|
08bc5d9
|
His nostrils flared just a little bit, and the lines bracketing his mouth grew deeper. He snarled with his beautiful, twisted lips and she thought, half on the edge of falling again, she thought he looked like a demon making love to her. A demon fighting for his life or light or possibly redemption.
|
|
raphael-de-chartres
passionate-love
|
Elizabeth Hoyt |
|
10d25d9
|
Her gaze dropped to the right side of his mouth, to the corner of his lip that was permanently pulled into a slight snarl by the edge of the angry scar, and then to the other side of his mouth, to the sensuous curve of his lips. She raised her hand, reaching out to touch that perfect curl. She stilled, her hand hovering, as the sunlight glinted off the ruby ring on her finger. It was a pretty little ring, delicate and made for a woman. In any other circumstances she would've worn it with happiness. Here, though... Well it was almost a mark of possession, wasn't it? Iris inhaled and jerked her hand back before she made contact. This man might be her 'husband' now- courtesy of a series of terrible events and his own stubbornness, but he was still a stranger. A stranger she wasn't even sure she could entirely trust.
|
|
scar
ring
raphael-de-chartres
|
Elizabeth Hoyt |
|
8b812dc
|
"Iris," came a low, smoky snarl from the doorway. "Come here." She felt Hugh's arms tighten around her as she glanced over her shoulder. Raphael stood on the threshold, Ubertino, Bardo, and Ivo behind him. Her husband's eyes were so icy a gray that from where she stood they nearly shone. 'Oh.' His gaze flickered from her to the man holding her. "Unhand. My. Wife." Raphael's face was set and stern, entirely frozen over and it occurred to her- strange thought at the moment- that she'd never heard him really laugh. He'd made only that cawing sound- not joyous laughter at all. Had he ever laughed since he was a boy? Or had his father destroyed all laughter in Raphael that night? It was a terrible thought. Out of the corner of her eye, Iris saw Riley and Jenkins, Hugh's men, sidle closer to her and Hugh. Raphael tracked their movement. The potential for violence seemed suddenly very high."
|
|
raphael-de-chartres
|
Elizabeth Hoyt |
|
f1efe63
|
"She lies!" cried the Fox, and he leapt toward her, his arm raised. The Wolf lunged, seized the Fox's right arm, twisted it up behind his back, and slammed the other man to his knees. Iris stared and felt a tremble shake her body. She'd never seen a man move so swiftly. Nor so brutally. The Wolf bent over his prey, both men panting, their naked bodies sweating. The snout of the Wolf mask pressed against the Fox's vulnerable bent neck. "Don't. Touch. What. Is. Mine."
|
|
raphael-de-chartres
|
Elizabeth Hoyt |
|
6e1baa2
|
"Raphael lifted his good hand- it felt uncommonly heavy- and stirred a finger through the jewels until he found the ring. His hand trembled as he lifted the ring from the box. "Lock it again and give the key ring to Her Excellency." Nicoletta pursed her lips but did as he said. His duchess merely looked bewildered on being handed a key to a treasure box. "It is yours now," he said, his voice... Something was wrong with his breath. He gasped. "As my wife. As my duchess. This is yours as well." He took her hand- so warm in his- and placed the heavy-chained ring on her finger. It wouldn't fit her ring finger- his mother had been a fragile creature with very thin hands. Instead he pushed it onto the smallest finger of her right hand. The sight of it there, glowing gold, the central round ruby burnished with the years it had guarded his mother's family, satisfied something within him. His hand dropped to the bed like lead weights. "Protect her," he whispered to Ubertino as the room darkened. Someone was weeping. Nicoletta? "Promise me. Protect her."
|
|
ring
raphael-de-chartres
|
Elizabeth Hoyt |
|
dc54be6
|
Iris lay there, her eyes closed, her golden hair spread on the pillow, half-turned toward him. She must've been exhausted to have fallen asleep so swiftly. The candlelight sent shadows spilling from the tips of her eyelashes, made her brow and cheeks glow, and left the valley between her breasts in darkness. She was so lovely it felt like a hook digging into his heart, tearing a jagged hole. He turned and went to his traveling trunk, then knelt to open it. Inside, under a layer of folded banyans and pairs of breeches, he found his sketchbook and pencil case. Then he picked up a straight-backed chair and set it down next to the bed. And began to put on paper what he couldn't say in words.
