Rose Bride (15 page)

The court physician was no wealthy noble like Lord Munro, she thought, a man who donned lavish vestments, gold chains and a glistening red codpiece to draw the eye to his youthful form. Yet there was something equally powerful about Master Elton. A quiet authority which excited her in some way she did not entirely understand.

Ridiculously nervous, Margerie stood in the middle of the room and watched while he lit a candle from the fire and set it on the mantel. The bedchamber was empty but neatly swept, and when she stumbled towards the rough cot which clearly served as his bed, she noticed a faint scent of something sweet. Fresh-culled herbs perhaps, strewn under the pillows to improve sleep and ward off bad dreams, just as he had suggested to avert her problem.

The doctor came up behind her, placing his hands on her shoulders. Her body tingled with awareness under his touch and she knew he could feel it.

‘Margerie,’ he said quietly. ‘Are you afraid?’

‘Not afraid, no.’

Yet she shivered when he bent his head, smoothing her heavy mass of hair to one side, and she felt his lips brush the nape of her neck.

‘What then?’

‘I am not . . .’ She paused, unwilling to admit that she was not as experienced in the amorous arts as so many at court believed.

He would think she was lying to gain some kind of power over him, perhaps to make him feel guilty for wanting to seduce her. And although her whole being rebelled at the idea of dishonesty between them, part of her also feared that disclosure. For Master Elton might act the gentleman and stop kissing her if she told him her experience in the bedchamber was limited to one night.

‘You are not . . . what?’

She turned in his arms, and found herself locked to the hungry expression in his dark eyes, unable to look away.

‘Not sure if this is what you truly want,’ she lied, wishing she was not so breathless. ‘I thought you wanted to speak with me privately. That was why you brought me here, after all. Not to seduce me.’

‘Is that what I’m doing, Margerie? Seducing you?’

His gaze seemed to hold hers for an eternity before she managed to break the spell, looking away.

‘Sir, I do not blame you for thinking me a loose woman. The way I behaved last time we were alone together was not customary for me. That is, I do not rightly know what came over me. I must have been out of my senses. But now my head is straight, and we both know
this
cannot happen. You are one of the king’s physicians, Master Elton, and I am a lady whose name is not high in His Majesty’s favour at the moment.’ She ended firmly, ‘I would not want your reputation to suffer by entertaining me alone in your chamber.’

‘I have never known a woman talk more nonsense than you,’ he said roughly.

Her eyes widened on his face. He was not smiling.

‘Sir?’

‘I like the way you call me sir,’ he whispered, then drew a sharp breath. ‘Your nightmares, your wanderings . . . What is it that makes you wander the palace in your sleep, Mistress Croft?’

‘I do not know.’

‘I keep thinking of Dido, alone and weeping in Carthage.’

Margerie looked at him blankly.

‘You do not know the story of Dido and the Trojan Aeneas?’ he asked, and she shook her head, bewildered.

‘With the help of Venus,’ he explained softly, ‘Aeneas escaped from Troy after it burnt and voyaged across the seas. It was his destiny to found the city of Rome, you see. Only he came to Carthage first, after his ships were wrecked in a storm. And he fell in love with the queen there, Dido.’ His smile was almost bitter. ‘Venus was furious. She was Aeneas’s mother, and did not want Dido ruining her son’s destiny. So she sent Aeneas away on his travels, and poor weeping Dido was left alone again.’

He cupped her face between his hands, then ran a thumb across her mouth, pressing her lips apart. ‘The poet Virgil wrote of their sad love,
est mollis flamma medullas interea et tactitum vivit sub pectore vulnus.
Which is in Latin,
fire burns in her soft marrow, and a silent wound lives beneath her breast
.’ His eyes were intent on her face. ‘What silent wound do you harbour beneath your breast, Margerie? What hurt makes you wander in your sleep, crying over the past?’

