The Bride Tournament (18 page)

She tested his patience. But waiting so many years to resolve his father’s alchemy achievements or lack thereof had honed it. Persistence would prevail in both cases. The prospect of another night of unsatisfied need prompted him to augment his efforts.

Richard brushed her hair aside and ran the tips of his fingers down the side of her neck. So smooth. He placed a row of tender kisses from her collarbone up to her jaw. Ever so slowly he rubbed her back with long, languorous strokes. Her closeness, her fresh lemon scent ensnared him. When she relaxed, he slid his hands past her ribs to cup her breasts, appreciating their weight. His thumbs teased the peaks to tautness.

How he wanted to touch her again. How he wanted her.

He placed his hands on her shoulders and turned her to face him. “Tell me now. Should I stop?”

No answer.

His erection throbbed. “Eleanor?”

She looked at him, her eyes darkest amethyst. “You intrigue me,” she whispered. “I want you.”

He exulted in her reluctant admission. “Then you shall have me. I’ll show you many things I know you’ll enjoy. We both will.”

“But we can’t.”

“Why?”

“I can’t seem to help myself, Richard. I don’t feel in control.”

Concealing a smile, he said, “This isn’t about control. It’s about feelings. And being open to having them.”

He kissed her. The first sweet taste of her spurred his need. His mouth moved over hers in a multitude of soft kisses, tempting her to respond. She sighed, then kissed him back with surprising fervor. His tongue met hers as he deepened the embrace, as he encouraged her heady responses.

She couldn’t know what her kisses did to him. Each time he was with her and grew more familiar with her body, his desire increased. Imagine what it would be like to be inside her.

He pulled off his hose. Her nightgown was the final barrier. He slid the garment up and tugged it over her head. She did not protest, but raised her arms to assist him. As it dropped to the floor, he clasped her close. The fullness of her breasts met his chest, his thigh instinctively slipped between hers. He was lost in the sensation of her body touching his.

But he wanted more. “Touch me.”

Her expression yielded a mixture of uncertainty and desire.

He put her hands around his waist. Tentatively she explored his back. With greater confidence, her questing hands moved to his arms, lingering over his biceps, then across his chest, teasing his skin. The sight of her small, pretty fingers touching him added to his desire.

Eleanor wanted him, at last.

Richard had planned to make their first time together a leisurely experience full of deep, sensual kisses. He meant to allow her time to get acquainted with his body, his touch. But he was about to explode and her alluring sighs indicated her eagerness.

Capturing her mouth in a potent kiss, he guided her to the bed. Her golden hair spilled in glorious disarray as she lay waiting. Waiting for him. He moved over her and pushed the shining locks aside to expose her full breasts, then took one hardened peak into his mouth, sucking gently. He tweaked the wet nipple as he tongued the other. She squirmed beneath him.

The waiting, the constant thoughts of Eleanor had aroused him more than he had thought possible without release. He could wait no longer.

Richard slid his hand between her legs and discovered sleek moisture. She was ready for him. Instinctively her hips lifted, sending his fingers gliding over her tender flesh. She moaned as he found a sensual rhythm.

Soon he’d sink into her and her hot wetness would surround him. The anticipation was almost enough to send him over the edge.

A low cry from Eleanor made him stop. His heart plummeted. Had he gone too fast? Did regrets beset her?

“Eleanor, sweet, what is it?”

She blushed, a delicate rose spreading across her cheeks. “’Tis only, well, I had no idea it could be this good,” she said.

“I shall ensure that you like the rest even better,” he said.

“First I want to touch you,” she whispered.

She reached for him as he resumed his gentle assault on her. The feel of her hand on his erection made him wild. He couldn’t take this. He needed to be inside her. Now. Right now. But her hand moving on him, the pleasure seething inside him was too great.

Then she rose up against his fingers, tilting her head back as she found her ecstasy.

“Richard,” she breathed.

That was all it took. His own release overwhelmed him.

He spilled onto the sheets.

Thank God, she was yet a virgin.

As wondrous, rolling waves of pleasure dissipated, Eleanor controlled her breathing. Richard remained beside her, silent, no longer touching her. She thanked the clouds for covering the moon. She couldn’t bear to face him now, either to reveal her embarrassment or to see the look of cocky victory sure to be on his face.

The first sight of his flawless, masculine form last night had weakened the dam of her resistance. Tonight, all he’d had to do was touch her and she melted like snow in the sun. His caresses had released her desire in a flood. The way his thumbs tantalized her nipples made her want to cry out, then the rasp and warm wetness of his tongue on them had actually made her moan aloud. His body pressed against hers had infused her with yearning. She hadn’t known for what until she burst into indescribable bliss.

She’d succumbed to her irrational desire for Richard even as she sought another bride for him. She was weak, as her priest often said women were.

’Twas painful to admit Arthur paled in comparison. She hadn’t spent much time in his company over the past years. Had she, in her romantic dreams, imagined a better man than truly existed? Perhaps she wanted him out of habit, because she hated change. Take her mother’s untimely death. How it had altered her life and her father’s moods. What if her determination to choose her own husband blinded her to the truth?

No, ’twas Richard who was blinding her to the truth. He was the first man who had truly courted her. What she needed was Arthur. She had to see him and let the comfort of his presence obliterate her yearning for Richard.

Her unwarranted attraction to her husband stood in the way. As much as her traitorous body wanted to, she could never kiss him again or she’d risk the downfall of her lifelong dreams.

As if in answer to Eleanor’s prayers, the next day Arthur returned to Windsor.

Richard stuck to her like a burr on her stocking, yet wasn’t nearly as annoying. She finally escaped his vigilance by encouraging the brides-to-be to whisk him away for a ride.

