow, but still she could see the firm jaw, the straight mouth, the eyes looking down intently. She could hear herself breathe, could feel the aura of his power and maleness, could smell his compelling, faint scent. She thought his gaze would absorb her.
“You can. If my father demanded my safety, it was merely a gesture on his part. He does not care about me.”
He slowly shook his head. “It is not just that.”
What, then? She almost asked, but she didn't have to. The answer throbbed between them, frightening her, finally splitting through her ignorance with its intensity.
His hand took her long plait and eased it up from her back until he held its length. He slid off the ribbon that secured its end and began letting the thick tresses unwind, combing them out with his fingers. “You have been avoiding me, Reyna,” he said, watching his hands. “Hiding from me.”
She glanced down at that hand stroking higher and higher, working out the plait, occasionally grazing her through its thickness. A shaky, weakening, delicious fear spread all through her. “Not hiding,” she lied, trying to sink back into the stone wall. “I have been evading all the men. You warned the women were to avoid misunderstandings.”
“It is a little late for that with me.” He slid his fingers under her hair until they rested behind her ears and he cradled her face in his palms. “And I misunderstood nothing.”
“That is not fair.” She tried not to look at his wonderful face, vainly seeking some safety from the uncontrollable and unnameable feelings. A demanding expectation swirled through her, pulling apart her secure sense of purpose. His rough hands felt so warm, so welcome on her skin. The contact soothed and terrified her. “What happened in your tent was not my intention. You took advantage of me.”
He smiled. Dear lord, what a smile. “A very small advantage, considering your vulnerability. I could not help myself. Just as you could not help that you enjoyed it.”
He stepped closer.
Do not do this
, she cried.
It is cruel and dishonorable of you.
But her trembling mouth would not speak.
Stop him, fight him
, her mind urged desperately.
For your sake and your pride. For Robert.
But his closeness and gentle touch summoned that irrational yearning so long denied, so overpowering, and she could only hold her breath and watch the face bending down to hers.
Warm lips on hers, gentle, soothing, luring. Kisses brushing her cheek, shocking her ear. A dangerous swell in that sensual power streaking out of him, into her, and arms pulling her into a tight embrace.
Her mind
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