Royal Enchantment. Sharon AshwoodЧитать онлайн книгу.
I believed you’d find happiness.”
“Happiness?” She gave a mirthless laugh that fired his skin with shame. “You left me alone.”
His anger rose in self-defense, but he held it in check as she lifted her hands in a helpless gesture. “Never mind the past,” she said. “What am I supposed to do now?”
Arthur took a deep breath, then let it out slowly. A moment ago, he’d been certain everything would be fine. He wanted to recapture that mood. “You’re wondering if there’s a role for you here, in this world?”
“Precisely.” She looked ghostly in the soft light, twilight deepening behind her silhouette.
He covered the distance between them in a single stride. The energy of their argument prickled beneath his skin, and it made his hands rough as he grasped her slender waist. She went rigid at his touch, resisting until he ran a hand down her spine. Yes, she needed comfort. Another long stroke and she arched into him, her body remembering his. The skirts of her dress floated around her as he pulled her close.
Relief made him ache as he realized there was still a welcome for him in her arms. Arthur bent his head, murmuring into her ear. “Let me reassure you that there is no one else I would consider as my queen.”
Lashes veiled her eyes, with a hint of mischief lurking beneath her sadness. “And why is that?”
“I wanted you the moment I saw you dancing in your father’s garden. You were everything I was not.”
Her lips quirked. “A girl, you mean?”
He buried his nose in the cloud of her hair, her scent filling his soul. “You knew nothing of the ills of the world. You were innocent.”
She pulled back to search his face. “No one stays that pure. That ignorant.”
“Not when you become a wife,” he said, letting desire sharpen his smile. Then he kissed her.
He was forced to bend while she rose on tiptoe. They flowed into the embrace naturally, her arms winding around his neck. His hands inched down her ribs and over her hips, reclaiming her curves. Desire, already invading his thoughts, pushed its way to the fore.
He kissed her hard, reminding her that he was the master, and yet leaving coaxing nips behind. When they were together like this, there had never been a question about the spark between them. Her mouth opened, welcoming his exploration, letting their tongues twist and mingle. The gentle swell of her breasts pressed into his chest, demanding to be stroked and when he obeyed—even a sovereign sometimes obeyed—a sound of pleasure escaped her throat. Heat tore through his body, making him drive her back against the cool glass door. He held her head, gentle and yet not, as he plundered her mouth. Her fingers twined with his, her body arching up, straining to meet him.
How long the kiss lasted was impossible to know, but the sky was fully dark when they were done. The lights of the city shone behind his Gwen as if this new age had fashioned a celestial crown for his queen. Arthur ached with desire, eager to put his seal on this conquest. It was a healing, yes, and a reunion, but he also wanted her to know beyond doubt that she was his.
He took her hand, pulling her with him until he paused at the door of his bedroom. He touched a switch and a soft light bloomed from the bedside lamp. Praise all the saints that the room was acceptably tidy. He placed his hands on her shoulders, turning her to face him.
Guinevere’s eyes were soft and dazed. “That was quite the kiss, my lord.”
Satisfaction sprawled within him. “There is no need for it to end.”
Her posture shifted. It was a slight thing, but it seemed to put her worlds away. “I think there is.”
Arthur blinked. His need for her was a runaway stallion. Hauling it back took effort. “There is?”
“You want me as your queen. I understand that.”
“And?” Arthur was confused. What more was there to add?
“Is that what I want now, in this new world? Did you ever think to ask?”
She waited, but he had no answer to give. That said enough, and they both knew it. He felt his temper begin to fray beneath the sting of awkwardness. Why should he ask? He was king and she had made her vows when she was little more than a girl.
Then again, was it fair to ask her to keep them when so much had changed?
“You left me behind—not just once, but over and over again.” Guinevere shut her eyes a moment, then met his gaze without retreat. “I know you believed you were doing the right thing. You saw my desire to participate fully in your reign as naive and dangerous because of the fae and magic and the kings who hated the fact you’d conquered them.”
She was completely right. “And?” he asked.
“And nothing, not even an apology, makes up for being considered invisible—dispensable—for so long. I don’t want to be that woman anymore.”
None of what she’d just said made sense to him. He’d never thought of her that way—not in the fashion she meant. “So what is it that you do want?”
“I’ve been in this world for only hours, but what you’ve said intrigues me. You say women have access to education? That they have equality? I’d like to find out what that means.”
“How does that matter? You’re the Queen of Camelot. What more could you desire?”
Gwen caught her breath, as if he’d slapped her. “There is a whole new world in which to answer that question.”
She stepped into the bedroom and closed the door. “Good night.” The words were muffled and very final.
“Gwen!” Chagrined, he pressed his palm against the hard barrier. He’d said the wrong thing. He’d known it the moment the words left his lips. Stupid.
And now the door was firmly closed. Arthur could easily break it down, but that was no answer. Reason demanded that they both cool off before the argument escalated to a fight, but his temper didn’t want to listen. Self-discipline alone made him back away from the blank, infuriating blockade.
Right then, the dragon problem looked simple.
Gwen’s eyes snapped open. Bright sun streamed in the window, pooling on the carpet. Her eyes, sore and sandy from crying herself to sleep, protested against the glare. Squinting, she sat up, mind scrambling to reassemble yesterday’s events. Statue. Merlin. Arthur. Gwen pressed a hand to her head, as if the memories might shatter her skull.
She’d shut Arthur out of his own bedroom. He was her husband. He was the king. What had she been thinking?
Gwen sagged back to the pillows. That was the whole point—she’d been trying to think, and with Arthur charming her, that was hard. He’d kissed her, and the heat of it still simmered under her skin. But bed sport, however delicious, wasn’t the only thing she desired from her husband. She’d pushed him away, but she’d done it in hopes he would consider everything she’d said. If their marriage was to get better, someone had to make the first move.
She wanted Arthur’s conversation, his confidence and his trust. She needed the same respect he gave to his knights. No, she demanded more. He should love her, Guinevere, and not just the idea of a wife or queen.
Gwen clawed her way out from under the covers. It was a large, soft bed, and it took her a moment to put her feet on the floor. When she finally stood, shivering slightly in her thin chemise, she could see the streets beyond the apartment window. She was high up, higher than the tallest towers of Camelot, and the men and women below seemed tiny. How on earth had these people built so many enormously tall buildings, with so much glass and so little stone?
She took a step closer, momentarily hypnotized.