Virginia Henley (34 page)

“I did it because it was my duty, but in doing so I saw the woman beneath the surface. All my preconceived ideas flew out the window, and I know what it is that made you choose her for your wife.”

His laughter boomed out. “God’s feet, then you’re the only woman in England who does!”

Roseanna’s mouth turned up at the corners. “She’s having her hair washed. She won’t have you see her looking anything less than perfect.”

The King turned around and bellowed, “Ravenspur! Where the devil is the plaguey fellow? Come and claim your bride!”

Roseanna began to panic. Her husband was here! As his tall, dark figure came into view, her heart skipped its regular beat, and she found herself breathless. Her last act had been one of deceit and defiance of him. The shadow of the young knight she had risked all to free stood between them like an impassable barrier.

Roger moved closer, the expression on his face inscrutable. “Explain yourself,” he demanded.

She raised her eyes to his, and her lip trembled slightly. Then she remembered the intimate moment when she had felt the calluses on his backside, and she gave him a
wicked grin. “The explanation depends on whether you intend to punish me or kiss me!”

In one swift movement he swept her into his arms and his mouth came down possessively on hers. It was like a hot brand, telling her and the world that she belonged to him now and forever. Roseanna could not help but respond. She felt the kiss all the way down to her knees. Then the melting sensation was replaced by fierce desire for this man, and she returned the kiss passionately, moving her body against his in a way that was most pleasurable. He held her at arm’s length to fill his eyes with the sight of her and grinned. “I’ve never made love to a nun before.”

The King, overhearing the remark, made the bawdy rejoinder, “Oh? I thought a nun’s habit was a specialty of Cassandra’s.”

Roseanna’s eyes kindled. “I happen to know who Cassandra is! You’re a pair of damned lechers, sharing your whores as casually as you do a bottle of wine.”

The King said, “For a well-bred young woman, you have a very salty vocabulary.”

She shot back indignantly, “’Tis my parentage; I learned the words from my mother and father!”

The King chuckled. “Get you upstairs into Westminster Palace, and choose yourselves a comfortable suite with a big bed.”

Roseanna tossed her head regally. “The first thing Ravenspur can do is take me to the most expensive shop in London., If I’m to be at Court, I’m going to be the best-dressed woman there!” She gave Roger a sideways glance. “You can spend some of that fortune I married you for.”

Roger looked at Edward. “She’s incorrigible.”

The King nodded. “You’ll have to beat it out of her.”

Roger grinned. “I don’t know if I’ve a big enough weapon.”

Roseanna leaned into his broad chest and turned up her face to him. “You have, my lord, for I’ve felt it.”

    That night at dinner in the medieval Palace of Westminster, the lights blazed, and they dined from plates of gold. The Queen reigned on a small throne at the head table. She wore a magnificent diadem crown and a virginal white gown encrusted with precious jewels. She gave no hint of her recent ordeal in childbirth, nor of her state of mourning. While she surrounded herself with her brothers, sisters, and sons, the King mingled with his nobles, moving easily from group to group, standing out from the crowd because of his great height rather than the magnificence of his apparel.

Ravenspur wore black velvet and stood out as a raven among peacocks. The men of the Court were almost gaudy in the latest styles, with particolored hose, exaggerated shoulders, and beribboned codpieces.

Roseanna knew she looked beautiful. Her gown had cost a small fortune, and it gave her an air of supreme confidence. It was of the palest shell pink silk with puffed sleeves slashed to show deep rose pink underneath. The bodice and skirt were embroidered with tiny glass beads in a delicate pattern of mauve butterflies on rose pink flowers. Her beautiful round breasts were all but bared. Her magnificent hair fell down her back to the hem of her gown and was held back from each temple by jeweled butterflies.

The women of the Court had spent a collective fortune for their clothes and jewels. Roseanna, sharing a goblet of
wine with Ravenspur, told him, “If we are to be long at Court, I will need a complete new wardrobe.”

His dark eyes clearly showed how lovely he found her, and how desirable. “You may have anything you want, but we will not be long at Court. We’ll stay only for the christening of the heir. Then I want a week or so at home, at Ravenspur, before …” He hesitated.

“Before what?” she asked.

