Masques of Gold (28 page)

The words were familiar enough to bring a flicker of recalled disgust into her mind, but Justin flexed his body, slid her down against him again, and closed his powerful thighs against hers, imprisoning his shaft between her legs. Instinctively, remembering the pleasant sensation, she moved herself against him. Justin groaned softly. To Lissa's surprise the sound, which could not be mistaken for anything but an expression of intense pleasure, and the fact that he closed his eyes, increased the thrill she generated by her movement. She moved again, and again, felt Justin tip her sideways so he could take her breast in his hand and rub the nipple. That drove her harder and faster against him, bending and twisting until she was, it seemed, rent apart by pangs of sensation radiating from where his shaft touched her and encompassing her whole body. She cried out, and he drew her head down and dammed her mouth with his.

Even dazed as she was by astonishment at a pleasure she had heard hinted at often enough but had come nowhere near imagining, Lissa realized her satisfaction could not be the end of the matter. She knew Justin had not been satisfied; he was caressing her breast with even more fervor, his lips clung hungrily to her mouth, and Master Cockrobin was larger and harder than ever. Her body still ringing like a bell with the echoes of her climax, Lissa understood the torment she would inflict by ending, or even delaying, further love play. Still gasping, she rolled over on her back, determined to complete Justin's satisfaction, even though she felt some trepidation about a rod that seemed four times the size of Peter's.

The bread of kindness cast upon the waters does not always provide an immediate return. In this case, Lissa's pure desire to please Justin yielded rich rewards at once—a proof, in the renewal of her own physical delight when Justin entered her smoothly and easily, that she had no need to fear Master Cockrobin, no matter how tall he stood; and, much to her amazement, after Justin worked awhile, a repetition of her full climactic pleasure, even deeper and richer now that she was filled.

When the lassitude and trembling of that second convulsion of joy eased, she sat up and looked down at Justin. “Thank you,” she said.

He opened one eye. “I am not sure yet.”

But Lissa, although wrapped in her own sensations, had not been at all unaware of Justin's soft cries of supplication and praise, of his moans of pleasure, and of the final ecstasy that drove him so hard against her that she felt bruised in places she did not think could be bruised. She knew quite well she had not been found wanting. Thus, his enigmatic remark did not disconcert her at all, and she laughed softly and kissed his lips and said, “Of what?”

“Of whether I will live or not.” He allowed the open eye to shut. “I have never been drained so dry in my life. I thought my blood would leap out after my seed, but you drew me so I could not stop.”

She laughed again. “I wonder how many times you have said that.”

Justin opened both eyes. “Do not be a fool. Since I came to London, more than ten years ago, I have lain with no woman about whose feelings I cared—nor one to whom I was willing to show what I felt.”

“Forgive me,” Lissa murmured, lying down again close against him. “I warned you that I would be jealous.”

“I do not mind that.” Justin chuckled softly. “I am not so much desired that I do not take it as flattery, but why should you not believe me when I tell you that you gave me more joy than I have had in any other coupling?”

“Because you gave me so much pleasure. How could you know what to do if you had not long practice with women?”

“I did not say I was celibate.” He shrugged. “I am no better or worse than any other man, except that I have never thought it safe to have a mistress or repeat too often my visits to any one woman. Familiarity can breed a kind of dependence and a kind of looseness of the tongue, and neither is safe for me. But I did not learn what I did with you from the women I use, or not much of it. I only did what gave me pleasure.”

“I hope my urges have as successful an outcome,” Lissa said thoughtfully, looking down the length of Justin's body, which was outlined under the covers.

“Now?” Justin asked, then his color rose and he added apologetically, “I am sorry. I am not sure I am ready yet.”

Lissa drew her head back to see his face better. “Of course not now! You are not jesting? People begin again? Well, you need not say you are sorry to me. I am sure I am not yet ready. I am just trying to gather strength to get dressed and—”

“Not so soon,” he pleaded, sliding an arm around her and pulling her closer. “Lie here with me in comfort for a little while—or is it not safe? You said your people would not talk.”

