Blaze Wyndham (42 page)

All the hot desire that had been building in his body was suddenly and totally gone from him. He looked at his manhood, a small and shrunken thing now. He looked to her, lying coldly and without welcome upon her bed.

His first instinct was to call her the bitch he thought she was, and leave her. Then sanity prevailed. In his disappointment over her reaction to his admission of love he was again, he knew, misinterpreting her.

She had not lied to him. She had told him the truth, and as she had spoken, he had instinctively known it. If he left her now, if he did not try to repair the damage between them, he knew that he could lose her forever. He would be patient even in his angry and great disappointment. Some little warning voice deep within him admonished him that he must be.

Walking over to the side of the bed, he said, “Cover yourself, my angel,” and when she had obeyed him he sat down beside her. “Blaze, hear me out, I beg of you. When you wed with Edmund you did not know him, nor he you. Yet you both learned to love one another. Have you forgotten that? Such a love is a great blessing. In many marriages there is no love, none at all, nor is there even friendship or respect to bind the couple together. Yet I have always believed, much to my mother’s amusement, that there should be love within a marriage. I have admitted my love for you as you have admitted the truth of your life at court. We chose to have no barriers between us, yet suddenly you seek to erect yet another one even as we have struck down the others. Do not do this to us, my angel.

“I love you, yet you say you do not love me. Still, you do not hate me. I had begun to believe that you were even beginning to like me perhaps. It is upon this strong, but small foundation that we should build. I can. Can you?”

A little tear rolled down her pale cheek. “You offer me so much, Anthony, for I know the great value of love. I am ashamed that I can offer you so little in return for your love. If you still want me knowing even that, then I am yours.” There was such sadness in her voice that he almost wept himself.

Instead he drew back the coverlet and the perfumed sheets, and slid beneath them. “I am beginning to get chilled,” he said softly, and he reached out to draw her into his arms. “Come and warm me, my angel.”

She lay quietly within his embrace, thinking that her body was probably even colder than his right now. He held her gently, so gently that she felt, not his captive, but rather something cherished and protected. He made no other move to touch her, and gradually as the warmth seeped back into their bodies, husband and wife relaxed and fell asleep. They slept half the night through, awakening when a large log within the fireplace fell noisily in a shower of sparks.

Rising reluctantly from the bed, Anthony padded across the bedchamber to add another large piece of wood to the fire, stubbing his toe in the process. “God’s foot!” he swore irritably.

“What has happened, my lord?”

“I have stubbed my toe,” he grumbled.

“Would you have me kiss it, and make it all better?” he heard her gently tease. Sleep had definitely improved her disposition.

“Would you?” he demanded of her. “Or perhaps I might interest you in other parts of my anatomy that would benefit from kissing.”

Blaze laughed softly. “My lord!” she cried, pretending shock. Sleep had also restored her common sense. This was her husband, and love him or not, they owed a duty to the Langford earldom. She was fortunate in that he loved her. He would not be an unpleasant lover, for he would be seeking to please her.

Anthony slipped back into the bed, and catching her boldly, began to fondle her plump breasts. “God,” he half-groaned against her mouth. “Here are the sweetest little fruits ever created, my angel!” And he kissed her deeply.

Love him or no, she had to admit to enjoying the delicious sensation of his hands upon her flesh. She might have felt guilty, but that she remembered the king’s words comparing a woman’s body to a fine instrument. She believed that she would find Anthony as skilled a player upon that instrument as was Henry Tudor. He seemed to be in no hurry to have her, and she sighed and stretched with pleasure as he caressed her.

Her soft flesh grew taut and firm beneath his stroking hands. His fingers encircled each now-firm breast, sliding leisurely over the swell of its top, moving around the side, cupping the fullness from beneath, smoothing back up sleek warmth once again. It was an exercise that he did not easily tire of, but finally he began to amuse himself with the nipples, catching at the tight little coral buds between his thumb and his forefinger, drawing them out as he gently pinched them. At last his dark head lowered itself, and his warm mouth closed over a nipple. Sensuously his tongue flickered around and about the sentient little tip, and Blaze murmured with soft little sighs of contentment that set his pulse racing.

As he loved the soft ivory globes of her breasts, she found herself unable to keep from caressing him. Her supple fingers moved over his head, entwining themselves in his night-black hair, enjoying the silky feel of it. Her hands fondled the back of his neck, and swept over his smooth, muscled shoulders, digging her nails lightly into the hard flesh.

The touch of her hands aroused him deeply, and he heard himself groan, “Sweet, sweet,” as he transferred himself to her other nipple, while beneath him his wife sighed, obviously satisfied with his attentions. He loved her without haste, amazed by his own self-discipline, for he had desired her for so very long. Still, he would have her remember always the way it was the first time between them. Relinquishing her nipple, he moved his head slowly downward over the silky flesh of her torso and belly. He could feel the delicate pulsing of the blood as it coursed through her veins beneath his cheek. He pressed little kisses upon the rounded, perfumed flesh.

Deep within her, Blaze could feel the quivering, although she did not know if it was visible to him. Would he dare? Would he dare to love her in that way on this their first encounter? She thought that a man who could lie successfully to a powerful king would dare anything. His head moved lower, and he was kissing her thighs with the same little soft kisses that he had laid upon her belly. His lips coaxed her limbs apart; his fingers gently opened her as one might open a delicate shell; and Blaze found that she could hardly breathe for the excitement that coursed through her body. His tongue touched her, finding immediately with unerring accuracy that tiny little pearl of her womanhood, and Blaze found herself crying out with her pleasure as he loved her until she was so filled with that special and sensual joy that she wept as it receded, leaving her feeling bereft and alone.