“The state of the realm is anything but secure. Richard goes north to defend it against Scotland; Hastings goes to secure the Midlands; and I’m being sent to Wales again. It’s so wild, but Edward places great trust in me, thinking I can control it.”

Fear touched her with its sharp finger when she thought of the babe she would bear him in about seven months. He smiled into her eyes and took her hand in his. “That’s why I want you at Ravenspur, where it’s safe. If you find yourself too lonely, you are close enough to Castlemaine to spend time with your mother.”

She gave him a taunting, sideways glance. “You don’t want me at Court because the game of seduction is so rampant.”

“Tonight, every man’s eyes have lingered on you with speculation. If I were not here, they would move in like wolves devouring a doe.”

“You exaggerate,” she said lightly.

“Nay, you are beautiful enough to tempt a saint, let alone a sinner—and at Westminster I’m afraid all are sinners. Be careful whom you dance with, lest they take you to an alcove and have your breasts from your gown. It wouldn’t be difficult to do. Shall I show you?” he teased. She felt her cheeks grow warm, and he laughed. “Thank God you still blush; a month at Court, and you
would never blush again.” He watched indulgently as she was partnered by Hastings, Herbert, and Stafford, and then twice by the King’s young brother Richard, who now held the highest office in the land. But when Thomas Grey, the Queen’s eldest son, slipped a possessive arm around Roseanna to partner her in a dance, Roger frowned his displeasure. Before the dance was over, he was on his feet and heading for his wife. The reputation of the Queen’s young sons stank to high heaven. They were lechers of the first order, and no attractive woman was remotely safe with them. Roger took her from Thomas Grey before the last notes of the dance sounded. “Madame, you have eluded me long enough.”

Thomas Grey sneered, “Keep your knife sharp.” It was a common enough saying from one noble to another, but Grey meant it as a reminder of the gossip that had touched Ravenspur when his wife was found murdered.

Roseanna gasped. “That was cruel. Are you going to allow the insult to pass?”

“The Queen’s sons can do no wrong. Besides, I don’t care what the young swine says to me, just as long as he keeps his hands from you.” The music struck up again, and they danced a few measures. He gazed down at her, then let his dark eyes sweep over her. Christ’s bones, she was beautiful!

Her breasts began to swell with longing as he towered over her, making her feel very small and feminine.

“I want to make love to you,” he said huskily.

“I know,” she said breathlessly, wanting it every bit as much as he did.

The thought of her in his bed sent shivers down his spine. He spied a balcony and guided her out onto it. His big hands caught and held her face, and he kissed her
almost brutally, seeking her silken tongue and caressing it with his. Her reaction was instantaneous—hot and passionate and filled with lusty, unconcealed desire. Dear God, how she responded to his kisses, and he knew it! No words were needed. He took her hand and led her back through the ballroom, and they slipped upstairs, even though protocol demanded they stay until the King and Queen retired.

Inside their chamber she quickly removed the expensive gown before his impatient fingers could damage the delicate material. In the frantic race to disrobe, Roger was naked before she; he finished undressing her by pushing her back onto the bed and peeling off her stockings. His hot lips left a trail from her ankle all the way up to her soft thigh; she moaned as his lips approached the throbbing center of her womanhood. His desire was so great, he had to crush down the need to mount her instantly; that would be a waste. She was not to be used quickly but savored and cherished. Besides, he wanted more from her than a sexual response. This time he wanted a commitment—and he’d get it, he decided ruthlessly.

She threaded her fingers through his crisp dark hair and tried to pull his mouth up to hers, but he wouldn’t leave the flower between her legs until the bud burst into full bloom. His tongue found the bud, and he pleasured her furiously with his mouth until she came.

“Please, Ravenspur,” she begged him, not nearly satisfied with what he was doing to her. She closed her eyes and thrashed her head against the pillows crying, “Please, please.”

“Look at me, Roseanna,” he demanded. “I know what
you want, but I’ll not take you like a whore. Admit that you have fallen in love with me!”

“No!” she cried, denying him.

He rubbed his big organ between her legs. “This is what you want, isn’t it?”

Passion devoured her. His hard, swollen, shaft throbbed against her, and she sobbed her desire for him.

