"I have often wondered about the Black Prince, Monsieur 'uddleston, I think perhaps this Englishman may have been good at killing people but not so skilled in love. What of his wife?"
Margery happily took on the challenge of answering. Her French was intolerable but gently fortified by the wine, and she decorated her language with English words and a multitude of understandable gestures. "His wife, the Countess of Salisbury, was an extraordinary lady, so they say." Her hands drew a curvaceous female figure in the air. "The prince was her third husband. Her first husband was away fighting so long"—Margery's fingers walked across the table and then took up an imaginary sword at an invisible opponent—"that she took a new younger man as husband." She kissed her hand. "When her lord returned, she persuaded him to retain the other man as his chamberlain." She held up three fingers and then made a gable roof of her fingers. "Did they understand that bit, sir? Perhaps you should translate."
Richard was laughing so much that he could not answer.
Jacques wiped the tears from his eyes. "Perhaps the lady was insatiable," he managed eventually, taking up the cards.
"Can you play?" Richard asked Margery, an eyebrow raised.
"Because I spent six years in a nunnery? Which do you doubt, sir—my skill or my enthusiasm?" Her lips drew together coquettishly.
As his host dealt the pristine cards, fresh from their leather wallet, Richard leaned forward, his arm flat upon the cloth, his voice warm and compelling. "I hope you will demonstrate both, Mistress Huddleston."
Perversity sparkled back at him from the shining blue depths as she wriggled her shoulders into the cushions, no doubt feeling herself sufficiently chaperoned to flirt. "I do not know how well you play, sir."
"What are you two saying?" Adèle smacked Richard's wrist.
He leaned back, grinning at Margery, feeling like King Solomon, having just selected his concubine for the night's pleasure.
His wife was smiling, happy, safe. The war of wills between them was temporarily in abeyance, or was it? The little witch was constantly teasing him now with her glances, not overtly like young Katherine but subconsciously, raising her eyes to his when she played a card, like an artful courtesan to whom it was second nature.
The English began to win, congratulating each other silently with triumphant looks, sending each other messages to play high or low, creating an unspoken language where none had existed before.
That a summer storm had broken outside sending heavy rain splashing down heavily on the street cobbles beneath the gabled casement did not concern Margery, Richard observed, as he savored the aged Bordeaux. She was fast learning the French words needed for the game and enjoying herself. Did she realize yet he was going to caress her body into surrender? Oh, he would show her he had learned ways to make her arch with pleasure and plead with him to take her. Had the royal whoremonger made her cry out in ecstasy?
"We should take to the taverns, you and I," he murmured in English. "Are you as good at dice?"
"It requires no talent." She stretched like a wise woman's cat on a sunlit windowsill and then leaned forward, sliding the pack across to him. He enjoyed looking at his gift snug against her white slim throat. It was easy to slide his gaze now and again over the tantalizing gap between the necklet and the alluring valley below.
He repaid her temporary alliance with him plenteously with charm and courtesy so that she did not notice the hour bells tolling longer or that the apprentices had ceased shouting in the streets.
When the servants brought in supper, he discovered over the anguilles in red wine and the buttered sandre that there was a domestic quality about the occasion that he had been missing. It made him remember Millom. Margery might be used to large convents and great households but he recalled with a sense of loss the quiet winter evenings with his brothers before he was sent away to Lord Montague's household. There would be dogs twitching as they dreamed lying around the fire and his mother would summon their tutor to read aloud. There was always chess or…
The Levallois infants arrived to interrupt his reverie, looking like glossy, tiny angels, ready to be kissed and taken back to their cradles under Adèle's supervision.
Richard took his goblet to the window. The light was fading early. Soon the watch would be out, grumbling as they patrolled in the wet.
"Another game? You must give us a chance to retrieve our honor." The merchant slid his arm around his wife's waist on her return from ordering the nursery.
