Midnight Eyes. Sarah Brophy
satisfied noise. “In fact the food is amongst the best I have ever tasted.”
“I’m sure it is,” she said stiffly.
“Then why don’t you try some? You might surprise yourself and actually enjoy it.” He lifted a fragrant morsel from his plate and placed it near her face. He dropped his voice suggestively. “But if it’s not the enjoying that you like, if you find your pleasure in pain and denial, well, then, as your husband I’m sure I can accommodate you.”
“I’m sure you can,” Imogen said through clenched teeth, “but I’m not abstaining for my own personal pleasure. I can’t see where the meal is to eat it.” She lowered her eyes and drew in a deep breath, wincing slightly as she was once more assaulted by the scents rising from the feast. “I haven’t eaten in front of anyone since the…accident. It’s not a pretty sight and I can’t say I have any desire to make a spectacle of myself in front of the whole district solely for your own perverse amusement.”
Robert’s languid cynicism died. He felt a flush of shame heat his face as he realized just how great a mistake he had made.
He hadn’t meant the dinner to be a torture. The hollow feeling of failure opened in his gut. She now not only thought of him as part of Roger’s plan, but also as the oaf who had brought her into a roomful of food to starve.
“Why didn’t you say something earlier?” he said quietly, trying unsuccessfully to hide his embarrassment.
She shrugged her shoulders with a seeming carelessness, her hands clasping more tightly in her lap. “I didn’t see the point.”
“The point,” Robert said with careful slowness, “would have been that you wouldn’t have had to sit there like a martyr, starving at your own wedding feast, if you had mentioned it to me.”
He picked up his own empty plate and began refilling it with the most tempting delicacies and he reached over and filled his goblet with wine. With economical, deliberate movements he carefully loaded a spoon with roast boar and brought it to her lips, trying not to notice the way they seemed to glow rose-red in the candlelight. “Open your mouth, Imogen,” he said huskily, and was unable to stop himself leaning a little closer so that he could bathe himself in the perfume from her hair.
“No…” she started to stay but he took advantage of the moment and shoved the spoon into her open mouth. He couldn’t help but be smugly pleased that he had left her with only two options. She could either spit out the tasty meat and draw attention to herself, or she could eat it.
Robert watched with amusement as she began militantly chewing the meat, grinding it with her teeth as if it was her enemy, swallowing it with exaggerated grimaces.
“I won’t be treated like a child.” Her voice quivered with irritation and outraged dignity. “It’s not…” Ignoring the diatribe, Robert took advantage of her open mouth to pop in a small piece of herb bread. He had to hastily pull his fingers back to avoid the sharp little teeth Imogen brought closed with a snap. A blush of anger flagged her cheeks red as she once more began chewing.
“Trust me, Imogen, I will keep feeding you. Eat and we can argue about it later,” Robert said soothingly. “It’s always a lot more fun to fight on a full stomach, I find. I never meant you to starve, so let me make it up to you so I don’t have to feel guilty for too long. That’s a good girl, hmmm?”
She opened her mouth to speak, but closed it too quickly for Robert to get any food inside. He let out a deep chuckle of appreciation, even as he sighed in exasperation.
“I’ll have to remember that you are no fool. I only got to pull the same stunt twice before you spotted it. You’re obviously going to prove to be quite a test on my creativity.”
Imogen could well hear the smile in Robert’s rich voice, and the open sincerity of it drew a small answering smile from her.
Robert realized helplessly that he was in very grave danger of having his heart snared by the single dimple that danced on her cheek. Never before had he ever worried whether a woman had a sense of humor or not but found himself inordinately pleased that Imogen seemed to.
“Please eat some more,” Robert whispered huskily in her ear. “I find I like to watch you eat.” It was true. There was no denying the primitive satisfaction to be found in feeding one’s wife.
Imogen smiled a little broader. “How can I say no to my lord, when my lord has quite clearly lost some very important parts of his mind?” She opened her mouth and closed her eyes with all the appearance of wifely obedience.
Robert’s eyes were drawn to her open lips, to the way they glistened in the candlelight. They looked tempting, lush and infinitely kissable. Lust, pure and compelling, slammed through him, momentarily depriving his lungs of air.
“Well, your lord has certainly lost control of something,” Robert growled with awe as he reached blindly for some food.
His gaze never wavered as he slid a piece of spiced apple over her waiting lips. Indeed, he watched in rapt fascination as her pearly teeth closed again, more slowly this time, biting into the soft flesh of the fruit. A little of the juice trickled from her lips, and she licked it away with the tip of her tongue.
Robert could barely contain a groan. By God, he thought with astonishment, he was on fire! He had never felt anything like this intensity, and over so innocent a thing!
He had truly thought until this moment that he had experienced all the shades of lust there were. This white-hot burning, however, was unique to his experience. The simple lust that he had always associated with sex had suddenly taken on a tangled web of other, entirely foreign emotions. They seemed to tighten around him till he no longer wanted to escape them. He was in torment.
No more.
He surged suddenly to his feet, not caring if his advanced state of arousal was evident to all or not. He barely noticed that he had knocked over his chair. Imogen flinched, startled by the suddenness of his movements and by the sharpness of wood hitting wood. She turned quickly toward the noise.
“Robert, what happened?”
“Madam, I’m through with eating,” he ground out.
“But I’ve barely started,” she squeaked, her brow furrowing with her confusion.
He reached for her hand, pulling her to her feet and after he had helped her down from the dais, he began to stride from the hall, ignoring the hooting and ribald comments that followed them.
As he pulled on her arm, Imogen had to run to keep up with his longer strides. He slowed down only after the second time she stumbled. Slowed, but wouldn’t be deterred from his ultimate objective. She yelled at him and tried to tug her hand free, but could not catch his attention until they were at at the bottom of the stairs.
He turned, despite the demon that rode him mercilessly, and even managed a smile at the innocent bewilderment on her face.
“Sir, this is madness,” she said breathlessly, all the while trying to reclaim her hand, which remained resolutely held in the warmth of his. It took only a slight tug for Robert to bring her body up to the burning heat of his. The silent sliding movement of her skirts over his thighs was almost his complete undoing.
“This might be madness,” he said hoarsely as he bent and placed an arm under her knees and swung her up to his chest, “but it is a divine madness, Wife.”
She let out a small squeak of protest, but as she felt his powerful strides start up the complaining stairs, she suddenly felt calm. Held against the warmth of his broad chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart, she almost dared to feel safe for the first time since her parents died. For this one, precious moment it was as if Roger and his dark games didn’t exist.
She was amazed to find herself actually snuggling herself against him. Her mind struggled to equate this strange behavior with the terror of her dark memories. She should be running, freezing, screaming or any of the things she did when Roger touched her, but somehow,