Virginia Henley (26 page)

With infinite tenderness his hands curved around her breasts to caress and stroke them. His touch clearly showed that her breasts were precious to him. Her hair brushed his cheek, and he buried his face in it, breathing deeply of its delicious fragrance until his very senses reeled. Holding Roseanna in his arms wildly assaulted all of his senses; he groaned with the sheer, deep, unbelievable pleasure she brought him. He had waited all his life for this woman. At thirty-two he had grown cynical, especially where women were concerned; then suddenly, unexpectedly, between one heartbeat and the next, he had fallen madly in love.

Her hair affected him so sensually, he promised himself that before many nights were over, he would wrap himself in it so they would be bound together by the silken bonds. His hands on her body were awakening new sensations for Roseanna—all new and strange yet deeply pleasurable.

She knew that what they were doing was wicked. He had stirred her wicked juices, and they flowed hot along all her limbs, sending tingling sensations across her body, weakening her resolve, sapping every ounce of her strength so that she could not resist him.

His hands went lower to her thighs, stroking the swelling curves of her buttocks. Then he gradually moved his hands until his fingers caressed the insides of her silky thighs. The intimacy brought her up from the bed.

“No, Ravenspur, you must not!” she cried huskily.

His powerful arms pressed her down upon her back. “Call me Roger,” he demanded, his lips hot against her throat.

Her mouth went dry. She could feel his hard shaft throbbing against her thigh. Its size terrified her as it probed, seeking the center of her womanhood. She expected him to pounce on her and was flooded with warm, weakening relief when instead he began to kiss her again. His lovemaking was leisurely and his kisses long, slow, and melting, so there was no sense of urgency.

She drew in her breath on a quick sob as his fingers touched between her legs. Lightly he played with her triangle of curls, and a deep tingling ache spread upward from between her legs, through her belly, and up toward her breasts. She touched her own breasts and found her nipples standing erect like pointed little spears.

She must be different from other women, she thought. She enjoyed these wicked, shameful things he was doing to her! She knew she should fight him, but she would also have to fight herself, and the effort was too overwhelming to contemplate. She wanted to lie in the magic circle of his arms and let him evoke one sensation after another until every inch of her skin was sensitive to his touch.

Now the palm of his hand was massaging the high mount above her pubic bone, and she could hear herself making little moaning noises as the swirling sensations reached ever higher in intensity. Roger slipped one finger inside her warm womanliness. His heart wanted to burst with the joy of what he felt. He had been certain that Roseanna had known no man before him, but now he felt the little barrier that gave him proof. He slipped his finger
from her; his mouth moved over her swelling breasts and closed possessively upon the nipple.

Roseanna was panting and breathless, expecting, wanting, needing, she knew not what. Roger’s long-starved passion was unleashed now. He had crossed the high point of no return.

He was aflame and lusting as he opened her thighs and lowered his weight onto her. He thrust hard and deep, and she cried out from the unfamiliar pleasure-pain, wondering wildly if she would be able to bear it. His mouth took complete possession of hers, demanding it open to his tongue as her body had opened to his hard, manly boldness. She stopped thinking. She only wanted to feel the fullness of him inside her. As he began to thrust, there came a budding, a blooming as if some rare exotic blossom inside her had opened its petals wider to receive him. Unfurling, uncurling, she arched against him wantonly until suddenly the blossom inside her exploded and splintered into a million fragments. Slowly her senses returned to the point where she again realized where she was.

Roger lay pressed against her as if they were fused together; his face was buried in her hair. Something cataclysmic had happened. Were they dead? she wondered briefly. After what seemed an eternity, Roger raised his head to look deep into her eyes. “My love,” he whispered raggedly. She could feel the thundering of his heartbeat against her naked breasts.

When he rolled to her side, strange feelings enveloped her. She was relieved, yet she felt bereft that they were not still joined. He watched her warmly; her scent filled his nostrils, that elusive fragrance that had haunted him every night since he had met her.

She raised shameful eyes to his. “You made me behave wickedly, Ravenspur! Are you satisfied?”

