Winterly (Dark Creatures Book 1), стр. 70
A kiss that had started off hard and dominating became suddenly languid. His mouth moved towards her jaw and then down along the column of her neck before settling over her throat. She dropped her head back almost instinctively, fatally unaware of what she offered him. She felt his tongue like a hot caress. Felt his teeth, gentle at first and then more insistent. Finally, with a frustrated growl, he wrenched his mouth away with an abruptness that had her reeling back against the wall.
“Sir,” she panted, gathering her wits and calling forth all the indignation she could muster in her present disordered state, “You…you forget yourself.”
“I never forget myself.”
“You take liberties to which you have no right.”
“Ahh, but your eyes spoke otherwise.”
“You are mistook, I assure you.” She narrowed her gaze, lest he took it into his head to misapprehend her looks again. “I did not come here to talk nonsense with you, Lord Winterly. Why did you command my presence here?”
Chuckling, he reached into a pocket beneath his cloak. “I wanted to give you this.” When his hand reappeared it was in possession of a velveteen box which he held out to her.
“What is it?” she asked.
“It is your birthday, is it not?”
“Only at midnight.” Gingerly, she opened the lid. Her lips parted in wonder to see a detailed dragon pendant on a fine gold chain, its ornate scales glittering with rubies. “I cannot accept this!” It was obviously a costly heirloom, for she recognized the dragon from the Winterly crest.
He lifted the necklace from its velvet nest despite her demurral and proceeded to fasten it gently around her neck so that it lay atop her gold crucifix. His hand lingered a brief moment upon her throat.
“No, it is too much.” She lifted her hand to unclasp it.
“Before you remove it, will you not first ask why I present it to you?”
“All right then, why?”
“It is a safeguard. My own mark of protection,” he said, lifting his left hand to show her the signet ring on his smallest finger where the red dragon crest was etched in bloodstone.
“All the more reason why I should not wear this!” She was not his wife, nor a member of his family, and it was entirely inappropriate that she should wear his insignia; his mark of ownership, more like.
“You are analyzing this over and above what is necessary. You need only think of it as a ward, do not fear that I am making you an offer of marriage.”
Only some dubious carte-blanche then? “I would never have accepted if you had,” she said, coloring. Then, seeking to change the subject, she looked over her shoulder at the cannibals glaring lewdly from the mural. “At any rate, I already have an apotropaic, which I am already wearing.” She had dabbed the Devil’s Bane on her pulse points before she’d left her room.
“A fact,” he said distastefully, glancing down at her throat, “I am well aware of.”
She did not know how she knew his eyes had shifted there, but they had—she could somehow feel his gaze probing her pulse.
“But I must warn you,” he continued, “that your little defense does not do its office quite as you imagine.” His hand slipped behind her neck and he dipped his head to place a light but heady kiss on her throat just below her ear. “It only masks your scent, confuses the senses a little.” He lifted his head so that his mouth brushed softly across hers. “Just an unpleasant little sting on the lips when I forget myself.” With that strange statement, he pulled away. “But make no mistake, Miss Rose, I know who you are and I keep my distance only because you have yet to say yes. But you will. It is one little word easily spoken. A word I know you long to utter.”
She feared he was right. Even now the word hung precariously on her tongue. Either her mask blotted her rectitude or the wine had smothered her scruples. “What will you do if I refuse to wear your crest?”
“There are other ways to make you mine.”
“I belong only to myself.”
His smile, however, defied her claim. “Keep the necklace, I expect nothing in return. It is merely a birthday gift and another form of protection.” They stared at one another for a long moment, she uncertain and he watchful. “It is from both Victoria and I,” he added finally.
It was with a hesitant sigh that she finally nodded. “Very well. Then I thank you both, Lord Winterly.”
He held his elbow out for her. When she’d slipped her hand to rest where it was expected, he said, “We had better get you to the ball, that is not a gown to be wasted in a library.”
“As to that,” she said, looking down at her gown, “who is the mysterious benefactor of my wardrobe?” As if she didn’t know. The mask she wore—the mask he’d sent her—all but declared him.
His canines flashed in the dark as he grinned. “You must allow that these old castles will have their secrets, Miss Rose.”
“Some, I grant you.” But some secrets she was determined to uncover, particularly those that lay beneath his dark smiles and enigmatic words. And tonight, she promised herself, she would find out once and for all who and what he truly was.
Chapter Thirty-Four
Le Bal Masqué
Milli beamed at Victoria’s reflexion in the stately gilt mirror, and then shifted her gaze back to