It was a mistake to turn his head and let his anticipation show as Margery looked to him to announce their departure. All her good humor and teasing confidence fled as if a spell was broken. She stared about her, at last aware of the long shadows dulling the chamber. He saw the rising anger in her suppressed and held.
"The curfew, we must go," she announced briskly at his shoulder.
"Not yet," he said softly in English, watching the water droplets chasing down the tiny diamond panes of costly glass. Margery ignored him and began thanking their hosts.
Richard was aware of the merchant moving across to take Margery's hand between his own. "My dear, this is too charming an evening to end so soon. It is decided you are to stay at our house tonight and then we can play some more. I swear we have not enjoyed ourselves so much for ages, have we, Adèle?"
Richard swung around. He curled back his lips and gave Margery the sort of dazzling smile that King David might have bestowed upon Bathsheba the morning after her bath.
Margery understood then the implications, knew that it had been anticipated, almost planned by the man standing opposite her but her smile could match his. She turned with a swift graciousness to her host. "Sir, you really are most kind but we cannot impose upon you further. I think my husband was unaware that I have to be back in attendance at the castle tonight." Her gaze at Richard Huddleston was level and adamant. "If you prefer to stay, Master Huddleston, perhaps Monsieur would arrange an escort for me."
Her heart was palpitating wildly. Richard Huddleston did not stir. The candlelight danced upon his hair and glinted on the chain across his shoulders but his eyes were dark. "It is too late. The drawbridge is already up." You should have thought of that, his gaze told her. This is the price of arousing me with your enticements.
She stood still, a superficial smile frozen upon her lips, watching as he strode across to the table and took up the pack of cards and held them out to her. "We stay." Then he spoke in slow French so that she would catch the gist. "The Duchess of Clarence may whip my shoulders with a kerchief tomorrow if she pleases. Your deal." Adèle giggled.
Margery's fingers crept up to the gold about her neck. Had he also bought the night's lodging when he had paid for her jewelry? She could not leave without him, without an escort—it would be rude, unseemly. And if the ports was already down, where could she go? She had nothing of value but the collar about her neck and that left her the target of thieves. Her throat would be cut before the dawn.
She took the cards and sat down, forcing herself to stay calm, but her fingers trembled as she dealt. He watched her like a cat waiting for a mouse to make its escape.
"The painted cards are beautiful, do you not think, Madame 'uddleson? Moi, I find the ones from wood blocks so grotesque." Adèle sent her husband a meaningful smile.
"They must have cost a great deal." Answering required strength. "The line is very fine. They are wearing the latest fashioned clothes too."
"Pah, the kings and varlets are mere pretty girls," snorted the merchant. "I will wager the painter was a sodomite."
"Monsieur!" reproved Adèle but the wine already had the better of her husband.
Richard set down the queen of diamonds. "This one is a beauty though, as fine and fair as any queen." His gaze warmly caressed his wife's face.
The lady on the court card was delicate, her gown looped daintily over her arm, and there was a pleased but startled expression on her lips as if some man she admired had paid her an unlooked-for compliment.
"Aye, I could bed her," murmured their host as he set down his card, "but I should not rely on the others to defend my purse in a dark alley."
Margery tried to concentrate. She knew she was playing badly. They began to lose.
"I think you did not mean to play that." Her host caught her fingers before the wrong card reached the cloth.
"You grow tired, my dear," Richard observed softly, brushing the fan of cards thoughtfully against his chin.
The warm timber of his voice and the desire in his eyes was stirring up such a turbulence inside her that Margery could feel a melting in the depth of her belly and a moist-ness growing between her thighs.
"D'accord. Let us make this the last game and we are quits."
Adèle rose as they finished, offering to stand in for Margery's maidservant, but Richard shook his head, merrily taking the candlestick.
"If I cannot help a woman off with her gown and garters, then I am no true man."
