Defy Not the Heart (15 page)

And then he frowned again, realizing how cleverly she had got him to admit to wanting her, getting her compliment after all, when all he really felt was momentary lust. It was only lust, was it not? Certainly. Any woman would do to satisfy this craving, even though
she
had caused it. Then why had he forced her to leave the festivities below, when he could have slipped away for a few moments with any likely wench and not have been missed in such a crowd?

He was startled from his thoughts by her fingertips on his brow. “Why do you do that?” she asked.

“What?”

“Frown so often, for no apparent reason. Do you know I have never seen you smile?”

“You want smiles, lady, you should have married Walter,” he replied sourly.

“Aye, he does have a certain merry charm, that one—but I married you.”

“So you did, but why did you? And I want the truth this time, lady, for ’twas not a matter of me or Rothwell being your only choices. You had ample opportunity to put me aside since you returned here.”

“But you heard what I told my vassals. That
was
the truth, Ranulf. I felt you were the better choice for Clydon.”

“And yourself?”

“Clydon comes first.”

It had taken her a moment to answer, and the answer was most unsatisfactory. But he supposed he had
better not hold his breath either, waiting for compliments from her. She had never in any way given him reason to think she wanted him for herself. She was the first woman he had ever met who did not look at him with at least
some
interest, sexual or not. And he had married her, a woman who showed fear when she should not, boldness when she should be afeard, a woman who would rather avoid him, especially his bed, when other women fought to get into it. Well, she was in it now, and whether she liked it or not, he would have her.

“Are you still afraid?” he asked tersely.

“Nay.”

“Good, because you have put me off long enough with this silliness.”

“I do not think ’twas—”

“Christ’s toes, do not argue
now
, lady!”

She made a noise that sounded suspiciously like a giggle, but he did not care anymore. He had held his lust in check this long because, in truth, he did not
want
her to be afraid of him, at least not in bed. But as he talked her into relaxing, that fluff of hair between her legs had drawn his eyes repeatedly. Black gloss against pale white skin, ’twas a magnet for his eyes—and his touch, which he gave into now.

She sucked in her breath sharply as his finger slipped inside her. But that was not why Ranulf progressed no further. She was dry, without a drop of moisture to encourage him, something else he had never encountered before.

Even knowing what was to happen, she had not been ready for him, nor was she now, a frustrating development considering his own need had not diminished in the least. And what did he know about
arousing a woman, especially a lady? Most times
he
was the one not ready, not the other way around. But he should have expected this from a woman who was so completely indifferent to him.

And then a new thought occurred to him, and he glanced at her sharply, demanding, “Were you this unprepared for me last time?”

If she was, her pain would have been so much the worse for it, which would account for her reluctance now, and her earlier fear. Yet his answer was a blush that spread even across her lovely breasts, and this was a lady who did not blush at plain speaking.

Was he wrong? Was the little general not as immune to him as she seemed to be? Even as he wondered that, his finger became drenched with warm moisture, though he had not moved it further, and her blush darkened even more.

His laughter was spontaneous, he was so relieved and, in truth, delighted. It surprised his wife and made her look at him as if he were mad, but he did not care.

“Is—is aught wrong, my lord?”

“Nay, ’tis just right.”

He sat back to tackle his laces, though his eyes remained on her. Although he did not remember it, once again his impatient fingers broke the ties to shed the rest of his clothing. And he was impatient again. She wanted him. So he was not just for Clydon. Hah! The little witch would not give an inch, would make him think anything but the truth, but some things were impossible to hide, and she knew that now.

“If you intend—” she began nervously, then started over. “Will you not close the curtains first?”

“Later,” Ranulf said.

He disallowed further questions by covering her mouth with his as he moved over her into position. And she tasted so good…how could he have forgotten that?…that he delayed entering her—until her tiny hands hesitantly circled his neck. His undoing, that small response from her. He plunged into her warmth with a groan. She felt so good!…how could he have forgotten that, too?…so tight, like a soft hand squeezing, pulling him deeper into her.

Ranulf had never felt anything like it before. Of course, he had never experienced a virgin ere this one. But for the first time in his brutish life, he wanted to take his time with a woman, rather than rushing toward what fleeting pleasure could be found.

What had always been no more than a bodily need, just like eating or pissing, now seemed different somehow, and he wanted to savor the feeling. But wanting and doing do not always mix, and he found, in this case, that his body was not willing to hold off, could not hold off. And he no longer cared as he became mindless in the throes of the most incredible climax of his life, vaguely hearing a roar loud enough to shake the rafters, unaware it was his own.

T
he window embrasure was shadowed still, and cool with the night air emanating through the costly glass panes. Reina sat on the fur-covered seat, arms wrapped about legs drawn up close to her chest, chin resting on one knee as she stared pensively at a sky turning slowly to mauve, now lavender. Her husband still slept, had slept peacefully all night long, commencing the moment he rolled off her last night. She had not been so fortunate.