But she was not alone. His body covered hers for the first time, and she took the weight of him upon her thighs as he slowly and gently pressed into her, drawing forth another cry from her straining throat. He filled her with his throbbing weapon, burying it deep inside her sweet warmth. Blaze reached up and clasped his body to her, feeling her breasts being crushed against his smooth chest. He caught her face between his two hands, and kissed her until she was breathless and her lips felt bruised and tingling. She fiercely returned his kisses, giving no quarter, receiving none. Suddenly he began to move upon her, thrusting into her with passionate vigor, drawing back almost to complete withdrawal, thrusting back hard again.

Blaze cried out once more. Cried with her pleasure, yet wept her despair to feel her crisis approaching, yet when it came she was ready for it. She soared like one of her hunting birds from the falconry. Soared straight and true into the burning blue of the heavens until she thought she could go no higher, only to discover that beyond the blue lay a new zone of fiery gold. Uncaring of anything, she hurled herself toward certain destruction, and she cared not, because it was too wonderful. The pleasure burst over her like honeyed wine, and at the same time she heard him cry aloud with satisfaction as his own passion exploded.

They lay wet and chilled and gasping amid a tangle of bedclothes. They shuddered in unison with the receding wave, and then Anthony reached out and took her hand in his. Tenderly he kissed it. There were no words necessary between them now. Within minutes he was asleep, turning onto his side and sighing softly. Blaze smiled to herself, and then the smile faded. He had given her such pleasure, and he loved her. How could she not love him back?—yet she did not. It was sad, and in time he would certainly hate her for it. What kind of woman was she? She who had always believed herself so giving suddenly found that she was taking more, and it disturbed her.

She drew the coverlet up and over them, appreciating as she did the taut curve of his buttocks. He really was a handsome man, and they would make beautiful babies together. Nay, she thought then. Babies come from love, and without it we have no chance of having children. Oh, Edmund! Help me! Must I stop loving you in order to love Tony? I cannot! I simply cannot! Yet I must. I must let you go, but I do not know how. She sighed deeply, and to her great surprise, he suddenly rolled back over and pulled her into his arms.

“You think far too much for a woman,” he said quietly, but there was a hint of amusement in his voice. “Go to sleep, Blaze. Go to sleep safe in the knowledge that I love you; and whether you believe it or not, I promise you that one day you will love me.”

Would she? she wondered as she snuggled gratefully against him. Would she really? For a brief moment she felt a glimmer of hope.

I
n mid-March the spring came quite abruptly and the roads, which a mere fortnight ago had been made impassable by the snows, were quite suddenly free of snow and awash with mud. Lord Morgan came from Ashby to escort Delight home. He was engaged in negotiations with an Irish lord who wanted an English wife of good stock for his heir. The Irish lord and his son would be coming from Ireland in May to meet Delight. There was to be no more nonsense tolerated in Delight’s case. She would be married this summer, if not to the Irish suitor, then to another suitor with whom she could be matched. Delight would be eighteen on the seventh of June, and she was too old now to be allowed her childish whims and crotchets.

Delight pouted prettily at her father, and begged, “Please, Papa! Let me stay at RiversEdge until after Easter.” She did not protest the proposed marriage. Why anger her father whining about a proposed Irish marriage that would never be, especially when she wanted a favor from him?

“Oh, please, m’lord Morgan,” Henriette echoed Delight’s plea. “Please let Delight stay until Easter. I shall be so very lonely without her!”

Robert Morgan did not understand his sweet Delight’s friendship with this French girl. There was something about Henriette Wyndham that troubled him, although he could not quite put his finger on what it was. Still, Delight had not howled with outrage at the news of a proposed marriage. If her previous closeness to Blaze seemed gone, and her attitude toward her eldest sister cool, her friendship with the Wyndham cousin had obviously matured her, and her stay at RiversEdge this winter had not been for naught.

“If it is all right with you, Blaze,” Lord Morgan said, “then I will let Delight stay a few more weeks.”

“Ohh, please, Madame Blaze,” Henriette pleaded, “
please!
”

“Of course Delight may stay,” said Blaze, who actually wished nothing more than to send her younger sister home as quickly as possible. “Mayhap when she goes you will let our Henriette visit.”

“Indeed yes!” said Robert Morgan with false joviality. “After Delight’s match has been settled we shall be happy to have Mistress Henriette come for a visit.” But not before, he silently vowed to himself. I would not put it past that young vixen to steal the Irish lordling that I have found for my daughter!

They had no sooner waved her father farewell than Delight was demanding from her friend, “What plan have you made, Henriette? I have but a few weeks left, and then I shall find myself wed with some strange and wild Irishman. My father will not let me get away this time, I know it! He means to marry me off for certain!” Her voice was high-pitched, and her eyes had a haunted look about them.

“Come,
chérie,
come.” Henriette caught at Delight’s hand and hurried her into the stables. “You must not get yourself all excited, and fret. Let us find my Johnny, and he will soothe us both.”

“I do not know if I should,” Delight considered.

“You have said that every time since the first time you let him play with your titties. Why do you fret,
chérie?
Your virginity is as intact as the day you were born. Of course it does not have to be if you do not want it to,
chérie.
Johnny is like a good stud stallion. He can be put to several mares in an afternoon, and still gallop off in fine form.”

“No,” said Delight. “I am not as confident as you in my ability to pretend a virginity that does not exist. I will keep my innocence until I wed Tony.”