“I do not care if he becomes angry or not,” Elizabeth replied, straightening her shoulders. “I just hope that he will be quickly done.”
“There are ways you can make the deed quick,” the servant hinted. She folded back the covers on the bed and turned back to Elizabeth. “But it will take courage . . . and boldness, my lady.”
Elizabeth found herself intrigued with the conversation. Sara wasn’t acting the least bit embarrassed by their delicate topic but stood there with a tranquil expression on her face and spoke as if they were discussing new ways of stuffing quail. Sara, Elizabeth reminded herself, was at least three times her own age, and maybe that was why her attitude was so blasé.
“What must I do?” Elizabeth asked, determined to do anything to get the night over and done with.
“Entice him,” Sara announced, nodding her head at Elizabeth’s puzzled expression. “He is eager to bed you,” she said. “I saw the look in his eyes. Every man has only so much control, mistress. You must—”
The door to the bedroom suddenly opened and Geoffrey filled the entry. Elizabeth was standing in front of the fireplace, unaware that the light from the fire outlined the slender shape of her body through the thin robe. Her stomach knotted at the look in her husband’s eyes as he slowly took his fill of her, from the top of her head to the tip of her toes, which peeked out beneath the robe, but she matched his stare and his appraisal and prayed that her trembling would soon stop.
Sara left the room and she was alone with her husband. His gaze was intimidating, and when she could stand it no longer, she turned her back to him, pretending to warm her hands before the fire. Her mind raced for an ending to the discussion she was having with Sara. Entice him? Play the whore? Is that what the servant suggested? No, she decided, she could never do that. And why would enticing speed the deed?
Realizing that she probably looked like she was hiding, Elizabeth slowly turned back to her husband. He was sitting on the edge of the bed, removing his boots and staring at her.
If only he would smile, Elizabeth thought, instead of looking so serious, so intent. She felt like he was trying to see inside her, know her thoughts and feelings, find her soul. And capture it. He looked capable of the task, and Elizabeth almost made the sign of the cross but caught herself in time.
Without saying a word, Geoffrey stood and began to remove the rest of his clothing, surprised to find that his hands were fumbling with the simple buckles. Had he not known better, he would have thought his hands shaking. He continued to look at his wife, willing her to show him some of the fear she kept so well hidden. He knew it was there, locked behind the rigid stance. Yet he was not displeased when she did not. She was his wife, his property. And he had chosen well.
Elizabeth watched him try again and again to undo the latchings. She wanted to suggest that he give some attention to his task instead of staring at her but did not think he would understand that she was teasing. Instead, she slowly walked over to him, a smile lifting the corners of her mouth, and unlatched the three buckles.
Geoffrey watched her, inhaled the sweet clean scent of her.
“I should change your bandage,” Elizabeth said, taking a step back, “and apply more salve.”
“It has been attended to,” Geoffrey answered, his voice husky. He was removing the rest of his clothing as he talked. Elizabeth tried to remind herself that she had seen him naked before, but that was when he was unconscious and raging with fever. His desire now had changed his physique considerably, and the transformation terrified her.
“Do not be afraid.” The softly spoken command confused Elizabeth. Geoffrey placed his hands on her shoulders. He did not draw her to him but seemed content to lazily study her eyes, her nose, and most especially, her mouth.
“I am not afraid,” Elizabeth contradicted, her voice clear and strong. “I have seen you without your clothes on.” At Geoffrey’s puzzled look, Elizabeth explained, “When I took care of you, it was necessary—”
“I remember,” Geoffrey said, smiling inside at the way his wife’s face colored with her admission. His hands began to gently massage her shoulders, stroking the knots of tension he knew he caused. “And I have also seen you without your clothes,” he said.
His words startled Elizabeth and she was only vaguely aware that his hands had moved to her waist, to the knot that held her robe secure.
“When was this?” she asked, frowning.
“At the waterfall,” Geoffrey answered. “You were bathing.”
“And you watched me?” she asked, both embarrassed and somewhat indignant.
“I had already decided to wed you, Elizabeth. It was my right.”
