by Denise Lynn
Conal snorted and at the same moment Isabella took her seat next to him on the right, asking, ‘What is what?’
‘This.’ He held the goblet to her nose.
‘Water?’ She dipped her fingers into the small washbowl near them on the table. While drying her hands, she asked, ‘Do you think anyone here needs more wine or ale?’
‘I do.’
‘You do what? Need wine for yourself, or think someone else does?’
Richard narrowed his eyes. She was being difficult on purpose. He could tell by the bland expression on her face and devilish twinkle in her eyes. Fine. She wanted to play? Oh, she could play, but he’d damn well make sure she paid for it.
‘May I please have some wine, my dearest wife?’
She shrugged. ‘Entirely up to you, my lord. Hattie, wine with dinner, please.’
Hattie motioned the servers into action and retrieved the wine. Richard watched the servers. Their skills seemed newfound, but not one of them dropped a platter, or spilled a drop of food or drink as they placed their loads on the tables. It didn’t require any thought to know who had taken them in hand.
Conal leaned over to whisper, ‘She’s been busy.’
Richard ignored him to put a generous portion of meat and a mix of vegetables on the trencher he shared with Isabella, while she poured wine into both of their goblets.
He finished his off in one long swallow before refilling his goblet. Her glare, had it been an actual flame, would have burned a hole through his head. Richard set the vessel down. ‘Fear not, Wife, it would take much more than that to turn me into a fool.’
‘Don’t call me that.’
‘What?’ He leaned closer. ‘Wife? Isn’t that what you are?’
‘Sometimes I feel more like a prisoner.’
Richard hooked a foot around the leg of her chair and dragged her closer so he could whisper in her ear, ‘Do you want to be my prisoner, Isabella?’
A shiver rippled down her arms and a flush covered her cheeks as she stared at him in shock. He kept his smile of success to himself. He’d intentionally deepened his voice and made certain to let her name roll off his tongue because he knew she was unable to resist the seductive tone.
She broke his intent stare with a gasp and looked down at her food. ‘No, I don’t want to be your prisoner.’
‘Pity.’ He could envision her chained to a bed in a cell, helpless, and in desperate need of comforting. From where had that thought come?
‘I just want to go home.’
He sat upright in his chair, more in an attempt to rid his mind of the erotic thoughts threatening to make this the shortest dinner in his life than anything else. ‘You are home.’
‘Warehaven.’
‘That isn’t going to happen.’ He handed her the untouched goblet. ‘Drink. I don’t want you sulking.’
‘Sulking!’ Her voice rose and an odd silence descended down the tables.
Turning to look at her, he suggested, ‘You could be louder, then everyone else wouldn’t have to strain to hear us.’
The men at the tables turned their attention back to their food.
She lifted the goblet to her lips with a shaking hand and Richard wondered if she’d spill half of it down her gown. The sight of her gown gave him pause. It was the same one she’d been wearing when he’d taken her from Warehaven.
He refilled her empty glass and handed it back to her.
‘No. Are you trying to get me inebriated?’
‘Yes.’ Actually he was, but not for the reason she thought.
She slammed the goblet back on to the table hard enough so some of the contents splashed out on to the white table covering, leaving behind a deep red stain. ‘Why? So you can take advantage of me?’
He once again handed it back to her and lifted it to her lips. ‘Oh, definitely, because I can’t think of anything I’d rather do than have sex with a woman so full of wine that she’ll pass out and not remember a thing. That certainly would make for an exciting evening.’
Her eyes narrowed to mere slits. ‘You are a pig.’
‘And sometimes you are a fool. Now drink.’ Once she did as he bid, Richard slipped a hand behind her head and drew her closer. ‘Trust me, Wife, the first time we make love, you won’t be intoxicated from any drink and you will most definitely remember every touch, stroke and kiss for a very long time to come.’
When her lips parted for the gasp of shocked virginal outrage he fully expected, he covered her mouth with his own and swept his tongue across hers, then just as quickly released her and moved away.
This time the shiver tracing down her body was longer and lingering. He wondered if the deep flush on her cheeks burned.
‘Oh! I never.’
Before taking a bite of meat, he agreed, ‘I would hope not.’
She sat there for a while and just stared at her food. Richard had to give her credit because a few times he thought she was going to burst out in tears of rage and frustration. But she didn’t. Somehow, after a few hard swallows, she managed to check the flow of tears.
He waited until she seemed more calm before pointing out, ‘Your food is getting cold.’
‘I’m not hungry.’
‘Isabella, did your mother never tell you not to bait someone more experienced or stronger?’
‘I never baited you.’
‘Really?’ He waved his eating knife towards the hall. ‘What do you call this?’
‘What?’
‘I told you that my keep doesn’t concern you, yet here we are, seated at a relatively polite dining table.’ He tapped the pitcher of water still on the table. ‘With water as the main drink.’
‘But—’
He raised a hand, cutting off her reply. ‘I’m not finished. And what about the chamber above? Am I mistaken or has it not been cleaned, painted, rearranged and refurnished?’
