Virginia Henley Read online

  Kate pursed her lips and shook her head. “’Tis different for everyone, but from what I’ve heard, a woman fares better at the hands of a man with experience. Untried youths make the worst bridegrooms in the world. ’Tis all fumbling and pain and over with before ’tis properly begun. Alice, don’t you dare faint again!” Kate admonished.

  There was a knock upon the chamber door. “That must be Ravenspur’s man, Kate. Give him this, and go with him to see that they’re away from here before the midday meal.”

  The day lasted a thousand hours for Ravenspur. Each one crawled past at a snail’s pace. His eyes never left the sky as he watched for dusk to descend.

  Roseanna’s afternoon sped past, hastened by a lively altercation between Kate Kendall and Mr. Burke. It seemed that in his efficient way, he had transferred Lady Ravenspur’s belongings to the master’s bedchamber. He got a mouthful of venom for his effort.

  “Mr. Burke,” pointed out Kate with the stubbornness of a terrier, “I and I alone see to Lady Ravenspur’s belongings.”

  “Mrs. Kendall,” he pointed out with the sweetness only an Irishman could muster, “I’ve been steward of the Ravenspur castles for twenty years. The baron likes the way I do things. Kindly stand aside.”

  “Put one foot across this threshold, and I’ll shove you on your Irish arse,” she threatened.

  “’Tis easy to see how the master mistook you for a dragon,” he retorted.

  “Mr. Burke, I’ve been insulted by experts. Don’t delude yourself that your pathetic little barbs will find their mark.”

  “Because your hide, no doubt, like your skull, is as thick as that of a rhinoceros.” He smiled.

  Kate Kendall snorted like a gored bull. “Manners— pigs have none!” Then she addressed the world at large. “Every nation has its vermin, and I suppose the Irish are ours! Well, Mr. Burke, you may smile, but we shall have the last laugh. For you and your exalted baron are laboring under the idea that Lady Ravenspur is moving to the master bedchamber permanently. Such is a misapprehension,” she said sweetly. “One night only, Mr. Burke, and since you insist on running errands, you may take this bedgown and these toilet articles. The rest stays here!”

  Roseanna choked back her laughter. The two of them went at it like herself and Ravenspur. Her conscience smote her, however, when she glimpsed the look of despair on Alice’s face. The poor girl hated noisy scenes between people who were stubbornly arrogant and flamboyant, but it seemed the young girl was surrounded by nothing but such people. “Come, Alice, let’s visit Rebecca’s chambers. You need a dose of peace and quiet, and that’s probably the only place we’ll find it around here.”

  Before the evening meal, Roseanna bathed and dressed in the most demure gown she owned. Then she bravely held her head high and joined her husband in the dining hall. His eyes caressed her, causing her heart to race at a frantic pace. She forced herself to breathe slowly so that she appeared cool and serene. She wore a silk apricot underdress with a high frilled neck and long, flowing sleeves. Over it she wore a deep amber tunic with a beaten gold girdle around her hips. Her hair was held back by a circlet of beaten gold.

  Ravenspur’s fingers ached to touch her; he let them have their way. He brushed them across her girdle and said, “You have so many pretty things, Roseanna. I am at a loss what to give you for a present.”

  “My mother designs jewelry, so I have a coffer filled with it.” She gave him a sideways glance and said, “You don’t need to give me presents. I will be satisfied if you pay me what you owe me.” Her shafts and barbs had begun.

  His eyes crinkled with laughter, and he teased, “And I will be satisfied if you pay me what you owe me.”

  She didn’t challenge his words but let them slip past as if they were unheard. She let her eyes roam around the hall; it was safer than looking at her husband. “Your captain—Kelly is his name? Is he related to you in any way? For a moment I thought he was Tristan.”

  He grinned at her. “Not that I know of, unless he’s one of my father’s by-blows.”

  For one brief moment she thought he was deliberately insulting her and she stiffened. Then she let out her breath as she realized he could not know she was the King’s by-blow. He was simply trying to shock her, so the last reaction she should give was shock. She pierced him with a glance. “Lechery runs in the family, then?”

