Roland snorted. Then abruptly, he levered himself off her, and hauled her down the mattress, until he loomed over her. His hands at her waist, anchored her beneath him.
His eyes roamed over her at leisure and Eden felt herself grow hot and bothered. “While it’s true I’ve never previously admired resourcefulness in a woman,” he said thoughtfully. “I find I’m not too angry that you decided to win me.”
Eden gaped at him. “I beg your pardon?” she spluttered.
“You heard me, wife.”
“Of all the egotistical…” Eden broke off distractedly. Resourceful? She stared at him as if unable to believe her own ears. “You astonish me!”
“I’m sure,” he said, running his forefinger across her collar bone. “That’s only fair, seeing as you astonish me too.” Eden gulped. What was that expression on his face? “I think Baxter may be partly right, and you’ve bewitched me,” he said huskily.
“Baxter’s mad,” she pointed out, wishing her own voice didn’t sound so breathy. “And so are you if you think that.”
“I don’t know,” he replied softly. The direction his finger brushed against her changed, and Eden swallowed. “Round these parts all the faery maidens are reputed to look like you. Black locks, soft skin as pale as milk,” he said. “And eyes like jewels, that bewitch a man.”
Eden frowned. Eyes like jewels? He made her sound much more alluring than she knew herself to be. “No-one has ever thought me bewitching before.”
“Maybe you’ve only just come into your powers?”
“You’re being nonsensical,” Eden objected, but she knew her voice lacked sternness.
“You fit here,” said Roland with conviction.
Eden forgot to breathe. What?
“The wicked faery,” said Roland. “Who lives in the black tower.”
From his tone of voice, she knew he was going to kiss her. And she did nothing to stop him, as he lowered his weight onto her and kissed her with an unhurried lasciviousness which made her cheeks burn. She shivered, realized this time, what his thrusting tongue was promising was in store for her.
“So beautiful,” he murmured. Which was a lie. “I want you.” Which was not a lie, she conceded, feeling him hard against her stomach, where he rubbed and moved sensuously against her. For some unfathomable reason, Roland Vawdrey desired her something fierce.
“Do you want me, Eden?” he muttered, lifting his head. As usual, she felt herself almost dazzled by the proximity of so much male beauty.
She couldn’t quite bring herself to answer, so instead she placed a hesitant hand against his shoulder blade. His molten gaze snapped to hers, and she saw him close his eyes as if savoring her touch. He couldn’t really like it that much, surely? Without giving herself pause to think, she stroked her hand slowly down his spine.
He gasped, his eyes flying wide. “Eden!”
“Was that not-?”
He gave a brief shake of his head, and swallowed. “Put your hands up over your head.”
“What?”
“Over your head and keep them there.”
“But why?” she asked, even as she complied.
“Because,” he murmured. “Your touch over-excites me.” It did? She pondered that piece of information. “You keep rushing me, when I want to linger.”
By touching him? She wanted to ask, but his actions were robbing her of breath. He’d pulled up her shift and was kissing all around her flat stomach. She was just taking a steadying breath, when his tongue darted unexpectedly into her belly button, making her gasp. “Roland!”
He glanced up. “If that shocked you,” he said richly. ”Then, what I’m going to do next will turn your hair white.”
Eden glanced down in alarm. He winked at her. He was joking. She relaxed in spite of herself. Then he kissed her between her legs. The same wicked kiss he had given her mouth. She gave a soundless shriek and tried to bounce up off the bed. He just used the momentum to get a firmer grip of her as she ineffectually flailed around. “R-Roland!” she squeaked as his brawny hands held her hips in a merciless grip, as he did inconceivable things with his tongue. Unable to watch, Eden closed her eyes with a whimper and gave herself up to the shuddering pleasure which had her arching her back and pressing into his mouth in an abandonment which shocked her to her core. Tears gushed from her eyes and she flattened her palms against the headboard, bracing herself against the onslaught of sensation. For a moment, she hovered agonizingly tense on the brink, before he tapped the tip of his tongue against part of her that throbbed, and she yelled out brokenly as he did it again, once, twice and on the third time she broke. And then it was a good thing he held her so tight, for her limbs were suddenly shaking and weak and she could do nothing but pant and sob and gaze up at the top of the wooden bed in speechless wonder. Through it all, Roland held her firmly, his mouth working between her legs, his circling tongue, drawing out the licentious pleasure until she lay still, her chest heaving and her breath ragged, her cheeks wet with tears.
