Her gaze went to his hands, which he held stiffly at his sides, those hands that had touched her so intimately, brought her such pleasure. Elizabeth’s breasts grew taut and heavy, while a spreading warmth grew inside her.
Something of what she was feeling must have communicated itself to Raynor, for he was watching her with uncertainty and a growing sensual awareness. But he did not make a move to touch her. He seemed unsure of how he would be welcomed after what had gone between them.
Knowing it was up to her to let her husband know that she did indeed want him, Elizabeth reached up and put a slender hand to his face. “Raynor.”
Understanding the act as an invitation, Raynor nevertheless felt the need to be quite certain Elizabeth wanted him, as it appeared. After the terrible mistake he had made about her and Bronic, he wished to be quite sure that his perceptions of the moment were true ones.
But the heat of her gaze warmed his blood like a fire warmed wine. He felt himself spiraling down into that ready well of longing inside him. Carefully, he must go carefully, so as not to push her away.
Raynor leaned close to her, his eyes dark with longing. “I know I have wronged you this day, and many times in the past. But now...what I see in your eyes makes me think...” He held her gaze with his as he sought the answers to his questions. “Your eyes tell me that you want us to be together. Do you want that, Elizabeth? Do you want me?”
Standing perfectly still, he waited for her reply, knowing he would accept her answer without question. Not even needing her as much as he did at this moment would Raynor hurt her again this day.
Without question, Elizabeth knew that reply could only be yes, and she was near overcome with joy that he would be so reverent in his query. “Yes, my husband. I do want you.”
Raynor wanted to be tender, to hold her sweetly and gently. But Elizabeth would have none of that. When he took her in his arms, her lips found his with unerring eagerness. Her lips opened, and she drew his tongue into the sweet, wet interior of her mouth.
Raynor gasped and lifted her against the hard wall of his chest. His fingers tangled in the glorious mass of her hair, and he pressed her head to his as he kissed her fully, allowing her to feel the force of his pent-up desires. And she welcomed him with greedy abandon, her hands clasping his shoulders. She threw her head back and cried aloud as his head dipped to the bodice of her gown, where it sagged over her bosom.
With his teeth Raynor tore the cloth aside, and his mouth closed over one rigid peak. As he drew on the bud, she cried out his name, clutching his head to her with all her strength, and he chuckled deep in his throat.
Pleasure surged in aching waves from her breasts to the juncture of her thighs. Elizabeth clung to him desperately, trying to open her legs, to bring that aching part of her into contact with him. But her skirts hampered her, and she rolled her head from side to side in frustration. “Take me, Raynor. Do not wait. I have longed for you.”
Her pleas did not go unheeded. Raynor wanted to love her for hours, trace every perfect contour of her body, but the fierce throbbing of his blood must be answered. It was as if the jealousy and anger he’d experienced had opened a path to his innermost emotions. His manhood rose, turgid and nearly painful beneath his clothing.
He slid her slowly down his body until she moaned, bucking against him, and he throbbed anew.
As Elizabeth reached to run her hand down his back to his buttocks, Raynor arched against her, having no will to control his reaction to her touch. And wanting none.
This was his woman, his wife, and she desired him.
And there in the solar, where anyone could enter, they tumbled to the floor, each pulling at the other’s clothing.
He tried to rise, unable to take off his tunic with her so close. But Elizabeth held him with surprising strength as she breathed in his ear, “No, Raynor. Please, let it be now. I burn for you.”
He acquiesced, reaching down to pull up her gown. His senses reeled when he drew up the cloth and found her bare to his questing fingers.
As with the first time they had made love, she was already slick with desire, and he marveled that her response could so easily match his own and more.
She was all woman, his Elizabeth. All woman, and unafraid to experience the passion that was her right.
Trembling in his need to become one with her flesh, Raynor tugged at the front of his own clothing, finally succeeding in undoing the belt that held his drawers in place. Elizabeth reached to help him, her breath coming in hoarse gasps.
