Free Claire Delacroix by The Temptress

the warring signals she gave - both of seductiveness and innocence. She swallowed and he knew from her uncertainty that she was not so experienced at seduction as she would have him believe.
    What did she desire of him?
    “Aye, a maid willing to surrender herself fully to a champion from over the seas,” she whispered.
    He lifted one hand, and felt her tremble as he touched her jaw. “A kiss surely is all that even such an emboldened maid would grant,” he murmured.
    Her eyes widened but she did not retreat. “Nay,” she said, her gaze locked with his, the pulse in her throat hammering against his hand. “She might begin with a kiss, but she would grant her all.”
    “Why?”
    She smiled then, a fetching and mischievous sight. “Because she so wills it, of course. Because she has chosen .”
    Though he desired her, Bayard hesitated to take her at her word, so odd was her claim. He had never heard of such a tradition in any place he traveled and something of her manner told him that she concocted the tale even as she stood before him.
    “Chosen?” he echoed and she smiled.
    “Aye. Chosen.”
    And there was all he needed to know. Bayard lifted his hands to frame her face. He doubted she would be sufficiently bold to indeed grant the prize she offered, not on this night, but he saw naught amiss in sharing a full kiss with his intended.
    She had chosen him. They would be wed and Montvieux would be his own, his family would be saved. ’Twas ideal and well worth a celebration.
    Bayard bent and claimed her lips with tender gallantry. He swallowed her gasp of delight, and felt his own heart race as her lips softened against his own. He lifted her closer without intending to do so, felt the curve of her breasts against his chest and deepened his kiss.
     
    * * *
     
    Chapter Three
     
    To Bayard’s astonishment, his kiss was not destined to seal their covenant and end.
    Though the lady’s touch proved her innocence, her ardor more than compensated any lack of experience. Bayard’s own breath caught, his heart halted, then raced madly. Indeed, she was sweet and willing; the combination of her honesty and her eagerness enflamed him.
    Bayard’s fingers were in her hair before he knew his own intent, his hand at her nape, his other arm wrapped around her waist. He caught her closer, cradling her against him, certain she would back away from the flame she had coaxed to life. But she was undeterred, mimicking his every touch so readily that desire began to cloud his good sense.
    “God in heaven,” the older maid whispered in horror as the lady kissed Bayard with new vigor.
    But ’twas wrong. It took all within Bayard not to roll her to her back right there. He wanted her, as he had not wanted a woman in some time, as if she had cast a cloud of seduction across his shoulders.
    He tore his lips from hers with an effort and put a distance betwixt them. They eyed each other, each breathing heavily. Her lips were swollen, her eyes shining. She smiled at him and Bayard thought he might lose every last vestige of honor within himself.
    He could not claim her on a rocky beach. He could not rut with her like a savage beast, not before his own squire and her own maid. ’Twas not within him to so dishonor any woman, but most especially not the woman who would be his lady wife.
    Bayard steadied his breathing and watched the maiden warily. Her smile broadened and she took a step closer, her hand rising to the tie of her chemise. She flushed at her own audacity, but did not halt.
    She had chosen him, and that with so little knowledge of him. The truth of it swelled his heart fit to burst.
    Marriage, it seemed suddenly, showed somewhat greater promise than he had hoped.
    “The toll I would demand of you is more than a kiss,” she teased, her expression provocative, “however artful that kiss might be.”
    “’Twould not be appropriate,” he argued, hearing desire strain his own words.
    “’Twould be most appropriate. I choose