Elizabeth pushed his hands away and took another step back. She felt the bed behind her knees and knew she could go no farther.
“When did you decide,” she asked, her voice a whisper, “that you would wed me?”
Geoffrey did not answer her but stood there and waited.
He wasn’t making this moment less awkward, and the uncertainty of what was to come was agonizing. I must get the deed done, Elizabeth decided. Slowly she untied the belt to her robe. Before her courage could desert her, she removed the covering and let it drop to the floor. “And do you still want me?” she asked, her voice husky and, she hoped, enticing.
From the surprised look on her husband’s face, Elizabeth decided that maybe enticing was easy work. His stare was so hot that she felt the heat, like an embrace, wrapping around her. She felt like she was being caressed. “Aye, wife, I want you,” Geoffrey answered, his voice hypnotic. “Come to me, Elizabeth. Let me make you mine.”
It would not take much more to push his control over the edge, Elizabeth naïvely decided. Then, in her mind’s view, he would most probably throw her upon the bed and take her. It would be painful, she knew, but quickly over.
An overwhelming need to have him hold her first, to stroke and comfort her, made Elizabeth’s head spin. She took the first step and was but a breath away from touching him when she stopped and lifted her hands to her hair. She pulled the ribbon free, and the tight crown of curls quickly unwound, falling down below her shoulders. And still her husband did not move. He did not seem overly crazed with excitement or lust either, and Elizabeth realized that she would have to play a far better temptress than she first thought, if she was going to cause him to lose all control.
She raised herself on tiptoes and placed her hands around his neck, moving forward until her breasts were touching the warm mat of hair covering his chest. The contact of her skin against his was surprising; her eyes widened in reaction. Geoffrey smiled then, as if he was pleased with her aggression.
He picked her up and gently placed her on the bed. Before she could move over to allow him room, Geoffrey came down full upon her, all sinewy strength and power touching silky smoothness from neck to toes. His frame seemed to swallow hers. He braced himself on his elbows to share some of his weight, and watched his wife’s reaction to his intimate touch.
Elizabeth closed her eyes against the rioting feelings tugging at her senses. His skin was like warm steel; his maleness, the very scent that was Geoffrey, intoxicated her. She felt herself tremble and bravely tried to move her legs apart, knowing, in her heart, that the power of him would most probably tear her apart. I will not scream, she repeated again and again to herself, squeezing her eyes tighter still as if that single action might help lessen the pain of what was to come. “I am ready,” she whispered in a ragged voice.
Geoffrey felt her brace herself against him and smiled. “Well, I am not,” he whispered in return, and widened his smile when her eyes flew open with obvious distress and confusion. His eyes were full of tenderness and golden chips that showed his amusement. ’Tis not funny, Elizabeth felt like screaming. Instead she whispered in a voice that sounded very much like a plea, “Be done with it, husband.” She tried to move her legs farther apart but Geoffrey blocked their movement with his own. Elizabeth looked into his eyes and waited. She wet her
lips with the tip of her tongue, an unconscious gesture, and forced her body to relax.
And then Geoffrey slowly leaned down and kissed her, a deep, draining kiss that played havoc with Elizabeth’s emotions. Her mouth opened under his tender assault, and she accepted his invading tongue with a sigh, pulling him closer. For long moments he continued to taste the sweetness she offered. He demanded, and he gave, and she did not want the drugging kisses to end. When he pulled his mouth free and moved to her throat, Elizabeth tried to force him back. Geoffrey took hold of her hands and held them secure with one of his, yet she did not feel the prisoner, for his thumb gently stroked the palms of each, sending little shivers that reached the tip of her toes. She felt like she stood on the edge of a storm and that streamers of lightning were shooting through her limbs. Geoffrey moved to her side, keeping one muscular leg securely anchored on top of hers. And all the while his mouth continued to taste, moving with deliberate thoroughness to her straining breasts. The torment was becoming unbearable and she could not keep the moan from echoing throughout the room when his mouth finally touched her breast. His tongue teased her nipple erect, flicking and circling with excruciating thoroughness that pushed Elizabeth further and further into the eye of the storm. Finally he took the aroused bud into his mouth, sucking it until tremors of pleasure shook Elizabeth.
