Benedict smiled. “He will not mind.”
Maeve added, “That one is off on business of his own this evening, and he’ll be more than sorry that he was not here to welcome you and your sister. I have a feeling he will be glad that he’s no longer the youngest lordling about the keep.”
William’s pleasure at her words was very obvious. Raine felt slightly uncomfortable with his reaction, but had no opportunity to ask herself why this was so. Her own accommodations had not been settled. She was quite aware of the anxiousness of her tone as she spoke, but could not disguise it. “I will require a chamber as well.”
Maeve looked to Benedict. “I had assumed—”
He interrupted coolly, “My wife will require her own chamber.”
Maeve scowled, studying them both closely, seeming disconcerted by this revelation. Yet all she said was, “With Lord Tristan, Lady Lily, Sabina and Lady Genevieve away at Molson, their rooms are vacant at the moment and clean. I believe Lady Genevieve’s would likely be the most comfortable for your lady wife, as Sabina’s chamber is quite cluttered even with her gone.”
Benedict nodded and shrugged, clearly glad to have this problem out of the way. “Fine, then.”
Raine could not even look at him, for she was more irritated by the lack of feeling in his tone than she cared to admit. Conversely, she did not want him to thwart her in this. Sharing a chamber with him was unthinkable. She focused on the head woman. “Would you mind if we went up now? I am very tired. It has been a long journey.” Raine was aware of the exhaustion in her own voice.
Maeve nodded with concern and respect, clearly knowing her place when it was required. “Yes, my lady. If you would please follow me.”
Relieved, Raine started after her, but they were halted by Benedict’s voice. “I will tell one of the other servants to begin heating water and have the copper bathing tub brought up to Genevieve’s room.”
Raine felt surprise and appreciation at his unexpected thoughtfulness. Yet she was reluctant to acknowledge the gesture, for her gratitude made her feel even more exposed and unsettled at being at Brackenmoore where he was lord and master of all. Yet she must try. She turned and smiled with forced brilliance. “I thank you, my lord. It is most gracious of you to think of me.” Quickly she swung away, hiding her uncertainty behind a proudly tilted head.
Chapter Six
With a frown of consternation, Benedict watched his wife go to the far end of the hall. Every muscle in his body ached from keeping himself in check. What a time he’d had holding back just now when she’d insisted upon having her own room. But when he’d heard the exhaustion in her voice, he’d felt moved to offer some solace, however slight. The bath had come to mind.
She had said thank you prettily enough, but there was no genuine warmth in that flashing white smile. And that arrogant stance! How dare she respond to his gesture thusly? There was no giving in with Raine.
Damn her. And to think he had even felt somewhat guilty for having informed her she must behave properly after she had conducted herself so well. That was until she had made their estrangement known to all, which was what she had surely done by requesting her own room.
What had he done to himself in marrying this woman? She was as contrary as any female could be and still be so pleasing to the eye. And there was no denying she was. Even when she was glaring at him in resentment, which was most of the time, her golden eyes held the power to bewitch him.
Suppressed frustration and anger ate at his belly. He wanted to think on anything save Raine, and must surely find something else to occupy his mind. Yet he first did as he had told her he would and ordered that hot water and the tub be taken to Genevieve’s chamber. As he did so he felt a stab of regret that Genevieve and Lily were gone. The other women’s company might have helped his wife to settle in.
Genevieve had gone with Tristan and Lily. She’d said she was doing so because she did not wish to be away from Sabina for three months, but Benedict was suspicious that her need to be away had more to do with Marcel’s departure on the Briar Wind some weeks ago. Benedict would respect her desire to remain silent on the subject.
He now had his own share of misfortune and torment in the shape of one Raine Blanchett. An undeniably pleasing shape though it might be, it was no less troublesome.
He went to see if his steward had left anything of immediate import for his attention in the library. The worthy fellow need not be summoned until morning.
Benedict was aware of the fact that he had pushed too hard this day. He had done so only because he did not wish to spend another night on the road with Raine. He had not been unaware of the lingering and speculative gazes of his men as he’d bedded down around the fire with them, while his new wife shared the tent with her maid.
Unfortunately, it seemed he would fare little better here at Brackenmoore. Comfortable though his bed might be, it would likely offer no surcease from the thoughts of Raine that had kept him awake each night. Well, she may have demanded her own chamber, but he would not let that stop him when the time came to bed her.
Benedict was not pleased to see that nothing awaited his attention in the library. The table was, in fact, exactly as he had left it, the books and ledgers piled in the particular order he preferred.
He sat in the heavy carved chair behind the worktable and sighed. It had been his father’s chair, and in it he felt some link to that beloved man’s wisdom, drew on it to make the best decisions for Brackenmoore. Yet today he felt nothing but turmoil in spite of the fact that nothing pressing awaited his attention. He should be glad that all had gone smoothly in his absence, not a common occurrence to say the least. Surely he should simply offer up a prayer of thanks and seek his rest.
But something would not let him. He could not stop thinking about his wife, the vixen, and the fact that she had let it be known to Maeve that she did not mean to be a true wife to him. What manner of woman was she to deny him before a member of his own household? ’Twas bad enough that she would do so in private. The more he thought on the matter, the more disturbed Benedict became.
