Chapter 11

With the uproar from the Spanish Captain's arrival Liara didn't waste any time ducking out of the ballroom. Okay, she wasted some time, after all any man who threw open the Duke's dining room doors and then took a seat at the head of his table, was a man to watch out for. He was spun from a thousand Spanish tales whispered over spiced wine at the shoreline of a Castillo. She almost thought she felt his gaze brush over her once or twice but for some reason she hid behind a portly maid and averted her eyes. Oh dear... Liara knew if she was shy something was definitely wrong. But she had bit her lip and peered around the frazzled hair of the large one, and watched as the dark, tall man reclined in his seat casually and yet so in control- even as his proud jaw tilted low to a passing Baron. When the Captain smiled and indulged his friend in weaving a story about the war, Liara felt a tingle run along her arms and set up shop in her belly. It wasn't unpleasant, but that didn't mean it was acceptable. She rubbed her arms discreetly and slid out the side door, far away from a debonair man just docked from war.

The next steps her feet had taken were not ones that were unpractised. She had trod the same floor boards, avoided the same squeaks, and groans of certain doors that she had used many times before. She crept up the main stairs; the servant ones would be unusable at this time, but the marble staircase was empty- not a soul in sight to hear the soft padded steps of her new leather soles. Then just down the full length of the west wing corridor, into the yellow parlour that the Dowager Duchess had reportedly used as a young bride before her madly-in-love husband decided it was too far away from him, and finally there it was. A large door whose panels fit snugly into the wall, even with a mantle and mirror in front- but she knew the trick. Liara ran her fingers along the edge flipping the gold latch with ease and swung open the secret door- mantle and all, and fitted it shut behind her.

She didn't need a light, it had been many months since she had been asked to fetch something from the parlour in front and had found the secret chamber. The darkness was not foreign to her touch as she drew her palm along the wallpaper that she knew was now slightly faded, across the damask sofa and onto the table where she kept a candlestick and matches. She struck the flint and soft warm light filled what she now thought of as her room. Obviously no one came here anymore so she had begun to nest and brought together the few possessions she owned; a peacock feather once dropped from a duchesses cap, a thin strip of lace tossed away by a spoiled young guest, a few books collected from when Verushka insisted they all learn to read properly, and her journal written in ink slowly pilfered from pots over days and weeks so no one would suspect it was taken. They were small things, little tokens and trinkets collected from life, but they were hers.

She very rarely had a chance to see the room in the daylight but she knew that the small window from above let in a lovely shaft of warmth over the rug. Liara had even cleaned it- she cleaned everything in a fit of domesticity at midnight one eve. So she knew every inch of it, or so she thought, and yet when the light from her candle swept the chamber she caught a flash of gold protruding out between the sheets and the coverlet of the bed. She cautiously investigated and pulled free a stunning gold embroidered gown with full long skirts that rustled and a fitted corset bodice that laced at the bosom. Surely she would have seen this before, and yet- she looked around, everything else was in its place. She must have just missed it before, she sighed, there really was no other explanation. And then she smiled and twirled and quickly put on the dress in the light of the distant stars and her one stolen candle. It was magnificent, it fit her like a glove, a beautiful glove. Silken sleeves of fabric strips left her shoulders bare, to drape around her arms. The heart shaped neckline of the corset perfectly accentuated her décolletage and when she finally managed to tighten and tie the laces she loved the way it narrowed at her waist. The heavy fabric fell in flawless folds to  sweep the floor and she could feel the detailed filigree and embroidered work on each panel of the dress. It was by far the most exquisite gown Liara had ever worn, and she had worn many- since she had also found a chest of old dresses stored under the canopy bed. She told herself she would take it off immediately but then she saw the lunar glow above and longed to feel its luminescence on her skin. With no one to keep her in check she quietly opened the panelled door again and slipped out as stealthily as she had slipped in. As excitement built in her belly and sent her senses spinning she managed to avoid a lower footmen, bribe an upstairs maid to pretend she was never there, and then fly out the side door into the darkness of the lower yards.