|
|
sketching
iris-de-chartres
raphael-de-chartres
|
Elizabeth Hoyt |
|
f85d630
|
She placed the soapy cloth on his shoulder, briskly stroking over smooth skin, trying not to notice how firm the muscles beneath her fingers were. She kept her gaze strictly on her hand. Still, it was impossible to ignore the elegant sweep of his collarbone, the bulge of his upper arm, the way a single vein ran along the inside of his forearm... She realized that her hand had slowed along his arm. The room was very quiet. Nicoletta had left with the dirty water and Ubertino was somewhere, perhaps fetching more clean water. She and the duke were alone in the bedroom with her hands on his body. She daren't raise her eyes to his. She took his hand in hers and ran the cloth over the veins that roped the back. His fingers were long and strong, and they dwarfed hers, the nails square and pale. She carefully washed each one and then cupped his hand in hers to wash his palm. It was an intimate act. A... caring act. One a mother might perform for a child. Or a woman might perform for her lover. Iris caught her breath and straightened to rinse the cloth. When she turned back her gaze caught his. He was watching her, his crystal eyes half-lidded, his twisted lips parted.
|
|
raphael-de-chartres
|
Elizabeth Hoyt |
|
8ee7ff2
|
She nudged his arm to wash under it, where his dark hair grew in a swirl. Where the scent of his masculinity was the strongest. She shouldn't find this erotic. A lady shouldn't find this erotic. And yet she did. His lifted arms made the muscles move over his ribs stand out in intriguing ridges, and she wanted- rather badly, in fact- to lean down and inhale his scent.
|
|
raphael-de-chartres
|
Elizabeth Hoyt |
|
8f78e26
|
Her breath caught as she swept over his nipple with the cloth. Did he feel that? Did it feel any different from the rest of his skin? Did he feel as she did when cloth brushed over her bare nipples? She dared to peek from under her lowered eyelashes. His nostrils were flared, his eyes mere slits. And his nipple was erect now, a sharp little peak on his chest. It might've been from the cold of the water and the air. Perhaps. She washed down his side and to his waist where the coverlet lay, watching as he sucked his stomach in at her touch. There was a whorl of black hair about his navel that trailed into the depths of the sheets.
|
|
raphael-de-chartres
|
Elizabeth Hoyt |
|
f0bc3ea
|
He appeared to have pushed down the coverlet and undone the first few buttons of his banyan. Sweat had pooled below his throat, just at the junction of his collarbones, and she could see a few black hairs peeking up from the black silk. They were stuck to his chest with the moisture. She'd seen this man naked. She grew warm at the thought. He was so... so... male, even lying here, unconscious and wounded. She could feel the heat rolling off of him, could almost smell his musk, and she had a strange urge to touch that throat...
|
|
raphael-de-chartres
|
Elizabeth Hoyt |
|
ca2059d
|
He was covered, of course, but she knew what lay beneath the sheets- she'd seen him entirely nude at the Lords' revels. She had the image burned into her memory: a proud, thick penis, heavy sac, and curling midnight hair. If the coverlet slipped just a little bit downward, she would see the upper edge of that nest of black hair. The thought made her press her thighs together under her dress. Did he know how his body affected her?
|
|
sexual-desire
raphael-de-chartres
|
Elizabeth Hoyt |
|
bf4a9cf
|
She swallowed. He was covered, of course, but she knew what lay beneath the sheets- she'd seen him entirely nude at the Lords' revels. She had the image burned into her memory: a proud, thick penis, heavy sac, and curling midnight hair. If the coverlet slipped just a little bit downward, she would see the upper edge of that nest of black hair. The thought made her press her thighs together under her dress. Did he know how his body affected her?
|
|
sexual-desire
raphael-de-chartres
|
Elizabeth Hoyt |
|
8aa7797
|
"She had known that he could move quickly. Still it was a shock when she found herself pressed against the back of her seat, his face inches from her. "God's blood, woman, how much control do you think I have?" he whispered, his clove-scented breath brushing her face. "You must think me a saint by the way you harangue me despite my warnings. Listen and listen well: ." "But I don't need a saint," she breathed, her voice trembling. "I don't a saint. I want ." "God forgive me," he snarled, and pulled her mouth to his. His kiss wasn't gentle. He opened her lips with his tongue, invading her angrily. Passionately. How had she ever thought this man uninterested in bedding her? His big, hot body pressed her against the seat and he scraped his teeth over her bottom lip."
