A/N: Hi! Well this serves somehow the purpose of a gap filling chap, but it also contains some new info. Hope you all like it. Have a nice day and please enjoy!
Chapter 8: First Fire, Then Ice
The ride back home was accompanied by silence. Neither he nor she said a word inside the dark carriage. All the time she tried to think of something to say, of some way to open the discussion, but her mind would not concentrate, her lips not open.
He was sitting opposite to her, staring outside the window into the grey and blue landscape, his chin leaning against his hand.
After a while she could no longer bare it. "So, you are the duke of Bedford?" No answer, only a nod. She tried it again. "Does that mean you have an estate in Bedfordshire?"
"Yes. Woburn Abbey." He still refused to look at her and she was not sure why.
She nodded, more to herself than to him. It was strange that she all of a sudden felt so shy around him. "And may I…may I ask how you come to own an estate normally owned by heirs of the duchy?"
"Easily. I brought the actual duke in 1495 to sign his belongings to me, including his titles. John Tudor died that year and as there wasn't a legitimate heir left behind I remained number one in his will." His voice sounded strangely absent. As if he were not sitting in front of her, but miles away.
Her eyes widened. "You became his heir? But how? Did you just go to him and asked for the peerage?"
His soft chuckle sent shivers down her spine. "No. But as his physician I had access to him all of the time. It's amusingly easy to persuade a man who is in delirium."
"His physician?"
Finally he turned his head towards her. "It was the time after my second voyage to the Middle East. I had to spend the years doing something, so why not study medicine?"
A smile appeared on her lips as pictures of him healing the ailments of people rushed through her mind. This did not go unnoticed and to her relief he returned the smile. "What's so funny?" His voice was light again and, though barely more than a whisper, she could hear the humor in it.
Georgiana shook her head. "Nothing, it's just…Why would you need to study medicine with Clarice at your side?" She thought about the short elderly woman with her hundreds of different potions and medicines.
Clarice had been the housekeeper of Cináed's château in the Provence and, as she later had learned, also his confident. She knew every thing about him, from the part of his being half demon to the curse that had bound him to a life as a predator. The witch had been there from the start…well at least Georgiana called her a witch, as she had never asked the old lady about her own story.
It had been Clarice who had saved him with her talents after Antoine had nearly killed him. It was her who had done the impossible, but under one condition…Cináed was no werewolf anymore. Nor did the demonic part inside of him exist any longer. He was human. Fully human. Something he had never been before.
He seemed to think about his response. "Well, I guess you could've called me bored, but the fact is that Clarice was not always there. She too had duties of her own and they did not involve me. And anyway" His eyes sparkled in the darkness with happy memories. "The Arabs had and still have a far superior knowledge of science. While Europe forgot all the progress it had made during the antiquity the Middle East and parts of Asia worked with it and brought it to perfection."
His voice was so full with experience, so soft with respect. Once more she was reminded of his true age. While she only read about these far away places he had actually seen them. He had been there, spoke a dozen languages.
"Are you sad that you will no longer have the opportunity to do such things?"
She really should not have asked that. All of a sudden a shadow pulled itself over his features, the smile vanished. But as soon as the shadow had appeared it disappeared again. He leaned forth and took both her hands into his left one. "Not as long as I have you."
Luckily it was dark or she would have felt even more embarrassed, for she was sure her face was beaming red. She bit down on her lip, but it did not help prevent the wide smile from placing itself upon her lips. Her hand in his she placed a kiss upon his knuckles. Only when she looked up into his eyes the smile disappeared.
Silent his eyes bore into her soul, into her very core. Like two gigantic waves they glistened in the silver moonlight. She could see into them, could see hat every one of his words had been spoken in earnest. And she felt a trembling in her muscles that had nothing to do with the crisp night air.
She did not realize that his face came closer and closer, too occupied was she by the brilliance of his mercury eyes.
His nose brushed delicately against hers, his hand laid itself over the curve of her nape. His other hand did not let go of both of her hands and her eyes closed on their own command. She had no control over her body.
When his lips pressed themselves against hers it felt as if she were in a pit of fire. Her whole body burned and from her throat a deep and satisfied sigh escaped. The hand on her nape rose, buried itself in her curls, while his tongue traced her lower lip.
Finally! Her breath quickened, and she could sense his chest rise and fall in a equally rushed manner, as he pressed his body against hers.
It was as if a bucket full with ice water fell over her head. In less than a second he was on far corner of the carriage, his breath coming jerky. Moments later the carriage door was opened and he rushed, almost ran outside, leaving Georgiana baffled and gasping for air.
It took her a moment to adjust and her hand rose up to her head. Thank God she had not asked Isabeau for a more complex coiffure that afternoon. Her hair was a little disheveled, but no one would notice. Or at least she hoped so.
But what had that just been? Why had he practically raced out of the vehicle without a word of explanation? Her breathing was still coming out hard and her knees felt a bit weak on climbing out of the carriage and up the entrance stairs.
He had finally kissed her. Really kissed her, the way couples should kiss. But then why did he look as if he wanted to run from her?
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The next morning she could not find him. No trace of him in neither his study, nor the library or the garden. He did not join her for lunch and dinner as well was spent alone. The servants did not know more than her and she grew worried.
Had she done something wrong? But he had been the one kissing her, not the other way around. It had been on his initiative.
A little voice sneaked into her head. Evil and lying. "He surely has never run away from the others."
She heard Lady Margret whisper into her ear. "This man has more children than the king and the prince together." No, lies!
And she fought against the voice, cursed it. How could she think that? Cináed loved her! Yes, she may be not his first, but she was certainly more important to him than all the rest…right?
