“Oh,” she sighed. “I want this.”
His mouth covered hers and he kissed her, deeply, hungrily, possessing her mouth like she wanted him to possess her entirely. He touched her face, his skin against hers hot, perfect, making her wild, making her clasp his hips with her thighs and groan. She shuddered, wanting him even closer. Wanting more. His hand slipped along her throat and he followed it with his mouth, each caress new pleasure. He encompassed her breast again and she pushed into it. Her nipples strained against her clothing, swollen and sore with need. She wanted him to touch them. She wanted him to remove her clothing and touch all of her. Wild for his hands on her, she needed to be connected with him.
He spoke against her throat. “I did not come here with this intention.”
She grabbed his shoulders. “I think I may have.”
“I needed only to find you. I need . . . I have the most powerful need to be near you.”
“I think I want you nearer now.” Wild birds had ejected the butterflies and taken up residence in her belly. Her legs felt weak, every part of her quivering. “As near as possible.”
“Ravenna—”
“Please.”
There was little to do. He was already where she wanted him and she felt his male readiness. Only the fall of his trousers and perhaps a shirttail stood between her and the satisfaction of her ache.
“Please,” she whispered.
She did not expect him to delay and he did not. There was the most extraordinary shock of being touched by flesh that was not her own, then probed, then broken, like she was soft pine wood and he was an awl. She gulped in air and for a moment she regretted. But the moan that came from his chest, so powerful and satisfied, rolled through her and made her weak with yearning. Without further cajoling her body simply opened to him and he entered her completely. His instrument was large and she felt stretched and filled and extraordinary.
His chest heaved. He dropped his brow to hers.
Panic slipped through her, and she abruptly felt the cold air on her stockinged legs and the weight of the man atop her. Rams and stallions never paused like this. They did their business before the female escaped. “What’s wrong?” she whispered.
“A moment,” he said in a strained voice.
She tried to swallow. Could not. Her throat was closed. Completely dry. He had been a monk. Had she made him break a vow? Oh. No. “You have done this before. Haven’t you?”
“Not with you.” His voice was so deep.
“Well, it’s good that one of us has because—unh!”
He thrust into her and her world exploded. He filled her and it was perfect, as though her body had been made to be filled by him. She clutched his shoulders tighter. This—this was what she wanted.
“One of us?” he said roughly, thrusting again, jarring her into the straw, delectably hard and deep inside her.
He thrust again. Yes. This friction. This delicious meeting. This deep caress. “Ohh.”
“One of us?” he growled.
“Now both of us.” How hadn’t she known of this? How would she ever have enough of it now? “Oh, yes.”
“Ravenna—”
She never wanted it to end. Having him inside her was pleasure and desperation and satisfaction all at once. “Yes. Please—”
“Ravenna.” His body went perfectly still. “Are you a virgin?”
“Not now.”
Breaking her grip, he pulled out and off of her. She had barely time to register the shock of her empty body and the cold air on her inner thighs when he yanked down her skirt and swiftly set to buttoning his breeches.
“How can you be a virgin?” His voice shook. He scraped his hand through his hair and his eyes looked confused. “How is that possible?”
She couldn’t quite breathe. “I thought you said you had done it before. Am I wrong in supposing that means you should know how a person can be a virgin, then subsequently not?”
He stared at her uncomprehending. “You said ‘please.’ ”
“A virgin cannot be polite?”
“What was all that talk of a woman’s virtue not residing in her maidenhood? And your unstinting loyalty to Lady Iona?”
“That was me speaking my mind and being a nonjudgmental friend.” She sat up, the chill curling around her. “Would my family really have sent me to woo a prince if I weren’t a virgin?”
He gestured toward the door. “Half the girls in that house aren’t virgins.”
“How do you know that?” Oh. No. He could not have done this with other potential brides. Could he? But he was so handsome. He could have any woman he wanted. “Have you . . . ? That is . . . With . . . ? Oh.” She pushed herself up, her stomach ill.
He grabbed her wrist. “No. I have not. That is not how I know. It has been my project this sennight to learn these things, if you recall.” He released her.
She snatched her hand back and sank it into a fold of her cloak. “You didn’t know it about me.”
“I haven’t been investigating you.” His voice sounded peculiarly slurred. But he’d only drunk two glasses of wine . . . here. Perhaps he’d had more earlier. Perhaps he had been foxed when he came to the stable. Perhaps he had come to find her only because he had been foxed.
“Well maybe you should have been,” she said, entirely uncertain now, and starting to hurt in a way she had not anticipated. She hadn’t wanted their friendship to end but she had ended it quite effectively herself. “Anyway if that is the case, then it should have been your project to make my first time being ravished a good one.”
“Your first time being ravished?” His eyes looked fuzzy, like he was trying to recall. He looked up, and it seemed that he struggled to focus. “I was not ravishing you. You were willing. I thought.”
“And ready.”
“And drunk. And I’m drunk.” He put a hand over his eyes. “My God, what am I doing? I am going to regret this in the morning,”
Ravenna’s stomach cramped. She backed up. “There is nothing to regret. Nothing happened.”
His brow grew dark. “Nothing happened?”
“I may not be a woman of great experience—or, rather, any at all—but I have seen enough animals mating to know that nothing just happened here. Even birds mate for longer than that.”
“Birds mating?” He was not laughing. But she had not meant it in jest. The indignation in her chest had become a burrowing core of hurt.
“You know, I don’t think I will thank Lord Case for supplying the wine, after all.” She pulled her cloak about her and ran.
FOR A MOMENT Vitor could do nothing. Shock, lust, and confusion all battered at his cotton-wadding head. Legs leaden, he lurched to his feet and set off after her. He reached the stable door in time to see her enter the castle, but his vision was blurred, spotty, and his head was astoundingly heavy. He shook it, but the fog remained.
It needed but seconds to return to the stable room, take up his empty glass, and curse himself for a fool. He slewed his gaze around. Nestled upright in the straw, her goblet was nearly full. But he had drunk two glasses.
Poisoned wine.
He could not believe it of his brother. He could not. Despite the past. But . . .
He smelled no scent other than fermented grape, but in truth he knew little of poisons, only that some left small trace. Taking up the bottle and goblets, he strode as well as his bandy legs would carry him, staggering and spilling the wine from her cup into the snow. His feet sank in the slush.