Conor. Ruth Langan
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might be important to her stepmother. Gathering her courage she asked, “And what do you urge the queen to do?”
He shrugged. “What I always urge. Patience. Compassion. But Elizabeth is not a patient woman. And her closest advisors agree with Dunstan. I stand alone in this battle of wills.”
“Oh, you’re hardly alone, Conor O’Neil.” Emma turned to him, and he was aware that all her shyness had somehow disappeared. In its place was a strange mix of emotions. Anger seemed the strongest, along with a strength he hadn’t noticed before.
“And what is that supposed to mean?”
She had no idea why she was experiencing this sudden rush of temper. This man was nothing more to her than a means to an end. But just thinking about his relationship with Elizabeth of England had her blood boiling. It wasn’t jealousy, she told herself. It was righteousness. He was a son of Ireland, openly courting the Queen of England.
She stood, shaking down her skirts. “From what I’ve heard, you have the queen eating out of your hand like a favorite pet. And, if what I witnessed this morrow in the queen’s chambers was typical, I’d say you’ve found many ways to win her with your charm.”
Though he was annoyed, he hid his feelings behind a lazy smile as he got to his feet, towering over her. “Haven’t you heard? Women can’t resist me.”
She turned on her heel and started back along the path. “You’re very sure of yourself, Conor O’Neil.”
He merely chuckled as he kept pace beside her. “Does that annoy you?”
“I care not one way or the other about you. But I am grateful that you managed to deflect the queen’s questions.”
“Aye. I thought the rose was an especially nice touch.”
“It was all an act?” Stunned, she suddenly stopped and turned to him.
When he said nothing in his own behalf she studied him more closely. “What arrogance, that you would use even the queen in this fashion. What favors do you hope to obtain for yourself, I wonder?”
Without thinking he caught her roughly by the shoulders. “Beware my temper, Emma. Though I keep it on a tether, it breaks free from time to time. And when it does, it is a most unpleasant sight.”
She lifted her chin, refusing to back down, though the mere touch of him caused her heart to stutter. “And you avoid all unpleasantness, don’t you, Conor O’Neil?”
“Aye.” He hadn’t meant to touch her, but now that he had, he couldn’t think of any good reason to release her. Up close she smelled as fresh as the flowers in the garden. Her hair gave off a fragrance of rose water. “You might consider doing the same, Emma Vaughn, if you know what’s good for you.”
“Is that a threat?” Her eyes narrowed. Gone was all pretense of the shy, timid young woman she showed to the rest of the world. And though her blood was pounding in her temples, she refused to back away.
“Call it whatever you wish. If you’re wise you’ll take care not to make enemies among the queen’s friends at court. There may come a time when you’re in need of a friend.” He found himself staring at her pouting lips. Lips that were made for kissing. That thought had the blood rushing from his brain.
“Are you suggesting that I should allow an animal like Lord Dunstan to do with me as he pleases?”
“Of course not.” At the moment, there were any number of things he would be pleased to do with her himself. None of them polite. All of them far too tempting. “But you would be well-advised to find a way to hold him at arm’s length while not incurring his wrath. Dunstan is much favored by Elizabeth. Should you arouse his ire, you arouse the queen’s as well. And those who are not favored by this monarch sometimes find themselves and their families in grave danger.”
“Then you need not worry, Conor, since you are obviously much in Elizabeth’s favor. Everyone at court whispers about her strange alliance with her...” Emma’s tone lowered in scorn “...her charming rogue.”
She saw the sudden change in his eyes. She knew she had said too much, had gone too far. Alarmed, she tried to push free of his hands. But it was too late. The last thread of his frayed temper snapped.
“Do you know how weary I am of that name?” He dragged her close and saw her eyes widen.
Ignoring her little cry of distress, he lowered his head and covered her mouth with his.
Heat flowed between them. Heat that softened her lips, and tightened his hands on her arms.
She tried to pull back, but her strength was no match for his. And then, as his mouth moved over hers, she was caught up in something so new, so powerful, she lost the will to fight.
She had been kissed before, but never like this. At first, the kiss was harsh, demanding. Filled with anger and impatience. But even as she absorbed the first jolt, the kiss suddenly softened, gentled, causing her even greater distress.
Conor lifted his head for a moment, staring at her as if seeing her for the first time. And then he lowered his head and kissed her again, almost hesitantly. The lips moving over hers seemed to be tasting, sipping, absorbing. The hands at her back were holding her as carefully as if she were made of glass. And though she could have easily pulled away, she felt frozen to the spot, mesmerized by the feel of his clever mouth on hers.
He hadn’t meant for any of this to happen. Like all in his family, he’d always known that his temper was a source of trouble, and so he always kept it under tight control. But once loose, it took over his will, taking him places better left untraveled.
At the first touch of her, everything had speeded up. His pulse. His mouth on hers, tasting, devouring. His hands on her body, wanting to touch her everywhere, needing to feel her in every part of himself.
One small section of his mind was shouting a warning. It was midmorning in the queen’s own garden. Any number of people might see them. All his plans could be spoiled by this one foolish act. But another part of his mind ignored the warning. He didn’t want to stop holding her, kissing her. He would pay any price, forfeit any success, to go on like this forever.
He took the kiss deeper and was rewarded by her sigh. Her hands, which had been pushing against his chest, were now clutching him to her. Her body was pressed to his, imprinting itself on his flesh. Her full pouty lips were as eager as his to taste, to feast, to devour.
He was, in the space of a heartbeat, fully aroused. He wanted more. Wanted all. A most dangerous situation, he knew. He needed to step back. To think. To breathe.
Sweet heaven, to breathe.
One last touch, he promised himself as his hands moved along her back, stroking, soothing, exciting. One last kiss, he vowed, as his mouth moved over hers.
At last, drawing on all his control, he managed to lift his head.
Filling his lungs with air he took a step back, breaking contact. “Let that be a lesson to you, Emma. Even the most charming of rogues has a limit to his patience.”
“Aye. A rogue. An arrogant, pigheaded....” Her words came out in a rush, threatening to choke her. She would never let him know how difficult it was to speak. “But there is nothing charming about you, Conor O’Neil. And I’ll remind you that I am not one of those brainless little butterflies who flit around the men at court, hoping to play at love. If I were, it would be with a heroic figure, like...like Heaven’s Avenger, who saves helpless maidens, and certainly not with the likes of you.”
She drew back her hand to slap his face. Reading her intention, he caught it and dragged her close.
His breath was hot against her cheek as he whispered, “Aye. That’s why you refused to cooperate in that kiss, isn’t it, Emma?”
She was stung by his jibe. It hit too close to the mark. She knew she’d wanted what he’d offered, and had made no move to stop him. But now that she had her wits about