Go with her to Abbernathy, indeed! She was quite mad.
He could not allow her to do aught but accompany him.
He felt the heavy weight of frustration upon his chest. As he had been since his parents died when he was eighteen, Benedict was responsible first and foremost for Brackenmoore and its inhabitants. Yet he had jeopardized the peace of his home in marrying Raine Blanchett.
Now Benedict realized that he had arranged the wedding too quickly. His decision to have her had been made without his usual deliberation. Yet he had not been able to walk away from the boy—or truth be known, Raine. They needed someone.
In all honesty he was willing to be that someone still. He must simply make her see that his actions and hers had consequences. When she had married him she had married Brackenmoore, which was more important than any one individual, including one headstrong and impetuous damsel. Raine was clearly confused about her own obligations. As a woman it was her duty to bring her loyalty to her husband and his lands once she was wed.
Surely, if he could only explain this to her, she would see reason. Her loyalty to her brother, her concern for his estate, did in fact do her much credit, and told Benedict that she did indeed understand the concept. She would simply need to understand that as his bride she was now a part of Brackenmoore, with ties to her former home, yet no longer an integral part of it.
His bride.
The words brought an unexpected tightening to his lower belly, in spite of all that had occurred this day. With the sensation came an awareness that he might not have married Raine solely for the sake of rescuing her.
She was a very beautiful and desirable woman. And was it not right that he should desire his own wife? Their joining would, with God’s blessing, result in an heir for his lands and heritage.
This was his wedding night. What was he doing sitting here on a stump like a green boy?
Surely he could make Raine see he meant her no ill. The two of them must find some common ground and begin a new life.
Setting the untouched food aside and rising in one quick motion, Benedict strode toward the tent. He pulled up the flap and stepped inside. Immediately his gaze found Raine.
His wife.
She sat on a low stool while the maid, Aida, brushed her hair. His gaze took in the rippling curtain of auburn, which had so captured his attention that morning.
Sensing her own attention upon him, Benedict met his wife’s eyes. He saw what might have been a flicker of anxiety in those golden depths, but it was gone so quickly that he knew he must have been mistaken. The glance she cast him was clearly annoyed and disdainful.
Benedict felt a stiffening in his own body in reaction. Firmly and determinedly he resolved to stay calm. Reason and patience were his way. He would not be drawn into behaving like an untried lad as he had this morn. Marrying Raine was his last hasty act.
Yet her unreasonable displeasure rankled. He could not prevent the frown that marred his brow as she turned and spoke to the maid. “Please leave us, Aida.”
The maid looked at him with uncertainty. Raine spoke again. “Please.”
When the obviously reluctant woman had gone, Raine rose. The pale pink velvet robe she wore molded itself to the length of her slender form. He found his gaze tracing the enticing curves of her rounded breasts, her narrow waist and gently flaring hips as she slowly came toward him. She stopped a mere handful of steps away, and Benedict noted the way the end of one bright curl caught in the plush fabric that covered the curve of her hip. Only when she spoke, saying, “My lord,” did he raise his attention to her coolly assessing visage.
Benedict nodded, attempting to retain his equanimity in the face of her unwelcoming stance. “My lady wife.”
She forestalled him with a raised hand. “Pray, allow me to speak, my lord.”
In spite of the fact that he very much doubted he would be pleased by what she was about to say, Benedict could not help feeling a trace of admiration as she quickly and brazenly came to the point. “My lord Ainsworth, your coming here has made it apparent that I must converse with you on an unpleasant matter.” She paused for a long moment, and it was clear from the flush that accompanied her words as she went on that she did not find this easy. “I would have you know, my lord, that though we are wed and I am indeed forced against my own will to obey your command and accompany you to your lands…I do not intend to be your wife in any other sense.” Her gaze fell, as if finishing had cost her all the boldness she possessed.
Benedict’s brows rose in shock. There was no mistaking that she had come right out and denied him her bed. Affront raced through him in a murky flood. She had no right to deny him. It was her duty before God and man to act as a fitting wife. And that was aside from the fact that it was she who had chosen him.
Despite a determination to keep her from seeing how greatly she had perturbed him, Benedict knew his incredulity was apparent in his tone. “You seek to send me from you?”
She bit her lip with uncertainty as she faced him, but there was sheer defiance in her eyes. “I do.”
He shook his head in disbelief. “You have no right to do so. I am your husband.”
She stepped backward, then quickly squared her shoulders. “You will not be so in flesh unless you force me, my lord.”
He moved toward her, his anger a tight ball in his belly as he bent over her. She held her ground, a fact that only further infuriated him as he spoke through tight lips. “I ask you this, madam. What makes you think I would force you if I had come here to claim my right as your husband?”
Her gaze widened as she craned to look up at him. “I—I simply assumed you would take what you…”
“You assumed wrongly then.” He heard genuine indignation enter his voice as he added, “I have never forced myself upon any woman—have never had to.” His gaze raked her meaningfully.
She flushed, clearly understanding his meaning, and sputtered, “I…then forgive my—”
“Enough!”
