Margaret Moore (17 page)

“If you do not know, then I shall not tell you.”

She laughed softly, the sound delightful to him. “Oh,
that.”

“Yes, my sweet,
that
—and more besides.”

He halted, pulled her into his arms just as she had wanted him to do before and quite
regardless of the fact that they were in the hall, where any servant might see them, kissed her passionately.

Then he picked her up and with rather astonishing vigor carried her up the stairs.

She laughed again, feeling as she never had before, cherished and safe and free.

He shoved open the door to the bedchamber with his shoulder and began to set her down. Enjoying herself, she took her time, slipping her feet slowly to the floor so that she slid against his body. “What more would you teach me, my lord and husband?”

With a low chuckle, he reached past her and pushed the door closed. “Why some folk refer to love-making as sport.”

“Why do they?” she asked softly, running her hands over his chest, and lower.

“Because they play.”

“How?”

“You are making it very difficult for me to remember,” he murmured as he began explorations of his own.

“Never mind…”

He moved away, a droll smile lighting his features. “Oh, no. I want to play.”

Frustrated, she crossed her arms. “What game?”

“Who can undress the fastest.”

It was her turn to smile. “I don’t think you want to play that.”

His gaze raked her body. “I assure you, I do.”

“I will win.”

He laughed. “With all those undergarments?”

“Would you care to make a wager?”

“I will win,” he warned.

“Then make the wager.”

“Very well. But I have very little money of my own.”

“I was not thinking of money,” she answered merrily—and honestly.

His eyes widened and his smile grew. “Ah! Again, I underestimate my country-bred wife. What do you suggest?”

“I suggest that the loser must do whatever the other asks tonight.”

“Whatever?”

She blushed. “Well, within reason.”

“I might want to be unreasonable.”

“Then I suppose I shall have to win,” she observed, trying not to look at his knotted jabot, the several buttons of his shirt, the ties of his breeches or his calf-hugging boots.

He, meanwhile, surveyed her laced bodice, her overskirt and the petticoat peeking out from beneath its hem. “When shall we begin?”

“On the count of three?”

He nodded, and when she cried, “Three!” she swiftly reached behind her neck to untie the lacing of her bodice. She had not had a lady’s maid since her marriage, William deeming
that a frivolous expense, so she had long ago learned to lace and unlace her bodice itself, a skill proving handy now.

In a twinkling, it was undone and while Richard tossed aside his cravat, she was already wiggling out of her bodice and chemise, paying no heed to the fact that she was going to be half-naked.

She wanted to win.

She grabbed the ties at the side of her over-shirt and pulled them undone, and just as quickly undid the ties of her underskirt and petticoat.

She was already stepping out them when Richard was still on his shirt buttons.

“Zounds!” he muttered as he glanced at her and saw how far ahead she was. He redoubled his efforts on his buttons.

She kicked her skirts aside and finished wiggling out of her bodice and chemise, while he was tugging on the tie of his breeches. “I win!” she cried, standing before him naked and triumphant.

“You think so?” he asked slyly as he gave up with his breeches. “I think I am the winner, with this view.”

Giggling, she dashed to the bed and hurried under the covers. “You must agree I win the wager, so now you must do whatever I say.”

“Gladly,” he replied as he started to untie his breeches.

“Would you please pick up my clothes? I
shouldn’t have left them in a pile.”

His brow furrowed. “That isn’t quite the order I thought you would be issuing.”

“Really?” she answered mischievously. “What else did you have in mind?”

“You wish an example?” he said as he gathered up her clothes and tossed them in a heap on a chair. “If I had won, I would be asking you to kiss me.”

“Very well, Sir Richard. Kiss me.”

He strolled to the bed. “Should I finish disrobing first?”

“Yes.”

Elissa had been excited before, just being in his arms or returning his kiss, but now a new thrill came into being that had nothing to do with Richard’s body being slowly revealed to her.

William would never had allowed her to give any suggestions, let alone commands. He would have begrudged giving up even that little power.

