Marriage Under Siege (10 page)

'No.' He pressed his lips
together, fighting to contain the anger that built within him as he visualised
the picture which Honoria so clearly, so vividly painted, even though he
suspected that she had kept the worst from him. 'I don't suppose you could.'

'And he was unable. He
blamed me. He said that I was cold and unfeeling—a frigid wife—and I was. He
said that it was all my fault— that I had robbed him of his manhood and
deserved to be punished.' She shivered against him, but there was no longer the
threat of tears.

'Did he ever harm you?' He
deliberately kept his voice calm.

'No. He never struck me.
But with words, with the lash of those, he could destroy me. He said that he
had been tricked into the marriage—and that I was not woman enough to entice
him or pleasure him. I was a failure. I could not fulfil my part of the
marriage settlement.' She was quiet for a moment. Then, 'I must disgust you.'

'Honoria...' What on earth
were the right words to say to her? In the end he went for simplicity. 'My dear
girl, you could never disgust me. You were not a failure.' Now he understood
the whole tragic tale. A gross old man, intent on getting an heir on his new
wife in the short time left to him. Without sensitivity or finesse, rendered
impotent by illness and old age. He had put all the blame for his failure on
to her slight shoulders and she lacked the experience to determine the truth of
it. 'It was not your fault. And you have to realise that it does not have to be
like that between a man and a woman. There can be delight and warmth...and trust.'

'Trust? I find it
impossible to believe that. And as for delight...' She shuddered against him.

His lordship sighed. Now
was not the time to convince her otherwise. The emotional upheaval had taken
its toll and she leaned against him, her earlier fears forgotten, but yet drained
and exhausted.

'I am afraid of failing again.'
And afraid that you will measure me unfavourably against Katherine.

Those few words that she
dared to utter spoke volumes. He held her close to rub his cheek against her
hair.

'You will not fail again. I
will show you,' he reassured her softly. 'But not now, not tonight. You need to
rest.'

Mansell stood and lifted
her, without protest, and carried her back to the high bed. There he settled
her under the covers and, before she could speak, stretched beside her, pulling
her firmly into his arms.

'Don't fight me again,' he
murmured as he felt her muscles tense once more.

'Would it not be better
to...to finish it quickly? I am sure that you are not unable.' He heard the
depth of bitter humiliation in her voice. His reassurance had apparently not
found its mark.

'No.' The ghost of a laugh
shook him. 'I am not unable. But it would definitely not be better to finish it
quickly! When I do take you, when I make you truly my wife and you bear my
weight, you will not be exhausted and terrified and as responsive as a January
icicle.'

'And if I cannot?' He
detected the breath of hysteria once more. 'What if Edward was right? What if I
did cause his failure?'

His response was to take
her face in his two hands and force her to look at him 'Look at me, Honoria.
And listen well. You did not cause Edward's inability to complete the marriage.
How could you? You are lovely. He must have been sick indeed not to respond to
you. You are very feminine. A man would dream of holding and...and loving a
woman like you. You did not exactly encourage me, did you, but I would have had
no difficulty in taking you, in spite of it.' No difficulty at all, he thought,
still aware of his hard arousal. It promised to be a long night! 'Indeed, the
difficulty was in leaving you. Do you understand?'

She looked at him for a
long moment, considering his words carefully, and then nodded.

'Well, then.' He tucked her
against his side, taking one of her hands in his, arranging the pillows and
covers for their comfort. 'Are you comfortable?'

'Yes.'

'Then go to sleep. You are
quite safe. And Edward, may he rot in Hell, cannot touch you ever again.'

Her body gradually relaxed,
minute by minute, against his as the warmth and release from fear slowly spread
through her veins, her breathing softening, her muscles loosening. Her hand
finally rested on his chest, fingers curled and open. He felt her slide into
sleep.

What a terrible burden she
had carried with no one to help her. He rested his chin against her hair. Only
a crisis had forced her into confiding in him. Otherwise, he knew with a
certainty, she would have remained silent, disguising her fears behind a wall
of competency and self-possession. He wondered fleetingly if she had spoken to
Mary about it—and decided not. She would find it difficult to open her thoughts
to anyone on such a short acquaintance. He hoped indeed that Edward would
suffer the torments of the abyss for his cruel, thoughtless treatment of her.
He moved his arm slightly and cushioned her head more securely on his shoulder.
She did not stir.

It would take considerable
care and patience on his part to build a relationship with her, to repair the
damage so wilfully caused. He turned his face against the soft curls. So soft,
so vibrant now that it was no longer confined. He would care for her. With
tenderness and sympathetic handling they would find a way together. It
surprised him how much he wanted to soothe and comfort. After all, he had
little experience of either with an unwilling woman.

He stayed awake a long
time, watching the flickering shadows as the fire finally died, assailed by
doubts over the momentous step he had taken that day and the responsibilities
that it thrust at him. And yet, whatever the future might hold, he could not be
sorry that he had taken her as his wife.

It was still very early
when he woke. The dull grey of March daylight was hardly touching the sky or
chasing the shadows in the room. The fire had died to ash long since so the air
was chill.

Mansell had not intended to
remain in her bed through the night, but only until Honoria had fallen deeply
asleep. Then he would return to his own bedchamber. But he had fallen asleep
himself, holding her within the protection of his arms, hopefully reassuring
her that his proximity was not to be the horror she feared. And when he had
stirred in the night he had been far too comfortable to disturb himself or his
sleeping wife. He had shared more than one bed over the years, before and even
after his marriage to Katherine, when the demands of his body and the hideous
desolation of loss had driven him to find comfort in soft and willing arms. But
it was the first time, he mused, that he had ever spent such a night so
chastely. He grinned wryly in the dark.