His dark face was intense. “I’ll never be satisfied, Roseanna; I’ll never have enough of you.”

She was covered with guilt and felt the blush would never leave her cheeks again. She moved away from him as if to flee the bed, but his arms forced her to stay. She knew he would keep her all night; the possessiveness of his touch told her he would keep her there against him. Ravenspur was the devil, and the devil was Ravenspur! She was tormented and frightened by her own feelings. She knew the barrier she had set up between them had challenged his manhood, and she knew he would not rest until he had smashed that barrier. But then she had made it so easy for him! Once engulfed in that warm bed, his nearness had overpowered her. Her senses were filled with the smell of him, and she could still taste him upon her tongue.

She turned from him and buried her burning face in the pillows. He slipped a possessive arm around the curve of her waist and moved close against her back. She tried to make her small body rigid with rejection, but he ignored it. He’d lain awake too many nights and suffered great torment because he knew she was close by, but he had not been able to touch her. Now he could touch her —and would!

Roseanna was consumed with guilt because she found him too darkly attractive and because the things he had done to her were wickedly exciting. She was shamed to her very soul.

Roger longed to possess her again within a very few minutes, but his good sense told him that her first time was better short and sweet. Her body would respond to
him swiftly next time because he had been gentle with her initiation. With his arm around her waist, he began to stroke her softly in a spot that would be soothing rather than arousing, and after a while Roger slept, relaxed and content, as he had not been in many months.

Roseanna lay a long time with her thoughts swirling in chaos; then, exhausted, she finally succumbed to sleep’s irresistible beckoning.

Roger awoke early, as was his custom, and lay content simply to look upon his beloved. First she stirred, then turned over, then slowly opened her eyes. She was spellbound for a moment; then as memory came flooding back to her, she began to tremble. Her soft lips quivered, and the tears spilled over.

“My darling,” he said with concern, and moved to take her in his arms.

“Don’t touch me!” she said with such venom that he was stunned. Her words mauled his pride. He had taken time to awaken her desire, and he knew she had received deep pleasure from his lovemaking. Yet now she wanted to deny it. She dashed the tears from her eyes with stubborn fists.

“So,” he said with narrowed eyes, “with daylight the barriers are again erected between us, and we are again at daggers drawn.”

“Nothing has changed.” She tossed her head angrily.

“Roseanna, you are deluding yourself. You gave me greater pleasure than any woman has ever managed to give me, and your rich, womanly response told me that you also took joy in it.”

“No more than with any other man,” she hurled at him cruelly. He swept aside the bedclothes to reveal the spots of blood on the snowy sheets. “You beast! You deflower
and shame me, and now you are gloating over it! ’Tis all a game of dominance and submission to you, Ravenspur. Hoist your bloodied sheets up the flagpole and fly them from the castle’s highest tower to shout your virility to your men!” For a moment she was almost overcome by her hatred of the man—or was it herself she loathed?

He would not let her make him lose his temper. His eyes suddenly glittered with amusement. “Lovemaking has given you a fit of hysterics.”

“Oh,” she gasped, searching for cruel words of disparagement that would exacerbate his temper.

He grinned wickedly. “Let’s hope you recover by bedtime.”

She drew herself up regally. “Ravenspur, be sure of one thing. Tonight I sleep alone!” She swept from the room and crashed the door with such force that the tail end of her quilted bedgown was trapped in it. No matter how she pulled, she could not release it. She almost slipped out of it and ran naked to her own chamber, but the thought of coming face to face with Mr. Burke prevented her. In exasperation she reopened the chamber door to free herself and seethed as she saw Ravenspur doubled over with laughter on the bed at her sore plight.

He knew a way to tease her that would make her livid. He felt as carefree and exuberant as a youth after his first conquest. He rang for Burke to fetch him hot water to wash and shave, and he whistled a merry tune while Burke selected his clothes from the wardrobe. Roger shook his head. “Not black. Not today.” He grinned like a lunatic. “Give me the purple—I feel like a king!”

Mr. Burke kept his features totally impassive, but inside he was happy for Roger. The lad had known none
but bitches, beginning with his mother. It was time for him to seize a little happiness. By the looks of things it wouldn’t be long before he’d breed some fine sons for the house of Ravenspur.