“I can’t wait,” Roland said thickly, his hot breath still fluttering against her intimate parts. “Until you react like that for my cock.”
She was too wrung out to remonstrate with him over his lewd words. Instead she just groaned, as he hauled himself up onto his knees and crawled up her body, stripping off her shift. Now came the worse part, thought Eden with dread. Though she realized she’d have to suffer it without complaint now she was a wife. His manhood felt bigger than ever, as it pressed insistently against her. Roland looked somewhat pained himself, she noticed, as he settled between her legs. “This won’t last long,” he grunted. She hoped not. She stiffened as he probed her wetness there with his fingers and made an approving noise deep in his throat. Taking a deep breath, she passed her arms around his back. He swore. “Gods, I’m not- Let me inside first – I can’t…” Eden blinked up at his confused panic. Catching his desperation, she opened her legs wider as he fumbled and swore. And then he was there, where he wanted to be, pushing inside her, with an urgency that surprised her. He had been very careful with her last time, but this time, he thrust all the way in, making her gasp as she braced herself. To her surprise though, she took him without too much discomfort. Before she could wonder too much at this, he had given her his whole weight, pinned her to the mattress and was thrusting into her with a vigor he had not allowed himself before, murmuring disjointed words and groaning almost as if he were wounded.
“Roland?” she asked, half-alarmed, half- what? She scarcely knew. Only that she could barely catch her breath, and something about his wildness was strangely thrilling. She found she was pressing her thighs in hard against his hips, and holding her breath, her face hot, her chest heaving with the exertion.
His eyes locked to hers, when she spoke his name, and the expression there made her breath catch in her throat. She almost felt as if time halted and hung suspended for a moment, before Roland Vawdrey came apart completely in her arms, a heaving mass of muscle and sinew and seething lust.
In the aftermath, she held him close to her. He was breathing heavily and neither one of them spoke for several long moments.
Then Roland lifted his head. “One of these days…” he said not quite meeting her eye. “I’ll manage that part with a little more finesse.”
Really? wondered Eden, doubtfully. It was hard to imagine. And how could you even make such an act more dignified? It was so… base and primitive.
“You can do it now,” he said.
“Do what?” asked Eden mystified.
“Touch me.”
Eden’s mouth almost fell open. Why on earth would he want her to touch him now? “Oh,” she said lamely. She placed her hands uncertainly on his chest. He gave that low rumble, she was starting to realize was approval and dropped his head back onto the pillow beside hers, rolling onto his back, and taking her with him, so she lay half on top of him.
“More,” he said gruffly, his eyelids dropping down over his eyes.
Eden tutted, and was discon
certed to see him smile. How could he look so...so… words failed her… Happy? Even in her thoughts, she stuttered over that choice of word. It couldn’t be because of her. His hand seized hers and stroked it over his chest. “Like this.” Eden bit her lip. A week ago, if someone had told her she would be lying naked on top of a satiated Roland Vawdrey, stroking his chest, she would have called them a liar to their face. “Now kiss me,” he said interrupting her thoughts.
“What?” Eden faltered. She glanced around, the hour was hard to determine in their cupboard-bed. “It must surely be approaching daybreak,” she objected.
He opened one eye. “How does that signify?” He sounded lazily curious, nothing more.
Eden ducked her head, tucking her hair behind her ears. “I just mean that, we’ll soon have to rise.”
“Not until you’ve kissed me, we won’t. And make it a good one.”
“What do you mean, a good one?” asked Eden indignantly.
His smile grew, though his eyes were closed again. “One that will fortify me for the day ahead,” he explained. “Otherwise, I’ll have to keep snatching kisses from you to keep me going.”