That was too close to the truth, and Margerie shuddered beneath his searching look, thinking of her lost reputation, the stares and whispers of the court, and how her past mistakes had left her achingly empty and afraid of her own shadow.

‘Call me sir again,’ he murmured. ‘It is strange, but I enjoy hearing that word on your tongue.’

The desire in his voice had kindled the long-suppressed fire smouldering in her belly. This was madness, she thought. She was perfectly right to be cautious, she told herself, her senses drugged by the sweet pressure of his thumb against her mouth. What if they were discovered together? No lie in the world could conceal the intimacy between them.

‘Obey me, Margerie.’

She drew a shaky breath at his arrogance, yet could not seem to deny him. There was something in that authoritative tone that made her melt, all at once his servant.

‘Sir,’ she whispered.

Virgil Elton made a noise under his breath, staring into her eyes, his face suddenly tense. ‘Now call me master,’ he commanded her, ‘and mean it.’

Margerie stared back at him, her lips burning where his thumb was stroking back and forth, not quite pushing inside. She knew it was time to pull away, to make him say his piece so she could leave, fleeing back to her own chamber unscathed.

Instead she did a foolish thing.

Unable to resist the tug of his body any longer, Margerie turned her head slightly and brushed her lips against his wrist, just lightly, where the skin showed below the cuff of his sleeve.

She had intended it to be only a momentary caress. Her eyes closed though, and she swayed there, caught in the heady spell cast by his presence, her heartbeat drumming almost painfully.

Everything in her body narrowed to that one inch of warm skin where she could taste him: the veriest salt-tang on her lips, the veins in his wrist begging for her tongue, for the erratic thud of his pulse to be traced to its source. And as Margerie stood there, unable to stop herself from wanting this man, a wave of helpless desire crashed through her body, and she knew it was flooding him too.

‘Master,’ she mumbled against his wrist, her voice thick with lust, unrecognisable. What was the matter with her? she thought. Could she not resist this man even for a moment?

With a groan, he dragged down her lower lip, then bent and kissed her, pushing his tongue deep between her parted lips.

Margerie gasped, her mind and body reeling. She had barely been kissed by Wolf the night they spent together, and she remembered from Greenwich how easily Virgil Elton could arouse her, but the power behind his kiss tonight left her wet and ready for him almost instantly. But perhaps she had secretly been wanting him to kiss her ever since she woke to find herself in his arms, his lips pressed against hers, his tongue exploring her mouth with absolute hunger.

Her head fell back under the force of his kiss. Her arms lifted, locking passionately about his neck, and she kissed him back without reserve.

His hands dropped first to her waist, dragging her close, then slid down her spine to the rounded curve of her buttocks. His touch was urgent, moulding her against him in her thin night shift, and she felt the thickening bulge under his codpiece.

‘I want you,’ he muttered against her mouth. ‘But first I need to know if it’s true you have consented to become Lord Munro’s mistress.’

She stilled in his arms, her eyes closed tight.

A few days back at court, and he already knew. But of course he knew. Had she thought such an arrangement could be kept quiet at court? Her disgrace would mean little to most courtiers, for she was simply another unmarried woman who had been drawn under a nobleman’s protection for a while. And she was no innocent virgin, everyone knew that.

But Virgil Elton might see it in a different way. After all, she had known his intentions towards her since their brief time together at Greenwich, yet she had consented to become Munro’s mistress as well. Such promiscuity must be abhorrent to him.

Yet there was nothing she could do to prevent him from thinking her a whore, and perhaps even hating her for it. If she wished to uphold her side of the bargain and receive Munro’s generous gift of land, Master Elton must never discover that her relationship with the young lord was a mere convenience, not a true affair. Her future happiness depended upon that arrangement. And that was more important than the fleeting pleasure this man could give her.

A good marriage is out of the question for a woman of my reputation, she reminded herself sternly. Let this man think me a careless wanton; I must do whatever will keep the wolf from the door in years to come.

