one of his officers. Christopher
would confide in her, and she'd help plan his missions. Then one
day, she'd save his life in a heroic feat, nearly losing her own in
the process. Christopher would stay by her side until she
recovered, and then he'd kiss her and profess his devotion to her.
They'd marry, cheered by a grateful crew.
She'd had several versions of this tale,
which she'd happily run through night after night, never tiring of
them.
"And then I met you," she said softly.
Her girlish fantasies had died that day to be
replaced by something deeper and more disquieting. Honoria had
learned in the garden room what a man truly was, and what he wanted
of a woman.
"I remember," Christopher said. "You were so
pretty with your ringlets and your blushes. You were a delectable
little morsel, and I wanted to eat you up."
"Which you proceeded to do, as I recall."
"Yes, and you tasted fine--damnation!"
Honoria held up another splinter. "Almost
finished. The others are quite small."
"Thank God for that."
The last two came free with little
resistance. Christopher was silent except for a single grunt and a
very bad word in French as the last gave way.
Honoria disposed of the slivers and rummaged
for a towel. She wet the towel in the basin and cleaned the wound,
touching him with more confidence.
Unable to resist, she traced the lines of the
springing lion on his hip, and then she leaned down and kissed the
tattoo, his flesh scalding beneath her lips.
"Mmm," he murmured.
He smelled so good. His shirt tickled
Honoria's nose, and his skin tasted faintly salty. Her fingertips
rested on his backside, right over his wounds, but he did not seem
to mind.
Christopher reached behind him and drew his
hand through her hair, dislodging the matron's cap, which slid to
the floor. Curls trickled from their pins to brush her shoulders,
their touch reminding her of his light kisses. Christopher gave her
a slow smile, as though knowing what she thought.
Any moment now, he'd roll with her to the
floor, and their lovemaking would proceed in a frenzy of lust and
ripped clothing, as usual. But he only said, "I missed you,
Honoria."
Her heart fluttered as she continued tracing
the lion, watching her fingers.
"Did you miss me?" he asked.
"No."
He stilled. "A minute ago, you were in love
with me."
"Yes." Honoria leaned down and traced the
outline of the lion with her tongue. Christopher's skin tasted
heavenly, a tang that she'd never forget.
"But you didn't miss me."
Every moment without him had been agony, and
not something she wanted to talk about. "I didn't let myself miss
you." Missing someone was sad and bittersweet, very different from
the tearing anguish she'd felt every day. "It hurt too much."
"Ah." His eyes were dark as he watched her
flick her tongue back and forth across the intricate ridges on the
lion's tail. "You're brazen for a woman who didn't miss me."
She looked up. "It isn't brazen. You are my
husband."
Christopher rolled away suddenly, tugging his
breeches over his backside, hiding the tattoo and everything else
enticing.
He sat up on the bunk, his back against the
wall. He did not button his breeches, but they hid him. Most of
him. Honoria's gaze went to the tantalizing line of flesh below his
navel.
He reached out to thread his fingers through
her hair. "I should be angry at you, my wife. But I crave you too
much right now. If you believe this is only your duty, then so be
it."
"That is not what I meant . . ."
He dragged her to him, his breath hot on her
lips, and Honoria forgot what she wanted to say. Her heart beat
rapidly, and desire snaked through her with an intensity that
almost hurt.
She leaned forward and kissed his lips.
Christopher made a noise in his throat and
pulled her closer. She tasted his lips, the sandpaper bristles of
his chin, his lips again.
Still kissing her, Christopher pushed her
loosened chemise and bodice down to her hips. He raised her to her
knees, trailed his lips from the
would confide in her, and she'd help plan his missions. Then one
day, she'd save his life in a heroic feat, nearly losing her own in
the process. Christopher would stay by her side until she
recovered, and then he'd kiss her and profess his devotion to her.
They'd marry, cheered by a grateful crew.
She'd had several versions of this tale,
which she'd happily run through night after night, never tiring of
them.
"And then I met you," she said softly.
Her girlish fantasies had died that day to be
replaced by something deeper and more disquieting. Honoria had
learned in the garden room what a man truly was, and what he wanted
of a woman.
"I remember," Christopher said. "You were so
pretty with your ringlets and your blushes. You were a delectable
little morsel, and I wanted to eat you up."
"Which you proceeded to do, as I recall."
"Yes, and you tasted fine--damnation!"
Honoria held up another splinter. "Almost
finished. The others are quite small."
"Thank God for that."
The last two came free with little
resistance. Christopher was silent except for a single grunt and a
very bad word in French as the last gave way.
Honoria disposed of the slivers and rummaged
for a towel. She wet the towel in the basin and cleaned the wound,
touching him with more confidence.
Unable to resist, she traced the lines of the
springing lion on his hip, and then she leaned down and kissed the
tattoo, his flesh scalding beneath her lips.
"Mmm," he murmured.
He smelled so good. His shirt tickled
Honoria's nose, and his skin tasted faintly salty. Her fingertips
rested on his backside, right over his wounds, but he did not seem
to mind.
Christopher reached behind him and drew his
hand through her hair, dislodging the matron's cap, which slid to
the floor. Curls trickled from their pins to brush her shoulders,
their touch reminding her of his light kisses. Christopher gave her
a slow smile, as though knowing what she thought.
Any moment now, he'd roll with her to the
floor, and their lovemaking would proceed in a frenzy of lust and
ripped clothing, as usual. But he only said, "I missed you,
Honoria."
Her heart fluttered as she continued tracing
the lion, watching her fingers.
"Did you miss me?" he asked.
"No."
He stilled. "A minute ago, you were in love
with me."
"Yes." Honoria leaned down and traced the
outline of the lion with her tongue. Christopher's skin tasted
heavenly, a tang that she'd never forget.
"But you didn't miss me."
Every moment without him had been agony, and
not something she wanted to talk about. "I didn't let myself miss
you." Missing someone was sad and bittersweet, very different from
the tearing anguish she'd felt every day. "It hurt too much."
"Ah." His eyes were dark as he watched her
flick her tongue back and forth across the intricate ridges on the
lion's tail. "You're brazen for a woman who didn't miss me."
She looked up. "It isn't brazen. You are my
husband."
Christopher rolled away suddenly, tugging his
breeches over his backside, hiding the tattoo and everything else
enticing.
He sat up on the bunk, his back against the
wall. He did not button his breeches, but they hid him. Most of
him. Honoria's gaze went to the tantalizing line of flesh below his
navel.
He reached out to thread his fingers through
her hair. "I should be angry at you, my wife. But I crave you too
much right now. If you believe this is only your duty, then so be
it."
"That is not what I meant . . ."
He dragged her to him, his breath hot on her
lips, and Honoria forgot what she wanted to say. Her heart beat
rapidly, and desire snaked through her with an intensity that
almost hurt.
She leaned forward and kissed his lips.
Christopher made a noise in his throat and
pulled her closer. She tasted his lips, the sandpaper bristles of
his chin, his lips again.
Still kissing her, Christopher pushed her
loosened chemise and bodice down to her hips. He raised her to her
knees, trailed his lips from the
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