‘Yes, but—’
Again he raised a hand and she instantly stopped. ‘Was that not a carpenter who was sent to reverse the door?’
‘Yes.’
This time she didn’t even attempt to add anything after her admission. So, he asked, ‘You could not have accomplished all this without giving orders to my people. Am I right?’
‘Yes.’
‘Nobody gave you permission to do so.’
Her eyes widened and she stared at him speechless for about one heartbeat. ‘As your wife, am I not the chatelaine of this keep?’
‘No.’ He fell silent to let that fact settle in her mind. The instant the disbelief filled her eyes, he added, ‘Not until I say so.’
She placed her hands against the edge of the table and tried to push her chair away.
‘Do you plan to run away now? Hasn’t your past experience with that tactic proven a mistake?’ Her brows furrowed in question, so he reminded her by asking, ‘Isn’t that how I captured you to begin with?’
When she didn’t answer, he stuck his foot behind the leg of her chair. ‘You need to eat something. Then perhaps I’ll permit you to leave the table.’
If she clenched her jaw any tighter, Richard was certain she’d break a tooth.
‘You are...you are...’
‘Yes, a pig. I know. That doesn’t change the fact that you need to eat.’
‘Fine.’ She stabbed at the food in a manner that made him glad he wasn’t on the trencher.
After a few mouthfuls, she said, ‘This keep is filthy. It needs cleaning.’
He looked around. It didn’t matter to him if it was filthy. But then it also didn’t matter if it was clean. Either way made no difference to him. Which he found odd, but he just couldn’t summon up the need to care. ‘If cleaning makes you happy, be my guest.’
‘And how am I supposed to do that without he
lp?’
‘You could try asking.’
‘Who?’
‘Me. You could try asking me.’
‘Then can I have the use of a couple of your men to start on this hall tomorrow?’
He sighed. ‘Surely you can do better than that.’
Again her jaw clenched, then unclenched. ‘May I please use a couple of your men, my lord?’
‘Oh, so polite and proper.’ He set his knife down and turned to face her. ‘But that isn’t quite what I meant.’ He leaned closer to whisper against her ear, ‘Ask me nicely, Isabella.’
‘Nicely? How nicely?’
He rested an arm along the back of her chair to toy with a lock of her hair. ‘Why don’t you just try asking and we’ll see if it suffices?’
She stared down at her lap for a few moments, before raising her head to look everywhere but at him. ‘Please, may I use some of your men tomorrow, Richard?’
He had to admit, she was a fast learner. Her imitation of his husky tone was worthy of any mummer. He stroked her cheek with his knuckle and this time felt her shiver trail along his touch.
It was cruel to play with her so. But Richard couldn’t seem to help himself. She didn’t dissolve into hysterics and usually handed his glibness right back to him. Verbal sparring with this woman was akin to foreplay, so he teased her on purpose—it seemed a harmless way to end the day.
Besides, he couldn’t deny that he enjoyed the play of colour filling her cheeks, but could only imagine how the green specks in her eyes would darken if she looked at him.
Agnes would never succumb to his teasing. As soon as he would try to engage her in this way, she would turn around and leave.
Knowing Isabella waited for his response, yet not wanting this evening to end so early, he brushed his knuckle across her cheek again. ‘You could try looking at me when you ask.’
She frowned for a moment, but to his amazement she finally met his gaze, batted her eyelashes, then leaned closer and placed a hand on his chest. ‘My Lord Richard, ice will form at Satan’s feet before I beg you for anything.’
Her words, spoken in a near breathless whisper, rushed against his chin like a lover’s caress. His heart thudded and from the small half-smile playing about her lips—lips he could easily claim again with his own if he leaned forward just the slightest bit—she knew exactly what effect she was having on him.
Then the actual words she’d spoken filtered through the feelings they’d caused. He frowned. By the saints above, the woman excelled at handing him back a good measure of his own teasing.
One of the men cleared his throat. Another slammed a goblet on to the table and, from nearby, Richard heard the distinct sound of a snort that seemed suspiciously like it came from Conal.
He didn’t need to look out at the hall to know that everyone in attendance was watching and waiting to see what he would do.
He knew exactly what he wanted to do—pull her into his embrace and kiss that smug sliver of a smile from her lips. But he also knew that he wouldn’t stop at a simple kiss. Unfortunately, there were too many prying eyes about for him to give into his urges.
Richard tilted his head down until his forehead nearly rested against hers. ‘You play with fire, Isabella.’
‘You started it.’ She shrugged and leaned away.
‘Perhaps. But to issue such a dare could prove to be a mistake on your part.’
‘The mistake is yours. I issued no dare.’
He stared at her, slowly trailing his gaze from the top of her head, across her face and then down to her breasts before drawing his attention back to her face. ‘You intentionally tempt a man to test your words and then deny it was a dare?’
Richard waited a moment for his meaning to put the flush back on her cheeks, before he mused, ‘I wonder just what it would take to hear you beg me.’
The colour on her face deepened as she gasped, shoved back her chair and left the Great Hall.