“It is safe.” Lissa relaxed against him. “I do not think they will have finished eating below. And even if they are done, no one will come until I call or you go out. Nor will they talk, no matter what they see, hear, or guess. Getting up has nothing to do with them. I was thinking of gathering up the scraps for the beggars—a stupid task that can wait. I have the bad habit of always being busy with something.”

“Then be busy with this,” Justin said, settling Lissa's head comfortably in the hollow of his shoulder. “Why did the mayor insist on appointing a deputy Standard Bearer when the troops London is required to send the king are gone already with FitzWalter?”

After only the briefest hesitation, Lissa replied, “Because the mayor desires more troops to be trained. Plainly a Standard Bearer, deputy or no, must have troops to follow the standard.”

“So I thought myself,” Justin agreed, but his voice was sour.

“You do not like it,” Lissa stated; that was clear enough, but she was not willing to guess further. “Why?”

“Why?” he echoed in surprise. “Do you not smell rotten fish? The city is not as a rule so generous as to prepare troops before the king sends an order, and to have the men trained under FitzWalter's son-by-marriage—”

“Ah, I did not know that,” Lissa interrupted. “If you remember, I stopped you before you told me who was invested as deputy. So it was William de Mandeville, Lady Christina's husband.” She hesitated and then said, “I do smell bad fish. From this and that remark made by Lady Christina in my hearing, I understand Mandeville is married more to FitzWalter than to his daughter. You say FitzWalter's spite against the king is undiminished. The troops will learn to obey orders from Mandeville. Will they know whether those orders support or defy the king?” She hesitated again and then asked, “Justin, is it a safe thing to hold office under this mayor?”

He was silent for a time, then said, “You must not ask me that.” There was another silence, after which he added slowly, “I do not love Roger FitzAdam. He is weak and sometimes surprisingly foolish for a man who has done so well as a merchant. He bends too easily to pressure. I do not know whether he does not understand the result of a large troop in the city that calls Mandeville master or whether there is something else in his mind. In truth, I think it more dangerous to be ignorant than to be close and able to watch what goes forward. But even if that were not so, I do love London and I can see no other way to help protect my city than to hold my place as long as it is possible. If you are fearful, perhaps—”

“Not for myself.” Lissa put her arm over his chest and hugged him. “At least, not more than for any other person in the city if general ill comes of London being set against the king. That is what you fear, is it not?”

“Yes. As I have said before, King John is not a good man, but he has not been a bad master to London.” Justin shrugged suddenly and said briskly, “It is certainly not a problem we must face tomorrow. Raw troops do not train in a day, and I do not believe Mandeville has the money to pay them. If the mayor and his party withdraw their support, the scheme will die a quiet death.”

“Are those who support FitzAdam so powerful now that your uncle's old party has no influence?”

“We all supported FitzAdam for lack of being able to agree on anyone stronger,” Justin said, lips twisted wryly. “And this is another case where it was more indecision than lack of strength that held us back from protest.” He stared past Lissa and sighed. “No one trusts the king. I said John had not been a bad master, but much of what London has gained from him has been yielded grudgingly because he was always in trouble and London always had something he wanted or needed. Now that he has made his peace with the pope—he has indeed become the apple of Innocent's eye—and has raised a powerful army, many fear he might be less accommodating. He might even wish to take back the rights and privileges he has granted the city. Think, Lissa, if the king is successful in his war in France, and if he and his German allies do succeed in catching Philip and Louis between them and crushing them so that they cannot be a danger to anyone for many years, what will be left to check John? What favors would he need? We might then be glad of trained troops in the city.”

“If he were that powerful, would troops protect us?” Uneasy, Lissa freed herself from Justin's grip and sat up, frowning down at him.

“Not if he were really determined, of course,” Justin admitted. “But to break the city if the walls were well defended, John would need to spend a fortune in gold and thousands and thousands of lives. Even then it might take years. Why should he pay such a price when he need only be reasonable in what he asks? The troops ensure that the city
can
resist too-great pressure and thus make the demands on us more moderate.”

“And if the king's war is not a success?” She lowered her voice and asked softly, “Did you not tell me that you feared FitzWalter might have chosen to lead the troops of London just to fail at a crucial moment and ensure the king's defeat?”