Just before he left, he said, “I’ve news. If you’re wondering why Arthur is here, ’tis because he’ll wed Margaret on the morrow.”

Eleanor clenched her fists to control the impulse to scream. “You’re worse than my father,” she said. “How could you kiss me last night and do—other things while concealing such news? You expect me to trust you, yet you refuse to do the same.”

Richard smiled a seductive smile that elicited unwelcome memories. “I meant to tell you. But I had other things on my mind.”

“You could have told me as we broke our fast.”

“He wants to marry her. Not you. There’s nothing you can do.”

“Don’t ever tell me that again.”

“Which part? That Arthur doesn’t love you?” He smirked.

“Oooh.” To think she’d almost allowed him to consummate their marriage. To think she’d doubted her feelings for Arthur. “I can’t wait until the tournament. Then I shall be unshackled from you.”

“We’ll see.” Richard was insultingly smug.

“Richard! We’re waiting,” Isabel called out in a rather unladylike fashion.

“Come, ladies,” Richard called. “Let’s enjoy the day.”

Let the brides flitter around him like a flock of hungry, brightly-plumed birds as they departed for their ride. He could have them, every one.

She sought out Arthur.

“Eleanor, what have you done?” Arthur’s handsome face displayed uncustomary dismay.

She smiled as he swept her into a niche in the corridor leading to the great hall. For once she’d breached his cool exterior.

“I had to talk to you,” she said.

“I came to you only to accept your best wishes on my upcoming marriage,” he replied. “Only for that reason.”

She fought the urge to snap. This was her last chance to persuade Arthur to her cause. She couldn’t let potent anger ruin it, anger toward Arthur for accepting his fate and toward Richard for keeping key information from her even as he tried to make her his wife in truth.

In the dim light from the sputtering wall torch, his expression was grim. Not at all the reception she’d hoped for. “Now tell me of your latest foolishness.”

An approaching feminine giggle threatened discovery. Arthur pulled her deeper into the niche. She waited breathlessly as more laughter and footsteps presaged a couple’s departure. Ah, to be so happy with one’s mate.

No matter, she and Arthur were together at last. He smelled different than he used to, too spicy. Richard smelled, well, fresh and exciting.

She wouldn’t compare them further.

“What’s this nonsense I hear about a bridal tournament?” he demanded.

“I had to find a way for us to wed without hurting Richard or leaving him without a suitable bride. ’Tis not his fault I was given to him, and he’s been so supportive of you,” Eleanor explained. “After he has a new bride, he’ll be even better off. And when my annulment is final, you and I can be married as we’ve always dreamed.”

Now Arthur would see how much she cared for him, what she was willing to sacrifice and how hard she’d worked so they could be together.

He put a hand to his forehead as though it ached. “You go too far. I can’t countenance your behavior. Knowing Richard, I’m surprised he can. He supports this folly?”

Everyone always spoke of Richard and what he wanted. A thought flashed through her mind, quick and piercing. What if Arthur had merely been doing his duty all those years they were betrothed? She hadn’t asked. She hadn’t thought she needed to.

She forced herself to ask now. “Arthur, don’t you love me anymore?”

“Of course I do.” He smiled, just as she’d hoped. “I will always love you. How could I not?”

Relief coursed through her. All of her efforts, her indecision, had led to this glorious moment. Arthur had declared his feelings. All would be as she had dreamed.

His straight blond hair shimmered golden, making him a shining knight of valor. She held his hands. They weren’t as large as Richard’s, didn’t promise the same power.

What was wrong with her, that thoughts of Richard hounded her at a time like this? The hands she now clasped were the ones she wanted to hold. Happiness would be hers at last.

“Our marriage would’ve been one of deep companionship, which is more than many of our kind enjoy. I love you like the sister I never had,” Arthur said.

She yanked her hands free. Nausea assaulted her. Her headdress prevented her from leaning against the wall, but she closed her eyes.

He didn’t love her as a man loves a woman. As a husband loves a wife. There was nothing, no one to comfort her. All was lost.

“Yours is but a chaste love?” The words tasted sour as bile.

He looked almost sorry for her. “I’d have wed you out of friendship and duty. When did I ever promise more?”

Racing through years of memories, she realized she’d been oblivious to the signs. She’d been the one to initiate their limited physical contact. When she’d asked if he loved her, she’d taken his vague responses as pledges. As if adding enough embroidery to a plain gown could make it magnificent, she’d convinced herself she and Arthur made a perfect match. That’s how badly she’d wanted her marriage to be a good one.

A tear dripped down her cheek. The world she’d created in her mind, had let guide her for so long, didn’t exist. Arthur was another man who wanted her only to satisfy his duty.

The pain of knowing sizzled in her veins.

“I shall marry Margaret. If I come to love her, all the better. If not, we’ll fare as best we can. As many couples do.

“I told you on your wedding day my attainder ended any hope for us. You didn’t believe me. Instead of looking toward your future, you wanted to remain in the past, where it was safe. Can you see that now?”

His words smacked her with the strength of actual blows.

He reached for her hand again, clearly a gesture of compassion, not passion. “What I felt for you was real, but it was the love of a youth for a maiden,” Arthur said. He released her, as if severing the final tie between them. “Now you can stay with Richard and forego your tournament.”

Eleanor felt brittle as an icicle. One more word and she’d shatter into a thousand shards.

Why had Richard readily agreed to partake in her tournament? Arthur, the man she’d waited for, not only didn’t love her, he didn’t want her enough to fight for her. For both, one bride was as good as another. What man would value and want her?

Insight hit her hard. She’d been a fool to believe what she wanted mattered. In this world of men, women enjoyed only the powers a man granted, be it father, husband or liege lord. She’d hoped to be different from every other woman she knew, but had failed.