Long hours she had lain next to him listening to his soft, even breathing. She had hoped he would snore loudly so she would have something to complain about, since she could not complain about what was really bothering her, but he did not give her that satisfaction any more than he had satisfied her earlier. She had come so close to—what? She was not sure, but it had to have been worth having if it could produce the primeval roar of pleasure when
he
got it—whatever it was.

It had been so different this time without the pain, so nice having that part of him inside her. She had felt so strange, but it was not a frightening feeling; warm and languid at first, and that fluttering in her belly had come again. Then the warmth got hotter, for some reason breathing became difficult, and something had started to build deep inside her, centering in her loins, something so very, very pleasant.
And then it was over, and she had felt such keen frustration to have those feelings ended that she had almost hit her instantly sleeping husband.

But she was not mad enough to do
that
. And the frustration had not lasted all that long. ’Twas other thoughts that had kept her awake, thoughts about that strange conversation they had had.

The whole thing had a quality of unreality to it as she recalled it. She would never have believed Ranulf would show concern for her nervous fear, but he had. And he had been so amusing, claiming he was no different from any other man, when he was not only a giant but an exceedingly handsome one. But then to say his impatience had stemmed from being denied something he wanted. Her? She could not credit it.

She knew she was not beautiful. Her mouth was too wide and full for her small face, her hair an ugly black, her breasts so small they were not worth noticing. Her skin was good, her one saving grace, and people always seemed to notice her eyes first; whether that was good or bad she did not know. She could pass for pretty on her better days, she supposed, but that would be generous. She had servants more pretty, some truly beautiful like Eadwina. And she had seen for herself the type of woman Ranulf found attractive. She did not even come close.

So why would a man as magnificent-looking as Ranulf Fitz Hugh say such a thing? Her worth was in what she could bring to her marriage, not in herself. She had always known that. And yet he had said it, and for a moment she had felt such heady pleasure in hearing it—before she discredited it.

And then their roles had somehow been reversed. She had listened to him doubting
his
own worth, giv
ing her an inkling of what had been bothering him these past days, that he truly did not believe she could think he was the best man for Clydon. Why would he even care what she thought? That had made no sense at all.

His impatience had then returned and she discovered he really did want her. ’Twas no pretense. The coiled tension in him had been palpable all along, but the reason for it became clear only then, when his hand had followed his eyes to the apex of her womanhood, and her glance in that moment happened to take in the hard bulge in his braies. For whatever reason, last night he had felt a powerful lust for her—probably because she
had
denied him, and he had just warned her he did not deal well with denial.

That triumphant laughter, though, that had so amazed her, she still did not understand, especially coming after that embarrassing question of his about whether she had been unprepared for him last time. He obviously remembered naught of last time or he would not have had to ask. And recalling that she was so prepared for him before brought that same moist warmth into her loins. And then his laughter, the first she had ever heard from him, changing him, making him seem an entirely different man, one not so churlish and gruff and unapproachable.

But it had not lasted. If he had not jumped on her the second time, it still seemed as if he had, in such a feverish haste had he been to have from her whatever it was he got. Remembering that reminded her of the frustration she had felt, and her brows drew together. Would it always be like that, quickly on and quickly off? Was that normal, and the fault her own that she was not fast enough with her responses?

Sounds from the bed drew her attention, and she saw with surprise that daylight had banished all shadows from the room. The lone candle she had lit to don her bedrobe and prepare the evidence on the sheets had sputtered out, but was no longer needed. She had not even thought of those sheets last night, so ’twas fortunate she did awake early, allowing time for the “evidence” to dry before her ladies arrived for the traditional collection of those sheets.

Her twice-wed husband was sitting up in the bed, a frown creasing his brow that did not exactly disappear when he finally located her in the far corner of the window embrasure. “Hiding, lady?”

“In plain sight, my lord?”

His grunt was heard clear across the room. “Why did you not wake me?”

She uncurled her legs and found them stiff, so did not stand up just yet. “’Tis early, though you might wish to rise and dress now. There is no telling how soon our company will arrive.”

“Company? Ah, yes, how could I forget.” It was no question, and it was said most dryly. He looked down then at the few measly drops of blood she had smeared on the sheet next to him, and one golden brow shot upwards. “You do my manhood an injustice, lady, when in truth it wrought from you a full puddle of blood. Mayhap I should have produced the true sheet for inspection.”

She could not believe it. Her grouchy husband making a joke? Or was he joking?

She stepped down into the room slowly. “You—actually kept that sheet?”

“Aye, ’tis in yonder chest, and mayhap you should
fetch it. This deception we have practiced did not sit well with me. I want your men told the truth.”

Her eyes flared for a moment, but then she relaxed. The deception had bothered her, too. And now that her second wedding was accomplished, there was really no need to continue it.