‘Yes, it’s true.’

Her answer made him hiss under his breath, but to her surprise Master Elton did not push her away. Instead his arms tightened about her.

‘You should have told me sooner,’ he said, his face an unreadable mask. ‘I dislike the thought of sharing you. But if that is how it must be, so be it.’

She stared at him, unsure. ‘You accept that I am his mistress?’

‘I am not happy for you to be his mistress. And I fear his lordship will not wish to share you either. But until he warns me off, I will take whatever is put before me and not ask for more.’

It was a convincing speech, but Margerie saw a flicker in his dark eyes as he smoothed a hand over her hip, and guessed the physician was not as forgiving as he was at pains to seem. But at least it seemed he would not leave her cold and frustrated tonight. And for that she must be glad. For her body burned for his in a way she had never experienced before.

‘From now on,’ he said, watching her, ‘you will keep me informed of any other men you take to your bed. I will have no lies or omissions between us. You understand?’

She nodded, but shivered. For this was a lie in itself.

Virgil must have caught her instinctive response. ‘Here,’ he murmured, drawing her closer to the fire, ‘you are a-cold. Come sit on my lap before the fire. Trust me, you will soon be warm again.’

She had feared he would be angry when he heard about her and Munro. Yet he seemed almost relieved, she realised, struggling to read his expression. Perhaps Virgil had been concerned she might trap him into marriage. With a powerful protector like Munro though, a woman’s first thought if she fell pregnant would be to apply to his lordship for help. Not to a court physician.

His smile was wolfish as he pulled forward his chair, sat upon it, then seated her firmly on his lap. His hand gripping the back of her neck, he kissed her again with a fiery possessiveness that bordered on violence.

Margerie gasped, but to her own surprise did not struggle, surrendering with a delicious sensation, part-fear, part-excitement. He would not hurt her, she knew that. Or if he did, she would surely enjoy it. His mouth played against hers, his tongue stabbing deep, then slipping back out, tracing slowly along her lips as though he found her taste irresistible. She began to breathe more heavily, clinging onto him, her face hot with desire.

‘You want me, Margerie?’ he asked, bending his head to kiss her throat.

‘Yes.’

His voice was husky. ‘Badly?’

She could barely speak, but managed to nod, already busy exploring him, stroking the broad expanse of his shoulders and back. She loved the feel of his strong muscles moving under her fingers, how they stretched and rippled as he shifted. Her mouth became dry as she imagined how he must look naked. He was powerfully built, but lean with it, and she was suddenly impatient to feel his skin against hers.

‘Take off your clothes,’ she whispered.

He gave a short laugh, then stroked a slow hand up her calf under her shift. ‘Impatient wanton.’

She wriggled, biting her lip as his hand moved inexorably higher. Skin on skin now, burning into her. He pushed her shift up, exposing her bare thighs, and she could not stay silent any longer.

‘Please.’

‘Hush, all in good time.’

His fingers had found her core, starting to stroke at the apex of her thighs. She gasped as one long finger eased inside her hidden lips, and he gave a twisted smile in response.

‘So soft and welcoming.’ Virgil pushed deeper, using two fingers now, entering and caressing at the same time. He made a guttural noise in the back of his throat, as though aroused by how easily he had penetrated her. ‘So wet. Is that for me?’

She moaned, staring into his eyes. ‘Virgil . . .’

Slowly he withdrew his fingers, then dragged down the bodice of her shift. Not merely content to spill her breasts, he yanked it down to her waist, freeing her arms and leaving her top half naked. Margerie blushed to see him staring at her bare body, his dark eyes intent, but did not move to cover herself. She had known how this would end when she agreed to accompany the doctor to his bedchamber, and she refused to act the hypocrite or play hard to get when this was what they
both
wanted.

Her breasts glowed a rosy pink in the firelight, and when he ran a finger, damp with her own juices, across one nipple, she felt the skin harden in expectation.