Conor

  She felt her heart soar. Did he have any idea how desperately she'd

  longed to hear those words? All night, while she had despaired of

  catching his attention, he had been aware of her, the way a man was

  aware of a woman.

  Emma had never known such happiness. Or such despair. Should she

  encourage him? Discourage him? Oh, if only she knew what to do.

  Perhaps she should simply let her heart rule. For right now, her heart

  was soaring.

  In her innocence she lifted herself on tiptoe, offering her lips again.

  Her voice was a breathless whisper. "I want you too, Conor.

  Desperately."

  Too weak to stand, they dropped to their knees, all the while locked in

  an intimate embrace. With a muttered oath Conor dragged her to the

  floor and brought his lips to the swell of her breast, nibbling and

  suckling, until she was dazed with need.

  Never had she known such feelings. Pleasure that bordered on pain.

  And still his clever mouth took her higher, then higher still. When he

  could no longer tolerate even the thin barrier of fabric between them,

  he tugged on the bodice of her gown, freeing her breasts.

  She wrapped herself around him, drawing him in. Her body seemed

  to melt into his, slim and eager and boneless.

  Though he fought to ignore it, the alarm sounded louder in his mind.

  Even while he drew out the kiss, he began the impossible struggle to

  pull back.

  "Wait, Emma." He pressed his forehead to hers. Shuddered out a

  breath. "This isn't right. You're much too sweet."

  "I'm a temptress." She laughed up at him, so trusting. So innocent.

  "You said so yourself."

  "Aye. You are that.- But you have no idea what this leads to." Even

  while he fought his own emotions, he was cursing himself. She was

  his for the taking. All his. And he was about to refuse her precious

  gift.

  "I know that it leads to loving." She offered her lips again. "Love me,

  Conor."

  I already do, he thought. That was the problem. Somehow, without

  even knowing how or when, he had begun to care too much for this

  strange little female. And now that he did, he felt responsible for her

  as well.

  "I can't. We can't." With exquisite tenderness, he began to withdraw

  from her arms, even as he rained kisses over her face, her eyes, the tip

  of her nose. That was when he tasted the salt of her tears.

  Tears?

  The shock of it sobered him more effectively than a dash of cold

  water.

  "Sweet heaven, what have I done?" With hi$ thumbs he brushed

  away her tears. "Oh, Emma. Forgive me, my lady. I never meant to

  make you cry."

  "Conor. I'm not... You didn't..." Horrified at the enormity of her

  emotions, she took in a deep breath, struggling to find the words.

  How could she tell him of her joy? Of her sorrow? Of her fears for

  what they were experiencing?

  But he was beyond consolation. Filled with self-loathing, he closed

  his eyes and thought about all the helpless women and children whose

  honor he'd fought for. Thought of all the blood that stained his knife.

  His soul. "I'm no better than the English. Than Dunstan. Forcing

  myself on a helpless maiden. And all in the name of..."

  He caught himself in time. He wouldn't make a mockery of the word

  he'd been about to speak. Love was far too precious an emotion. "I've

  had too much ale, Emma. I've behaved in a despicable manner."

  He got to his feet and reached down, helping her to stand. Then he

  took a step back, determined to break contact.

  She felt bereft. But when she tried to reach for him, he lifted his

  hands, palms up, and backed away.

  "I'll not touch you again. It was never my intention to force you. To

  make you weep. I hope in time you'll forgive me, my lady."

  "Conor, you didn't force me. I want you..."

  "I'll leave you now. And I'll order you to bar your door."

  "That isn't necessary, Conor. I want..."

  The look he gave her was so smoldering, she felt her breath hitch in

  her throat. In that moment she saw something dark and dangerous in

  his eyes. Something that frightened her. And she had a fleeting

  sensation that she had seen it before. In another's eyes.

  "Aye. It's necessary. You'll bar the door. And you'll think no more

  about me, do you hear?" He crossed the room, then paused at the

  door. "I hope in time you can forgive me."

  "Conor. There's no need to forgive..."

  Emma watched as he let himself out. On trembling legs she walked to

  the door and listened to his footsteps recede. Then, as he had

  requested, she set the bar on her door and made her way slowly to the

  sleeping chamber.

  Though the candles had long ago burned down, there was enough

  light by the glow of the fire to see that the seamstress had completed

  her new nightshift, and had left it lying on the bed. The sight of it

  mocked her. The fabric was so delicate, it looked like some gossamer

  web shimmering with starlight. She found herself wishing that Conor

  could see her in this.

  She held it up to herself and turned to look at her reflection in the

  looking glass. The image looking back at her was different somehow.

  Was it because of Conor that she saw a beautiful, desirable woman

  looking back at her? Wasit Conor's kisses that had made her lips seem

  fuller, her eyes softer, her color higher?

  What a strange day this had been.