“No,” he denied her when she reached out with teasing fingers to tempt him. “If you do not love me, yet give me your body, you are no better than a common whore. You lock your heart away from me while greedily satisfying the lusts of your body! Do you want me to use you like a whore?” He grabbed her breast roughly and jammed his knee between her thighs.

“No, no, Ravenspur,” she sobbed.

“My name is Roger,” he said softly.

“Ravenspur!” she repeated stubbornly.

“Damn you, you heartless bitch! I only want you to love me a little.” His voice cracked with emotion, and suddenly she broke down. Tears flooded her eyes and streamed down her face. “Oh, Roger, I do love you! I love you more than I ever knew it was possible to love a man. I love you beyond my wildest dreams!”

A surge of joy such as he had never felt before swelled his heart. He parted her thighs and plunged into the sweet, hot sheath that drew him deeper and deeper inside her with every thrust. In a time that is never, ever long enough for lovers, they reached their peak, and she felt the contractions of an orgasm so great, she thought she would faint. Over and over again her body shuddered with the force of her climax; it was heightened and prolonged by Roger’s climax as he joined in her ecstasy.

He cradled her against his heart. “Oh, my sweet, sweet
Roseanna, how I love you.” As she lay against him, utterly safe, utterly protected, all was right with her world. In that moment it felt so right that she thought that this was what she had been born for, to love this man and bear his children. He hugged her close and whispered, “I nearly went mad when I found you had released Fitzhugh and when I found both your horses missing. I assumed you’d gone off with him.”

“Forgive me, Roger. I should never have released him, for your suspicions were correct. He was somehow involved in the plot to imprison the King. But I truly believed you would take his life, not for any treasonous plot but because you thought I loved him.”

He nuzzled the soft spot on her neck beneath her ear. “I was jealous of the young lout, but I was convinced you were in love with his chivalrous idealism. The dashing young knight, pure in purpose, ardent in romance, steadfast in allegiance.”

“I must have seemed very young and foolish to you.”

He chuckled. “I was so madly in love for the first time in my life, I must have seemed old and foolish to you.”

“Let’s go home soon,” she breathed.

“Tomorrow, if I can manage our escape. Try to sleep, my love.”

“I cannot sleep with the chamber so brightly lit.” As she slipped from the bed to blow out all the candles, he watched her in awe. No other woman in the world could possibly present the beautiful picture Roseanna’s nude body made, cloaked in her dark hair that fell to the carpet.

    The pleasure of awakening in each other’s arms was short lived.

“Shall I kiss you awake?” Roger asked, smiling deeply into her eyes.

She confessed, “When you found me in the sanctuary, I feared you might beat me.”

He teased, “Would I beat a nun?”

“A very pregnant nun,” she added.

His face changed instantly. “No! Tell me you are joking, Roseanna.”

She couldn’t believe the change in him. It was obvious that he was displeased by the news; she was deeply wounded. Tears sprang to her eyes, and she jumped from the bed and wrapped her nakedness in the fur cover.

“Damn you, Ravenspur! I let down all my defenses, and when I am totally vulnerable, you deliberately hurt me.”

“Roseanna—” he began.

“Don’t speak to me! Don’t dare speak to me!” she choked.

He knew he had made a dreadful blunder and wondered what he could say to make amends. Although he searched frantically for words, nothing occurred to him that would wipe away the suggestion that he did not want a child.

Her mind whirled around, looking for a reason that would explain his displeasure. Then she hit on it. By God’s bones, perhaps he thought it was Sir Bryan’s child that she carried! “How can you think me faithless?” she demanded.

He stiffened. “I did not until you suggested it, madame!”

Eyes blazing, he walked out into the small dressing room.

* * *

Many ceremonies were planned at Westminster for the week to come, but Roger closeted himself with Edward and begged to be excused from the christening. The King waved his hand. “It’s not important to me; it’s just a formality. But Elizabeth won’t forgive.”

“I think it best to remove Roseanna while she is in Elizabeth’s good graces. If Elizabeth ever found out she was your lovechild, all hell might break loose.”

Ned sighed. “At the moment other things occupy her mind. She is bent on revenge and urges me to it every waking moment. I’d like your advice, Roger. Northumberland, Warwick’s brother, stayed loyal to me through all this. I think I should honor that loyalty. Divide and conquer makes good sense in my book, although Elizabeth is in a rage that I should honor Warwick’s brother.”