He could allow his wife to know him better before consummating their union, though he had to admit he would have preferred otherwise. He was, after all, a man. And Raine was without question a beautiful woman. He could not help recalling with disturbing clarity what had happened in her tent. It had been all he could do to reign in his astonishingly potent desire.
Quickly he suppressed this thought. He had controlled it. He was not obligated to control or suppress his pride and dignity. Raine could not shame him before his folk, so haughtily deny him his God-given right as her husband. He was not just himself, Benedict. He was Brackenmoore, and as such was due consideration and respect. To allow anyone to treat him otherwise was to dishonor his own birthright.
And by the true cross, he would not allow it.
He stood and strode across the library, pulled open the heavy oak door. With grim determination he made his way to Genevieve’s chamber. All the frustration of the past days boiled up inside him as he grasped the handle and jerked the portal open. The sight that met his eyes when he swung the door wide made him pause as a rush of heat that had nothing to do with anger rose up in his lower belly.
His gaze seemed riveted on Raine, who stood beside the huge copper tub in a heavy green velvet robe, one long, creamy leg draped over the side so that her toes were touching the water. For some reason completely unknown to him, Benedict’s gaze focused on those delicate toes, which were small and pleasingly formed. He felt a strange and startling sense of intimacy and an intensification of the heat inside him. He wondered what it would be like to kiss the toes, to run his tongue along them, then on across the bottom of her foot. His stomach tightened again.
Never would he have imagined that he would react so strongly to the sight of any woman’s toes. That he would even think of caressing them. What had she done to him, this strange mixture of siren and woman?
With a great force of will he
closed his eyes. When he opened them there she was still there, and in no measure less lovely to his sight. Benedict swallowed past the tightness in his throat. So much for thinking he had his responses to her completely under control.
Taking a deep breath he realized that all of this had passed through his mind in the blink of an eye. Before he could make a move to apologize, or leave, or do anything else, for that matter, Raine swung around. With a gasp she pulled her leg back, wrapping the robe closely about her so that not a hint of that creamy skin was exposed. She rounded on him, her golden eyes dark with fury. “Why have you come here, my lord?”
Benedict felt a rising ire within himself. He welcomed it for it covered some of the desire he was feeling. He walked toward her. “And why should I not come here, Wife?”
Her gaze widened and he saw a flicker of anxiety in her gaze before she quickly masked it. She answered him coldly. “I felt I had made myself clear on that, my lord.”
He pushed his anger down, replying with a forced calm. “You have indeed, madam. I have not made myself clear.”
Raine raised her chin, half turning away, and he found himself mesmerized by the sweet curve of her jaw and cheek, the long line of her neck, all of which lay exposed to his hungry gaze, as the wild tangle of her fiery hair had been piled atop her head. Her words brought him back. “And what more can there be to say?”
He moved toward her again and once more glimpsed her otherwise well-disguised uncertainty in the quivering of her delicate nostrils. Benedict hesitated.
On some level he knew it was wrong to plague her so. He was unaccustomed to deliberately baiting women, but she had pushed him further than anyone else had ever dared.
He took a deliberate step toward her. “I will not allow you to insult me. Perhaps I have been lax in making my position as your husband clear.”
Her wide gaze focused on his with horror. “What do you imply, my lord, after I have said I will not have you?”
He ran an assessing eye over her, realizing just what she had taken him to mean. God, but the very thought of what she intimated made his blood heat anew. She was his wife. He could not stop the words that came from his mouth, heard the huskiness in his own voice. “Just what do you imagine me to imply?”
Their gazes locked and held for one long moment in which Benedict knew that the desire he felt for her lay bared and vulnerable. Finally Raine took a deep breath and looked away, her breasts rising and falling with a sudden quickening of her breathing. When she looked at him, her anxiety had been replaced by an expression that he was reluctant to name—reluctant because he feared his own desire was what made him see it.
Even as he watched, Raine’s tongue flicked out to trace her lips. The gesture made him think of what it would be like to touch the tip of his own tongue to them. His body responded in kind. Her gaze darkened as if in reaction to his growing desire. Her breath seemed to come more quickly.
Benedict felt a strange sense of unreality. Though he was sure of his ability to make her want him should he try, especially after what had occurred in her tent, he had not touched her now. Surely he was mistaken in his interpretation of her reactions.
He grimaced, not certain what was real and what was not. Benedict now wished that he had not come here, that he had not felt this need to explain his position to his wife, for he was no longer as clear on what exactly it might be himself. He spoke more harshly than he had intended. “You are not the only one who can make demands, Raine.”
His words and manner brought a response of bravado. Raine’s gaze narrowed as her hands went to her gently rounded hips. “What could you possibly say to me that has any merit in this situation?”
Benedict’s brows rose with irritation. The woman, no matter how beautiful and desirable, was contrary and obstinate beyond reason. He would not have her know how greatly she affected him. “I would say that you have no right to make demands upon my dignity. It is you who wanted this marriage. It is you who have taken it upon yourself to decide it will be no true marriage because of your own childish whim. You will never again before my folk make a request that countermands my position as not only lord of Brackenmoore but also as your husband.”