She took a deep breath of pure, precious night air and sighed. She made it! No one, neither stable-hand nor guest would venture so far south of the main house this late, so she was free to wander as she pleased- at least for a little while. Liara kept to the dusty paths to avoid ruining her dress too much- the dress, she meant the dress, which wasn't hers. And yet, as she swished its skirts from side to side it sure felt like hers. Tiny diamantes and silver thread caught the moons glow and threw off glittery sparkles of light. Liara smiled, then her smile turned into a grin, and that turned into a laugh and finally she twirled in the moonlight and bubbled up with joy at how wonderful this moment felt and how lucky she was to have it. Liara's eyes half closed in pleasure and her black hair flew in circles until she slowed and fell against a wooden post, and then it settled its tousled waves and curls around her, dishevelled but free- just like the woman who wore it.

Liara felt a firm nudge between her shoulder blades and turned startled. She looked into two very large brown eyes and the long muzzle of a horse with a star at its forelock. She smiled at the creature.

"Shiny! Why are you out in the cold? And without even a rug on your back. Mmph." she snorted. "Well don't worry I'll sort out Brandon in the morning, he's a rubbish groom."

Without a thought she stepped off the path and onto the pasture, throwing a rope over Shiny's neck and guiding the horse to her side. She closed the gate safely behind her and began walking her equine friend to the stables, all the while whispering praise and chatting about her day as if it was perfectly normal to have lengthy discussions with a horse. Liara generally spent every free moment with one animal or another and so when she arrived at the stables she greeted the other horses by name and easily found an empty stall and organised a night time snack of lucerne and oats with fresh water for Shiny. She dusted the wet grass from the trim of her gown and was about to extinguish the lantern flame when Shiny threw a little horse tantrum in her stall. She stamped her hooves about and snorted a few times to get Liara's attention and Liara who could take a firm line with every human being she met- paused. She knew she was a complete pushover for all creatures great and small...except bugs- definitely not bugs. So with a sigh and a small smile she hung up the lantern on the rafters overhead, grabbed a soft bristled brush and entered the stall.

And there she stood, draped in a magnificent gold silken gown, taking slow strokes over a sedate Lipizzanerwith wise eyes, and singing a simple lullaby - when the Captain of the Spanish Guard drew near.

~

Marco soon left the elite gathering as they adjourned for the men to continue drinking and the women to do... whatever they did best, he assumed. As fine a cigar and brandy as he was sure Cain could offer his guests, he preferred to leave the idle chat and step into the crisp fresh night air. He unbuttoned his waistcoat and loosened the cravat at his throat letting the cool air rush over his skin. So this was England...hmmm. What secrets would it hold- what  confidences could he make it divulge?

He had quickly won over the Dowager Duchess, lucky happenstance that it was, seeing as he foresaw needing her help in the near future. She also seemed to appreciate his little antique Spanish decoder ring gift. It was the nouveau accessory the savoir faire of London seemed to enjoy. He was told the young and old women alike wore it as the height of fashion and sent each other trivial messages- men, hair, clothes. Just another means of gossip really. Regardless, he had pleased his hostess and irritated Cain in one fell swoop. The evening was already looking up. He pondered giving Cain his gift from the continent, but that would have to wait.

Seeing as his host left him to his own devices Marco wandered the large town home finding a small kitchen door escape into the lower yards. Taking out a whistle from his inner coat he blew a note- short and sharp and then waited. Before long Tornado reared his large head from beyond a crop of trees and trotted towards his Master with a snort of derision at having to wait a half hour for the attention he deserved.

Marco gave the stallion a brisk rub on the neck and withers and soon both were headed towards what appeared to be the stables in the distance. The smell of hay and leather encouraged the Spanish Conde in the right direction and he polished the fresh apple in his pocket that he had pilfered from the dinner table. A treat for his favourite horse after a groom. He imagined the evening could turn out to be more pleasant than expected, as long as his thoughts were allowed to be his own.

