over hers seemed to be tasting, sipping, absorbing. The hands at her back were holding her as carefully as if she were made of glass. And though she could have easily pulled away, she felt frozen to the spot, mesmerized by the feel of his clever mouth on hers.
He hadn’t meant for any of this to happen. Like all in his family, he’d always known that his temper was a source of trouble, and so he always kept it under tight control. But once loose, it took over his will, taking him places better left untraveled.
At the first touch of her, everything had speeded up. His pulse. His mouth on hers, tasting, devouring. His hands on her body, wanting to touch her everywhere, needing to feel her in every part of himself.
One small section of his mind was shouting a warning. It was midmorning in the queen’s own garden. Any number of people might see them. All his plans could be spoiled by this one foolish act. But another part of his mind ignored the warning. He didn’t want to stop holding her, kissing her. He would pay any price, forfeit any success, to go on like this forever.
He took the kiss deeper and was rewarded by her sigh. Her hands, which had been pushing against his chest, were now clutching him to her. Her body was pressed to his, imprinting itself on his flesh. Her full pouty lips were as eager as his to taste, to feast, to devour.
He was, in the space of a heartbeat, fully aroused. He wanted more. Wanted all. A most dangerous situation, he knew. He needed to step back. To think. To breathe.
Sweet heaven, to breathe.
One last touch, he promised himself as his hands moved along her back, stroking, soothing, exciting. One last kiss, he vowed, as his mouth moved over hers.
At last, drawing on all his control, he managed to lift his head.
Filling his lungs with air he took a step back, breaking contact. “Let that be a lesson to you, Emma. Even the most charming of rogues has a limit to his patience.”
“Aye. A rogue. An arrogant, pigheaded....” Her words came out in a rush, threatening to choke her. She would never let him know how difficult it was to speak. “But there is nothing charming about you, Conor O’Neil. And I’ll remind you that I am not one of those brainless little butterflies who flit around the men at court, hoping to play at love. If I were, it would be with a heroic figure, like...like Heaven’s Avenger, who saves helpless maidens, and certainly not with the likes of you.”
She drew back her hand to slap his face. Reading her intention, he caught it and dragged her close.
His breath was hot against her cheek as he whispered, “Aye. That’s why you refused to cooperate in that kiss, isn’t it, Emma?”
She was stung by his jibe. It hit too close to the mark. She knew she’d wanted what he’d offered, and had made no move to stop him. But now that she had her wits about her once more, she was feeling shamed and embarrassed. It was one thing to pretend to be interested in him, in order to learn his secrets. It was quite another to allow herself to get caught up in any real emotion for this man.
In order to cover her rush of feelings she said, “You’re no better than Dunstan. Like him, you think all women will fall at your feet. Well, I’m not the queen, blushing and giggling at your every word, Conor O’Neil. I intend to save myself for a real man, not some pompous peacock.”
She turned and caught at her skirts, racing as fast as she could toward the palace. Leaving him standing alone in the sun-drenched garden. With the taste of her still on his lips. And the scent of her filling his lungs.
Chapter Five
“Good morrow, sir.” The stable lad had seen Conor coming and was already leading his mount from the stall.
“Good morrow, Meade. I hope you haven’t forgotten that the queen will be joining me.”
“Nay, sir. I’ve forgotten nothing.” The boy’s smile was dazzling. It was a rare opportunity to serve his monarch. “I have Her Majesty’s mount saddled and ready. And a third horse suitable for the young lady you mentioned.” He looked beyond Conor. “I believe this must be your young lady now.”
Conor turned. Emma was striding toward him, looking slightly uncomfortable in a heavy riding gown the color of green leaves. As with all her clothing, it was obviously borrowed from one of the other ladies-in-waiting, since it was as ill-fitting as the others. Her long hair was tied back with matching ribbons. Perched on her head was a most fetching bonnet, adorned with feathers and lace.
When she drew close he called, “Good morrow, Emma.”
“Good morrow, Conor.” She avoided his eyes, feeling the old shyness take hold. She had managed to avoid him since that scene in the garden yesterday. But this morning she had awakened with a sense of excitement. It wasn’t the knowledge that she would be spending time in this man’s company that had her pulse racing. After all, she could hardly tolerate Conor O’Neil. She was convinced that her eagerness was really caused by the opportunity to ride in the open air.
The stable boy led a spirited mare from its stall, and Conor studied the horse with suspicion. “Are you certain you want such a headstrong animal, Emma?”
“I’ve told you I’m an accomplished rider.”
“Very well.” He offered his hands, and she placed one dainty foot in them. She was boosted into the sidesaddle, where she quickly arranged her skirts. The heat she’d felt at his touch was merely generated by the excitement of the ride, she assured herself.
As for Conor, he took a moment to enjoy the sight of shapely ankles and legs, before her skirts tumbled down to hide the view. When he heard the sounds signalling the arrival of the queen, he turned.
Elizabeth bustled along the walkway, accompanied by a maid, a footman, a butler and several ladies-in-waiting, who were all talking at once.
“Good morrow, Majesty.” Conor bowed. “Will we saddle more horses for the others?”
“Conor. Emma.” Elizabeth, in high spirits, lifted a hand in greeting. “Nay, these others have merely come to see me off on my little adventure.” She studied Conor and added, “How is it that you manage to look so handsome this early in the morning?”
“The same way you manage to look so regal, Majesty.” Conor cast an admiring glance at her scarlet riding gown with matching jacket and hat.
“Ah. I see.” Elizabeth gave him a knowing smile. “You were born to it?”
From her position in the saddle, Emma gritted her teeth. The queen and her Irishman were equally adept at flattery.
Conor merely laughed and turned to the stable lad. “Fetch the queen’s mount, Meade.”
When the horse was led from its stall Conor said, “I hope the chestnut mare meets with your approval.”
“Aye. And well she should. She was a gift from Philip of Spain. He was hoping to win favor so that he might press for a betrothal.” She gave Conor a sideways glance as he helped her into the saddle. “Does that bother you, my Irish rogue?”
“That the King of Spain desired you? Nay, madam. All the world desires Elizabeth of England.”
She laughed as he stepped back and her maid