  She had been in absolute terror of the queen's wrath and had

  experienced delight at the queen's offer of friendship. Had entered the

  great hall quivering with fear at the thought of being stared at, and

  had discovered, much to her surprise, that she could not only survive,

  but thrive, under the scrutiny of nobles. She had managed to gently

  rebuff two attempts at seduction, and had nearly drowned in a

  whirlpool of emotions at the hands of Conor O'Neil.

  But of all she had endured this day, this last had been the most

  astonishing. She lowered the nightshift and touched a finger to her

  lips. The taste of Conor was still there. Teasing her. Taunting her.

  Arousing her as nothing else ever had.

  She pressed a hand to her heart. Dear heaven. Despite the fact that he

  had been drunk, and would probably regret this in the morning, she

  would have no such regrets. His words, his kisses, had moved her as

  nothing else ever had.

  She sank down on the edge of the bed and allowed the tears to fall.

  Great sobbing tears that shook her slender body.

  Oh, what was wrong with her? She was falling in love with this man.

  The man she'd been sent here to use for Celestine's vile purposes. And

  there was nothing in the world she could do about it. For the rules of

  the game had already been set into motion. If she wanted to save her

  father and little sister, she would do what she had come here to do.

  She would seduce Conor. Would learn all she could about his advice

  to the queen and what the queen's intentions were. And when she had

  learned all she could, she would leave as quickly as she had come.

  But when she left, though Cono
r O'Neil's heart would remain intact,

  hers would surely be broken.

  Chapter Ten

  "My lord, the queen bids you to join her at once in her chambers

  while she breaks her fast."

  "Aye." The word was more a snarl than a response. Conor, barefoot,

  shirtless, remained at the balcony, staring off into the distance, as

  morning sunlight glinted off the dew-covered meadows. The beauty

  of the scene was lost on him. Without turning around, he called, "Tell

  Her Majesty I'll be there shortly."

  When the maid left his chambers, Conor stayed where he was. His

  dawn ride had done nothing to clear his mind or ease his black mood.

  He'd put in a night of misery, torturing himself with thoughts of

  Emma's laughter turning to copious tears. And all because of him.

  He'd behaved like a brute. A drunken lecher.

  When he thought about that scene in her chambers, he was revolted

  by his behavior. What had happened to that charming Irish lad, who

  had always enjoyed his harmless, pleasant flirtations? When had he

  decided to take himself so seriously? It would seem that he'd become

  like all the others at Court. Jaded, shallow, unfeeling.

  He ran a hand through his hair in frustration. There was no excuse for

  what he had done. He'd been jealous. Jealous. And he'd let that

  jealousy and anger and too much ale turn him into someone he neither

  knew nor liked.

  Now, somehow, he would have to find a way to make it up to the lass.

  Emma Vaughn deserved so much better.

  Emma. He could hardly bear to think about her. She had been a vision

  of loveliness last night. Relaxed and happy for the first time since

  she'd come to court. And he had reduced her to tears with his jealousy

  and rage and passion.

  Aye. Passion. That was the problem. He'd let passion cloud his mind.

  In his position, he couldn't afford to feel passion for anything except

  duty and country.

  Damn the fates that had condemned him to this. He slammed a fist

  down on the edge of the balcony with such force a covey of quail took

  wing, startling him. With a muttered oath he turned away and finished

  dressing. Then he made his way to the queen's chambers.

  "Ah. My fine Irish rogue. You've kept your queen waiting. You know

  how I dislike that in a man."

  He gritted his teeth as he bowed over her hand. "Aye, Majesty. I hope

  you can find it in your heart to forgive me."

  "With charm like yours, how could I not?" She patted the chair to her

  right. "Sit here beside me. My ladies are on their way. I'm eager to

  learn if I won my wager."

  As the ladies-in-waiting were ushered into the chambers, Conor was

  stunned to see Emma among them, looking fresh as a-spring flower in

  a pale blue gown. From the looks of her, she had no idea what the

  queen was about to do.

  He glanced at Elizabeth, who seemed to be thoroughly enjoying

  herself and her little game.

  "Ah. Emma." Elizabeth's smile was radiant. "You caused quite a stir

  among the gentlemen last night."

  Emma paused in the doorway. For one brief moment she stared at the

  man beside the queen, and felt the heat rise to her cheeks before

  forcing herself to look away. She hadn't expected to see Conor here. It

  was too soon. The emotions he had stirred up last night were still too

  close to the surface. But she would have to put on a brave face and

  find a way to endure it.

  "The gown of silver-and-gold cloth was truly lovely, Majesty. As is

  this morning gown." Emma ran sweating palms along the skirt, then

  laced her fingers together, hoping she hadn't left streaks on the new

  fabric. "I thank you for your generosity."

  "You are most welcome." Elizabeth pointed to the chair beside

  Conor's. "Sit, Emma. We have much to ask you this morrow."

  "Ask me, Majesty?" Emma's legs trembled slightly as she walked to

  her designated place.