His reputation would indeed
suffer if it were known that his wife remained a virgin still. But, after all,
the circumstances had been exceptional.

The bed was warm and
comfortable, the pillows soft, keeping the cool air at bay. He found that he
had no desire to leave it. He turned on his side towards Honoria. She too was
more than enticing. In sleep she had curled against him, stripped of the
anxieties and sharp fear that had reduced her to such a storm of emotions on
the previous night. Her skin was now warm under his fingertips, cheeks and lips
flushed with pink, her breathing easy, her face in sleep relaxed and calm, her
hair tumbled on the pillow.

He looked at her in the
pearling light. Such soft lips, curving gently at the corners as if her dreams
were full of delight. What was she dreaming? He would like those lips to curve
in just that manner for him, he decided, as a breath of jealous possession
brushed his skin, jolting him in its intensity. He leaned over to brush those
tempting lips with his own. It was impossible to resist.

She sighed a little,
between dreaming and waking, curling her fingers against his chest.

What better time? Her
defences were down, easy to breach, her muscles lax and her skin warm and
pliant. What better opportunity to show her a range of pleasures at the hands
of an experienced lover and undo the terrible damage of Edward's actions and
words? It would please him to allay her fears for good. He was already urgently
hard, surprised by the sudden desire to bury himself in her. Or perhaps not
surprised at all. She was so very appealing.

Honoria surfaced from the
depths of sleep to an overwhelming sensation of well-being. She had slept
through the night, waking to a quiet contentment, for the first time since the
day of her disastrous marriage to Lord Edward. And then there was that
exquisitely gentle touch on her face, her lips, her hair. Light as the
fluttering of a moth seeking a flame. She sighed, frowned a little at the
unexpected sensation. And instantly remembered.

Mansell.

Everything flooded back.
Her eyes opened, wide in consternation. Her body would have tensed as her
tortured mind again took control, her hands raised to push against him, to
resist, but yet she felt so warm and relaxed. She listened to the words being
whispered against her ear and found herself accepting them.

'Lie still. You are in no
danger.'

It was true.

'Let me kiss you. Touch
you.'

She found her lips opening
of their own accord under the pressure of his. And when his hands smoothed
along her shoulders and down to cup her breasts she shivered, but not with
fear.

She sighed against him.
Responding shyly, hesitantly at first, when his tongue traced the outline of
her lips before pushing between them. Nerve endings tingled as she allowed him
entry, eyes flickering open again in astonished pleasure. Skin warming, she
stretched her body under his hands, unaware of the overt invitation to him,
gasping with the shock of arousal when her nipples tightened under the light
caress of his fingers. Her fingers dug into his shoulders. When he raised his
head to look at her in the growing light she lifted her arms to wind them
around his neck and twist her fingers into the weight of his hair. She smiled
at him, a delightful curve of her lips as welcoming as any he could have wished
for.

And to his relief, and
intense satisfaction, he saw the beginnings of trust in her eyes. Lowering his
lips to the elegant column of her throat, he moved his body closer to hers,
pressing her against his chest, against his thighs. He knew from the low murmur
of acceptance in her throat that she would not resist him now and made to cover
her body with his own. Lost in the heady pleasure of lavender-scented skin
sliding seductively beneath him, Mansell became gradually and vaguely aware of
the echo and hurry of footsteps at the top of the stairs. With his lips tracing
the smooth curve of Honoria's breast, his hands moulding and holding the swell
of her hips against him, he ignored the sound.

And then came the
thunderous knocking on the door of his own bedchamber. He groaned and lifted
his head, only to drop it and bury his face in the pillow. The knocking erupted
again. It was clearly not going to go away.

'My lord. My lord.' It was
Foxton's voice, showing more agitation than he normally considered due to his
dignity.

'Forgive me, Honoria.'
Mansell rolled from the bed, snatched up the robe and disappeared through the
connecting door, leaving Honoria alone, abandoned in a morass of conflicting
emotions. She sat up, straining to hear the content of the conversation next
door. The voices died away. She expected her husband to return, but he did not.
All she could hear through the thick walls were sounds of hasty dressing and
preparations for action—or departure. Then his door on to the outer corridor opened
and closed and she heard his boots thudding on the floor and down the stairs in
a hasty exit.

Well! She seized a comb to
attack the tangles in her hair. He might at least have stopped to explain his
abrupt departure. But perhaps it was a matter of great urgency. Even so... With
something of a flounce, she cast off the bedclothes and proceeded to dress as
rapidly as she might without the aid of her maid. She selected and then rapidly
discarded the nearest bodice and skirt. Black. She would not wear it. Never
again. Instead she donned a serviceable gown of fine wool in deep glowing rose,
lacing the bodice loosely of necessity, sufficient to hold it together.
Quickly, she secured her hair at the nape of her neck and followed her husband
down the staircase to discover for herself the cause of such early activity.

She found the Great Hall in
a state of chaos and hasty preparation. Bread, meat and cheese had been laid
out on a table with jugs of small beer. A number of servants bustled under
Mistress Morgan's watchful eye, all sharp efficiency, even at this early hour.
Sir
^-
Joshua was already exiting the door on his way to the stables,
carrying sword, cloak and bulging saddle bags. With him Honoria glimpsed the
back of an unknown individual in travel-stained garments. Mansell himself stood
with a piece of bread and meat in one hand and a tankard of ale in the other,
in deep conversation with Foxton, who was nodding with a serious face.

She caught the final words
as she approached.

'Keep an ear open, Foxton.
Rumours are flying and not to be relied upon, but they may give you some
inkling of local violence. And keep an eye to any troop movements in the road
between Ludlow and Knighton. They'll be obvious enough. If there are troops...'
He paused before his final comment, weighing his words. 'I would expect them to
be Royalist and they will have no good intentions towards me and mine.'