The guest room was in the adjoining wing of the house overlooking the courtyard and because the house was of new design, there was no need to pass through everyone else's bedchambers. Instead, the room led off a gallery that ran above the courtyard and promised privacy. The fragrance of rain moist upon the summer evening air barely refreshed Margery's senses. She was berating herself for drinking too much wine, for not noticing how the hours had crept away like thieves.
The chamber still held the fresh smell of whitewash but the perfume of flowers overhung the air. Creamy roses stood in a sinuous vase of curious eastern design upon the window ledge and a posy of newly gathered violets lay upon the pale green coverlet.
"I hope this pleases you." Adèle took the candle from Richard and set it upon a small table. The flame sent gentle shadows scampering across the pristine whitewashed ceiling into the dusky comers. Costly tapestries hung about the walls. The bed coverlet was turned back.
"It is a beautiful room." Richard stooped to bestow a kiss upon Adèle's cheek. "Your hospitality exceeds everything."
"Then, sleep well." Meant kindly but an empty blessing.
The door closed and they were alone. The house was silent about them save for the rainwater still dripping from the roof with the regularity of heartbeats, into the butts within the yard.
Margery moistened her lips and turned to face the man she could not purge from her life. The reckoning had come.
CHAPTER 18
He stood with careless arrogance like a tournament hero, chin lifted proudly, lips stern but exultant as if he could hear the applause of the courtiers in the stands and the cheers of the populace, and Margery trembled, tormented, beneath his stare.
It had happened before, or rather it had not happened. Before, it had pleased him to be chivalrous but tonight was different and tonight she did not know her own mind.
"You knew this would happen." Her voice was husky, scarcely recognizable.
"Be thankful. It is better than an inn." He leaned back against the door, his eyes exploring the contours of her body like a hungry man confronted by a board laden with wondrous dishes. "I cannot wait for you any longer. This evening was agony, desiring you, knowing that within a few hours I would have you in my bed."
Strange sensations spread-eagled throughout her body as he peeled her clothing off her with his gaze.
"You promised me that you would be patient, that you would wait until—"
"—you wanted me."
"But I…" She felt hot and cold both in the same instant, as if she were on fire within yet glacial beneath the heat of his gaze.
"Still so diffident, Margery? Let me prove to you that for all your pretended protests I can light a fire in you this night that will keep us both warm."
It was a statement not a plea. To persuade him otherwise would have been as unwise as trying to muzzle a lion. She watched him unbuckle his belt. It fell with a metallic clang behind him. His pleated doublet was tossed aside, his burning eyes never leaving her face. He wanted nothing but surrender from her. She felt her breath turn ragged, her heart growing frantic within the cage of her body.
"Did I ever tell you how beautiful you are?"
"No, you forgot to put it on today's list."
Her hope of annulling the marriage was now out of the question—he would take her against her will if she refused. She had a choice: she could be cold and hate him or she could give in to the wild feelings that were pulsating through her and yield. His eyes were dilated with desire, his skin flushed with the intensity of his lust. Could she tell an incoming tide to turn? Her hand streaked to her sleeve, the silence split by the rasp of steel as she unsheathed her dagger.
His advance was checked. "Now that was something I did forget." Yet he took a step closer, close enough to touch. "Are you going to teach me a trick or two tonight?" His voice was light but sensual. She could feel the vitality, the heat, the determination that emanated from him and knew a curiosity and a longing that was as old as Eve's. "Are you?"
She rallied to the image she had created. "It requires half a pound of butter."
For an instant his jaw slackened, then he gave a shout of laughter and clapped his arms about her trembling body, heedless of the dagger. He could have twisted the knife from her fingers but he drew her in to his shoulder, his arms sliding protectively around her back.
"You are shaking, honeymouse." He held her tight against him.
She knew the hardness of him, awakened and ripening against her belly; she felt the thud of his heart pulse against her shoulder. "Did you truly think to withstand me, Margery? I'd hunt you to the ends of the Earth." She could have stopped him then with the dagger, even a bodkin would have sufficed, but to stanch the mad longing to be held, to belong, to be touched, was no longer within her power. "By Christ, why have I let you torment me all these weeks?"
