She nodded and slipped her fingers into the hand he offered, which then closed firmly over hers. Leading her across the room, he drew her down into his lap even as he sat himself in a large, tapestry-backed chair. Startled, Nyssa struggled a moment to regain her feet.
“Nay, madame,” he told her, his grip upon her firm. “I have a tale to tell, but it will be told my way, and I would have you here in my arms as I tell it. Cease your attempts to escape me, or,” he threatened softly, “I will be forced to take stronger measures.”
“What measures?” she demanded.
“I shall spank you,” he said calmly.
Outrage flooded Nyssa’s being. “You would not!”
“Tempt me not, madame,” he warned her.
“You are most hateful,” she replied, but she was quiet in his lap now. “Spank me, indeed! I am not a child.”
Varian de Winter restrained himself from smiling. Nay, he thought to himself, you are not a child, Nyssa. You are the most delicious armful I have ever held, and I long to possess you.
“Well, sir?” Her voice brought him back to reality.
“My tale,” he began, his cheeks flushing as he wondered if she might have guessed his thoughts, “is a relatively simple one. When my uncle, Henry Howard, was but fifteen, he had a pretty lover. She was not his first, mind you. I, myself, had caught Henry beneath a hedgerow with a milkmaid when he was just twelve. This girl, however, found herself with child. When her family realized it, they sought to learn the father’s identity. All the girl would say was that her lover was of the duke’s family. She sought Henry out in secret and pleaded with him for help, but he was afraid of what his father would say. He sent the girl away. The poor little wench hung herself. When her outraged family came to my grandfather to demand remuneration for loss of their daughter, I accepted the blame for my uncle’s crime. I did not want the boy saddled with that burden. He was so young.”
“Not so young that he could not dip his wick in any honey pot conveniently offered to him,” Nyssa said tartly.
“I should have allowed Henry to take his own punishment,” Varian de Winter continued. “It never occurred to me that the scandal would not be allowed to die down after so many years.”
She did not know whether she believed him or not. Were men in this day and age really that noble? Perhaps he was just lying to her in order to gain her sympathy. Did she dare to trust him? She wasn’t certain. “How could your grandfather have allowed you to take the blame for his son’s crime?” she asked him. “It was very wrong of him, my lord. Your uncle was but a boy. He would have eventually been forgiven, but certainly a grown man could not be. Only a true villain would do what you are alleged to have done. I am not surprised no decent families would allow their daughters to be associated with you.”
“My grandfather,” the Earl of March said quietly, “cares only for his family, and their advancement. He does what he believes he must do on their behalf. Still, for all his faults, he is a loyal Englishman.”
“Who is the other woman?” she asked suddenly, changing the subject entirely. “Who is the woman the duke would make queen? The woman for whom I was sacrificed?”
“My cousin, Cat,” Varian de Winter replied.
“Ohh, poor Cat!” Nyssa said softly as her eyes teared.
He brushed her dark hair away from her face, agreeing, “Aye, poor little wench, but if I tell you she is willing, will you be very surprised, for willing she is.”
Nyssa shook her head. His soft touch had startled her. “Nay,” she answered him. “I am not surprised. She has the Howard ambition, does Cat. Perhaps she will make the king happy, though.”
“Are you still angry with me?” he asked her.
She turned her head so that she might look into his face, and was a bit nonplussed by how close his lips suddenly were. “I am not certain if I am yet angry with you, my lord,” she told him honestly. “I think we both be victims of Howard ambition. When my service to Queen Anne is at an end, then we may go home and be done with Howard ambition. Your mother may have been a Howard, but you, my lord, are a de Winter. It is time that your ambitions were reserved for the de Winters, and not for the Howards.”
All his life he had felt that there was something missing, and now he knew what it was. It had been a woman. Not just any woman, but a woman who would put his interests, and the interests of his family, above all else. That influence had never been there, and he hadn’t even missed it until she had spoken so strongly to him. He had tried so hard for his grandfather’s sake to be a Howard, but he was not a Howard. He was Varian de Winter, the fifth Earl of March.