On the journey from the docks to his friends side some prudent information had crossed his lap and now his short journey in England was to be one of a much longer duration. He could probably learn to bear the weather provided a nice doxy found her way to his door, or he to hers, but for the moment it did not look promising. From the little he had seen of the country so far it was bland, boring, stale, tepid and any other word that could be used to describe a land so plain and grey. The gardens were weak except for the occasional rose that still could not hold a candle to that of the Spaniards; the sky was overcast, the people less than friendly and the streets unadorned. It was so different from his home and sadly he could not yet accustom himself to its strange ways of formality over function and prudence over passion.

And so, Marco strolled through an English stable yard wrapped in his thoughts, immune to the cool wind now with a biting edge that careened through his hair and tore open the folds of his coat. His boots of knee high fitted black leather cleared a path between the long rye grass as the pasture seemed to ebb and flow in the wind to make way for his foreign and imposing presence. Tornado's majestic form mirrored its master, a solid shield at his side- alert and foreboding.

Occasional sconces illuminated the way and all seemed well in the black cold night until the stallions ears pricked up and the Captain halted abruptly. They were not alone in the darkness. Marco attuned his hearing and sifted out the sounds of the crickets, the distant raucous from the house, the shuffling of the animals in the open fields and then he heard it. A smooth, low, dulcet song. It was the voice of a siren and he did not need to lay eyes upon the singer to know that danger lay that way. He lay one gentle but firm hand on Tornado's snout and treaded with care on the pebbled path leading them to the softly lit lumbar barn and the enticing voice within.

A woman stood with her back to him, bathed in the soft glow from the flickering lamp, honeyed tones escaped her lips while she ran the brush over the mare’s coat. Once, twice, three times till it glistened and softened under her touch. He watched her pause to lean against the horse’s side and whisper something in its ear stroking feather-light touches across its face. As she inclined her head, the long locks of  her dark hair fell forward leaving the expanse of her back unconfined and in view. She pressed her lips to the horses cheek and then continued to groom.

Marco shifted his feet and walked further in, allowing the soles of his boots to scuff the wooden floorboards. The horse stilled and pricked its ears, snorting for only a moment till the woman registered its alarm. She turned cautiously to glance behind and the light fell over her features. Her almond eyes wide, with lips slightly parted and straw in her hair.

Marco wondered what that strange thumping was, then realised it was his heart. It was as if one of those horse hooves had hit him squarely in the chest and now the stupid organ was racing away. His lips tightened as he looked at her- By God she was beautiful; a little rough around the edges, but beautiful nonetheless. It had been a long while since any woman had made the Captain's heart race and he was eager to bed her, quash the feeling and move on. He was just about to get underway with the task as he moved towards her with precision when her mare gave a warning snort and the lady in question narrowed her eyes in a most unfriendly manner.

"Can I help you?" Liara inquired in as calm a voice as she could muster. Internally of course she just kept the words 'horse shit' on a nice consistent rotation.

"Well, yes" the Captain drawled... well perhaps not drawl as much as simply spoke, but for all the tingling in Liara's belly he could have been whispering sweet nothings in her ear.

"... I was looking for a place to pen my stallion for the night."

Alright, Liara had to give him credit- he didn't even bat an eye with that innuendo.

Considering her pause and raised eyebrow, Marco continued on "Forgive my assumption my lady, but you seem to know your way around the stables. I would rather take care of my own horse than leave the task to a groom I do not know." he waited for her reply and when it was not forthcoming he gave a short bow and remarked, "Forgive me again my lady, we have not been properly introduced- My name is Marco- Captain of the Spanish Guard.." For some unknown reason he hesitated to complete his title of Conde of Aranjuez; pretending to be on the fringe of society and just a little impoverished would make for an interesting change.