She was unaware that her hips had begun to move in an erotic motion, back and forth. Heat of such intense need was building deep within and Elizabeth could remain passive no longer. She pulled her hands free and began to touch and stroke her husband. His muscles felt like knotted iron, the hair on his chest crisp and warm. Elizabeth marveled at the difference in their bodies, wanting to know all of him. Her hand slid lower but suddenly stopped at Geoffrey’s indrawn breath. She hesitated another second and then continued her exploration. When she reached the heat of his desire, Geoffrey’s hand stopped her. His voice was harsh when he said, “No, wife. I do not have that much patience.”
“It is wrong?” Elizabeth asked, horrified that she might have done something terrible. She pulled her hand back with a forceful jerk but Geoffrey caught it.
“No,” he answered, stroking her cheek with his other hand. “Nothing is wrong between husband and wife.” He placed her hand around his neck and looked deep into her eyes.
“Then why—”
Geoffrey’s mouth stopped her question. His movements then became more forceful, more concentrated. His knee forced her legs apart and his hand slid into the soft curls protecting the core of her need. Elizabeth tried to push his hand away but Geoffrey ignored her. With each touch, each stroke against the velvet softness, Elizabeth felt her control slip further away. She clung to him, kissing his neck, his shoulder, rubbing her tongue against his hot skin, tasting the salty film, inhaling the musky scent that was her husband.
The sensations she was experiencing were too raw, too new. She became frightened by the power he was yielding and again tried to push his hand away.
Geoffrey held her still by locking his hands against her hips. “You are so beautiful, Elizabeth. I would know all of you.” His voice was a growl against her skin. He lowered his head to her waist and began to circle her navel with his warm wet tongue. Elizabeth groaned and automatically sucked in her breath. She tried to find her voice to protest, to tell him no, what he was doing was wrong, he must not . . . but his mouth was moving lower, and lower still, and all the words, all the thoughts parted with her trembling legs, exploding into fragments of white-hot pleasure so intense that she thought she would die with the sweet agony when his tongue began to stroke her there. The intimate sparing of his tongue against the most intimate, the most guarded part of her very being, the rough caress of his unshaven face against the ultrasensitive skin on her inner thighs, drove Elizabeth to the brink. She begged him with her moans to cease this tender torture while her hands held him there, against her.
“You taste so good . . . so sweet,” she heard him say in a ragged whisper.
He was slowly driving her crazy. “Please, Geoffrey,” she moaned as she arched against him. “Please . . .” She didn’t know what she asked for, only wanted the agony to end.
“Easy, my love,” Geoffrey whispered, but Elizabeth was beyond understanding what he was saying. His voice was soothing, his touch wild; she arched her hips more forcefully and raked her nails through his hair.
Her frenzied movements made Geoffrey wild with need. His body trembled and Elizabeth could feel the raw hunger take over. Instead of frightening her, she became more excited, pulling him up toward her face.
Geoffrey’s control snapped. He covered her mouth with his, hungrily taking her with his tongue. Elizabeth matched his passion, kissing him again and again with desperate urgency. She found herself becoming the aggressor, wanton with her need, and Geoffrey tried to let her have her way a while longer, until her nails, digging into his shoulder blades, became painfully insistent.
“I want you as I have never wanted another woman,” he told her in a ragged whisper. He knelt between her legs, his hands holding her hips. Elizabeth reached up and locked her hands behind his neck, trying to pull him back down to her. She felt him hesitate at the threshold and instinctively arched at the same instant that he plunged. Pain ripped through the sensual haze and she cried out. She tried to pull away but Geoffrey held her tightly against him, and only when he was deep inside her did he stop, giving her time to adjust to him.
He soothed her sobs with honeyed words, promising again and again that the pain was over.
“We are done?” Elizabeth managed to ask, her voice trembling.
“Only just begun,” her husband answered. He sounded as if he had just run a great distance, and Elizabeth knew the control he was maintaining for her sake. His consideration for her made her want to please him. He was breathing hard against her cheek. Elizabeth turned her head and found his lips, kissing him passionately.