  The comer of his mouth twitched. What could he say when she had almost caught him in the act? “Tristan has a bit of a reputation,” he conceded.

  She gasped at his audacity. “I’ve been giving his poor wife advice. Perhaps between Rebecca and me we can cure him of his philandering.”

  “He should return from Ravenscar tomorrow,” he said.

  “Good,” replied Roseanna.

  An eyebrow cocked quizzically. “You’ve missed the young devil?”

  She smiled serenely. “No. It’s just that the sooner he returns, the sooner you will leave for Ravenglass.” She looked pleased with that barbed arrow and hoped it found its mark.

  His eyes lingered on her mouth. He didn’t need to tell her that he intended to kiss the insolence from it. In her agitation she dropped her knife. It fell to her plate with a clatter. “Would you care for more venison, my love?” he asked smoothly.

  She looked at him blankly. She couldn’t remember one thing she had eaten during the meal. Her heartbeat thundered so loudly inside her ears that she saw his lips move and then curve into a sensual smile, but she had not heard him. She was about to nod, then thought better of it and shook her head. “No, my lord,” she said, feeling secure with the negative answer. She had missed his words, “Do you wish to cry off?”

  Her negative reply had sent his blood throbbing along his veins, and he felt the familiar tightening and swelling in his groin. He signaled to a page to refill her wine cup.

  She lifted it to her lips and shot another barb. “Is this to give me courage?”

  He shook his head and murmured, “To give you fire!”

  Her cheeks flamed. He was enjoying this game of wits between them, and he had to remember when he finally got her in his bedchamber to go slowly and not let the demands of his body run riot and spoil this night. It was Roseanna’s night, and he vowed to pleasure her and savor the hours of arousal that it would take.

  As the remains of the meal were cleared away and the last dregs drained from the wine cups, Roseanna’s insides fluttered as if they were filled with a million butterfly wings. Frantically her mind searched for a delaying tactic but found none that was plausible.

  As the dining hall emptied, she thought she glimpsed Sir Bryan leaving, and her heart lurched in her breast. If only they had been allowed to marry! Sweet Bryan, her perfect knight. If it were his bed that she was going to tonight, this sick fear that gripped her would be absent. He was so gentle and good, and she suspected that he was as innocent and pure as she was. Why, why hadn’t they allowed her to marry the boy her own age? The golden fair boy who was almost beautiful to look upon? Her eyes flew to Ravenspur’s dark face as he murmured, “Whenever you are ready, Roseanna.”

  She shot him a look of hatred. “I’ll never be ready,” she assured him.

  He pulled back the heavily carved chair to assist her. His face made him look part hawk; his sharp eyes missed nothing. She felt his hand at the small of her back and quickened her pace to draw ahead of him, but his long strides easily kept up with her and the hand remained. Then they were outside his chamber, and she closed her eyes at the sight of the thick, heavy door. The next thing she knew, they were shut in the chamber to spend the first whole night together since they had been married.

  She let out a great sigh as he moved away from her and went across the room. The furniture was made from heavy black walnut, and his large bed dominated the room. Its curtains were dark red velvet, and the deep carpet that covered the floor was patterned in red and black. Her quilted white bedgown lay starkly against the dominant colors of the bed.

  Ravenspur came back to her with t
wo goblets. “I want you to try this wine spiced with myrrh. I think you’ll like it.”

  She had not moved from just inside the door. She asked, “Is it drugged?”

  He masked the hurt he felt and answered her honestly, “No, Roseanna. I would not do such a thing.”

  A low knock sounded behind them, and Ravenspur moved to open the door. Alice stood there, pale but resolute. “I’ve come to help my lady undress,” she whispered.

  Roger said, laughing, “Nay, you’ll not deprive me of that pleasure. I’ll undress her myself.”

  “You will not!” gasped Roseanna, coming out of her trance. “You may go to bed, Alice. I’ll tend to myself.”

  When the door closed, he slipped his arms around her and said, “Again I must overrule you. I will undress you, Roseanna. You have made me wait an eternity for this night, but now that it is here, I intend to have everything I desire. We are going to do things my way tonight, my love, even if you scream your head off,” he taunted.