Liara stopped her eyes expanding before they became wise like saucers again. He thought she was a Lady? She gazed down at her gown, oh dear. Should she tell him the truth and risk being thrown out of the Bexley House? She bit the inside of her lip and looked at him, as if somewhere in those fathomless blue eyes, broad shoulders and sculpted jaw lay the answer to her conundrum.  Ah, 'conundrum', another one of Verushka's word of the day.

He was handsome, to say the least. Liara had most obviously noticed him in the dining hall when he flung open the garden doors with his horses hooves. She guessed that somewhere over the rainbow, under a hedge and across a ravine she always wanted a man like him; always dreamed of knight on a horse. But she was a pauper, and though he wasn't a prince he was certainly so far beyond her reach he may as well have lived amongst the stars. And yet.... this man whom she could never have was looking at her the way she always wanted.

Liara smiled.

no.... She couldn't, she shouldn't.... but she was going to.

"It is a pleasure to meet you Captain, I am Lady Lariana, but no one calls me that. I'm simply Liara to my friends. Oh, and you may use the 5th stall, second one on the left."

He simply inclined his head in gratitude and made his way to the stall. She waited till he was out of sight before raising her voice just enough to be heard 3 pens away. "And why is it that the Captain of the Spanish Guard travels without a groom?"

She finished one last stroke of the brush as she waited for his answer.

"To be honest this venture was somewhat unplanned. A spur of the moment decision you could call it." came the strong tenor of his voice.

Liara smiled to herself, she didn't know why. Wait, yes she did- she liked the sound of his voice. She heard him rustling about in the pen further down and without thinking continued to hum a soft tune as she patted Shiny and placed a large warm rug over her back to ward against the cold night. The harsh click as she secured the horse in, brought her back to reality and she abruptly cut off mid- note. Liara didn't know what to do next, she did not just want to leave the stable and never see the Captain again. Something devilish and wicked took hold of her, and unbidden her feet in their soft borrowed slippers moved along the wooden boards till she stood in front of the 5th stall.

The Captain had taken off his coat and military blazer and placed it on a nearby railing, rolled up his sleeves to show his golden muscled forearms as he brushed down his horse. He seemed content, calm... at peace in the mundane task. He did not face her, and Liara was mostly hidden beyond the stall door and yet as she lingered behind him drinking in the sight of the first man she was ever truly fascinated by, he spoke as if he could sense her presence.

"Lady Liara, why is it that a noblewoman such as yourself is out here in the chilly evening taking care of her horse - if I might be so bold as to ask?"

"That is rather bold." Liara answered. She thought it best to say whatever came to her mind. It was not the brightest plan, but her only other option was silence as she waited for the perfect witty remark and that may take far too long to come. As the minutes would inevitably tick by he would probably assume she had some kind of learning difficulty. So brashness was all she could hope for.

"However, since you have already asked, I will tell you this much- Shiny is not my horse, but upon taking my evening stroll I noticed she was unhappy in her pen outdoors. I thought to right the situation." She tried her best to put all those lessons into practice and speak with a certain borrowed refinement.

"So you are well acquainted with the Bexley family." he continued to brush his powerful horse's flank, not sparing her a glance.

"...perhaps" Liara replied then immediately thought that was an incredibly stupid response.

He angled his head to her and raised one eyebrow in a questioning arch.

Liara had no possible words to offer to improve upon the silence so she remained quiet, thinking that perhaps she did have a learning difficulty.

He put down the soft bristled brush and with two quick pats to the horses side, he walked away from the stallion and leaned over the stall door in front of Liara, less than 3 feet separating them. His body was casual, relaxed whereas hers belied her. She was tense and they both knew it.

The Captain smiled at her, much like the spider to the fly she imagined. "Perhaps?"

Liara wisely kept her mouth shut, for once.

"Lady Liara, now I am intrigued. You simply must tell me how you know the Bexleys'. Perhaps you play bridge with the Dowager, perhaps you are a distant cousin, perhaps you are well acquainted with the Duke of Bexley." The tone on his last assumption stung at Liara's pride. She may not be a Lady, but she understood his implication.