Raynor could not withhold a moan when she pulled him down to her ready flesh, her long legs going about him as he slipped inside her.
She cried out her joy, moving with a powerful longing that drove Raynor to lose all track of himself. They were one entity, fused by heat and desire.
He kissed her, and gasped as she instinctively took his tongue in the same primitive rhythm that held their straining bodies. She arched backward, and he kissed the sensuous line of her throat. As they moved, thrusting and straining toward completion, her gown pulled down, and one bare breast became exposed to his heated gaze.
The nipple tautened and swelled like a ripe raspberry as her pleasure sharpened and she cried out his name. “Raynor, Raynor, Raynor...”
Then she stiffened beneath him. Her inner muscles spasmed around him as a sharp cry of fulfillment escaped her lips. He leaned forward and kissed her, sucking greedily on her bottom lip.
No more than a heartbeat later, Raynor felt his own seed spill forth in an explosion of joy, and he thrust deep inside her, feeling her clutch him to her with arms and legs as the spasms eased and he lay still.
He began to roll away, but she held him to her. “Nay, do not go from me.”
He took a deep breath to calm his rapid breathing. “I do not wish to crush you.”
She laughed sleepily. “If you did not in the past moments, I do not see how you can.”
Chuckling softly, he made no reply, but rolled over so that she was lying upon his chest with their bodies still joined. She sighed, relaxing against him. “That is not so very bad.”
“Nay,” he replied quietly, kissing the top of her tousled black curls. “It is not.”
* * *
When Elizabeth woke, she was in her own dark room, in her bed, tucked between cool sheets, and the shadows had grown quite long in the room.
Without even looking for him, Elizabeth knew that Raynor was gone. The chamber did not feel of his presence.
She could only assume that he had brought her here, for Elizabeth remembered nothing after he had rolled beneath her. She flushed hotly as she recalled how wildly she had responded to him. It seemed that where Raynor was concerned her passion was boundless.
But what embarrassed her even more was having fallen asleep. Evidently the events of the afternoon had so exhausted her that she could fall asleep on her lover’s chest, then be moved to her own bed without even awakening.
Lord, now that she thought on it, what they had done was near mad. Anyone could have come upon them in the solar.
Mayhap Olwyn had kept everyone away, knowing Raynor and Elizabeth were there together. She offered up a silent prayer of thanks for her companion.
Just then the door from the solar opened to admit that same woman.
Olwyn stood in the opening, coloring as she saw that Elizabeth was awake. “I did not mean to awaken you,” she said. “I did have some concern for you when Lord Raynor told me you had fallen asleep. I thought perhaps the spider bite... Or mayhap your husband had upset...”
Elizabeth did not meet her eyes. “Oh, nay, there is no cause for concern. I was simply tired.”
She glanced at Olwyn, then away, feeling guilty for the concerned expression on the other’s face. “Really, Olwyn,” she said earnestly, “there is no need to worry. I am fine, and Lord Raynor did nothing to upset me. He apologized most graciously for what he had said. I think we ended with an understanding of sorts.” She flushed to the tips of her toes as she recalled how the conversation had ended.
Olwyn nodded, taking in the deep red tone of her mistress’s bared throat and swollen lips. It took no skill to read what had happened here.
Olwyn looked at the floor. “All is well with you and Lord Warwicke now?”
Elizabeth thought for a long moment. What could she reply? Though things were better between herself and her husband than ever before, Elizabeth did not make the mistake of believing that all was well. Raynor had made no protestations of commitment or devotion. She was under no illusion that one pretty apology and an unrestrained burst of passion would cure all that ailed them.
Raynor was still the same man, with all his distrust of women and love. Slowly Elizabeth shook her head, not wanting to lie to her woman, nor wanting to dwell on what life might be like if he never overcame his fears. “In truth, I can not answer that question, Olwyn. Raynor is...well...Raynor. What will come is only for God to know.”