Raine went on, not heeding his command, her reluctance obvious as she said, “Again I find myself in the position of offering you thanks. I do not believe I could have…For you are a stranger to me, my lord.”
This last remark stretched his control to the breaking point. He swept her with a scorching gaze. “Aye, as you are a stranger to me, Wife. You have done much to beg pardon for on this day, my lady, and yet you continue to rattle on about your own concerns. You have attempted to trick me into marriage, have treated me coldly because I expected you to come home with me, and denied me your bed without compunction. You do dare much, Raine. Yet do not mistake that I could have loved you and well. There would have been no forcing.”
An expression of utter fury colored her features a deep peach, yet Benedict was of no mind to listen to her for another moment. He forestalled her by reaching out and pulling her to him, molding the length of her squirming body to his as he pressed his mouth to hers. He told himself that she deserved this, had driven him mad with her accusations and assumptions.
Yet as he kissed her he became aware of the softening of her lips. She went limp, the mounds of her breasts pressing against his chest, the fragile but womanly shape of her easing into his arms.
His body reacted to her response with an intensity that shocked him, and he felt himself become hard and ready in an instant. His intent changed. His own lips softened, entreated, cajoled. Her hands crept up to rest against his chest and he slanted his head, his tongue flicking out to trace her mouth. When she opened her lips beneath his he deepened the kiss and she tilted her head back, leaning into him.
Emboldened by her reaction, he traced the length of her back, his hands coming to rest on her hips. Yet as he held her firmly to the hardness of his manhood, feeling it pulse against the flat line of her belly, she stiffened suddenly, pulling away with a gasp.
She backed away from him, putting her hand up to cover her mouth, which was pink and swollen from his kiss. “How dare you! You said you would not fo
rce me.”
Benedict felt a fresh wave of anger at the horror in her gaze, this new accusation. He heard the bitter sarcasm in his own tone as he said, “Aye, I did say that, Raine. And have not done so. Mark me well now, woman, you have gained a delay and no more. I will bed you and know that ’twill not be by force.”
The confusion and agony he saw on her face brought a rush of sympathy that he could not explain. Disgusted with himself for reacting to that sign of vulnerability, he turned and left.
He did not go back to the fire and the others. He was too agitated to sit and talk, to pretend to ignore the glances of speculation that would surely come his way.
As he strode across the meadow and into the enveloping closeness of the forest he realized that there was something about Raine, a softness beneath that abrasive veneer, that moved him each time he glimpsed it.
It was surely that softness that made him desire her even now as he recalled the feel of her in his arms, the cool taste of her mouth on his, her clearly unwilling, but equally powerful, response to him.
Yet he would control his reactions to those momentary glimpses of vulnerability. He could not allow her to get around him, could not forget just what she was capable of by way of manipulation and deceit.
Chapter Five
Raine rose and dressed as soon as she heard the first hints of stirring in the camp. She had slept for no more than sporadic moments the whole of the night.
Aida, who had shared the tent with her, seemed to have slept little more, for Raine had heard her tossing restlessly upon her blankets. The worried glances she kept casting Raine’s way as she helped her ready herself for the day were somewhat disconcerting.
Raine had no words of comfort this morn.
The way she had responded to Benedict Ainsworth’s kiss would not be forgotten. Each and every thought of that kiss brought a repeat of the shocking heat and longing she had known as his firm lips touched hers, a memory of the feelings that had turned her resistance to acquiescence.
The fact that it was the first kiss she had ever shared with a man might very well explain why she had not expected such a reaction in herself. But somewhere deep inside her Raine knew that there was more to it than that. She could not, no matter how she tried, make herself believe the touch of just any man would bring such a response. Benedict’s face was the only one she could even bring to mind. That the face in her mind was arrogant with the knowledge of how she had reacted to him was utterly mortifying.
Even as shame heated her cheeks anew she heard the sound of a commotion from outside, the sound of raised voices. The anger in those voices told her that something was amiss.
Quickly she stepped out into the crisp spring morning.
The sight that met her eyes made her take in a deep breath of anger and impatience. At the edge of the camp, mounted atop a huge brown stallion, was none other than Denley Trent. At the moment he was shouting down at one of Benedict’s men, while the rest of the soldiers were moving toward the two from their various locations about the camp.
There was no sign of Benedict, nor of William, who had insisted upon sleeping around fire with the other men. Even as she wondered where her husband and brother might be, Denley shouted her name.
She looked up to see him bearing down upon her, ignoring the fact that he narrowly missed riding over the men who had moved to halt him. The rage on his face was clear to see.
In spite of the fact that he looked like a madman racing toward her with that mask of fury upon his face, Raine felt no real fear of him. She was under Benedict’s protection now, though the knowledge did not rest quite as easily as she had once thought it might. As Denley neared, she had no time to think on that dilemma. She took a deep breath and prepared to meet her nemesis.
