Free Dawn Thompson by Blood Moon Page B

alternatives. Are you game?”
    “There’s water in the pitcher there,” she said, pointing toward the dry sink, where a pitcher filled with water and a basin stood.
    Swallowing, Cassandra watched while Jon splashed some of the water into the basin and blessed it. Then, motioning her near, he dipped his fingers into the water. She gasped as it began to boil. Yet it did not seem to burn him, though steam rose from the rolling bubbles.
    “Y-you want me to put my hand in
that?”
she cried. She was incredulous.
    He nodded. “How else are we to know? If my suspicions are correct it will tingle a bit but feel cool to the touch, just as it does to me.”
    Cassandra shot out her hand and retracted it again thrice before easing her fingers gingerly into the water. To her surprise, the water did not burn her, though the heat of it suddenly cracked the basin and she jumped back as the ceramic broke with a loud crack, spilling the water at their feet.
    Jon took her in his arms. “Thank God!” he murmured.
    “What does it mean?” she said. “How can you . . . How did it . . . ?”
    “I do not presume to know, nor do I know how long the phenomenon will last, but while it does, we will arm ourselves with it, and use it if needs must without hesitation.I have an empty wineskin in my trunk. I shall bless the rest of this and we will carry it thus until we can find suitable vials.” He stroked her cheek with the back of his hand and slipped his other arm around her. “This is not how I planned our wedding night to be,” he murmured.
    “None of it is your fault,” she said. “We are together. Nothing else matters.”
    He scooped her up in his arms and carried her to the bed. Her breath caught as he knelt beside her. Stripping off his waistcoat and shirt, he tossed them down, never taking his quicksilver eyes from her face. His moves were more feral than human then, and he slid the nightshift down over her shoulders, exposing her breasts to his gaze. Her heart began to hammer. She was certain he could see it shuddering beneath her skin.
    This was no novice bending over her. This was definitely a lover of some skill, called late to his vocation. That did not shock her. The man was in his mid-thirties, after all. At twenty-two, and situated with such an auspicious family as the Reveres, she was no stranger to Town life. She had seen many such men during her employ with the aristocrats—second sons knocking about Town in a quandary over their future. More than one had tasted the pleasures of the flesh before he traded Beau Brummel black-and-white for vicar’s togs and settled down to preside over a living in some remote parish. The
ton
was rife with
on dits
about this gentleman or that. Jon’s name was not excluded from that company, though there were no serious scandals connected with it. There was something to be said for that, since the
ton
did love a juicy scandal.
    She, on the other hand, could boast of no such experience. There had been gentlemen, of course. One could not travel in the Reveres’ circles and not attract membersof the opposite sex; but she was still innocent. She had never met the man she could visualize spending the rest of her life with until Jon.
    Deep inside, her sex throbbed as his fingers tantalized her aching breasts, bringing her nipples erect. Her eyes were closed when he took one in his mouth, and she groaned at the touch of his silken tongue curling around first one hard bud and then the other. He had taken her by surprise. Writhing to his rhythm as he teased them, she couldn’t help but groan. Her senses were heightened, every nerve ending raw, sensitive to the slightest touch. Her sexual awareness was no exception. His fingers burned a fiery trail along the curves of her naked body. Where had her nightshift gone? When had he shed his inexpressibles—his boots? As if in a daze she rode the sweet torture of sensation those skilled hands set loose upon her body. Nothing existed then but the two