  “What things?” she asked, suddenly feeling very fragile.

  “Ah, you shouldn’t have left me alone so many nights. I feel like a stallion that hasn’t had a mare in months,” he teased, deftly removing her golden girdle. He slipped the amber tunic from her shoulders, and she stood before him in the thin silk underdress.

  One hand encircled her waist, while the other caressed her deliciously round breasts that swelled up impudently. “These past nights I’ve had nothing to do but he in bed and think up ways for you to pleasure me,” he taunted. “You’re not afraid, are you, sweetheart? What have you got for me under that apricot silk?” As he began to lift off her underdress, she eluded him and fled across the room in her transparent shift. He was after her in a flash and scooped her up squealing; her bare legs thrashed the air.

  “Do you think you are woman enough to satisfy me, Roseanna?” He rubbed her body against his thick, hard shaft.

  “Have you no shame? I am unused to men’s coarse talk,” she panted.

  He bit back a retort about his coarseness. That would be playing directly into her hands. She wanted a knockdown, drag-out confrontation that would set them at each other’s throats, but he had very different ideas about how their night together would be spent.

  He had never believed her lies about not being a virgin, and he had no intention of being too rough with her once he began to make love to her. But he was enjoying taunting her now, drawing out the minutes to savor every second of this mating dance.

  He tore the gauzy garment from her beautiful body and tossed her onto the bed. Her magnificent hair spread all about her like sable fire, and he drank in her nakedness for long minutes. He towered above her and slowly began to strip.

  She would never get used to his nakedness; his size shocked her above all things. Again he taunted, “Surely you’re not afraid of me?”

  Her nervous laughter rang out. “Afraid? That’s one weakness you’ll not lay at my door!” He watched her bemused as she straightened her arms and legs and lay very still upon the bed.

  “I’m ready!” she said in a shaky but determined voice.

  Roger drew back the bed curtains all the way to let in the warmth and light of the fire. Roseanna lay rigid. She kept her eyes scrupulously averted from her husband’s nakedness. He was transfixed by her sacrificial position; she looked for all the world like a vestal virgin.

  She repeated, “I’m ready. Hurry up!”

  Her innocence touched him, and in that moment he vowed never to hurt her. He slipped into the wide bed and pulled the covers over them. The firelight reflecting against the deep red curtains covered her with a rosy glow; he longed to see the bared flesh of her breasts and thighs bathed in its flickering light.

  “Can’t you just get it over with?” she asked.

  “No, my love,” he said softly. “You don’t understand how your body works. If I penetrated you now, there would be only pain and blood and tears. Let me initiate you into the mysteries of lovemaking. Kissing and caressing begin the arousal. Then with my fingers and my lips I have needs of your own that I can fulfill. My pleasure is heightened by yours. It is an allowable intimacy between husband and wife,” he assured her.

  He slipped his arm around her tiny waist and drew her into his embrace. He kissed her for an hour—gentle kisses, soft kisses, short quick kisses, and long, slow, melting kisses. Yet never once did he try to part her lips with his tongue and intrude it into her soft, exciting mouth. She did not respond with kisses of her own, yet she did not pull away from him or resist the warm persuasiveness of his mouth.

  Roseanna was lulled by his magnetic closeness and by the delicious warmth of his body. His gentle lovemaking had not threatened her in any way, and the wine she had consumed and the heat from the fire made her relax against him as his kisses went on and on. A hundred, a thousand, she thought dreamily, floating on the edge of slumber.

  He took his arm away, and she murmured a low protest. Very gently he slipped the covers down from her body so he could see her; then he took her in his arms again and drew her silken flesh against his body’s hardness. She stiffened and tried to pull back, but he stroked her back. With his lips against her temple he murmured, “Don’t be afraid, Roseanna.” He kept it up until he had lulled her into security again. He resumed his kissing. When she sighed with pleasure, he took another risk.