“It might be his intention, but he will not succeed in that. He is being watched. I am not privy to everything, but I believe he was even allowed to know he was being watched. However, if FitzWalter is more subtle than to preach open rebellion, he has ways enough to do damage. He can in private remind the barons of John's laxity or bad luck in 1204 when Normandy slipped from his hands, and he can point out that John could at any time go back to England, leaving them to face Philip and Louis.”

“But if the king is defeated, would that not endanger FitzWalter himself?”

“I never thought FitzWalter a coward, although that has been said of him. I doubt he would worry about the danger. More likely he would think it a chance to wipe out that old stain on his honor. FitzWalter could even protect himself from being again accused of treason by fighting bravely for John, covering himself with glory and a cloak of loyalty—and still obtain the king's defeat.” He made an irritable sound. “I was angry yesterday at my cousin and two of my uncle's friends because they bade me hold my tongue over Mandeville's appointment. I had no right. I do not know
what
I want.” He levered himself up so he could lean forward and kiss her. “It is time for me to go, I think.”

“Stay a little longer,” Lissa begged, sliding an arm around his neck and twisting to press her body against his.

“Once more, then.” He began to kiss her throat and let himself slide flat, carrying her with him. “I am a little curious about the way you looked at me before we began to talk of the new troops and what you desired to do to me.”

“No hurt, I assure you,” Lissa murmured.

She let her hand run down along the hard muscles of his shoulder, and from his strong upper arm to the broad pectoral, which she outlined with her fingers. From there, reaching the hollow of the breastbone, she followed that to his navel, and so down. Justin twitched and sighed, lifting his hips slightly in a sensuous invitation that Lissa accepted with an eager excitement she tried to conceal by casting doubting glances at him. His encouragement, not only to touch freely but to allow her lips to follow her hands, was so enthusiastic that the covers slid to the floor; however, both enjoyed the exploration so fervently that neither felt cold until sometime after they had subsided into exhausted satiety.

Eventually the chill of sweat on her naked body drove Lissa to reach a languid hand down for the covers, but Justin caught her arm and pulled it back. “We must get up,” he said. “You can straighten the bed after we are dressed.”

“We have time to rest.” Lissa shivered slightly and, not really thinking, only desiring warmth, turned so that more of her body was touching his.

Justin held her against him and chuckled. “Yes, there will be time to rest, but after we get our clothing on. If I lie here”—he nuzzled her neck and stroked her buttock—“I will be at you again as soon as Cockrobin can lift his head, and then I will not have strength enough to crawl home after.”

“Do you wish to stay?” Lissa asked softly, not knowing what answer she wanted.

“Yes,” Justin said promptly, and in the next breath, “No—at least, not unless you will marry me at once.”

“Justin, you know that is impossible—”

“It is not. I can walk out of this house, go down to Saint Anthony's, bring back a priest, and we can be married. How is that impossible?”

Lissa extricated herself from his arms, slid out of the bed, and began to straighten the tangle of clothing that lay on the floor by the hearth. She had just drawn out her shift when Justin came up behind her and pulled her upright against him. She could feel that his shaft was beginning to harden again. Lissa turned around in his arms and said, “My people will be silent, I promise you. If you wish to stay, no word of it will come out of this house. You know why I say marriage is impossible.”

He stepped back and bent, first to kiss her lightly and then to pick up the shift she had dropped. He pulled that over her head, then kissed her again. “I do not distrust your people. Unfortunately, my man, whom I do
not
trust, was there when your journeyman brought your message and like a fool, instead of looking at the note I asked who Paul was. Then I should have written you an answer or told Paul I would stop to see you ‘on my way,' but I—I—”

The light was only that cast by the fire, but Lissa saw Justin's complexion darken and knew he had colored strongly. She could not tell, however, whether he had blushed with embarrassment or with rage. “What did you do?”

“Like a lovesick moonling, I gave my helm and shield to Hervi and said I would walk back with Paul at once. So my man knows who you are and that I was not going to your house on business.”

“He cannot know that,” Lissa said soothingly, “only that you did not expect to fight a battle here. In any case, what does it matter?”

Justin said nothing until he had lit a splinter and from that the two tapers that flanked the hearth. Then he turned to look at Lissa. “You fear the talk that would rise if we married so soon but do not fear gossip that could name me your lover?”