Her violet eyes were fringed by long, golden lashes that cast shadows on her lovely cheekbones. Her lips were swollen from his kisses, which made her mouth look even more sensual and seductive. Her long hair was wildly disheveled from being wet, then dried in bed, without having its tangles brushed out. Her throat was a long column of shadowed alabaster, merging into soft shoulders and delicate collarbone. Her breasts, so lush and round, were far too tempting for Rod to leave untouched, untasted.
His palm cupped one of the firm, upthrust globes, weighing it, caressing it, stroking it with tender reverence, then his thumb brushed
95
across its pink tip, turning it jewel hard. His hand brushed across her heart, then took possession of her other breast, giving it even more attention than the first. Unable to resist longer, he dipped his head to kiss them and lick them and taste them as if they were ripe fruit. It took her breath away, and her beautiful breasts rose and fell rapidly beneath his hungry mouth.
When his hand brushed across her belly, sliding down to where the lynx fur mingled with her golden curls, Rosamond murmured a protest, as Rod rally expected she would. He stayed his hand while he persuaded her to his will. "There is no harm in what we do, Rosebud. I only want to show you a little love play. I promise you will still be a maiden—it will not compromise you in any way."
She wondered if she could trust him to keep his word. She had put her life in his hands, and his great strength and determination had saved her, but could she trust him with her virtue? More to the point, could she trust herself? Lying with him in the bed brought her more pleasure than she had ever known. Perhaps it was heightened because it was forbidden pleasure, or perhaps she was so grateful that he had rescued her, she wished to reward him. Perhaps she was merely curious about the male-female mystery about which she had heard so much but had never experienced herself. Whatever the reason, she purposely remained silent, giving tacit permission.
Rod pulled down the fur cover and tossed it aside, then he stared at her as if mesmerized by the female loveliness spread before him. "You are exquisite to look upon, Rosamond. You are like a lily from the Song of Solomon." He bent over her to drop a kiss into her navel, then continued gazing at every delicious inch of her. "You have the longest legs I've ever seen; they set my imagination aflame. I can feel them wrapped about me when we make love ... if we make love, but not tonight, my sweet, I promise."
With his intense green gaze upon her, Rosamond felt beautiful. She was unused to a man's undivided attention and found it highly flattering. His dark face and midnight-black hair set her pulses racing, and the contoured muscles of his chest, covered by black hair, tempted her fingers to touch him, trace him, tease him. But she knew she must not arouse him further; he was already on the verge of losing control.
96
When Rod threaded his fingers through the golden curls on her high mons, Rosamond gasped and, arching her body, cried, "No!" He withdrew his fingers immediately and instead took hold of her hand and drew her fingertips to her woman's center. "Enjoy the sensation, feel the pleasure, sweetheart." He brushed their joined fingers across the sensitive place, allowing her to get used to the intimacy. He knew the moment she thrilled to the touch, and pressed the pads of their fingertips against the sensitive spot hidden inside her scented flesh.
The tiny moan in her throat told Rod that she was experiencing her female sensuality for the first time. He dipped his head and took possession of her lips with his mouth, then set up a rhythm with the tip of his tongue, that matched the pulsations their fingers produced. Almost immediately, he felt her become dewy, and knew she was becoming sexually aroused. Moving in delicate circles around her bud, he enticed her to feel passion. He circled slowly, firmly, never increasing the tempo, knowing a woman craved a faster cadence, but knowing also the slower the pace, the longer the pleasure and the harder the climax.
Rosamond felt a hot ache start in her woman's core, then threads of flame raced up into her belly and fanned outward and upward into her breasts, making them hard and tingling. The scalding threads spiraled higher and higher and ever higher, until she peaked and shattered into a million delicious shards of ecstasy.
Rod immediately stopped the movement of his hand and cupped her mons instead, pressing firmly as she pulsated and quivered, until her last tiny spasm was spent. Then he enfolded her in his arms and held her securely so she could savor the enchantment of what had just happened to her. Rod knew he had held himself in check too long and realized his lust was ravenous and savage. He wanted to mount her and bury himself in her silken sheath, thrusting until he had mastered this woman and made her his forever.