Eden spluttered. “That’s ridiculous!” Did he mean with tongue? She wondered distractedly.
“Now don’t turn all stiff and starchy,” he said, his hand sliding from her waist to rub her hip. “It won’t work, not when I can still recall …”
Horrified at the prospect of what he might say next, she dropped her head and pressed her lips to his. Roland’s hand on her hip squeezed gently, and Eden shifted slightly over him, as she steeled herself for the next part. Bracing a second hand against his warm chest, she touched her tongue to his lips. Roland gave a muffled exclamation. Squeezing her eyes tightly shut, she slipped her tongue fully into his mouth, and found both her hips firmly gripped as Roland sat up, dragging her into his lap. She squeaked and would have pulled her head back, but his hand was suddenly tangled in her hair, holding her plastered against him as he took the lead in their incendiary kiss, his tongue stroking insistently against her own. One of his hands grasped her backside firmly, whilst the other covered her breast. Finally, he dragged his mouth from hers and leant his head back against the headboard.
“Fuck Eden, not that good,” he groaned. “Now all I can think about is being between your thighs again.” Eden’s face flamed. He shot her a speculative look. “I expect you’re too sore though.
“Of course, I am!” she stammered, dragging her gaze away from the blatant arousal between his legs. In truth, she was more tender than sore this time, but she certainly did not fancy another round with the beast that very morning! It was indecent to even think of it!
He huffed out a breath, releasing her. Immediately, Eden scrambled off him and pounced on her shift, dragging it over her head to cover her nakedness.
“Sorry,” he said ruefully, raking a hand over his face. Then he grinned at her. “But that was a very good kiss.” He had no right to look so boyishly handsome, when his behavior was so utterly brazen!
**
Roland kept a close eye on Fulco as they broke their fast. He was unnerved by the idea of him as some kind of bearded seducer. He would definitely be having a conversation with him at some point on the subject. How the devil was he supposed to go off and compete at the tourneys and leave his wife with such a manservant?
Fulco did not join them to eat this morning, having risen hours before and started on his work outside. Instead he simply brought in a large platter of pickled herrings and salted stockfish, and then abruptly left. Parnell and Seth snuck through the door and insinuated themselves under Roland’s bench.
“What’s that one called?” asked Eden, pointing to the ginger dog wrapped around Cuthbert’s legs.
“That’s Nudd,” Roland told her.
“Nudd?”
“It’s an old name round these parts.”
“I see.” She seemed ill at ease this morning, and blushed whenever his gaze fell on her. Which was often. He found he didn’t tire of the view.
“You should have called him Tod after a male fox,” said Cuthbert. “He looks just like one. My Granny raised a fox cub once. She found him half drowned in his den. Someone had killed his mam.”
“What happened to him?” asked Eden.
“She still had him, last time I visited home,” shrugged Cuthbert. “He stinks something awful though. His name’s Nix.”
“What’s the grey dog called?” asked Eden. “The one who looks like a gargoyle.”
A gargoyle? Roland lowered his butter knife. “His name’s Dimon.” He saw her repeat the name under her breath, as if committing it to memory. For some reason that pleased him too. He noticed out of the corner of his eye that Parnell had abandoned him to appear at Eden’s side. His tail thudded against the floorboards, when she spoke to him in low tones.
“Should have called him Babewyn,” said Cuthbert scornfully.
“I’ll have you know,” said Roland. “That my Father considered him a vastly handsome animal, and paid a goodly sum for him.”
“Speaking of gargoyles, I forgot to tell you,” said Cuthbert looking up from his plate. “When I was in the village yesterday, I came across a Lady Orla Bernard. She was buying flax from old Simpkin, when I was getting wool for your mattress.”
“Who?” demanded Roland.
“That’s who I was telling you about!” said Eden triumphantly. She turned to Cuthbert. “She is Fenella’s sister-in-law, is she not?”
Cuthbert nodded. “That’s right, and a right busy-body, truth be told. There I was, minding my own business, when what does she do, but march over and demand to know ‘who I was to be using up the village resources!’ Simpkin, he was right put out about it.”
