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Not the erotic heat that Lucius Bramwell deliberately stoked in me. He pulled his finger from between my lips and skated his hand downward, rubbing it in deliberately, firm circles over my right breast. His touch sent waves of fire right through the wool serge of my dress. My nipple peaked under his ardent caress and my chest heaved with arousal. ‘Miss Lynley, does this answer your question? Don’t you think my powers of observation would discern the raging whore underneath your prim, lady’s exterior? Don’t you think I’d want some of that for myself?’ He moved closer to me on the settee, leaning over me, grazing his lips across mine. ‘Answer me.’ His musky scent filled my nostrils and I felt drunk as if I’d had too much champagne. ‘Yes,’ I breathed, my eyelids fluttering closed and his hand ventured underneath my skirts, his fingertips teasing the sensitive swollen flesh of my sex over the flimsy linen of my drawers. ‘Yes, what?’ he whispered. ‘What am I to call you?’ His eyes. Whimpering from the pain, he hardly felt the strong hands on both his shoulders bringing him to rest on shaking and weak legs as the blonde giant spoke to the black haired devil. The last thing he felt, was the rush of the cool air around him, the sight of his conquerors, watching his decent into hell. Running back towards Eleanor, Bruni slowed as he saw her knelt by the rushing water, her sobs barely concealed by the noise of the falls. He stilled Ragnar’s approach as he walked gently towards her, watching her hiss in pain as she lifted some of her torn shift to wash the wound on her breast. Startling her as his hand gently held hers, Eleanor fell back into the mud, clutching at the torn tunic with her free hand. ‘Shhhh, child, let me tend to you.’ Bruni whispered, knowing that as she nodded, she knew his language. Taking the rag from her scratched hand, Bruni rinsed it in the rapids, pulling her tunic back enough to see her wound, but keep her modesty and make her comfortable.
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