His need made him shudder convulsively, and he knew if he did not find release, he would ravish her. As gently as he could, he drew her fingers down his body, and, holding them within his, wrapped them about his marble-hard shaft. It took only a few manipulations and suddenly he was crying out his release. He covered himself with the soft linen sheet,
97
knowing he could not yet impregnate her with his seed. That was a pleasure he would have to postpone until she was his lawfully wedded wife.
Rosamond buried her face against his shoulder, feeling shy yet strangely empowered from the intimate experience they had shared.
"I'm sorry, Rosamond," he said, the frustration in his body only partially relieved, "please believe I did that for your sake, as much as my own."
******************
When she awoke in the morning, Sir Rodger was nowhere in sight. At the sound of a polite knock upon the door, Rosamond looked around and saw his gray velvet bedrobe lying on the floor. She slipped from the bed, covered her nakedness with the robe, and cracked open the door. Two servants wheeled in the most amazing bathing tub she had ever beheld. It was carved from wood in the shape of a Viking ship, painted bright red, with a dragon masthead.
Behind the servants came Master Burke, Tewkesbury's castellan, carrying a silver basket filled with sponges, exotic bath oils and soaps. "If there is aught else you need, my lady, please let me know. This is a well-run household, with sufficient maids to attend you, but Sir Rodger has rebuffed my suggestion to provide you with a lady's maid."
"You are very kind, Master Burke. I wish you were my castellan." She gave him a brilliant smile. "I can certainly manage without a maid, but if you are thinking of propriety, I'm afraid it's a little late."
"Never, my lady." He bowed with polite dignity and backed from the room.
Rosamond knew whatever secrets she had, or secrets de Leyburn had for that matter, would be inviolate with Master Burke.
Sunshine splashed through the tall windows, saturating the spacious chamber, and for the first time she was able to appreciate the room. She knew instinctively it was Rodger de Leyburn's bedchamber and his carved bed they had shared. It was furnished luxuriously and dramatically. The fireplace and hearth were made of gray slate probably imported from Wales. The window drapes and bed curtains were crimson velvet; the plush carpet was charcoal gray and crimson in an exotic Persian pattern. The walls were covered with Flemish tapestries, whose colors were predominantly crimson and gray. A massive wardrobe took
98
up an entire wall, and beneath the windows there were ebony tables inlaid with red Spanish leather. One of the tables held a chess set whose pieces were Grecian gods and goddesses, carved from black marble. Rosamond decided the chamber revealed much about Sir Rodger de Leyburn. He had flamboyant, yet expensive, taste. He was clearly a man who appreciated the finer things of life and had been collecting them for some time.
As Rosamond removed the bedrobe to climb into the bathing tub, an unusual scent stole to her. She sniffed with appreciation—what was the tantalizing fragrance? A silver urn stood in the corner filled with crimson chrysanthemums, but that was not the source. She lifted her arm to her nose and breathed in the perfume of her skin. Had it come from the robe, or had it come from de Leyburn? Whichever, it was extremely exotic, even erotic, Rosamond
realized with a blush.
When the door swung open and de Leyburn walked in, Rosamond slid down in the water and reprimanded him. "You didn't knock!"
"I am unused to knocking on my own chamber door." Amusement danced in his eyes. "Since you haven't a stitch of clothing to put on, I thought I would solve your dilemma, or were you planning to walk about naked for me?"
He was in a teasing mood and she felt a great relief that he had taken a figurative step back from their amorous intimacy of the night before. "You are a devil, de Leyburn." Amusement lurked in the depths of her own eyes as she admitted, "In truth, I had forgotten that I had no clothes."
He opened the box he was carrying. "I have a couple of ells of amethyst velvet that will be enough for a gown and a cloak, if you like it. I have a woman sewing a shift for you as we speak."
She gasped with pleasure when she saw the material. "Oh, is it French-cut velvet? Wherever did you get such beautiful cloth?"