  A servant held her chair and she sat. When her thigh brushed Conor's,

  she jerked away quickly. The nearness of him turned her mind to

  mush. Oh, why did her heart have to betray her this way? And why he

  have to look so handsome and virile this morning? "What do you

  wish to ask me?"

  "Why, how your night ended, of course."

  "Ended?" Emma felt the stares of the others and studiously avoided

  looking at them. Or at the man beside her. Instead she stared at her

  plate, tracing the lines and colors, while she struggled to make her

  mind work.

  How much did the queen know? Was she aware of Conor's nighttime

  visit to her chambers? Was this why she had been summoned to break

  fast with the queen and her ladies? Was she about to be publicly

  humiliated for entertaining the queen's companion? Oh, how would

  she get out of this trap? If only she knew how much Conor had

  already revealed.

  "As the belle of the ball, you were the object of much speculation last

  night, Emma." Elizabeth's words brought her out of her troubled

  thoughts. "It was obvious that both the Earl of Blystone and Lord

  Dunstan were engaged in a duel for your heart. And so my ladies and

  I made wagers."

  "Wagers?" Emma tensed.

  "Aye." With a roar of laughter Elizabeth pointed. "There were those,

  Amena among them, who wagered that Blystone, the lonely

  widower, would touch your heart with his sad tale and manage to

  invite himself into your chambers. As for me, I put my gold on

  Dunstan. When he wants something, or someone, he is like a beast

  with the scent of fresh blood. Dunstan made it plain last night that he

  wanted you." The queen paused while a servant offered her a goblet

  of hot mulled wine. "Now you must tell us who won."

  Emma glanced around the table at the smiling women. "I'm sorry to

  be the bearer of unhappy tidings. But nobody won. I permitted neither

  man to enter my chambers."

  "How unfortunate." The queen gave a knowing smile. "Not only for

  us, but for the two gentlemen who were so eager to...sample your

  charms, Emma. Ah, well." Elizabeth shook her head in defeat. "I

  hadn't counted on the fact that you would be a woman of such high

  virtue."

  Emma flushed at the queen's blunt language. But just as she began to

  relax, thinking she had managed to elude danger yet again, she was

  stunned to hear Amena burst into laughter.

  ' 'If our little Emma is so virtuous, how does she explain the

  mysterious man she entertained in her chambers after the others- had

  retired?"

  Around the table, the women made little noises of surprise.

  Emma gave a gasp of shock.

  Beside her, Conor went very still.

  Elizabeth's head came up sharply. "A mysterious man? What are you

  saying, Amena? How would you know that?"

  "As everyone knows, I do not take my wagers lightly, Majesty."

  Amena gave a smug smile. "I had my servant hide herself in the

  hallway just beyond Emma's door, to watch and listen. I had hoped,

  of course, that Blystone would charm his way inside, so that I would

  be the winner of your gold. To my disappointment, he was turned

  awa
y, as was Dunstan, just as our Emma said."

  The others began to nod and smile.

  Amena was flushed with pride at her little secret. "But after the

  gentlemen left, my servant listened at the door and, hearing sounds,

  peered inside."

  Elizabeth caught sight of the horror on Emma's face and clapped her

  hands in delight. "Tell me, Amena. What did your servant see?"

  "It was too dark to make out their faces. But she saw a man and a

  woman engaged in a passionate embrace. Alas, like all serving

  wenches, she did not have the good sense to wait around and see who

  he was. Instead she came hurrying back to my chambers to relate

  what she had seen and heard. By the time she told me of this secret

  tryst, it was too late to catch him. When I arrived at Emma's chambers

  the door was barred. But from what I could hear, she was alone."

  With a gasp of outrage Emma got to her feet. "I cannot believe what I

  am hearing. I was spied upon in the queen's own palace? In the

  privacy of my own chambers?"

  "It would appear so. How clever you are, Amena." Elizabeth giggled

  like a girl. "Now tell us, Emma. Who is your secret lover?"

  Emma's shock was evident. "I have no secret lover. What Amena's

  servant saw was not what it appeared."

  The queen's tone grew sarcastic. "Come now. How can one mistake

  the intentions of a man and woman locked in an embrace? If not love,

  what then?"

  "You must believe me. The man's intent was not..." Her lip quivered,

  "...love."

  Elizabeth's tone hardened. "Are you implying that a gentleman in my

  household forced himself on you?"

  Caught in a lie, Emma's face flamed. "Nay, Majesty. I mean... That is

  not what I meant to say at all." Her words faltered. "I know not what

  his intentions were. But I do not wish to speak of this. It would seem

  that all of you are enjoying my humiliation."

  "Nonsense. We have no wish to embarrass you." Elizabeth leaned

  across Conor to place a hand on Emma's arm. "My young friend, we

  are all sisters here. We share our secrets. Why, some even share

  lovers. There is no shame among us."