  He allowed the tip of his tongue to touch her lips. When she parted them slightly, he went deeper to play with her tongue and taste the honey of her mouth. Roseanna was stunned. Her body had curved into his as if it belonged there. She had to use all her willpower to stem the urge to lie in his arms and let him go on kissing her forever. Her hands came up to push him away but came in contact with the rigid muscles of his unyielding chest. The strength she felt beneath her hands made her go weak. As her fingers touched the crisp dark hair, she thrilled with the knowledge that he had the widest chest of any man alive.

  With infinite tenderness his hands curved around her breasts to caress and stroke them. His touch clearly showed that her breasts were precious to him. Her hair brushed his cheek, and he buried his face in it, breathing deeply of its delicious fragrance until his very senses reeled. Holding Roseanna in his arms wildly assaulted all of his senses; he groaned with the sheer, deep, unbelievable pleasure she brought him. He had waited all his life for this woman. At thirty-two he had grown cynical, especially where women were concerned; then suddenly, unexpectedly, between one heartbeat and the next, he had fallen madly in love.

  Her hair affected him so sensually, he promised himself that before many nights were over, he would wrap himself in it so they would be bound together by the silken bonds. His hands on her body were awakening new sensations for Roseanna—all new and strange yet deeply pleasurable.

  She knew that what they were doing was wicked. He had stirred her wicked juices, and they flowed hot along all her limbs, sending tingling sensations across her body, weakening her resolve, sapping every ounce of her strength so that she could not resist him.

  His hands went lower to her thighs, stroking the swelling curves of her buttocks. Then he gradually moved his hands until his fingers caressed the insides of her silky thighs. The intimacy brought her up from the bed.

  “No, Ravenspur, you must not!” she cried huskily.

  His powerful arms pressed her down upon her back. “Call me Roger,” he demanded, his lips hot against her throat.

  Her mouth went dry. She could feel his hard shaft throbbing against her thigh. Its size terrified her as it probed, seeking the center of her womanhood. She expected him to pounce on her and was flooded with warm, weakening relief when instead he began to kiss her again. His lovemaking was leisurely and his kisses long, slow, and melting, so there was no sense of urgency.

  She drew in her breath on a quick sob as his fingers touched between her legs. Lightly he played with her triangle of curls, and a deep tingling ache spread upward from between her legs, through her belly, and up toward her breasts. She touched her o
wn breasts and found her nipples standing erect like pointed little spears.

  She must be different from other women, she thought. She enjoyed these wicked, shameful things he was doing to her! She knew she should fight him, but she would also have to fight herself, and the effort was too overwhelming to contemplate. She wanted to lie in the magic circle of his arms and let him evoke one sensation after another until every inch of her skin was sensitive to his touch.

  Now the palm of his hand was massaging the high mount above her pubic bone, and she could hear herself making little moaning noises as the swirling sensations reached ever higher in intensity. Roger slipped one finger inside her warm womanliness. His heart wanted to burst with the joy of what he felt. He had been certain that Roseanna had known no man before him, but now he felt the little barrier that gave him proof. He slipped his finger from her; his mouth moved over her swelling breasts and closed possessively upon the nipple.

  Roseanna was panting and breathless, expecting, wanting, needing, she knew not what. Roger’s long-starved passion was unleashed now. He had crossed the high point of no return.

  He was aflame and lusting as he opened her thighs and lowered his weight onto her. He thrust hard and deep, and she cried out from the unfamiliar pleasure-pain, wondering wildly if she would be able to bear it. His mouth took complete possession of hers, demanding it open to his tongue as her body had opened to his hard, manly boldness. She stopped thinking. She only wanted to feel the fullness of him inside her. As he began to thrust, there came a budding, a blooming as if some rare exotic blossom inside her had opened its petals wider to receive him. Unfurling, uncurling, she arched against him wantonly until suddenly the blossom inside her exploded and splintered into a million fragments. Slowly her senses returned to the point where she again realized where she was.

  Roger lay pressed against her as if they were fused together; his face was buried in her hair. Something cataclysmic had happened. Were they dead? she wondered briefly. After what seemed an eternity, Roger raised his head to look deep into her eyes. “My love,” he whispered raggedly. She could feel the thundering of his heartbeat against her naked breasts.