As a finishing touch, Roger fastened a diamond stud in his ear and cast an admiring glance into a mirror. Then he took out a key and unlocked his cash box. He removed a leather pouch, counted five hundred pounds into it, and slipped it into his doublet. He turned to his servant. “If Tristan returns today, we’ll leave for Ravenglass tomorrow. Pack my saddlebags with enough clean garments for two weeks.”

After he had gone, Mr. Burke shook his head. Ravenspur was never a man to shirk his duty, no matter what temptation was dangled before him, but Mr. Burke was willing to bet that it would be the hardest leavetaking he’d ever faced.

Roger walked briskly down the corridor that led to Roseanna’s chambers and tapped lightly on the door. A startled Kate stood openmouthed as he dropped the heavy leather pouch into her hand. He winked suggestively and said, “For Roseanna. She was worth every penny!”

Kate closed the door and turned to Roseanna. “It was Ravenspur. He brought you money.” Kate actually blushed—a thing Roseanna had never believed possible. She was so angry, she was incoherent and could only manage, “That damned devil, oh, that damned devil!” She could still see him laughing, and suddenly she didn’t know if she wanted to cry or tear his face to ribbons, “The wretched man!” she cried helplessly. “Now I really feel like a harlot!”

Roseanna preferred her own company for the rest of
the day. She went for a long ride over to the town of Richmond, where the castle dated from the eleventh century. The town was once a great center of Norman power, and the castle was its dominant feature. Her groom, Kenneth, was happy to provide escort and fill her in on all the history of the place.

By the time they returned, Tristan and his men were back from Ravenscar and were preparing for their departure on the morrow for Ravenglass, on the opposite coast. Roseanna decided that Ravenspur would be well occupied in the dining hall and would not miss her sorely if she dined with her women in her own chamber this evening. If she could just avoid him tonight, she would be free of him for perhaps as long as a fortnight. Winter was fast approaching, and the brisk cold air she had encountered on her ride now took its toll and made her very sleepy. She retired early, relieved that she had not glimpsed Ravenspur that whole day.

The castle was steeped in silence as the hour passed three and headed toward four o’clock. Kate Kendall sat bolt upright in her bed when something awoke her. She was just in time to glimpse Ravenspur entering Roseanna’s chamber. She blinked, knowing she could not again keep him from his wife. Then she shrugged and pulled the eiderdown up over her head.

Roseanna, suddenly awakened, had no idea what hour it was. Her words, “How dare—” were rudely cut off by Ravenspur, whose voice brooked no foolishness. “Be silent, Roseanna.” He shrugged off his robe and got into bed. “I want nothing except to hold you. I had a nightmare that I returned from Ravenglass to find you gone. I must be up in about two hours, but I want to spend this short time with you.” As he reached for her, she went
rigid and turned stiffly away from him. He ignored her rejection, pulled her against him, and tucked her head beneath his chin. Their bodies curved together like two spoons, and with a possessive arm thrown over her, he was soon breathing the deep even breaths of sleep.

Her rigid rejection was lost upon him, so gradually in the warmth of his body she began to relax. But something was stirring inside her that she refused to acknowledge. An ache, almost a longing began deep within her body. My God, this couldn’t be happening to her! The ache began between her legs and spread its fiery fingers up into her belly and inched its way up toward her round, full breasts like liquid fire. The ache grew unbearable until she had to bite her tongue to prevent her low moans from escaping. He was a devil of darkness who had played with her body, leaving sensuous memory in every pore, and now her weak flesh lay against the muscled length of him craving his lovemaking.

Ravenspur turned over in his sleep, and momentarily relieved, she sighed as he presented his back to her. Furiously she told herself that she must detach her thoughts from him and let them drift off so that sleep could claim her. Roger lay on his side with his back toward her. The firelight made the room glow. She was suddenly admiring his shape, his wide, strong shoulders. His breathing came smoothly, slow and rhythmic. Slowly, as if compelled by a force greater than herself, she inched closer until she could again feel the heat from his body.