"From France, I believe," he said with a straight face.
"This chamber is magnificent; you have a taste for luxury."
"Whenever I see something beautiful, I have an overwhelming urge to possess it." His gaze lowered from her eyes to her mouth, then dipped even lower.
When Rosamond glanced down, she saw that her breasts were
99
bobbing in the water. Pink suffused her cheeks, yet secretly she was proud of her lush breasts and not displeased that they had been accidentally displayed for him. There was no doubt that Sir Rodger found her physically attractive, and Rosamond realized that there was no point in lying to herself—she found him more than attractive; she found him as magnetic as a lodestone. He was a far more complex man than she had first suspected, and she was intrigued by him. If she could be certain that he wanted her for herself as well as her rich dowry, if she could fully trust him, she would welcome marriage to this compelling man.
A knock upon the door interrupted her thoughts. It was a maidservant with a breakfast tray. "Oh dear, I wanted to wash my hair, but I don't want the food to get cold—"
Rod picked up a small table and moved it beside the Viking bathing tub. He took the tray from the maid and set it close to Rosamond. "I would feed you, but that would lure me into the water with you and I would soon find myself out of my depth." He winked to show he was teasing. "The sewing woman will bring you that shift and take your measurements for the gown. Enjoy your food; there is a compote of pears and honey from my own orchards."
******************
Three hours later, when Rosamond emerged from Rodger de Ley-burn's bedchamber wearing a classic-cut tunic gown made from the amethyst velvet, she knew she looked pretty. The mirror on his wardrobe door had shown her that the color of the French-cut velvet made her freshly washed hair shimmer like fine-spun gold. She had used a golden chain she had found to cinch in the waist of the tunic and suspected it was real gold. When Rosamond had opened the wardrobe, overflowing with his fashionable garments, she had finally identified the scent that clung to them as exotic sandalwood.
As Rosamond walked along passageways that opened into castle chambers, she saw that Tewkesbury was filled with treasures. There were marble figures that must have come from Italy, refectory tables and settles covered with Cordovan leather from Spain, carpets from Egypt that must have been brought back from the Crusades, and vases that must have originated in the Orient. The chrysanthemums in the vases must have been grown in a greenhouse. 100
She found de Leyburn consulting with his castellan, and when Master Burke excused himself to give them privacy, she liked him even more.
"No one seeing you would believe you almost drowned yesterday." Rod lifted her fingers to his lips, then pressed a kiss into her palm.
The scent of sandalwood stole to her as she fingered the chain belt self-consciously. "I borrowed this."
"Keep it; it adds elegance to the tunic."
"But it's real gold!"
"Anything less would be unworthy of you."
Rosamond laughed. "That is a very flowery speech, my lord. I like you better when you are less glib."
"Do you like me, Rosamond?" His green eyes searched her face.
Her heart skipped a beat. She had begun to trust him. "Yes. I didn't want to like you, but I do in spite of myself."
"Then I am content—for the moment."
"Tewkesbury is as filled with surprises as you are, my lord. You are a collector of beautiful things from around the world."
"It is a passion with me. Lord Edward calls it a compulsion. I collect many things: swords from Scotland and Toledo, pottery from Greece and Phoenicia, art from France, glass from Venice. Wherever I go, without exception, I find something I want."
"I am sure you found nothing at Pershore," she challenged.
"On the contrary, I wanted everything at Pershore, its land, its castle, its chatelaine."
"You are a compulsive collector," she said lightly.
"I once told you I would never let you go. I meant it, Rosamond."
Sir Rodger de Leyburn made her feel as if she were the most important woman in the entire world. When they were together, he focused his whole attention upon her, and she could not help but respond to such flattering and complimentary behavior. Yet she cautioned herself to be wary, for she knew he was a practiced courtier, who could have, and likely had had, any woman he wanted.
"Do you feel up to visiting Deerhurst today? It is a scant two miles away."