He watched her until the ribald laughter from his men prompted him into action. However much he might enjoy exchanging quips with her, she would not be allowed to make him look a fool before his men. Richard followed her up the stairs two at a time. Catching up with her on the landing, he swept her up into his arms without missing a step.
She squeaked in surprise and tried pushing away to break free of his hold. ‘Put me down.’
‘I will.’ He hit the latch on the bedchamber door, grateful it’d been reversed, shoved it open, stepped through, then kicked it closed and carried her to the bed where he dropped her on to the mattress.
She scrambled to the other side. ‘What do you think you’re doing? Get out of here.’
‘No. Get undressed.’
Before he realised what she was reaching for, she freed the sword he’d tossed on the bed and grasped it with both hands to point it at him. ‘I swear, I’ll use this.’
He stared at her for a moment and blinked, not quite believing his wife was threatening him with the weapon. Had she any idea how to use the blade? Doubtful. He proved that by easily batting it out of her hold. ‘It would take someone a lot stronger than you to use my own weapon on me.’
Richard grabbed the sword from the foot end of the bed before she could regain possession, slid it back into the sheath and placed it under his side of the bed. ‘Now, get undressed.’
With her head bowed and shoulders drooping, she sat on the edge of the bed to remove her slippers and stockings. Over her shoulder she shot him a mutinous glance before sliding beneath the covers to fumble with her gown. Pulling it free, she dropped it on to the floor.
It was all he could do not to sigh at her self-imposed fear. After quickly stoking the coals in the brazier and then undressing in the chilled night air of the chamber, he slid under the covers next to her and, before she could protest, pulled her against him. Her skin was like ice. ‘You’re cold.’
Isabella only nodded.
He gathered her closer, pulling her part way across his chest, with her head resting against his shoulder. He could feel her choked breaths warm against his neck.
‘You can relax, I’m not going to hurt you.’
‘I know what you’re going to do and, yes, it will hurt.’
Richard stared up at the ceiling. He’d had no way of knowing whether Agnes had been a virgin on their wedding night. He’d been young, too young to have had enough experience with women to be able to tell and like a fool he’d not questioned her claim of virginity.
But the woman in his arms now was so nervous, so inexperienced, and so very certain of what was going to happen, that he knew she’d never slept with a man. From her hesitancy whenever he’d kissed her he doubted if she’d ever been truly kissed by a man before, let alone anything else.
He’d followed her from the hall with every intention of proving to her who was in command. Now that she was in his arms and he could feel her fear, all he wanted to do was to calm her nervousness and banish her worries. He kissed the top of her head. ‘Isabella, I should have apologised earlier in my chamber. I am sorry for frightening you so.’
‘And what about now?’
He smiled against her head, then reached over to stroke her hip. Ignoring her startled flinch, he asked, ‘Should I apologise for wanting to touch the softness of your skin?’ He buried his nose in her hair and breathed in deeply. ‘Or for wanting to savour the scent of a beautiful woman?’
She rolled over on her back, claiming, ‘Now you should apologise for being so silly.’
Richard shifted on to his side, propping up on his forearm. When she immediately tried to shift away, he put his arm across her and caressed her side, not letting her escape.
Again, he said, ‘Relax, Isabella. I am not going to hurt you.’
She wouldn’t even look at him. With her eyes tightly closed, she a
sked, ‘Then what are you doing?’
Drowning in your innocence. ‘Relishing the feel of a woman next to me.’ He splayed his fingers across her belly, feeling the sudden contracting of muscles beneath his hand. He kept his movements slow, barely brushing his fingertips across her smooth flesh.
She grasped his hand. ‘I don’t think this is going to help me relax.’
Richard captured her hand beneath his and threaded his fingers between her own, then once again lightly stroked across her belly and over her ribs with their hands joined. He leaned his head down to softly ask, ‘Do you feel how soft and smooth your skin is? Can you feel the warmth against your fingers?’
Once she nodded, he brought her hand to his stomach and mimicked the same movements, asking, ‘Do you find the difference as interesting as I do? Where your skin was soft and pliant, mine is tougher and the muscles beneath hard and less giving.’
‘Not so tough.’ She adjusted her fingertips to trail along a scar. ‘It is smoother than I thought it might be.’
He was surprised to discover she actually thought about it at all. Allowing her to guide the direction of their exploration, he sucked in a breath when she drew their hands up his ribcage and wandered across his chest. She slowed their movement to lightly trace a circle around one now hardening nipple, before trailing her touch down the line of hair to his waist.
But he wasn’t at all surprised when she stopped there, her hand trembling lightly beneath his. To take her mind off what she feared to find, he moved their hands back to her stomach, where he then traced the same path she had, up her ribs and between her breasts.
Richard closed his eyes. He longed to tear his hand free to cup her breast, to feel the warmth, the softness and weight against his palm. With an effort he reminded himself that this wasn’t about him.
So, he slid their hands to circle along the side, then beneath the fullness. Back and forth, slowly edging a little higher with each pass until she breathlessly gasped. Not wanting her nervous anticipation to get the best of her, he drew his fingertips around, then over her hardening nipple.
‘Oh!’
