Read Online The Rose Red Bride JK2 by Claire Delacroix - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Claire Delacroix
Tags: Historical, Scotts/Irish
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cupped her chin in her hand. Vivienne looked into his eyes and the last of her defiance dissolved.
The truth was that this man could have raped her the night before, but he had shown her tenderness. He had ensured she found pleasure on her first taste of lovemaking. Even now, he was concerned for the future of any child she might bear, and noted rightly that Alexander might make a worse match for her now that her maidenhead was gone. Even now, he eased closer, his eyes darkening with his intent to kiss her.
And Vivienne was weak enough to want nothing less.
He was wary, to be sure, but no man could bear such a violent and fresh scar without possessing some fear of his fellows. The wound had been wrought by a blade, it was clear, and she shivered inwardly at what he must have borne.
His lips closed over hers, his kiss resolute as he claimed what he believed to be his due. Vivienne knew that a more sensible maiden would have rejected his embrace, would have stepped back from him until all of his mysteries were revealed. But Vivienne found herself welcoming his embrace, found her arms twining around his neck, found herself reveling in the marvel of his kiss.
She rose to her toes, for though she was tall, he was taller. His hand slid into the tangle of hair at her nape, her hands landed on his shoulders, her breasts collided with his chest. She closed her eyes and there was nothing but his kiss, nothing but him and his desire that she depart with him.
Nothing but the desire he awakened within her. He caught her closer and Vivienne almost forgot all she knew to be true.
But not quite.
* * *
Vivienne tore her lips from his and he released her, his steady gaze fixed upon her. She retreated, her thinking becoming less addled with every step she put between them. She looked away from him and fought to find her reason.
Kisses and promises should not be enough, not from a man who would not even surrender his name to her, a man who had tried to hide his face from her.
Vivienne wished she had never seen his scar. She knew too many tales of men served false who sought justice, of a fearsome face masking a heart wrought of gold. She knew too many tales in which a bold woman and her love were the salvation of a man who had lost all. It was too simple to see herself within such a tale, too simple to forget that impulse had oft served her false.
It had been a tale, after all, and her belief in it that had led to this circumstance.
“Make haste,” he said softly. “We must depart immediately.”
“No. I cannot go.” Vivienne’s words fell quickly in her determination to make a sensible choice. “I cannot leave with you, not so soon. You must show me more reason to trust you than this. You must meet me here again this night.”
“Be not afraid, Vivienne,” he said.
Even with the use of her name, he made her conviction fade! She held up three fingers, hating how her hand shook. “Three nights the tale pledged.”
He shook his head and took a step closer. “The tale, whatever it was, was not true. We depart immediately.”
“I will have three nights courtship and a red rose wrought of ice,” Vivienne insisted stubbornly. She knew it was a mad demand, but she needed time away from him to consider her course. She needed to speak to Alexander, to find out why he had made this wager, she needed to think without her lover’s compelling blue gaze fixed upon her.
“There is no time,” he said.
“There must be time.” Vivienne hastened to the portal, intending only to flee. Did she choose aright? She did not know, she could not reason with the taste of him upon her lips. Surely caution was never rewarded poorly? She had so little experience with it that she could not be certain.
She knew, however, that impulse could steer her false.
A cock crowed then in Kinfairlie village, though she ignored both it and her companion’s muttered curse. Vivienne did not hear his footstep, did not guess that he had moved
The truth was that this man could have raped her the night before, but he had shown her tenderness. He had ensured she found pleasure on her first taste of lovemaking. Even now, he was concerned for the future of any child she might bear, and noted rightly that Alexander might make a worse match for her now that her maidenhead was gone. Even now, he eased closer, his eyes darkening with his intent to kiss her.
And Vivienne was weak enough to want nothing less.
He was wary, to be sure, but no man could bear such a violent and fresh scar without possessing some fear of his fellows. The wound had been wrought by a blade, it was clear, and she shivered inwardly at what he must have borne.
His lips closed over hers, his kiss resolute as he claimed what he believed to be his due. Vivienne knew that a more sensible maiden would have rejected his embrace, would have stepped back from him until all of his mysteries were revealed. But Vivienne found herself welcoming his embrace, found her arms twining around his neck, found herself reveling in the marvel of his kiss.
She rose to her toes, for though she was tall, he was taller. His hand slid into the tangle of hair at her nape, her hands landed on his shoulders, her breasts collided with his chest. She closed her eyes and there was nothing but his kiss, nothing but him and his desire that she depart with him.
Nothing but the desire he awakened within her. He caught her closer and Vivienne almost forgot all she knew to be true.
But not quite.
* * *
Vivienne tore her lips from his and he released her, his steady gaze fixed upon her. She retreated, her thinking becoming less addled with every step she put between them. She looked away from him and fought to find her reason.
Kisses and promises should not be enough, not from a man who would not even surrender his name to her, a man who had tried to hide his face from her.
Vivienne wished she had never seen his scar. She knew too many tales of men served false who sought justice, of a fearsome face masking a heart wrought of gold. She knew too many tales in which a bold woman and her love were the salvation of a man who had lost all. It was too simple to see herself within such a tale, too simple to forget that impulse had oft served her false.
It had been a tale, after all, and her belief in it that had led to this circumstance.
“Make haste,” he said softly. “We must depart immediately.”
“No. I cannot go.” Vivienne’s words fell quickly in her determination to make a sensible choice. “I cannot leave with you, not so soon. You must show me more reason to trust you than this. You must meet me here again this night.”
“Be not afraid, Vivienne,” he said.
Even with the use of her name, he made her conviction fade! She held up three fingers, hating how her hand shook. “Three nights the tale pledged.”
He shook his head and took a step closer. “The tale, whatever it was, was not true. We depart immediately.”
“I will have three nights courtship and a red rose wrought of ice,” Vivienne insisted stubbornly. She knew it was a mad demand, but she needed time away from him to consider her course. She needed to speak to Alexander, to find out why he had made this wager, she needed to think without her lover’s compelling blue gaze fixed upon her.
“There is no time,” he said.
“There must be time.” Vivienne hastened to the portal, intending only to flee. Did she choose aright? She did not know, she could not reason with the taste of him upon her lips. Surely caution was never rewarded poorly? She had so little experience with it that she could not be certain.
She knew, however, that impulse could steer her false.
A cock crowed then in Kinfairlie village, though she ignored both it and her companion’s muttered curse. Vivienne did not hear his footstep, did not guess that he had moved
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