There is no doubt you will want it too, once you have seen it, Rosamond thought. "Yes, our time grows short. Christmas is less than a fortnight
101
away; at Kenilworth they will be wondering what has happened to delay us."
"You are a lady who is free to make her own choices, her own rules. Eleanor de Montfort has always done that; she will expect no less of you, Rosamond."
"Lady Eleanor is a princess and a countess," she pointed out.
"Eleanor is first and foremost a woman, as are you, chérie."
Rosamond laughed. Rodger's words always imbued her with self-confidence. "I must go and see Nimbus; she was very frightened yesterday. Thank heavens the wolf trap did not lame her."
"We'll leave in an hour. I have asked Master Burke to ride with us to Deerhurst, if you have no objection."
"Master Burke is your one possession that I covet."
Rod slanted a teasing eyebrow. "Not the Viking bathing tub?"
"That too," Rosamond conceded with a smile.
******************
As Deerhurst Castle came into view Rosamond wondered how she could have stayed away so long. It immediately insinuated itself into her heart and firmly embedded itself there. But a deep sadness washed over her as she thought of her brother, Giles, cruelly plucked from life before his prime. Would the sharpness of the pain ever dull, ever be blunted? Rosamond sighed heavily to disperse the scalding pain in her heart and forced herself to think of happy childhood memories.
She saw that de Leyburn's eyes were upon her, probably gauging her mood, guessing at her thoughts, yet he said nothing intrusive, allowing silence to prevail between them. Rosamond noticed that the bailey had no weeds, the dogs were penned, and all looked to be in order. A groom came to tend their horses, and Deerhurst's steward, Master Gore, greeted them and showed the proper respect when he learned their identity.
Servants were dispatched to plenish chambers, and the cook was sent word that the evening meal must be special for the lady of Deerhurst and her betrothed. As they warmed themselves before the fire in the Great Hall, they were served spiced cider. Master Burke set an iron poker into the coals, and when its end glowed red, he plunged it into Rosamond's goblet, then he mulled de Leyburn's cider in the same way.
102
While Sir Rodger and Burke examined the account books, Rosamond spent the afternoon exploring Deerhurst Castle's many chambers. She spent a poignant hour in the room her parents used to share, and finally braced herself to enter Giles's bedchamber. Drawings
of his favorite dog still lay upon his desk, the paper now brown and withered. Rosamond trailed loving fingers across the charcoal sketches. The inkwell was dried up, the quills stubbed and broken; Giles had had little patience for letter writing.
When she opened the wardrobe and found some of his garments from when he was a boy, a lump came into her throat. When she gathered the sleeve of a doublet against her cheek, her eyes filled with tears. He was a true Marshal male, preferring the somber colors of dark green, mole, and ecru. She decided to take the doublet and a pair of his chausses; until now she had had nothing that belonged to him. She folded the garments and put them on the end of the bed, then she touched the articles on the bedside table. There was a silver dagger, and a pewter casket that likely held a youth's treasures. When Rosamond lifted the lid and found a collection of ladies' ribbons, she was momentarily disconcerted. Then the corners of her mouth rose, and she smiled through her tears, realizing the wild rumors concerning Lord Edward's companions were not unwarranted. She picked up the dagger and placed it alongside the garments she intended to keep.
She and de Leyburn dined in the Great Hall, where she insisted that Master Burke join them. The meal was not up to Tewkesbury's standards, but it was good, and after dinner Rosamond paid a visit to the kitchen to thank the cook and her assistants. An elderly woman bobbed her a curtsy. "I made gingerbread for you, my lady; it was Sir Giles's favorite."
A wedge of anger in her throat made it difficult for Rosamond to speak. Giles should have dined with her tonight, enjoying his gingerbread. Goddamn the Fates! she thought bitterly. Why wasn't he allowed to live out his life? She took a piece of the gingerbread and smiled at the woman. "I shall eat it for him."
Rosamond was in no mood for company tonight; she preferred Deerhurst's ghosts. She bade the two men good night and retired to her chamber. She sat gazing into the fire for over an hour, then suddenly the
The Marriage Priza Page 12
