Once Upon a Kiss

chapter 18





She waited until the household was aslumber, and then, following the trail of torches, made her way to the lord’s chamber. Wearing naught but her linen chainse, she padded barefoot down the tower steps.

No one stopped her.

No one was left awake to do so.

Making her way quickly through the solar, she pushed open the massive door and slid quickly within. From a single unshuttered window along the far wall, moonlight spilled into the chamber, lighting it with a ghostly glow. Like a blade of silver, it fell across the bed, illuminating the figure entangled within its sheets much too dearly. The sight of Graeham lying there so intimately gave her pause, though she refused to allow her feet to hesitate.

Bolstering her courage, she hurried across the room, only to lose her nerve as she stared down at the bed that held the sleeping form of her betrothed.

Sweet Jesu, but he was a beautiful man.

His yellow hair was even more pale by the light of the moon, and his features flawless in slumber. Angelic, she thought, not for the first time. Even so, the very thought of crawling—willingly—into his bed was disconcerting at best. Still Dominique knew it was something she must do. She must not leave herself open again for temptation. She must do this. She had no choice.

And she must succeed.

Drawing in a shaky breath, she carefully lifted up the coverlet and slipped beneath it beside Graeham, her heart pounding so wildly that she thought it would burst from her chest. Sweet Christ, how could he sleep with it beating so loudly? Trying to soothe herself, she lay as close to the edge of the bed as possible, taking care not to touch him—or any part of him, for that matter.

Not yet, she told herself.

In a moment, she would.

A moment passed, and then minutes went by, and with every second that elapsed, the beating of Dominique’s heart became more painful to bear.

For the love of Christ, she thought hysterically, how was she going to seduce a man she could not even bear to touch?

Move closer, she willed herself. She shook her head, freezing at the slight movement she created, her breath arresting. Had she moved the bed? Had he sensed her presence?

Oh, God! What if he awoke? What would she say to him? How would she explain her bold behavior? What would he say?

Truly she was mad! And thank God, for otherwise she would never be able to carry out such an insane plan.

But she could not carry it out, she realized suddenly.

No matter that she told herself she must seduce the man lying beside her, she could not move to save her soul. The inches between them lay as wide as a chasm, and the reality of being within his bed was more distressing than ever she could have imagined.

Closing her eyes, Dominique willed her hands to move, to touch him, but they remained, to her dismay, steadfastly clamped at her breast—like a dead woman! she thought frantically.

Move! she commanded herself.

Her breathing quickened so, till she felt as though she’d raced up a thousand flights of steps—and down again! Squeezing her eyes shut, she moved her small finger, and found that the pounding of her heart increased with the puny effort.

Dear God, she would die here in his bed! Her heart felt near to bursting even now!

What a fool she was!

Whatever could she have been thinking?

A panic unlike any she’d ever experienced in her life came over her, paralyzing her wholly. Suddenly even the thought of rising from the bed seemed an impossible task, for what if she should wake him?

But she must get up! Oh, what a coward she was! A foolish little coward! And she’d never felt more like weeping.

To her dismay, hysterical laughter bubbled up from the depths of her, exploding from her lips against her will, shocking her—startling Graeham.

At the shrieking sound, he shot from the bed, and ran like a child from a nightmare. “Who’s there?” he demanded.

Try as she might, Dominique could not cease with her laughter, not even to catch a single breath. She clutched at her belly, paralyzed with giggles that were anything but mirthful.

Graeham hurried to light a taper, and then held it over her, staring down as though he thought her demented.

And she must be, for she could not stop even when he scowled down upon her.

“Lady Dominique?” His expression was stunned, and a little dismayed.

Dominique could not have responded to save her life.

“By God’s holy light!” he exclaimed. “What are you doing in my bed?”

His startled face, lit only on one side by the light of the taper, appeared wholly sinister suddenly, twisting with the flickering candle flame, and it was more than Dominique could bear. Her emotions swung like a pendulum. Gasping in fright, she bolted from the bed, only to find herself tangled in the bed sheets.

With a strangled yelp, she fell to the floor. And God was merciful, for in her mind the lights flickered and died.



Scarcely able to believe his eyes as she fell, Graeham hurried to the other side of the bed, hoping to catch her in time. But he wasn’t quick enough. He reached her as she emitted a final shuddering gasp and succumbed.

Hurriedly discarding the taper, he placed the back of his hand against her nostrils, testing her breath. Finding it strong, he breathed a sigh of relief. He hardly cared to add to the hostilities between her brother and himself.

She was limp as wet cloth as he lifted her into his arms and placed her upon his bed. He went back for the candle at once, and with it, lit the torch within the brace alongside his bed.

What in God’s name had she been doing?

As he gazed down at her, there was a pallor to her face that sickened him, twisted his gut. He slapped her cheek softly. Again. “Lady Dominique!” She didn’t respond. God’s truth, but he thought her beautiful in that instant.

