The Virgin's War (Tudor Legacy #3)(99)

“Twelve hours from now,” she said, “I will wed James Stuart. It is not the marriage of my heart, but I make it as willingly as I am able. For England. And when we are married, I will be to him a faithful wife.

“But Kit?” She raised her chin, determined not to quail. “I am not his wife yet. Stay with me tonight. Please.”

He caught up her hands and pressed them to his lips. “You don’t know what you’re asking.”

“Is that really the argument you want to make with me?” Even at the peak of tension, they could not keep from teasing.

“Do you think I do not want to stay? But I love you too well to think only of myself. In your life to come, I would not have you regret anything.”

“Regrets? I do not think there is a soul alive who lives entirely without regret. Please, Kit. Tomorrow I marry a man I do not love. Let me take with me the memory that just once in my life I lay with the only man I will ever love.”

She saw his capitulation the moment before he pulled her to him and kissed her with an abandon she’d only dreamed of. She felt wildly, deliciously loved, and knew this would be the finest night of her life.

Princesses did not have experience of a sensual sort—at least, not wise princesses. But any insecurity she might have felt vanished almost at once, for how could she be nervous with Kit? It was the most natural thing in the world to slide her hands through the thick silk of his hair, to keep him pulled tightly to her while his own hands tangled in her red-gold waves. When he pulled away, she made an inarticulate protest and he gently laughed against her mouth.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he said. “Not unless you send me away.”

She trapped his mouth with her own in a promise that she would not send him away. Then, curious about his intentions, she allowed him to disengage. They were instantly obvious, as his hands let loose her hair and moved to the buttons that closed her robe from high neck to waist. Anabel had spent her lifetime being dressed and undressed by others, but Kit’s hands—the graceful, long-fingered hands of his mother—were so erotic in their delicacy she feared her knees would not hold her up much longer.

When he had pushed the robe from her shoulders so it fell in a pool of silk around her feet, and then shrugged off his own unlaced jerkin, she reached impatiently for the cambric shirt that still covered him. Kit obliged her, and drew in a sharp breath as she ran her fingertips down his chest.

“Anabel…”

She drew him to her bed in response and arranged herself in what she hoped was a seductive pose.

Kit hesitated. “Are you quite sure?”

She pulled him down in reply, whispering, “Quite sure.”

Imagination could only take one so far, and Anabel rapidly passed beyond the limits of hers. How can I ever go from Kit to James after this? she wondered once, and then promptly forgot her future husband.

She learned now that it was possible to be both soft and hard, both gentle and urgent, to allow one’s ferocious mind to be drowned by the demands of your own body—and another’s.

When Kit eased her up to remove her shift, Anabel said softly, “You will have to teach me what to do.”

At that, his hands froze at her hips. “Me? Did you…I’m afraid, Anabel, that if you are expecting experience, then you have chosen the wrong man.”

She jerked her head back far enough to meet his eyes straight on. “You are never a virgin!”

“I am.”

“Why? How? Don’t tell me you haven’t had women throwing themselves at you since you were sixteen, if not before. I’ve watched most of them.”

“They were never the right woman,” he said carefully. “It’s always been you, Anabel. Even before I was smart enough to know it. Once I did…How can you think any other woman could matter to me?”

She didn’t know whether she wanted to laugh or cry. She put her hands on his cheeks and leaned her forehead against his. “My dearest, darling Kit…then I suppose we shall learn together.”

And so they did. Anabel had always been a quick study—in everything from logic to languages—and this was a lesson her body seemed half to know already. Instinct was an excellent teacher, and so was love. Whatever pain there was mattered little when set beside the overwhelming of her senses that proclaimed she and Kit had been meant for this all their lives.

Kit apologized after. “I’m sorry to have hurt you.”

“I don’t think it’s avoidable—and by far a small price to pay.”

With her head on his chest, he ran one hand down her spine. “I may have been a virgin, but that doesn’t mean I am completely innocent. Men talk. I think, if you give me leave, I can do better by you in a little while.”

“You have all leave with me, Kit—you always have.”

In those last, stolen hours of her liberty, Anabel learned much of pleasure and more of joy. It seemed sacrilege to sleep, but they both dozed a little and came awake in the hushed hour before sunrise.

“In my life to come,” she whispered, “I will never regret this.”

“You have my heart, Anabel. And my loyal service. To fulfill that last, I must leave you now before the castle wakes.”

She clung to him as long as she could, but already the weight of the day was settling on her shoulders. If her heart urged her to steal away with Kit on horseback, to lose themselves in one another, her will made her release him and dress as though she had spent the night blamelessly alone.