Rising from the bed, Elizabeth went to the window, as if the golden glow of the setting sun might hold the answer to her future. If only it did, if only what was to come could be so bright.
Then something came to Elizabeth as she stood there. Raynor had once loved Louisa, that much was clear. He had trusted in her word and judgments so deeply that a word from her had made him a bitter enemy to her stepbrother, Nigel Harrington. Louisa’s word had carried and still did carry great weight with Raynor.
If Elizabeth could come to understand what Raynor’s relationship with her had been like, to see the other woman as Raynor might have seen her, then possibly she would have the answer to her problem.
Not that Elizabeth thought she could be like Louisa, or even had any desire to be so. But she did believe that this might help her to unlock the secret of solving this in her own way.
And that she was determined to do, now more than ever. There had to be a way for her and Raynor to come together, without the past acting as a wedge to keep them apart.
Chapter Twelve
T
he knowledge Elizabeth sought came the very next morning, in an unexpected way and from an equally unexpected source.
As she was working in the storerooms with the head woman, Jean, Elizabeth was startled to see the woman sit down on a bag of beetroot and burst into tears.
Not wishing to pry, but feeling as if she must offer some kind of comfort, Elizabeth said, “Jean, what is the matter? Is there aught I can do to help you?”
Jean turned to her mistress, her gray eyes damp. “It’s my girl, Hyla, my lady. I am sorry she’s caused so much trouble for you and Lord Raynor. She was ever a spoiled child. Her father could never say a word of no to her, and it’s been my cross to bear since he died, when she was twelve.”
Elizabeth’s eyes widened in surprise. “Hyla is your daughter? I had no idea.”
“Aye, she’s my very own. Though after what she did to little Willow, I rue the day I bore her. Lord Raynor did right to send her away. She’s had her nose bent since you came, thinking you took Lord Raynor from her. When I saw how it was going to be, I sent her right off to the kitchens with Eva. I thought there she’d stay out of your path.”
Elizabeth blanched, remembering what had happened to Hyla in the kitchen. “I did her no harm.”
“And well I know that,” Jean answered, nodding her head as she looked at the floor. “I...know as how you found her in Lord Raynor’s room, my lady.”
A flush of color darkened Elizabeth’s cream cheeks. “Really, I would rather not discuss that matter. It is most personal, and I would thank you not to speak of it, Jean.” Everyone in the keep must know of that ill-fated eve, Elizabeth thought.
Jean rushed to explain. “I meant no familiarity, lady. I but try to explain something. Hyla admitted to me that Lord Raynor had not sent for her. She only knew he did not share your bed, and hoped to win him back.” She hurried on earnestly as Elizabeth’s blush deepened. “But, Lady Elizabeth, she could not win him
back
to her. For Lord Raynor was never hers. Oh, he may have bedded her at one time. But that is all there was. Hyla was not his woman, any more than any other. 'Tis doubtful Lord Raynor would recall her very name, were she not before him. He is not a man to take a woman to his heart. Has not been for a very long time.”
Then Jean turned to Elizabeth with a hesitant expression. “Lady Elizabeth, may I speak freely? 'Tis of Lord Raynor.”
Brows arching in surprise, Elizabeth considered this carefully. How much more freely could Jean speak? Besides, whenever someone began a speech with those words, it was relatively certain that the listener would not like what was to come.
But something kept Elizabeth from halting the servant. Jean said it was of Raynor that she wished to speak, and wasn’t overcoming her own reticence worth the possibility of learning something of her husband? After giving Jean a further searching look, Elizabeth nodded. “You may say what is in your heart.”
“I am glad you have come here, my lady. Lord Raynor needed someone to take him out of the past. He also has need of someone to love him—and to love.”
For a moment, Elizabeth could think of no reply. She was gladdened that the servant felt she had been good for her husband, but at the same time felt awkward about talking this way with anyone. It was simply not in her nature to do so. Even with Olwyn she was reticent about discussing such things.