Roland grunted. He’d just bet he was. Walt Simpkin would sell his own mother for a few coins.
“And did you tell her?” asked Eden, who seemed a good deal more interested in the tale than he.
“Aye,” Cuthbert agreed. “She left me very little choice.” He shot a furtive look at Roland and cleared his throat, before addressing Eden. “She said she’d often heard the Lady Fenella speak of you. Said they’d be sure to call on you here and pay a visit.”
“What? When?” scowled Roland. “You would think she’d wait for an invite!” She’d be waiting a long time, he reflected. But after all, they were newlyweds.
Eden seemed to take the news in her stride. “I have often heard Fenella speak of her also and would be happy to make her acquaintance.” Then she seemed to remember her surroundings and looked a bit more uncertain. “I suppose I could receive her in the sitting room next door?”
Roland rolled his eyes. What a damnable nuisance!
After breakfast, he set off downstairs to go in search of Fulco. Cuthbert caught up with him in the disarming room afterward as he was pulling on his boots.
“Are we still bound for Areley Kings on the morrow?” he asked.
Roland’s head snapped up abruptly. He’d completely forgotten about it. It was a fine purse to the victor at Areley Kings and not one he would lightly pass up on. “I’m not yet decided,” he stalled.
Cuthbert gave him a knowing look. “You’ve doubtless had other things on your mind,” he said with a faintly patronizing air. Roland ignored him. He had frankly bigger fish to fry.
He found Fulco carrying hay bales into the stables on his shoulder. “Fulco,” he called. “A word.”
His manservant grunted, and disappeared into the nearest stall, before reappearing and tilting his chin at Roland.
“What’s all this I hear about you bringing women up to the Keep?” Roland asked without preamble. To his surprise his manservant merely looked aggrieved. “I does my best, Master Roland,” he sighed, shaking his head. “You ask Baxter, if I don’t! Why, many’s the time I’ve given ‘em a tour of the old place. You come and take a look my girl, I says to ‘em. I’ll show thee, there’s nothing to be afeard of! But there, they always cries off not long after, saying the place gi
ves ‘em a bad feeling or some such nonsense.”
Roland paused, revising the lecture about propriety he had been about to deliver to his blameless servant. “You don’t leave them alone in the kitchen with Baxter at any point, do you?” he asked with misgiving.
“It’d be a fine thing if I didn’t,” said Fulco in an injured tone. “After all, it’s not me that gives orders within the Keep.”
Roland rolled his eyes. Small wonder then! “And none of the village girls will stay?”
Baxter sighed. “Course, it probably don’t look the thing. Should be the Housekeeper as takes on the maids.”
“It’s a shame you’re not married,” said Roland absently. “Your wife could have had the role of Housekeeper.”
Fulco blushed. “I don’t say I wouldn’t like to take a wife,” he admitted gruffly. “But my mother has some very strong views on the matter.”
“Your mother?” repeated Roland blankly. He cast a swift look at Fulco, who was at least three score years by his estimation.
“Aye, Master Roland. A good woman, my mother.”
“Didn’t she used to run the buttery here at one time?”
“That she did, indeed. Before my father died.”
“She lives with you now, I’ll warrant.”
“Aye,” agreed Fulco. “She lived with my sister Annie for the first twelve-month after the old man passed. But then, they fell out, on account of Annie’s husband Jeb. Then she moved to my sister Constance’s household.”
“Then they fell out?” guessed Roland.
Fulco rubbed his nose. “Aye, more’s the pity. Mother didn’t approve of how Connie’s raising her young ‘uns.”
Roland cleared his throat. “And now she doesn’t approve of you courting.”
“That’s about the sum of it,” Fulco agreed sadly.
Roland cast his mind back to recall Mrs Fulco, winced and then hastily consigned the memory back to the back of his brain where it belonged. “Who was it you had your eye on, before that?” he asked.
The other man opened his mouth, then swiftly shut it again. “No-one,” he mumbled, but his coloring was high, telling his lie.
An Ill-Made Match (Vawdrey Brothers Book 3) Page 19