"Forgive me, Captain. It was not my intention to intrigue you. However, let me assure you that I fully understand the meaning beneath your assumptions, particularly that last gem, and I am ... disappointed, although not altogether surprised." With that, Liara turned on her heel and headed for the open door. There was nothing like anger to help her line her words into the perfect expressive order. It would not have been something a Lady would have said; a Lady would not have been in a barn at night to start with- but she was not a Lady and she would do well to remember that.

Liara's foot had barely touched the gravel step outside when she heard him call her from behind.

"My Lady."

Damn, but she loved being called 'Lady.' She paused, waiting for his profuse apologies regarding her maidenly status.

"I am terribly sorry to trouble you again..." he began.

She thought it was good way to being grovelling as the heat from his body just behind her felt like a warm, comforting lure back into the stables, closer to his muscled chest and decadent voice. 

"-but, I don't seem to be able to find any hay or trough to water down Tornado for the night. Could you please spare another moment to direct me to where I might procure some feed and tools?"

Well, she thought- that did not go as expected. Although now she had already stopped, and she couldn't very well ignore the fact the his horse was hungry. Damn, damn and double damn. Grrr. She growled in her mind. Swinging around the full skirts of her dress she marched back inside without giving him a second glance. Unthinking as many a Lady would be in her attire, she pulled out a large sack of lucerne from behind a hay bale and began filling a feed trough with gusto. With the ease and skill of one who was quite familiar with equine care she hoisted herself up on the outer fencing of the stall and tipped over a generous pail of oats, all the while muttering unkind epithets about men under her breath. Liara had just opened Tornado's stall to enter inside when the great black stallion reared up on his powerful back legs and gave a piercing neigh, tail whipping through the air, ears flattened back and murder in his large ebony eyes. The steel of his shod hooves flashed in the light, descending so treacherously close to Liara's skin that she felt the brush of air before the inevitable pain. No sooner had she realised her mistake then she heard a shocked warning cry, punch through her fear- "Lady Liara!" And then all she knew was that the Captain of the Spanish Guards' warm half clothed body was on her.

Marco practically tore the stable door off its hinges and threw himself between Tornado and the gentlewoman. He did have some doubts as to how genteel she actually was, given she was knee deep in straw and dust in an expensive gown only moments before. Mayhap she was a not such a maidenly woman, or simply one who was too rich to give consequence to a spoiled garment. He actually thought her movements endearing in an odd way, but then she acted like any silly girl of no more than sixteen and entered a stallions stall without so much as a by-your-leave.

Without thinking Marco had distracted his stallion with his presence and shielded the young lady's body from harm. And now, he was actually rather pleased he had. She felt soft and warm beneath him. Yes, she had straw in her hair and smelled a little of leather and horses, but there was something else... He dipped his head into the curve of her neck and inhaled her scent discreetly - ah, there it is- wildflowers and sandalwood. That was a scent of her own. It was probably just a soap she used or a fragrance so commonly manufactured by wealthy entrepreneurs profiteering off feminine wiles, and yet despite his veiled cynicism, he liked it. If the merchants were producing scents like these, then they could keep them coming for as long as they liked, if Marco had any say about it.

 She wriggled against him and he realised he had pushed her into the furthermost corner of the stall, his chest to hers. His right hand braced the wall near her head while his left clasped her firmly around her narrow waist and drew her in to him. He could feel her lush curves caressing the contours of his body and attempted to school his thoughts to safer pathways. The little chit was probably scared and his own passions would not help the matter. He looked down at her in the dim lighting, expecting to see her face hidden against his torso, terrified of the monster Tornado could be, but no- the reason she wriggled was because this strange noblewoman was angling for a better look! She had one hand on his left scapula and stood on the tips of her toes attempting to see over his shoulder at the master of the hooves she nearly became well acquainted with.

Squirm... wriggle... shift.