Geoffrey returned her kiss, cupping her face with the palms of his hands. Then, slowly at first, he began to move. And the pain was forgotten.
Her legs slipped up around her husband’s hips. She heard him tell her to hold him, and she tightened her arms around his neck. And then she heard nothing more. She could only feel. Escalating pleasure had taken control. She was racing with the wild beat of her heart into the center of the storm and her husband was guiding her, pushing her.
“Now, Elizabeth,” came his ragged whisper, “come with me.” And she was there with him; she felt the separation of body and soul, felt the explosion as bolts of lightning ignited and burst into flame inside her with the forceful thrust from her husband. It was terrifying, and it was magnificent.
She called his name and heard him say her own.
It was some time before Elizabeth returned to reality. The gentle descent back to the present was made warm and safe by her husband’s body covering her own. She opened her eyes to find Geoffrey smiling down at her. “I never knew . . .” she whispered. The sense of wonder and amazement at what they had just shared was impossible for her to put into words, but Geoffrey knew from her expression. He tenderly pushed a wet strand of hair away from her temple and kissed her there. She felt the wetness on her cheeks and realized that she had been crying.
He smiled again—a pleased and arrogant smile, Elizabeth decided—and she wondered just who had enticed whom.
She closed her eyes and smiled. Geoffrey rolled onto his back with a loud, contented sigh and Elizabeth immediately felt the cold sweep of air chill her glistening skin. Sleep demanded her attention, sleep and the warmth of her husband’s body. She pulled the covers up and over both of them and rolled into his arms, nudging him until he turned to his side and wrapped his arms around her.
She was just about to drift off to sleep when she heard her husband’s voice. “You are mine.” It was a quiet statement of fact.
“Yes, husband, I am yours,” Elizabeth acknowledged into the darkness. “And you are mine.” Her tone challenged him to deny it.
Elizabeth waited for what seemed to her impatient nature an eternity. Geoffrey did not answer. His deep, even breathing told her that he had fallen asleep. Her irritation turned to exasperation when he began to snore.
Elizabeth refused to give up. He had demanded her pledge, and now she would have his! She shoved him as hard as she could and fairly yelled into his ear, “And you are mine, Geoffrey.”
Geoffrey still did not reply, but he did give her a quick squeeze and a hint of a smile. To Elizabeth, it was an acknowledgment of her claim. It was enough. The pledge was given.
Content, husband and wife slept.
Chapter Four
ELIZABETH WAS AWAKENED BY THE SOUNDS OF MEN AT work in the courtyard below. In that instant before memory cleared, she thought she heard her father’s deep voice yelling instructions to his soldiers. She pictured him strutting around the training men with his hands locked behind his back. No doubt his pride and joy, little Thomas, was just two steps behind, his hands also locked behind his back, imitating his father’s every move.
Roger’s bellow jarred Elizabeth. She opened her eyes and took a deep breath. Nothing can ever be as it was, she realized, and the past could not be undone.
Yet in the morning light, the future did not look as bleak, as forbidding. Until yesterday Elizabeth had no thoughts or cares for the future; her only concern was Belwain and planning her revenge. Now it appeared that she would have both: a future and justice.
Elizabeth rolled over onto the spot where her husband had slept. The linen was cold beneath her and she knew her husband had been gone for some time.
She was glad for the solitude. So much had happened so fast that Elizabeth hadn’t had time to do more than react. Now perhaps she could sort out her feelings. She stretched and felt the soreness caused by her husband. Her husband! She was now married, and Baron Geoffrey was hers. In the light of day, the events lasting deep into the night before made Elizabeth blush. What a contradiction this man was turning out to be! He was such a gentle lover, sensitive to her wants and needs, wants and needs she hadn’t been aware she possessed. Elizabeth would never have guessed that such sensitivity lurked behind her husband’s shield of strength. Tender and gentle . . . her gentle warrior. Aye, it was a contradiction. What other surprises were in store for her? she wondered.
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