Smiling down at her, he said, “My grandfather has thrown us together for expediency’s sake, Nyssa, but he has done me the greatest kindness ever, and he does not even know it.” His dark green eyes were suddenly warm.
“What kindness has the duke done you?” she asked him, shifting nervously in his lap. She could not break the gaze between them.
“He has given me you,” Varian de Winter said low, and then he took a lock of her dark hair between a thumb and a forefinger, rubbing it between the two digits, enjoying the sensuous softness of it. Then raising that lock to his lips, he kissed it.
Her throat felt suddenly tight, and her heart beat a quick tattoo. She was very, very aware of their closeness to each other.
Slowly he reached up and unfastened the gold frog closures on the rose velvet cloak she wore, pushing the heavy fur-trimmed fabric back, exposing her chemise. His hand caressed her face, his fingers trailing lingeringly down the smooth, warm column of her neck. “The king has ordered that we consummate this marriage tonight, Nyssa. If it were in my power, we would get to know one another better first. I wanted to court you properly, the way a man courts a woman he admires and hopes to wed one day. When we first met, I hoped to have that opportunity, but your family was so protective of you. Now we are legally bound together as man and wife, and none of it is as I would have had it. The king will have proof that our union is made complete on the morrow nonetheless. If he does not get it we will end up in the Tower.”
“How fortunate for Henry Tudor,” Nyssa said sharply, “that the Duke of Cleves did not demand such proof of his sister’s consummation from our hypocritical sovereign.” She was beginning to grow a trifle frightened. Varian de Winter was handsome, and he was being most charming, but he was still a virtual stranger.
“Tell me what your mother has told you of passion between a man and his wife,” Varian de Winter said as he tipped her gently from his lap and stood up. Taking her cloak from her, he lay it across the chair, then, undoing his own garment, he put it with hers, the dark green and rose velvets lying against each other, the sable and ermine furs mingling.
Nyssa stared at him, wide-eyed. “My mother thought no knowledge necessary until my marriage contract was settled,” she said, recovering herself. “The women in the queen’s apartments gossip, of course, but I know not what is truth and what is not. I fear, my lord, that I am woefully ignorant of such things as passion, having never before experienced it. I have never had a suitor.”
She is a true virgin, he thought. Of course she would be. It was to be expected of a respectable maid from a good country family. When he had kissed her earlier in the evening, it had been for the benefit of the king. When their lips had briefly met at the command of the archbishop at their wedding, it had also been for the benefit of others. Now he tipped her heart-shaped face up, kissing her for their mutual benefit and pleasure. Her mouth softened beneath his. It was a good start.
She did not close her eyes when he kissed her, he saw, amused, as he opened his. “It is nicer when you close your eyes,” he said.
“Why?” she wondered aloud.
He thought a moment, and then said, “I do not know, but it is, Nyssa. Would you like to try again with your eyes closed?”
In answer to his query, she closed her eyes and pursed her lips up at him. When he chuckled, her eyes flew open. “What is the matter?�
�� she demanded of him. “Why do you laugh at me?” As if I were not nervous enough, she thought indignantly. He doesn’t have to be so damned superior.
“I am not laughing at you,” he swore to her. “But you are so absolutely adorable, sweetheart, you make me happy. Now, close your eyes again.” When she did, he kissed her tenderly, pressing her against his chest. He struggled with himself that he not hold her too tightly. He recognized her own inner battle to stay calm in an unfamiliar situation, and for her, a possibly frightening one.
For the briefest time she felt dizzy, and she clung to him as his lips warmly met hers. She sighed deeply. It was nicer when you closed your eyes, although, like the earl, she could not have said why. In a sudden spurt of courage, she slipped her arms about his neck. He took her head between his hands, covering her face with soft, feathery kisses. His lips touched her fluttering, closed eyelids, her forehead, her cheeks, the tip of her nose, and finally her lips once again. His mouth pressed more firmly on hers this time, but Nyssa found it very pleasurable. She stood upon her tiptoes, straining to prolong his kiss. She was tingling all over, and had never before felt quite so … so … oh, why could she not find a word to describe how she felt?
