The Perfect Bride (16 page)

Anne grimaced again, moving across the kitchen to the pantries.

“Where is Fenwick?” she asked, speaking to the maid's back and becoming dismayed because she did not turn.

Anne didn't pause. “I sent him to the village for groceries.”

Blanche almost demanded that she look at her when speaking to her. But Anne disappeared into the pantry, leaving Blanche shaken.

Anne did not care for her rank and was letting her know it. They weren't rivals, but she felt as if they were just that. But Blanche wasn't about to compete with a servant. She followed Anne, pausing on the threshold of the pantry, which was dark and cool. “I am not pleased that I have to follow you around to speak with you,” she said, trying to keep her tone neutral. “I am sure you show Sir Rex far more respect.”

Anne had been opening an icebox and she straightened. “Oh, I beg your pardon. I thought he might be hungry, considering all he's been through.” She smiled.

There was nothing Blanche could say to that. “When Fenwick returns, Sir Rex needs his breeches removed. I assume he will wish to lounge in bed in a nightshirt.”

Anne blinked innocently at her. “I can certainly help him change his clothes…my lady.”

Blanche felt a terrible tension. She spoke slowly, in an even but firm tone, and with care. “When Fenwick returns, he will aid Sir Rex. Your duties, Anne, are here in the kitchen.” She was firm.

“Of course,” Anne said, her eyes flickering. “Except when Sir Rex has other duties for me.”

Blanche gasped. Flushing crimson, she turned so swiftly she stumbled, and she left the kitchen. Glancing back, she saw Anne staring coldly. The maid was horrid. No, she corrected herself, the truth was horrid, if she dared to dwell on it.

Sir Rex should not have taken advantage of his housemaid, even if she had been utterly willing. She had managed to gloss it over, but it was so terribly inappropriate. Yes, she now knew he was lonely and virile, but surely there was someone in the village who could serve as a mistress.

And she must find some sympathy for Anne. Of course Anne would dislike her. She was a simple housemaid and her employer's lover, a very impossible and difficult position to be in, and she probably resented Blanche in every possible way. But her rudeness and lack of respect were intolerable. Blanche was shaken.

She hurried upstairs, forcing a pleasant expression on her face. Sir Rex's door remained open and as she paused there, he put down the book he was reading and smiled at her. He had put on a shirt, but it was open. She lowered her hand; she had been about to knock.

“Anne is readying a small meal.”

His smile faded. “What is wrong?”

“Nothing.” She smiled very brightly at him, thinking about Anne. “Your blacksmith is here.”

His expression changed. “I have no blacksmith. I shoe the horses myself.”

Blanche stared in disbelief.

 

T
WO DAYS LATER
, B
LANCHE SAT
in the great room, going over correspondence from her solicitors. When the post had arrived, even though a reply from Bess was almost impossible until the morrow, she had been disappointed to realize that the reply was not in the mail. She was reading the first of two very long reports, when she heard Sir Rex coming downstairs.

Her heart skipped with an excitement she could not deny and she smiled, looking up.

He entered the room, meeting her smile with one of his own. “I assume I am now allowed out of bed? I have been a proper patient,” he said pleasantly.

She stood. “I would have never dreamed you could be such a model patient. How do you feel?”

“I feel,” he said, limping closer, “like taking you for that hack across the moors.” His gaze locked with hers, his smile gone.

Her heart turned over, hard. “It has only been three days since the accident,” she began softly, but more excitement swept over her, because Sir Rex looked very fine, too fine, in fact.

“I have stayed in bed, doing all of my paperwork there. I refuse to become indolent, or God forbid, fat. My body is aching for vigorous activity. I am fine, Blanche,” he said firmly. “Certain movements cause a mild ache in my chest, that is all.”

Blanche had to repress a laugh. “You will never be overweight.”

“If I sit on my posterior all day, I will become just that. Look.” He took her arm and turned her toward the window. “The day is perfect.”

Their bodies touched from shoulder to hip. Her heart slammed. Her skin hummed. Elsewhere, it tightened, swelled. “I need some outdoor activity, too,” she said softly.

“Good.” He shifted. “Anne, go round to the stables and have my mount readied, and Isabella for Lady Harrington.”

Blanche whirled to see Anne on the great room's threshold. Anne curtsied and left.

Sir Rex touched her shoulder. “What is disturbing you? Is something amiss with the maid?”

Blanche hoped she was not flushing. “Why would something be amiss with your servant?” She shrugged. “I will change. I actually brought a riding habit.” She hesitated, lifting her gaze to his. “I am so pleased you are fully recovered, Sir Rex.”

He simply stared back at her and tension knifed between them.

 

B
LANCHE THOUGHT
her mare lovely. She was quiet, sweet and willing. Sir Rex pointed ahead as they paused on a high rise on the moors. The sky was blue, filled with faraway white clouds, and the sun was brilliantly shining. Winter seemed to have left Cornwall; it was warm and mild out.

“Can you see those stones?” Sir Rex asked, turning his gray gelding to face her.

“The ruins?” she asked, seeing a lone tower rising against the horizon.

“Yes. Are you up for a canter?” he asked eagerly.

She looked at his handsome face, his eyes filled with warmth and happiness. “Yes.”

He gestured for her to gallop off first.

Blanche lightly tapped the mare with her crop and she set off at a canter. She laughed, pleased, because the mare was as smooth as a sofa. Sir Rex caught up with her. “She is like a rocking chair, is she not?”

“Very much so,” Blanche called to him.

The tower loomed as they approached. Stone hedges crisscrossed the moors, which were dotted with the first of spring's wildflowers, and she saw the remnants of the castle's walls. The tower was three stories high, but clearly lacking an interior or a roof. They slowed their mounts to a walk and then halted beside it. It had become amazingly silent, as if ghosts truly haunted the place.