Marco pinned her roughly to the wall, "What do you think you're doing?"

"What?" Liara asked incredulously, "I'm just having a look, which is proving rather difficult with your big brutish bulk on me."

"That's a lot of alliteration." He replied sardonically without moving an inch.

Liara didn't know what 'alliter-something' meant, so she just replied with a cocky smile- "I'm glad you enjoyed it. Now please remove yourself from my person so that I-"

"So that you can what? Antagonise a very dangerous horse again?- I think not." Marco scolded. "Do you have any idea how badly you could have been injured? Don't you know how to handle horses at all?!" He felt himself becoming angry and frustrated by her wide eyed stare and struggled to understand why. 

"Do you realise what just happened? Are you just going to stand there as if grievous bodily harm means nothing to you?" He grabbed her by her shoulders, each finger straining not to bite into the soft flesh beneath. "Don't you have anything to say before I toss you out?" He expected her to be contrite, he expected some apology or assumption of guilt. He expected wrong.

She simply replied in a matter of fact tone, "I'd thank you to remember I've had more real horse experience than most of the prim misses in this town. I just had no idea your horse was so skittish."

Skittish? SKITTISH? he thought.

 "Skittish?" By the time his anger had formed into words it was cold seething rage extracted through clenched teeth.

"You could have been killed!" Marco caught the look of fear in her eyes and was glad that finally some sense had arrived on her doorstep. "That horse is a weapon, he was trained to kill with those hooves that were inches away from your pretty face.  He is trained to beat back anything in his path , he is a soldier as much as I am and you were incredibly careless." His arms were tense and trembling with fury as they gripped her and he was dimly aware that passion laced his anger. "You should not be in the stables if you know not how to handle horses. You will never go near him again. I don't want your blood on my hands." He added for good measure. His eyes flashed to hers and she was assessing him warily. Slowly, as if approaching a rabid animal she lifted her hand from her side and petted his arm with soft, gentle strokes that tingled down his arm.

"Okay, Sir. I'll leave Tornado alone." Then she paused, tilted her head up to catch the glow of the lamp light and warmly inquired, "Are you alright, Captain?"

She was mad- that was the only explanation for it. A gentlewoman who traipsed about the stables after dark in an evening gown of gold must have a special brand of lunacy, if minutes after a near death experience she calmly inquires if the man screaming at her is okay.

Marco took a deep breath, unsure how to proceed. In all his years as a soldier he had encountered many women. Thin, tall, small, large, royal as the queen, and even ones as sexual as a harlot. He had bested enchanting spies and saved poor maidens from the clutches of war. But never had he met a woman as confusing as this. He was caught between the urge to protect her from harm or to throw her under Tornado's hooves.

He slowly un-flexed his fingers and relaxed his grip moving his arms back to his sides. Before he ventured far the lantern flame spluttered and a strong gust of air from the open barn door blew out the light and flung the wire and glass casing onto the hay strewn floor with a clank. They were plunged into a darkness so deep not even a semblance of shadow was discernible.

Liara gave a short gasp and instinctively turned to her companion. Bumping into his chest, she gripped at the open seams of his shirt and refused to let go.

"Well isn't this interesting." the Captain's voice sounded from just above her head. "You are not afraid of one of the most terrifying steeds in Spain but you are frightened of the dark?"

Liara could hear the smile in his voice and she did not appreciate it.

"I suppose you think this is funny" came her muffled voice through his shirt.

Marco felt her warm breath caressing the skin of his chest and throat. His hands steadied her waist and all he could smell was sandalwood. "No" he replied, "funny is not the word I would have used to describe this moment."

"What word would you use?" She squeezed her eyes shut and focused on the noises of the horses in the stalls next door.

"Are you just asking in the hope it distracts you from your fear of the night?"

