He shook his head as if she was the most unintelligent creature on the face of the earth. Throwing caution to the wind, he threw an arm around her slender waist and pulled her hard against him. Sheridan gasped at the swiftness of the movement, at the shock and delight of being pressed up against his massive torso. He held her fast, a great warm embrace, his face lingering an inch above her own.
“Aye, you silly wench,” he growled. “In case you have not yet understood my meaning, you will marry me. There is no one else on earth worthy of you.”
She’d never been held by a man in this fashion before; the heat, the excitement, was nearly too much to bear. Her heart was racing and her mouth was dry, but all she could think, feel or hear was Sean’s presence around her. It was an all-encompassing, all-consuming sensation.
His lips came down on her mouth, softly at first, but more insistently by the second. It was hot, warm, and deliciously wet. When he spoke, his lips were against her own.
“Agree with me,” he commanded softly.
“I cannot,” she breathed.
He kissed her again, hard. “Aye, you can. Agree to marry me.”
His kisses had her head swimming. “Agree?” she repeated stupidly.
“Aye,” he kissed her again, his tongue moving along her lower lip. “Say yes.”
“Yes?”
He gently suckled her lower lip when his tongue was done playing with her. “Good girl,” he murmured. “Now, I will see you at the feast tonight.”
With one more succulent kiss, he was gone. The door closed and Sheridan stood there for one solid minute before she realized that he had left. The only thought she could manage to grasp was one of shock.
What have I done?
*
When Sean returnedto John’s apartments, he lingered out of sight for a nominal amount of time before making his presence known. It was his usual method of operation so that the king, and others, would not know his pattern of coming and going. There was far too much spying going on between noble and king, soldiers and officers, and he did not want to get caught up in that foolishness. There were those who had tried to watch his movements over the years but they had only come to embarrassment or, in some cases, harm. Sean de Lara was not a man to be watched or monitored. It was best if no one tried.
Even as he lingered in John’s receiving room, watching the king hold audience with some of his more loyal barons, his mind was elsewhere. Thoughts of the fairest maiden in all the land filled his brain, numbing him to the activities going on in the room. The king was angry about something; that much was obvious. Sean watched his furious actions but did not hear his words. The only words he could hear, at the moment, were his own.
You will marry me.
He wasn’t sure where those words sprang from, but they had come nonetheless. He was not sorry in the least, though he was still rather surprised. He’d never considered himself the marriageable type. His work was his wife, the needs of the king his mistress, and there was no room for anything else. He hadn’t even thought on the implications of his proposal or command, whichever one chose to call it. Sheridan St. James was an heiress, and a very wealthy one at that. She was governed by the Bishop of Bath and Glastonbury, the very man who was in the vault at the moment under arrest. Sean could only imagine how the bishop would react when all of this came to light. He knew that Sheridan would not be the one to tell him. It would be Sean.
What he refused to entertain at the moment were thoughts of what it would mean to the king. The term traitor came to mind. He suspected the king would never fully trust him again, yet he also knew that the man would eventually see the political benefit of such a union. He was also fully aware that John would view his wife as something of communal property; it was the thought that disturbed him the most. The political aspect, he could deal with. But his wife would most certainly not be communal property. For that reason, and that reason alone, he would be more than willing to keep the union secret. The less John knew the safer Sheridan would be.
But he could not ignore the fact that the political connotations were almost unfathomable. For a man that had made politics his life’s work, it was strange that the politics of such a union, at the moment, did not overly concern him. Sheridan St. James could have nothing but the clothes on her back for all he cared; he wasn’t interested in her wealth or political connections. All he knew was that, from the moment he first spoke to the woman, she cleared all else from his mind like a divine flood, washing away the old in favor of the new. He’d hardly spent more than an hour of combined time with her, but still, that time had been nothing like he’d ever experienced. She made him feel alive and warm. She made him feel that life was worth living. He wanted to feel that way forever.
He was distracted from his thoughts as the king abruptly rose from his gilded chair and began stomping around the room. Sean paid attention, thinking perhaps that it might be wise.
“It will do no good to smack the answer out of Jocelin,” the king was saying. “He’ll not tell us anything and I do not want to risk the wrath of the Church. Already I have pushed them by tossing their bishop in the vault. Even now, I wait for a decree informing me that they have sent word of my actions to Rome.”
Fitz Pons was on the opposite end of the conversation. He tended to be the most cowering, the most acquiescent, so the nobles would use him like a shield when dealing with the king. His submissive disposition usually buffered the king’s unpredictable temperament.
“Sire,” Fitz Pons said. “We know that de Braose arrived this afternoon. I have been told by several reliable sources that he has already met with Hugh de Burgh and the Earl of Salisbury. Given the swiftness of this meeting, I can only surmise that whatever they are planning, they are planning quickly.”
“But what?” John exploded. “I employ legions of spies, the best in the world. Why can no one tell me what this means?”
Sean knew he meant him. But he waited until the king actually addressed him before offering any information.
“De Lara,” he said. “What do you know of this?”
Sean stepped forward, watching the room of men instinctively shift away from him. “I know that when de Braose arrived, Salisbury and de Burgh were waiting for him. They met at a tavern on St. Ciles hoping that they would not be noticed.”
John seemed pleased that his most reliable emissary had current information. “Excellent,” his black eyes glittered. “Do we know what transpired?”
Sean shook his head. “It is not known, sire. But at the conclusion of their meeting, Salisbury set off for Billingsgate House.”