But Richard—Richard was so different, in so many ways. What before had been an unpleasant, onerous duty was fast becoming one of the greatest delights of her life.

He climbed between the covers. “Now for that kiss.”

Happily she put her arms around him and pulled him close.

But before his mouth touched hers, he hesitated. “On the lips?”

She blinked. “Yes, I suppose so. Where else?”

“There are many places for a kiss.”

She should have recalled that. “First on the lips.”

He obeyed at once, his mouth moving slowly over hers in a way that nearly made her senseless with desire, until he pulled away.

“What next, my lady?”

“Perhaps I don’t want to give orders any more,” she murmured truthfully.

“But I am enjoying this,” he confessed in a low, husky tone. “Are you not?”

At his admission, she felt even more excitement course through her body. “Kiss me again and touch my breasts the way you did on our wedding night.”

He laughed softly. “I hear and obey with the greatest pleasure, my lady.”

Her breathing quickened with the delicious sensations his caresses aroused. Emboldened, she suddenly reached up and pushed him over, so that he lay on his back.

“Do I displease you, my lady?”

“Lie still.”

“To hear is to—” He gasped as she straddled him. She bent her head and began to flick her tongue over his hardened nipples.

“Oh, yes, Elissa,” he growled. He put his hands on her cheeks to pull her up for his kiss.

But she grabbed his wrists and shoved them
onto the pillows. “I won the wager, did I not? You are to do as I say.”

Richard had never felt so aroused in all his life as she spoke with both authority and amusement. Never before would he ever have acquiesced to such a thing, not in bed or out of it.

But with Elissa he would, and gladly. A new sense of freedom was blossoming in her—and within himself, too.

So he gave up control. Allowing her hands to keep his still, he waited for what she would do next.

Which was to kiss and lick his chest until he writhed with the exquisite agony of it and thought he would die if they did not make love.

She moved off of him. “Sit up, Richard.”

“What?” he whispered, not sure he heard aright.

“Sit up, please.”

Disappointed because of what he had hoped she was going to do, yet apparently mistaken, he did as she asked.

“I saw a picture once that I cannot forget. I hope this does not disgust you.”

He held his breath as she moved, positioning herself so that they were face to face, her legs around his waist. Then slowly she shifted forward and lifted herself, gently guiding his erection to her moist honor, so that they were
intertwined and joined, hip to hip and chest to breasts.

His mouth found hers as he began to push. Sensations such as he had never felt before assailed him and overwhelmed him.

Their kiss deepened and their breathing quickened.

“Oh, Richard, yes,” Elissa murmured as he kissed her jaw, her neck, her ear, while his thrusts grew faster and more powerful. “Don’t stop. Please don’t stop.”

That was a command he couldn’t have disobeyed if he had wanted to.

Too soon he felt the building tension reaching its peak. As they clung to each other almost desperately, Elissa bucked and panted with equal passion. A sound grew in the back of her throat and he felt her body grip him tighter yet, the sudden throbbing pushing him over the edge. He threw back his head and growled with the pure animalistic joy of release.

“Richard?”

“Yes?” he sighed as his body relaxed, and he held her close.

“I like your games.”

He chuckled softly. “And I could come to enjoy losing.”

The next morning, Elissa sat at her desk in the small room she used for an office. Her closet paneled in pale new oak was a fewyards
in dimension, lined with shelves for her books of account, and overlooked the yard and stables.

She rubbed her tired eyes and tried again to decipher her entries in the account book before her. Her handwriting really was abominable, and she had not blotted several entries before closing the book the last time she used it. The page looked like some kind of mysterious creature had walked over it and smudged the words and numbers.

Even though she smiled when she remembered why she was so exhausted, her fatigue was not making this study easier.

She never would have guessed marriage could be so exciting and liberating.

As she yawned again, she glanced up from the accounts to see the distractingly handsome Richard leaning against the door frame, a disgruntled look on his face.

“What is it?” she asked.

He sauntered into the room, which held little more than her desk and chair. “What language do these people speak?”