His hands moved from her face, and clasping them about her waist, he lifted her up so that at first she was level with him, and their kisses deepened; and then he raised her up so that she was looking down into his face for a brief moment before he set her blushing back upon her feet. “You have never really been kissed before, have you?” he said, and not waiting for an answer, continued, “You learn quickly, sweetheart.”
“Are you pleased, or displeased, my lord?” she inquired breathlessly. Her heart was hammering with her excitement.
“I am pleased you enjoy my kisses, and are so quickly expert in returning them,” he told her, “but I am displeased you have not yet learned to say my name. We are husband and wife, madame, yet you do not speak my name. I love your name, Nyssa. It is Greek, is it not?”
“Aye,” she said softly. He was so damned disarming, but disarming men were also dangerous men, she suspected. She did not truly know if he was a villain or merely maligned. Still, he was her husband now, and she frankly enjoyed his kisses.
“My mother named me before I was born,” he said. “She told my father if she bore him a son, he should be called Varian, for men, like the wind, are variable creatures. So I was named as she wished me to be.”
“Varian,” she said low. “I like it, and I think I would have liked her. I am sorry that neither of us knew your mother.”
“Say it again,” he demanded, his voice intense.
“Varian. Varian. Ohh, Varian!” This last as he moved to unlace her chemise. She caught his hands and held them in her suddenly trembling ones.
“Do not forget,” he told her. “I have already seen you naked. I disrobed you myself earlier, Nyssa.” He raised her hands to his lips and kissed them. “You are very beautiful, sweetheart.” He kissed each knuckle in turn, then clasped one of her hands against his cheek while, turning the other palm up, he pressed a warm kiss upon it.
Another flush suffused her fair skin, and she whispered so softly that he was forced to draw her even closer to hear, “Varian, I do not know what to do. You set my senses to reeling, but I am truly ignorant of lovemaking.”
“For now, my sweet,” he told her, loosing her hands and slipping her chemise over her shoulders, “you will do nothing but accept the homage of your besotted husband.” His dark head dropped, and he kissed a shoulder.
His lips were so warm, she thought, as they traveled back and forth across the column of her throat; lingering in the pulsing hollow of her neck; sliding softly to her other silky shoulder. She murmured a tiny half protest as he pushed the chemise down to reveal her young bosom. An arm cradled her while his free hand cupped a firm little breast. The gentle pressure of his hand had the most extraordinary effect upon her. Had it not been for his supporting arm, she believed her legs would not have held her. She watched, wide-eyed, as his thumb slowly rubbed against her nipple and it hardened to a tiny point.
“Varian,” she cried low, and when their eyes met, she felt faint with a longing she could not understand. Was this lovemaking? It was but the beginning of lovemaking, she realized, but if this was the beginning, the rest must be too wonderful to even contemplate. Wonderful and terrifying! Another wave of weakness swept over her as he smiled. Then his mouth met hers once again. She let herself get daringly lost in his kisses, almost aching with the pleasure that they gave her.
Her fingers were kneading the back of his neck. He wondered if she realized it. He could not ever remember having been so filled with desire for any woman. She absolutely intoxicated him, yet he did not want to hurry them along the path of Eros. He wanted her very first experience with passion to be perfect, and damn the king for insisting they consummate their union this night. Ideally he would have waited for her to want him as much as he wanted her. Still, they had the night stretching out before them. He would move at as leisurely a pace as he could to ensure that she gained some pleasure her first time. If he did not expire from wanting her so desperately first.
He set her gently back a pace from him, his hands upon her hips, pushing the fabric of her chemise so that it slid with a soft hiss to the floor. With a single, swift motion he drew his nightshirt off and let it join her garment. Lifting her up, he pressed his face into the shadowed valley between her sweet little breasts. He could feel the rapidly beating pulse of her heart beneath his lips. Her eyes were tightly shut, for she dared not look at his naked form. Her fingers dug into his shoulders, and her little intake of breath assaulted his ear. Lowering her so that her feet touched the floor, he took her face between his hands once again, kissing her slowly and deeply.