Denley’s full lips pursed with disapproval and outrage as he jerked his mount to a halt mere feet from her and growled, “What is going on, Raine? I spent the night at an inn last night…your stubbornness left me with a desire for softer compan—” He broke off with a flush, then blubbered on. “You know that the court is so crowded…and I thought to give you some time to…”
She had the distinct feeling that he had been looking for comfort of a carnal sort at that inn. She ignored this. “What do you do here, Denley?”
His color seemed to fluctuate as he went on in a tone of abject betrayal. “Why am I here? When I returned to court yesterday afternoon I heard that you had left. But not only had you departed, they were all on about how you had married Ainsworth and gone off to Brackenmoore. Married? I said to myself. ’Twas surely impossible, and yet here you are.”
She put her hands to her hips. “And what concern would that be of yours?”
Utter rage and horror turned her cousin’s face a bright purple when she did not deny his words, and he sputtered, “But how can it be? You refuse my every proposal and then marry a man you have only just met. What are you about, Raine? Has he importuned you in some way?”
She felt a strange urge to laugh, for it had been quite the opposite. Instead she said, “Nay, Denley, he did not. I have wed him of my own will.”
His round eyes and slack jaw gave away his complete incredulity. “But why? You could have had me.”
This time she could not completely withhold a gasp of laughter, which she quickly covered with a choking cough. Denley was totally oblivious to how very ridiculous he was. But she knew he would not understand her if she told him this. And now that she had a husband, one whom she knew would not allow anyone to touch her, she felt not one twinge of anxiety in connection to this man. For she was quite aware of the fact that Benedict’s men had gathered closely around her as she and her cousin conversed.
She wanted to tell them there was no need for concern, but she spoke only to Denley, wanting him to understand that he must leave. She wished to end this confrontation with no harm done on either side. She could afford her cousin a bit of compassion now that she need have no fear of him. “I appreciate the honor you tried to do me. But rest assured I have no regret in my choice of husband.”
This was not true in the least, but she would not have him know that. Even as she thought this she felt an odd prickling along her nape. Turning, she saw that her husband and her brother were just emerging from the edge of the trees. Both of them had damp hair and garments. Clearly they had found some body of water in which to bathe.
In spite of the turmoil of the moment, Raine could not help noting the way Benedict’s wet hair, which he had combed straight back, made his jaw look even more strong and lean. Nor could she help seeing the way his damp tunic clung to his shoulders, drawing attention to their powerful breadth.
His gaze, dark and compelling with an emotion she could not name, met hers for one long, infinite moment. Raine felt an odd tension within herself, a strange breathlessness. She looked down, telling herself it was the absolute mastery of Benedict’s expression as he assessed the situation that caused her agitation. It had nothing to do with vivid memory of the taste of his lips on hers.
When she raised her gaze to his once more his black brows arched high with cool amusement. Surprised at his expression, she wondered if he had overheard her assurances that she was well pleased with her marriage. That would certainly explain his amusement.
Deliberately she ignored him. Yet as she squared her shoulders, she remained infinitely aware of Benedict as he moved with quick easy strides across the space that separated them. Not bothering to address her, he faced the other man with disdain. “Why have you come, man?”
Denley looked at him with renewed rage. “You have dared to steal away with the woman I intended to wed.”
Obviously Benedict was less reticent about offending the madman than she, for he spoke with contempt. “I informed you before that you would mind your ways with Raine, and you will certainly do so now. You are no longer talking to a woman you may hope to coerce, Trent. You are now addressing my wife, Lady Ainsworth.”
If possible, Denley’s flush darkened further an
d she almost felt sympathy for him. Almost. Even the fact that Benedict was far too domineering could not make her forget how recklessly her cousin had attempted to force her into a marriage with him.
When Denley swung around to glare at her rather than face Benedict any longer, she shrugged. His gaze swept the camp, the gathered soldiers, William’s set face. Clearly he found no support there.
Benedict spoke again, this time his voice, however calm in tone, holding a clear warning. “You will go now, or know the consequences of trespassing upon what is mine.”
Raine felt herself stiffen at his choice of words.
Denley cast one more desperate glance about him. He was outnumbered. Raine took a step toward him. Her voice filled with entreaty and pity as she experienced a sense of rebellion at Benedict’s proprietary manner toward herself. “You must go, Denley. There is nothing for you here.”
With a cry of both frustration and fury, he spun his mount about and rode away. Raine made no attempt to call after him. If he would only understand that things were simply not the way he envisioned them, he would not be in such a ludicrous position.
Raine did not look at her husband, remaining uneasy with Benedict’s proprietary declaration to her cousin. Yet had she not wanted this? Had she not hoped and prayed that a man would come along who could protect her from the likes of her cousin?
Aye, it was what she had wanted. But she had wanted only his name and did not appreciate being treated like a possession, which was just the way she felt at listening to her husband speak of her.
How could she not, after the way he had treated her last night? He had pressed himself upon her as if her wish to the contrary meant nothing, as if she were indeed his possession to do with as he chose. And she, silly cow that she was, had responded to him as if…well, she had no words to describe the very depth of her reaction. It was especially galling after he had informed her quite deliberately that he would take her when he wished.
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