She quickly closed her book so that he wouldn’t see her untidy entries. “What people?”

“The servants.”

“English, of course.”

“And the stable hands?”

“English,” she replied, somewhat mystified.

“You would never know it by the blank
Stares they give me when I ask a question,” he muttered, picking up her pen and absently examining the worn-down tip.

“Perhaps your question is the problem,” she replied, resisting the urge to grab the pen from him. “What did you want to know?”

He put down the pen and looked at her. “I merely inquired which horse I could ride.”

“And they did not answer?”

“Not at first. First, they had to look at each other, then back at me several times,” he said, turning his head from side to side in imitation. “Then they surveyed the stable and the loft as if the answer would be written by a celestial hand on the ceiling.

“Finally, after all this,” he concluded with obvious exasperation, “the groom, who, I must say, looks more like an ox than any person should, mumbled something vaguely coherent about asking ‘the mistress,’ which would be you, I take it.”

“Yes, that would be me,” she answered, trying not to smile.

“Well, mistress, which horse might your husband ride?” he asked. “The black stallion that looks to have a mean mouth, the placid mare that will likely lull me to sleep with her easy gait, or the pony, which has no external flaws that I can detect, yet is a little short for me?”

“The servants are simply being cautious, Richard,” she explained. “They don’t know
you, but they do know me. I can have a fierce temper when I am displeased.”

“Zounds, I know that. I have experienced your temper myself.”

“Well then, you should appreciate why they didn’t want to give you an answer, in case it was the wrong one.” She smiled placatingly. “After William died, I admit I displayed my temper more often than strictly necessary. It ensured respect for the bereaved widow.”

“An excellent strategy. I think your flashes of apparent ire increased the king’s respect, too.”

“Well, I truly was angered by him.”

“Then you are braver than many a courtier.”

“I was afraid, too.”

“Most monarchs have that affect on people. Fortunately, Charles is more genial than the general rule.”

“I shall have to take your word for that. He was not very genial, to my mind.”

“Then you should meet the king of France.”

“No, thank you.”

“Besides, you did have the distinct advantage of me, you know.”

“I
had the advantage? You are his friend.”

“You are a beautiful woman. I’faith, I fear you are already winding me about your little finger. Why, I am all sweetness and light in your presence, and I was perilously close to running those stablehands through.”

“Sweetness and light is not what I would
call you. Fire and brimstone, perhaps.”

“Fire, at any rate,” he agreed.

Despite his light and easy tone, passion smoldered in his eyes, firing her own blood. He reached out to take her hand and pressed his warm, firm lips upon it.

“I have much to do,” she said, although she did not pull her hand away. “When I finish these books, I have to … have to…”

“Whatever it is, it does not sound very urgent.”

“It is the middle of the morning,” she protested weakly.

He smiled his devilishly bewitching smile. “I know.”

He let go of her hand and she was most absurdly disappointed. “Well, if you would rather work on those musty books, I shall not stop you. In the meantime, I think I shall take Will riding with me. No objections to that, I hope?”

“No, not at all. Indeed, he will be thrilled. I cannot ride out very often myself,” she said regretfully.

She would very much like to go riding this morning, but she dared not take the time until she had everything sorted out.

“I assume the pony is his?”

She nodded. “Of course, and the mare is mine.”

“That tame creature? I thought a woman of
your temperament would want something with more spirit.”

“I ride for pleasure, not a challenge.”

“Whereas I enjoy a challenge.” Richard’s voice lowered to an intimate whisper. “Such as seeing how long I can hold out against your insistent, insatiable demands upon my poor person.”

“Richard Blythe, it was your idea!” she cried, even as her body warmed with the memories of all the things they had done last night.

“And one of my better ones, I must say. My dear, the ladies at court could learn a thing or two from their country sisters, if you are anything to go by.”

“If I am not allowed to speak my late husband’s name in some rooms of this house,” she replied rather primly, “I think you should stop mentioning the ladies of the court.”