She sputtered, her robe parting to expose the length of one long slender leg as she took a step toward him. “I did no such—”
He interrupted her, keeping his tone as cool as possible, for he had no wish to allow her to see that she had riled him, that she had made him want her still in spite of his anger. For that was exactly what she had done, bringing him to an achingly painful point of desire and frustration. “You did so when you told Maeve that you would have need of your own chamber. ’Tis an odd request for a newly wed bride.”
She had the grace to blush, but did not waver as she replied, “You know I will not share a chamber with you.”
He shrugged and spoke with forced calm, although the words made his frustration even more acute. “It was my place to tell Maeve that. Not yours.”
She moved toward him again, her slender form stiff with outrage. “And would you have done so?”
Benedict drew in a quick breath. In an instant she had gotten to the heart of it. For from the way he was feeling now he was not at all sure of what his actions would have been.
Would he indeed have requested separate chambers had she not forced his hand? His unwitting gaze found the neck of her robe where it had fallen open to expose the curve of her breasts.
Would he indeed?
Realizing the path of her husband’s gaze, Raine looked down and gasped. Hurriedly she reached to cover herself, turning her back to him, realizing as she did so that her heartbeat had quickened. She felt him come up behind her, heard his answer with a sense of unreality. “Perhaps I would not have instructed her to give you your own chamber, Raine.” His hand touched her shoulder and she found herself turning to face him without realizing she was going to do so. “And perhaps you do not wish for me to do so as much as you would have me believe.”
His deep blue gaze was scorching and caused an unexpected feeling of heat within her, just as she had felt only minutes before when he looked at her. It had been with great relief that Raine heard him accuse her of making demands. It had helped her to draw the shattered edges of her composure around herself, to control the confusing and unsettling feelings that had awakened inside her.
Yet now, with his breath hot on her exposed nape, she found herself again falling into that swirling pool of unfamiliar emotion. She wanted to deny what he said, while some other less known part of her held that denial at bay.
Since that night in her tent she had been fighting these feelings, trying to convince herself that they did not exist. But now, with his dark gaze upon her and her own blood beginning to pulse in her veins, she knew she had only been attempting to fool herself. The reactions she felt toward Benedict Ainsworth were more real than anything she had ever experienced in her life.
When he bent his head to kiss her she had no wish nor will to stop him. As his mouth closed on hers, his lips firm and warm, her hands rose to clasp his nape. His lips seemed to become fuller, more pliant, urging a response from her that she was unable to deny. When his warm tongue prodded she opened to him instantly, found herself melting, her blood turned to warmed wine as it flicked over her own.
Hesitantly she ran her own tongue over his, gasping with surprise and pleasure when he suckled it gently. A warm heaviness grew in her belly and she pressed herself more fully against him.
Benedict groaned and held her even more tightly, his hands tracing the curve of her back. They stopped at her hips, pulling that most intimate part of herself into close contact with the startling but compelling hardness of him.
Her own instantaneous reaction to that hardness and all it implied only served to pull her further down into the morass of sensation. Her stomach quivered and her knees felt as if they would not hold her. Benedict seemed to sense this for he lifted her against him, supporting her with one arm while he placed his othe
r hand on the back of her head, holding her there as he kissed her. His tongue urged hers in a hot dance with his, and she complied, kissing him back until her head spun and she gasped for breath.
He drew back slightly, his gaze meeting hers, hot and questioning. She could not look away, knowing what he asked. She could not speak, only closed her eyes and leaned against him.
He groaned, lifting her face to his. His lips slanted across hers as his hand found the opening of her robe, and her heart nearly stopped as that large warm hand found the upper curve of her breast. When it dipped lower to cup the intimate weight that no man had ever even seen, let alone touched, Raine felt as if she could not breathe. She gasped, her heart pounding as her body called out for something she could not name. “Benedict, I want…oh, I know not…”
He traced the line of her body, leaving a trail of heat where his fingers touched her flesh. His compelling blue eyes were dark with longing. “Yes, Raine, let go. Let me take care of you.”
She stopped still, her head spinning from his caresses as she tried to recover her equilibrium. She leaned her forehead against the hardness of his chest, trying desperately to slow her breathing, put order to her thoughts. Was that why he was kissing her, touching her—because he wanted to take care of her?
Folding her hands over her chest protectively, Raine took a deep breath and leaned back in the circle of his arms. “Nay, I do not want you to take care of me. Please, stop this.” She had tried to tell him why she did not need or want that. She could not rely on anyone so much.
Desperately she shook her head, as his questioning and passion-glazed eyes met hers. “Why, Raine?”
“I cannot allow you to take care of me. I must rely upon myself. There is no other way to avoid being disappointed.” His arms loosened and she stepped out of them, wiping her hair from her face with unsteady hands.
He reached for her again, but she evaded him, though she was unable to look away from those blue eyes as he said with utter certainty, “I can be depended upon.”
The Bride Of Spring Page 10