Blanche could see past the ruins, which were perched on a high slope. Below was a lush wooded valley and a picture-perfect village. “It is so lovely.”

“Yes, it is,” he said. “The local myth says that just after Hastings, my ancestor erected the original fort here. But Rolfe de Warenne was then sent to harry the north, and he never came back. The fort was passed into the hands of one of William's other lieutenants.” He smiled at her. “Even in those days, the de Warenne men found and claimed true love. You do know he fell for a Saxon princess—who was not his wife.”

Blanche beamed, wondering if the story was true. “And did he end up with his lady love?”

“He most certainly did, for she is the matriarch of our family. Her name was Ceidre.”

“An unusual name,” Blanche said, now studying Sir Rex closely. His humor had become lighter and lighter with every passing day—ever since the accident, or even before it. He was more smiles than not. She had not seen any sign of anger or frustration. When he had been bedridden, she had checked on him every night. He had been soundly asleep early every evening. And she had not seen him drink more than a single glass of wine with his supper.

She still wondered who had broken his heart. If family legend was true, he would pine for her forever. But he did not seem to be pining at all now.

He slid from his mount, crutch in hand, landing on his left foot and then settling onto his crutch. If his chest pained him, there was no sign. He dropped his mount's reins onto the ground and the animal stood obediently there. Blanche watched him move to her left side with some surprise. He raised his left hand. “Come down.”

She hesitated, but he was smiling and her heart was melting into a pool, somewhere below her, on the grassy ground.

“I won't fall over and I won't break,” he murmured softly.

So much tension arose that her mare snorted. Sir Rex instantly laid his left hand on her neck, fingers splayed, caressing her. He murmured a soft word and Blanche saw her mare drop its head. She could almost hear the animal sigh in pleasure.

Even my mount is affected by his touch, she thought, trembling.

Sir Rex looked up slowly. His eyes were very dark and they gleamed. In that single lazy moment, he appeared so much like the lion from her dream—indolent but intent, predatory and watchful and oh so certain. “Come down,” he murmured again in that silken and impossibly intimate tone.

Blanche took his hand and as their palms locked, her heart pounded wildly, urgently. She slipped down from the mare, landing lightly on her feet and in Sir Rex's arms.

He smiled at her as if this was exactly what he intended, and she knew it was.

She couldn't smile back. Her skirts covered his good leg from thigh to toe, and they stood so closely, she felt his hard knee against her thigh. No more than a few centimeters separated her breasts from his chest. And although he held her loosely, she felt his left hand on her waist, his right hand on her back.

“Have you enjoyed our hack?” he murmured, his gaze heated now and searching.

She tried to swallow. “Yes.”

“Can I give you Isabelle as a gift?”

Her eyes widened. “You do not have to do such a thing,” she gasped brokenly. She could barely think, standing like this, in his carefully controlled embrace.

“But you get along famously. And you are a perfect match. She's a beautiful horse—a beautiful horse for a beautiful woman.”

Blanche felt faint. “Are you flirting…Sir Rex?'

“Yes, I most definitely am.”

She couldn't think of a thing to say to that. She looked at his full and now-still mouth. She swallowed hard again. Could he hear her heart pounding? For it was deafening in her ears.

His voice softened. “I have come under the impression that you might not reject my advances.”

Her knees buckled and she swayed against him, her breasts flattening against his chest. His arms tightened around her. “Am I correct?” he whispered.

She somehow nodded. She couldn't speak. Desire was drumming through her.

“I wish to make advances, Blanche,” he said roughly. His hands splayed out on her back and shoulder, pulling her more closely against his hard, powerful body. “I wish to kiss you,” he said, his tone now thick. “May I?”

She inhaled, nodding. She raised her face, realizing she was ready to cry.

“Don't cry,” he said softly, his face tightening. “Just allow me this kiss,” he breathed.

She saw his lashes lower sensually; she saw him drift his mouth toward hers. In disbelief, in hope, she waited, and she felt his lips ever so barely feather against her mouth.

She gasped at the sensation, eyes closing, as he began to slowly, gently, brush his mouth back and forth against hers. Blanche felt her heart explode frantically, and with it, a shocking pulse began, beneath her skirts. She clasped his shoulders and pressed closer and the moment she did so, his mouth firmed, the pressure increasing.

She cried out.

His mouth opened hers, his hand now on the back of her head, and he began to kiss her with hunger and need. Blanche felt him stabbing against her hip and a terrible excitement began. She hung on to him more tightly and he swept his tongue deep. He was kissing her as if he could never do so deeply enough.

The world spun.

Air failed.

His huge hard body, his mouth, his embrace, consumed her entirely. His hands moved low, almost to her buttocks, and the pressure between them grew. Blanche felt shocking moisture dripping and for the first time in her life, she wished he would slip his hand beneath her skirts and touch her to ease her aching.

His tongue thrust deep. He grunted, the sound male, sexual and intent. Blanche gave up and cried out softly.

He tore his mouth from hers and held her tightly, pressing her face to his chest, his cheek against her temple. She was aware of her heart, pounding wildly in her chest, and his heart, pounding even more furiously beneath her cheek. He was breathing harshly, but so was she.

Desire, Blanche thought, so much desire.

Tears began.

She had never dreamed that this day would really come.

She wanted Sir Rex. She wanted him to kiss and touch her and she wanted to kiss and touch him back. And she wanted more than that, no matter how shocking it was.

“Blanche,” he finally said somewhat breathlessly. He tilted up her face. “Why are you crying?” His eyes went wide with alarm.