Quite beautiful, though she failed to stir him.

He’d thought he’d be able to do this. He’d truly hoped to put an end to the feud between their houses with their union. He knew now that it was not possible. The truth had become apparent to him in the last days. And he’d prayed to no avail. It seemed God would not hear him.

When first he’d spied her... he had thought it possible, then. He’d thought, for truth, that if any maid could stir him to life, it was she. But she had not, and he began to wonder now that any woman could.

Once he’d been a man whole... until a peasant maid for whom he and Blaec had shared a lust had come into his life. Once Blaec had become aware of the fact that Graeham had coveted her, he had never so much as looked at her again. And Graeham might have had her then... he might have had he willed it so... but since that day, he’d understood that he was ever destined to take everything his brother desired. Blaec had always dutifully stepped aside, gladly even, and that was the crux of the problem. Some part of Graeham would not have what was stolen. Perhaps Blaec did not care that Drakewich was rightfully his by birth, but Graeham did. Though even had his body not rebelled against him so long ago... even were he able to take a woman... there would still be his vow of celibacy. He’d long ago deemed it just penance. It might have been different had he not known the truth, but he did know.

On his mother’s deathbed, she’d confessed everything to him, bidding him always keep his brother near. She’d told him everything he’d already suspected: Their father had been so certain Blaec had not been his child, for with his dark coloring, he’d looked nothing at all like their fair father, nor their mother, and Gilbert d’Lucy had determined soon after his birth that Blaec had been ill conceived. And though he’d loved their mother too much to cast her aside, Blaec had paid the price of Gilbert’s suspicions—no matter that their mother had denied it to the end of her days.

So as not to shame her before the eyes of men, he had given Blaec his name. Behind their backs, Blaec, eldest son to Gilbert d’Lucy, had been a bastard, and no more. Unloved. Unwanted. Repudiated. A travesty, for Graeham knew the truth. Not only did they share the same womb, but they shared the same father.

Like some unseen blade, the truth pierced Graeham’s gut, and time would not heal the wound, though the wound was not his own. While Blaec did not realize... the wound was his. And Graeham could not live with the blood and guilt upon his hands any longer.

He’d taken too much undeservedly.

He shook her softly. “Dominique.”

Her eyes flew wide, and she gasped in a breath at the sight of him hovering above her.

He shook his head, trying to understand. “What were you doing in my bed?” he demanded, though not unkindly.

She said nothing, though her lips began to quiver. A single tear slipped from her lashes, and rolled down her ashen cheek. Still she lay staring at him, wide-eyed, and he asked her once more, his tone gentle, lest he frighten her further, “Lady Dominique... what were you doing in my bed?’

She shook her head, averting her face, and began to weep softly. “I-I do not know,” she cried miserably. She rolled to one side, away from him, covering her face with her hands. “I am so ashamed!”

‘Tell me why.”

He placed a hand upon her shoulder, and she rolled to face him, her eyes glazed with tears.

“Because I was seducing you, my lord!” she confessed.

Graeham’s brows lifted in stupefaction. There must have been something he’d missed. “I assure you, Lady Dominique,” he said, shaking his head. “Whatever it was you were doing... you most certainly were not seducing me.”

At that, she began to cry all the more earnestly, and Graeham peered nervously over his shoulder at the door, praying no one would overhear. That was all he needed now—for everyone to know she’d been within his bed. There would be no dealing himself out of the betrothal then.

“But I was!” she insisted, sitting to face him. He tried not to note the dark shadows of her nipples behind the fine pleated linen. “And I’m so ashamed!” she wailed.

Graeham averted his eyes, wincing, glancing up at the ceiling. Hoping to stop her tears, as well as to remove her from his line of vision, he reached out and urged her into his arms. “There, now,” he said awkwardly. “All is well, Lady Dominique... No harm was done.”

She shook her head frantically. “I was not trying to poison you,” she swore vehemently.

“I know,” he relented, stroking her back. “Shhh...”

If he’d wondered of her innocence before now, he did no longer. Somehow he knew that the woman in his arms was guiltless, no more than a pawn in her brother’s politics. Her sobs were too sincere to doubt. The simple fact that she’d been so honest about trying to seduce him, and that she’d gone about it so ludicrously, only served to prove she was a desperate bride, ignored and confused.

He wished he could follow through with his promise to her brother—that he could wed her and all would be well. But he could not. Holding her within his arms was the final proof. God, he’d avoided her for naught, telling himself that he did not wish to tempt himself, but there was nothing there... no feeling at all. Though he could smell the sweetness of her hair, feel the warmth of her female flesh... he was not stirred.

There was only one resolution now.

And by damn, he would do what was right.

He drew her away from him suddenly, wiped her tears, and rose from the bed, going to the door.