His words were breath on her face as he held her back from him and unpinned the cone and veil and tossed them aside. The honey hair fell and he plunged his hands into its silky mass. "You have been under my skin so long. To possess you has been a compulsion in me. God knows, I have tried to free myself from this slavery but, Jesu, you are so desirable." She would remember the words later but now she was a lute beneath his fingers to play on as he pleased.
For an instant his lips brushed hers tantalizingly and her lips parted wanting more. The dagger fell with a clatter and he laughed, drawing her toward him like a bowstring. Then his mouth came down on hers, gently at first, coaxing, persuasive, while his hands made circles, arcs, forays, reducing her body to seething bewildering sensations. She gave a low moan as his fingers sent messages through her that she had never experienced before, not even with Ned. Shyly, she slid her arms around his neck. "You want me to stop?"
Margery shook her head, knowing this was inevitable, had been so since he had seen her across the street and desired her. To be compliant at last was a relief. The cat and mouse game that had played havoc with her emotions was ending—even if it meant her surrender to the enemy. The aching in her body was growing.
"I want you willing." His voice was a low growl. "'You agree? You must agree!" He trapped her face within the broken spire of his hands. "Look at me!" Her eyes fluttered open. The dark passion and unsheathed desire in his face made her weak with obedience. Her fingers flexed in his hair. "I am not being unreasonable?" She shook her head. "That indeed is a blessing for I fear my reason is fast deserting me."
"One thing." Her fingers stroked down his neck. Her lashes dropped like gauzy veils as she lowered her eyes.
"Six years… I…" She swallowed, hunting for the words that eluded her out of modesty.
"Lady." He lifter her face by the chin and brushed his mouth across her parted lips. "I will prise you open as sweetly as I would that oyster which conceals the most priceless pearl in the whole world. Believe me, I would not damage your pleasure in this for all the gold on Earth."
He unfastened her belt and threw it aside so that he might ease the skirts of her gown over her head. The half globes of her bre
asts dwelling sweetly within the silk underkirtle glimmered in the candlelight. He groaned. His mouth caressed her neck while his fingers slid the soft silk down over her shoulders and coaxed her nipples into the candlelight. "'I have been dreaming of this for so long," he whispered against her throat. "If you only knew how much." He carried her across to the bed.
She lay, erotic as he had imagined, watching him pull off his boots and ease his arms out of shirtsleeves and the gipon. He had not felt so aroused in all his life. With one lithe movement, he pushed down gipon, shirt, and hose and stepped free. He stood for a moment marveling at her beauty, and that at last his dream would be fulfilled.
Margery's eyes were large as a cat's by night. She was lying so still that Richard dared not even guess her feelings. He needed her compliant but not dutiful, wanton but not lewd.
"We will not hurry this. I want you moist and open for me." He sat down upon the bed. He touched her hair and drew his long fingers down her cheeks and across her lips while he eased the undergown up above her thighs with his other hand, his pleasure audible. He rubbed the ball of his thumb across the peak of her left breast, watching her harden at his touch before he lifted her face to his and explored her mouth again. To ensure her body was a confusing, dizzying mass of sensations was paramount. He wanted her yearning and pleading for him to assuage her own lust. His left hand lifted the scalloped hem of her undergown even higher and slid upward, moving between her thighs to enjoy the center of her. She gave a low female growl as his fingers began their work. A door not used for years needed a slow unlocking.
Feeling her body swelling lusciously at his touch, readying for him, he rejoiced that she was not fighting him. Another time he would tease her to anger with verbal thrusts while his fingers tantalized her.
Margery's head went back and her body arched toward him of its own volition. It had been too long. She knew now how much she had been aching for his hand upon her.
Suddenly he was sitting back; his hands had left her. Her eyes opened in astonishment, her body—hot for him—was clamoring its loss.
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