Leigh, Tamara by Blackheart Page B

little to creep within the chamber and reveal that it was she who came to Gabriel. Bernart had thought of everything.
    She swallowed, eyeing the dark line between door and floor that proved no light shone from within Gabriel's chamber. Three nights. An eternity. She halted and pressed a hand to the door. Her heart raced, breath caught, palms turned moist. She must go to him. But how? How was she to give herself to a man not her husband? Especially the one responsible for Bernart's loss of manhood?
    The idea of love espoused by her mother returned to her, but try as she did to convince herself it was her lover who awaited her, that in his arms she would finally know the passion and adoration denied her, it was no use. The man within was Gabriel De Vere, and his heart was as black as a dreamless night. No lover he.
    But the sooner she went to him, the sooner she could leave. She opened the door and stepped inside. By the light that strained into the chamber, she located Gabriel. He sat in the chair before the brazier, the coals of which had long ago yielded the last of their warming glow.
    Chilled more by fear than the lack of heat, Juliana closed the door and barred it. As her eyes adjusted to the dark that was diminished slightly by the moon's penetration of the oilcloth over the window, the silence stretched. Did Gabriel sleep? If so, perhaps—
    Nay, Bernart would send her back. She stepped forward. The half dozen steps seemed a long way, but finally she stood before Gabriel.
    He was still, likely more from the potent wine pressed upon him than fatigue. How was she to awaken him? Her heart pounded painfully. She could not call to him, for to speak would reveal her as surely as the light of day. There was only one way, which was something to which she must become accustomed. She would have to touch him.
    She released her mantle to the floor, uncovering the homespun gown she'd donned in place of her lady's finery. It had chafed her through the fine chemise worn next to her skin—the latter being the only comfort she allowed herself for fear Gabriel might discover her garments were not the stuff of servants.
    Juliana sent a prayer heavenward, then began loosening her laces. An instant later, she was seized and dragged forward.
    She gasped and strained away, but her strength was no match for Gabriel's. She landed hard against his chest. Although instinct urged her to struggle, she suppressed it with the reminder that she was here to get Bernart an heir.
    Ere the night was over, she was going to come even nearer to Gabriel.
    "Who might you be?" he asked, his voice thick and slurred.
    He was drunk, though not so much that he mistook her for Nesta. Juliana had hoped he would simply do the deed and be done with it, but it seemed he had no intention of making this less difficult for her. How was she to answer him? As she searched for some way that would not reveal her, he settled a hand to her buttocks and pulled her fully onto his lap.
    His scent was entirely different from that which had assailed her ere the commencement of the tournament. Never would she have guessed he smelled of pine needles, grass, a warm breeze—
    "Have you no tongue?" he asked, his breath fanning her cheek.
    —and wine. Hopefully enough that, come the morn, he would remember little of her visit.
    "Wench?" He drew a hand from her buttocks to her waist.
    At least he believed her to be a serving girl, Juliana consoled herself. However, there was no consolation in his touch. She felt it as surely as if it were his bare skin against hers—strangely disturbing, though not repulsive as expected.
    Reminding herself that Gabriel awaited a response, that if she did not give one he might drag her into the light, Juliana did something she would never have believed herself capable of. She pressed a hand to that place to which she would soon submit. Beneath his tunic, Gabriel surged against her palm. As much as she wanted to wrench her hand away, she held it there,