|
|
savage
raphael-de-chartres
passionate-kiss
|
Elizabeth Hoyt |
|
689efdc
|
His wide brow, his Roman nose, those too-cold eyes, and the lips that in another life- another, better world- would still have been beautiful. This man was her husband. He was intense and intelligent, arrogant and vulnerable, dark and strange. The more she found out about him, the more she thought that perhaps she might fall in love with him, Raphael de Chartres, the Duke of Dyemore. What was more, he was . And in that she would not fail.
|
|
masculine-beauty
raphael-de-chartres
|
Elizabeth Hoyt |
|
f8bf81f
|
"Raphael walked into the breakfast room at the unfashionable hour of half past nine the next morning and kissed his aunt on her soft cheek. "Good morning, Zia." "Up at last," was her tart reply as she peered at him over her gold spectacles. The remains of Zia Lina's breakfast was already on the table, and he knew well that she'd probably been awake for over an hour. "Perhaps I've grown soft," he said, sitting across from her. Or perhaps he'd woken to silken limbs and a tangle of golden hair and simply wanted to linger for a while in that warm feminine embrace."
|
|
raphael-de-chartres
|
Elizabeth Hoyt |
|
c0e5ef8
|
When he'd woken this morning, her soft limbs entangled with his, he had spent long minutes simply gazing at her in wonder. Her lips were a dark pink and parted softly, and her eyelashes lay against her cheeks like moth wings. She was beautiful and she was determined and he hadn't thought that marriage to her would result in this intimacy. He'd wanted her near, true, for he was a selfish, wicked man, and he didn't particularly like the dark that he lived in. She was to be company- nothing more. But it seemed he'd deceived himself, both about the power of her lure and about his own savage desires. The last thought made him uneasy. Had he frightened her? Had his lovemaking over the last two nights been too... carnal? Too crude for her? He grimaced, looking away from her. He hadn't much experience with gentle ladies, truth be told. Not with a face like his. Not with a past like his. When his baser instincts could no longer be put off, he bought his relief. But if he shocked or repulsed Iris, perhaps that was for the best. She wouldn't be so quick to seek him again, which should make his own resistance easier. Except that even now he found himself leaning infinitesimally toward her as if his body, having once tasted of her fruit, now not only understood hunger, but could be satiated by her and her alone.
|
|
irresistible-woman
iris-de-chartres
raphael-de-chartres
|
Elizabeth Hoyt |
|
cad90d2
|
She felt enthralled by him, enthralled by her own sexuality. He bared something in her that she hadn't even known was there before she married him. Something base, primal. Had it always been there, this fierce drive to ? Or was it something that had been engendered by his touching her? Her touching him? She knew that she should be wary of this part of herself. Ladies were often exhorted to ignore any animal urges. To be polite. Formal. Cold. But the flames of her desire, meeting and burning higher with his compulsion, were intoxicating. It felt . Too good to ignore. Too good to give up. And when his fingers traced the wetness of her vulva, into the depths of her pleasure, she cried out, her eyes still caught with his. He smiled, crooked and sinister because of his scar, but a smile nonetheless. A smile that wasn't exactly nice or gentlemanly. But a smile that was all for her. Only her. No man- no - had ever looked at her so before.
|
|
sexual-desire
lovemaking
raphael-de-chartres
|
Elizabeth Hoyt |
|
0aa7124
|
"This?" He thrust short and hard into her, the impact sending jolts of pleasure through her body. "Yes, that," he murmured to himself as if pleased, and did it again. And again. Until the heat between them combusted. Until she felt hot liquid wash over her limbs. Until she looked up and wondered why she'd ever thought his gray eyes emotionless. He was watching her with passion. With lust. With so much love. She felt tears in her eyes. He groaned above her, his hips jerking without rhythm, but all the while he watched her with those eyes. And when he at last stilled and rested his sweaty forehead against hers, he whispered, "I love you."
|
|
iris-and-raphael
lovemaking
raphael-de-chartres
|
Elizabeth Hoyt |