Liara moved back and smacked into the wall. "Hey! I'm not afraid of the night, I'll have you know I love the night. It's just the all consuming darkness when you feel like you can barely breathe let alone see- that I have a problem with." Her righteous indignation did not translate so well since she followed her little speech by tripping over the folds over her gown in an attempt to circumnavigate the man mocking her.

Marco grabbed her forearm on her descent to the stall floor and yanked her up. Liara fell against his chest and felt his arms surround her. They held still for a moment and then tightened their hold. She felt her breath quicken, her pulse race as his lips caressed her throat.

"Are you okay?" he whispered into her hair

Liara managed something between a sigh and yes.

The darkness made the moment seem more intense, more incredible. The sensuality of his touch crept along her skin and in through her veins. Her chest expanded with each breath filling her lungs, the masculine scent of him clouding her thoughts. He smelled of sharp exotic spice tempered with leather and lingering scotch. She felt a strong hard palm at the small of her back, and another between her shoulder blades, creeping upwards to catch the nape of her neck. Liara opened her mouth to speak, but no sound came out. The silence in the stables continued on with nothing but the ruffles of their clothing and her hitched gasps to break through the quietness.

He pressed his lips to her neck and she found her body swaying into his, her head naturally moving to one side to make room for him. Her body adjusted itself to accommodate him so that they fit together with so little effort that it felt natural. Liara didn't know how it was happening, she didn't know what she was doing- but the sensations coursing through her were so consuming she felt addicted, hooked on the way his lips felt on her skin, the movement of his hands on her waist, the seductive whispers of Spanish under his breath. She knew behind him horses moved, she knew beyond these walls people were readying themselves for sleep, life moved on - but she couldn't think about any of that. Because in this moment, it was just her and this man who made her feel so alive. Liara who had never been so much as touched, kissed or held by another man- knew that this was why she waited all those years- why she never settled for just friendship, companionship or compromise. This was the passion she so long dreamt of, this was something a woman could willingly succumb to, could lose herself to. An elixir, an addiction.....and she liked it.

Her inexperienced hands found their way up his muscled chest, around his broad shoulders to his neck. She pulled herself closer to him as she felt him grip her hips and hold her tightly against his. She sighed and rolled her head back in ecstasy. Then she was pushed up against the wall again - pinned by his body and his lips captured hers in a heated drowning kiss- her first. A brief moment of contact and he pulled away.

Marco was lost in the woman in his arms. She was fire, she was ice, she was passion and perfection in the dark. No woman could be such, and yet unskilled in the arts of love making and yet his first brush of her lips revealed her inexperience. She was unsure, she was a virgin, she was pure and he should step back and leave her. But he was not an English noble and he was not a good man- years of battle saw to that, and in her soft panting he heard something so promising he could not bear to walk out that stall and into the frigid night. He heard a blossoming ardour and he wanted to see it in full bloom, in the dark, in the daylight, in every month and every season.

He touched his lips to hers again; her mouth wasn't moving with the same fervour as his, but her lips parted, tacitly encouraging him to deepen the kiss as she opened to his touch. Tentatively he stroked her mouth with his, he let her explore and learn, but she was a quick study and he was not a patient enough man to give her time- to not scare her. She pulled herself closer to him, and when Marco felt the heat of her body pressing gently against his he knew he could not turn back now. She sunk her teeth into his lower lip, scraping the soft flesh there and he was powerless to stop. He surged into her, his hands cupping her head, tugging through her hair, pulling her against him, pushing her harder against the solid wall at her back. She responded in a way he never would have thought possible. For him sex had become just something his body needed, nothing more than basic instinct. The desire for anything more was lost long ago in the depths of battle but this ...this strange woman who felt crafted to fit perfectly into him brought with her a spark of something different and new, something exciting and dangerous, some­thing so very beautiful and wild.

~

If you enjoyed this chapter I would really appreciate your vote before you continue reading. Thanks!

'Sparks' music has been added since a particularly wonderful reader noted that it fits with the final paragraph of this chapter and i happen to agree! It evokes the depth of emotion which Marco feels. :)