“Aye, they will accept the truth more readily now and be glad to hear it. I will tell them today.” He appeared surprised that she had not argued, but she was not finished. “However, the women are a different matter. In order for speculation not to arise to start gossip, they must be certain you have no doubt about my virtue, and only you can assure them of that. You may deal with the matter of the sheets however you like, but
you
must do it.”

She thought he would balk, he looked so displeased, yet he gave her a curt nod. He was not so hard to deal with after all, which put one of her worries to rest. However, she still was not finished.

“But what I told Sir Henry must stand.”

“What
did
you tell him?”

“That you were my father’s choice for me. ’Twas a deception my father began with Lord Guy, and I will not have him called a liar.”

“
Would
he have approved of me, lady?”

“Aye, I believe he would.”

“So be it.”

“Good. And while we are clearing the air, so to speak, do you not think ’tis time you started calling me by name? You do remember my name?”

“So the little general is back, and with sarcasm, no less. Just what I need to wake up to.”

Reina stiffened. “I do not like
that
name either, husband.”

“What you like is not of much concern to me right now—wife.”

She reassessed her opinion about his being easy to deal with, about as easy as a wild boar, whose temperament could also at times be likened to her husband’s.

“An argument is no way to start the day,” Reina said coldly.

“It suits me fine,” he growled back, just to disagree, she was sure.

“Does it? Just what you need to wake up to, eh?” She threw his own words back at him. “Best I leave you—”

“Where do you go?”

She stopped on the way to the door. “That hardly—”

“Where?”

So already her life was no longer hers to control. That was the one thing she had suspected she might be giving up in choosing him over Richard or John, whom she knew she could have handled with ease.

Reina sighed as she turned back to face him. “Only this robe was brought here last eventide,” she said, indicating the white velvet she had wrapped around her. “I was going to my old chamber to dress, and to arrange to have my belongings moved here whilst we are away on the hunt. Unless, of course, you have changed your mind and prefer not to share these chambers?”

He glowered at the hopeful note that had entered her voice. “You will sleep here, where you belong.”

Just what he had said last night, she recalled. Why was he being obstinate about it when he obviously did not really want her there?

With a nod of acquiescence no less stiff than his had been earlier, Reina continued on her way. She absolutely refused to ask his permission to withdraw. She would stay in this room the rest of her life ere she would do that. He did not stop her again, which should have improved her mood, but did not.

And her mood was certainly not ready for Theo, who was waiting in her chamber to ply her with eager questions.

“Well? How was it this time?”

“You want the gory details, or will a few words do?” she snapped at him.

“So ’twas rough and quick again?”

“Not so rough,” she allowed grudgingly. “But over before I barely knew ’twas begun.”

Theo sat down hard on a stool, his young face a study in disappointment. “So he has not pleasured you yet?”

“Pleasure?” she snorted, heading toward the coffer at the end of the bed. “Tell me something, Theo. Is a woman actually supposed to feel something special when coupling, or is it only a desire to give the man she favors what he wants?”

“You are asking the wrong person, Reina.
I
certainly enjoy it.”

“Well,
I
certainly do not.”

“But you know something is missing, or you would not be this annoyed about it.” He grinned at her. “Ask Wenda. Mayhap she can describe to you what ’tis like for a woman.”

“I do not want to ask Wenda,” she said with a pouting turn to her lips. “Just tell me this. Is it normal for it to be done so quickly?”

“Not normal, nay. But look at it this way, Reina.
That lovely man either pays you the supreme compliment that you so arouse his lust he simply cannot hold off, or—”

“Lackwit, be serious!”

He dodged the shift she threw at him, protesting, “I am. Or, as I was saying, ’tis just his way and he does not care whether you find any pleasure in it or not. Some men are like that, unfortunately.”

“And I am married to one.” She sighed, sitting down on the bed with a bliaut in one hand and a chemise in the other. “What can I do?”

“You can tell him you are not satisfied with his—”

“Are you mad?” she shrieked. “I could not do that!”

Theo shrugged. “Then arouse him again when he is finished. A man is usually always slower the second time.”

That caught her full interest. “You mean—right after?”

“Aye.”

“But he goes to sleep.”

“So you wake him.”

She frowned. “He is not like to appreciate that.”

“He will not mind if you do it right.”

“How? And how do I arouse him?”

“Reina!” He rolled his eyes. “Did your mother tell you naught about pleasuring a husband? You touch him, caress him all over…oh, would that I—” He blushed, but quickly continued. “You caress him—especially where it counts.”

Her eyes widened. “You mean
there?
”

“Just so.”

“Oh, well, I suppose that would not be too diffi
cult.” What was she saying? How could she ever bring herself to do
that?

“Then I will expect to see you smiling on the morrow.”

She glowered at him. “This was only one small problem. You would not believe how insufferably annoying that man can be. If I ever smile again, ’twill be a miracle.”