Nyssa found suddenly that she couldn’t draw a breath. She pulled away from him, eyes wide and frightened, face pale, whispering desperately, “I am faint, my lord!” Oh, Holy Mother! Did she really want this thing to happen between them? Her legs began to buckle beneath her. She was being assailed by a range of emotions she had no experience with at all. Why had no one told her how powerful passion was? Could one die from passion?
Sweeping her up into his embrace, Varian set her gently upon their bed and lay down next to her. Raising himself upon an elbow, he leaned over to look into her face. “Would you like some wine? Perhaps it would help to calm you, sweetheart.”
“I am not afraid,” she lied, embarrassed. “I was just not prepared for the intensity of lovemaking. Is it always so strong, Varian?” She had been unable in the brief moment he had stood by the bed to avert her eyes from him. His body was beautiful, yet it was also mysterious to her.
“It is stronger when two people truly love one another, Nyssa. What you feel at this moment is, I think, a mixture of lust and fascination with the unknown. That would be normal for a virgin entrapped in an arranged marriage with a virtual stranger. I can arouse your body, sweeting, with my touch, and with my kisses,” he told her honestly.
“Are you thought to be a good lover?” she asked. “I am certain you have made love to many women.” There was no jealousy in her voice, only curiosity.
“I have been told that I have the art of pleasing a woman,” he answered her modestly. This was certainly the damnedest conversation I have ever had with a naked woman, he thought, a soft chuckle escaping him. He ran a single finger across her ripe mouth. “Do you always talk so much, sweetheart? This is, after all, our wedding night.”
“There are things I need to know,” she began seriously, but he silenced her with a quick kiss.
“If you grow frightened, you must tell me,” he said, taking command again of the situation, his lips softly brushing the edge of her ear. “I do not want you to be frightened of me, Nyssa.” He nuzzled her neck, and a shiver raced through her body. “Since we are now in bed, there is no danger of your falling,” he continued. “If you grow dizzy, you need fear not.” His teeth bit gently into the flesh of her s
houlder, sending another shiver down her spine. “You are delicious,” he declared huskily.
She was dizzy, but frightened? No. She did not think she was frightened of him. He was being very kind and gentle to her. Her instincts told her she was fortunate, for another man might have been less thoughtful. She lay silent as he explored her slowly and with great tenderness. It was all most curious, she thought, watching him through half-closed eyes as his lips wandered over her shoulders, down her arms, kissing each individual fingertip in turn, moving slowly across her upper chest. Her breath caught sharply in her throat once more when his mouth closed suddenly over the nipple of a breast. She knew infants suckled upon a woman’s breasts, but she had never imagined that husbands did. He drew strongly upon her flesh, sending a jolt of pleasure deep into her very being. Was this behavior proper? She moaned low, stirring beneath the strong hands that lightly pinioned her, realizing she did not care if it was proper.
His head was whirling. He could not remember any time that making love to a woman had thrilled him so. He had, of course, never had a virgin before, not wanting the responsibility that went with a maiden’s first initiation. Did she excite him so greatly because of her innocence, or was it because he loved her? His tongue slid over her perfumed skin, tasting her as he struggled desperately to maintain his control. He was so hot for her now that he was close to violence, but virgins, it was said, felt less pain if well-aroused. His mouth moved down her long torso and across her flat, quivering belly. Each place his lips touched pulsed wildly beneath his kisses.
No wonder some girls lost their reputations because of passion, Nyssa thought fuzzily. This was absolutely wonderful! No wonder mothers warned their daughters from it. If maidens knew how marvelous lovemaking was, parents would be hard-pressed to keep them from it! It was the most delicious of forbidden delights, but it was not forbidden to a married woman. She sighed deeply, enjoying the heavenly sensation of his warm tongue and his lips on her body. Her hands began a tentative exploration of his shoulders and long back. She kneaded and caressed him; shyly at first, then more boldly. Suddenly he was kissing her again, but more frantically. She tangled her fingers tightly in his dark, dark hair.
Love, Remember Me Page 17