Once a Bride (24 page)

Well, sometimes tears did a body good. Roland eased up behind her, turned her around, and gathered her into his arms. She melded against him so easily, so thoroughly, he momentarily wondered if he held the right woman.

“Not everything, Eloise. You saw for yourself that Sir John is comfortable.”

“But they still … lock the door.”

“Which means he is hard to get at in secret. Keep that in mind. He may be a prisoner, but he is also protected.”

She sniffed. “Why would anyone bother? Give the guards enough coin and they will let anyone in.”

Point taken. And they’d probably not question anyone of very high rank, like an earl, unless they were under orders not to admit certain personages. He’d have to talk to the warder—Oswald?—tomorrow to see if any such orders existed.

He couldn’t become deeply involved in Sir John’s problems with the king, and he wouldn’t, at least not any deeper than necessary to ease Eloise’s mind so she could go home in peace.

He brushed a stray strand of hair back from her forehead. So soft, her skin. So silky, her hair.

“Roland?”

“Hmmm?”

“When we go back to … the Tower tomorrow, I want to bribe the guards.”

“Tokens of appreciation.”

“Call it what you wish, I still want to hand over the coins. You will have to show me how to do so with discretion.”

Roland heard the firmness return to her voice, and once again marveled at the force of her will. Other women would have sobbed all over him in their upset. Not Eloise. She simply dug deep within for the strength to go on, do what must be done.

“On the morrow. Come eat.”

She unfolded her arms and coiled her fingers around fistfuls of his tunic. “Not yet. A moment more.”

Then Eloise looked up at him, her bright eyes moist and tinged with red, and what he read in their depths banished all thought of meat pies. Her tongue flicked out to wet her lips, and Roland forgot to think at all.

He bent his head and kissed her, tenderly at first, igniting fires probably best left unlit but too enticing to resist. Desire hit him hard, a heavy fist enclosed in a velvet glove.

Then
she
deepened the kiss, pulling his weakened will under to drown in her sweet allure.

She wanted him. He wanted her. ’Twas more than enough knowledge to ease them both over to the bed. If she showed the merest hesitancy he’d stop. If not, he’d show her how nimble his fingers could be on her laces.

Chapter Fourteen

A
NIGGLING VOICE in the far reaches of Eloise’s conscience whispered dire warnings. She swiftly hushed it, too overwhelmed by the tingling sensations coursing through her body to listen closely anyway.

She was right where she wanted to be, within the circle of Roland’s arms, on the verge of a grand adventure. Nothing, not even her aching muscles, could prevent her from taking full advantage.

She’d fantasized about this moment for what seemed an eternity, but had allowed solid, practical reasons to dissuade her. No longer. Not when being pressed against him felt so right, not when his mouth melded warmly, persuasively against hers.

Never before did she so desperately want to be persuaded, to experience the intimate joy she knew within her grasp with Roland. Never before did her heart beat so hard or so fast or rule so completely over her common sense.

And it felt good, and right, and inevitable.

Her legs bumped against the bed. The whispers again tried to intrude.

Eloise wrapped her arms firmly around Roland and pulled him down atop her.

He twisted and landed beside her, a gallant gesture to save her from the press of his full weight. Except she wanted to feel his weight. ’Twould come later, she knew, when they joined. Given the burn in her nether regions she hoped the moment came soon.

He propped up on an elbow, his look of wonder endearing.

“This is where I am supposed to whisper sweet words, praise your beauty, tell you how long and hard I have dreamed to have you beside me.” His hand gently cupped her cheek. “My tongue fails me, Eloise. No words I might utter would do you justice. No turn of phrase could describe the depth of my yearning.”

She ran a hand along his square, chiseled jaw, marveling at his sense of the poetic. “I must say your tongue works very well. Are your hands as skilled? My laces need undoing.”

He backed away slightly, frowned. “I am supposed to calm your maidenly fears. ’Tis generally how it is done.”

So she’d done something wrong. Not surprising, because she didn’t know what she was doing.

“I beg pardon, then. Do I do the same? Tell you I delight in your kisses, believe you are the most handsome, honorable, and considerate knight in the kingdom? You are beyond my experience, Roland. Exotically foreign and yet someone I might have known all of my life.”

He smiled. “You learn quickly.”

“That is to my advantage, because there is much I wish you to teach me. I am not fragile, nor have I ever been very good at being demure, so might we skip that part in preference for where we remove our garments? I have heard coupling is best done naked.”

She’d stunned him again, turning his smile into a frown. But since he didn’t leap off the bed in indignation, she mustn’t have blundered too badly.

“Have you no fears at all?”

“A concern or two, but owe them to mine own ignorance. Be assured I do not fear you, Roland, nor does the thought of coupling with you scare me. Does that quell
your
fears?”

His smile returned, a wry twist of his mouth. “Not a bit. You scare me witless. But I will move beyond it, I swear.”

“Brave man. Now do we undo my laces?”

“The last time I offered to undo your laces you refused me.”

“With good reason. If I recall correctly we were expecting Timothy at any moment.” Which led her to ask, “He will be gone a good long while tonight, will he not?”

“Likely.” He kissed the tip of her nose. “But just in case I misjudge the time, I shall lock the door. Stay right where you are. Do not even fiddle with a lace.”

She’d never been good at obeying orders she thought senseless, either. She left her laces alone, but flipped over on her stomach to watch Roland secure the latch.

What a fine specimen of male grace and beauty he was. He had most likely turned the head and undone the laces of many a woman. She was suddenly unwarrantedly jealous of every one of them, but took comfort that he was with her now, and she was about to benefit from his experience.

The door secure, he sat down on the other edge of the bed, his back to her, and removed his boots. Then his belt. When he reached for his throat she could stay still no longer.

She rose up to her knees and scooted toward him. “Wait. Let me do that.”

He glanced back at her but said nothing. Eloise pressed snug against his back, reached over those wide shoulders, and untied his tunic’s lacing. She spread the fabric wide, and with an economy of motion, also undid his shirte.

Beneath she found warm, taut skin. Her fingertips itched to roam, but she got no farther in her exploration than just below the ridge of his collarbone when he shivered and grabbed hold of her hands.

“Cold?” she asked.

“Nay. You? Shall I light the brazier?”

She didn’t want him to get that far away from her again, nor did she feel any chill. Truth to tell, she was overly warm.

“Not necessary for me.”

He squeezed her hands, spread her arms, and slipped away.

She would have protested if she could have spoken, but her mouth and throat went dry when he pulled off his tunic and sherte in one fluid motion, revealing a wide, muscled back. He tossed his garments to the floor and turned around.

Sweet mercy. She knew Roland to be a strong, powerfully built man, but hadn’t realized how magnificently sculpted his chest would be, each muscle defined. From just beneath his collarbone to the waist of his breeches, from sloped shoulder to shoulder, a sprinkling of dark, shining hair enticed her to touch.

He tugged at the end of one of the strings holding up his breeches. More laces.

“Want to undo these, too?”

She might, if she weren’t frozen in place, if she could do more than stare at where his fingers pulled slowly at strings.

“Perhaps another time.”

Her voice sounded thready, as if spoken by someone else. She blamed her dry throat.

Down went his breeches, up went the heat in her cheeks and along with it the degree of her fascination. He didn’t give her long to inspect the enthralling part of him that made him male before he knelt before her on the bed.

“Now your laces.”

About time.
He kissed her all the while his hands loosened the ties along her sides. She paid utterly no attention to how her gown, chemise, and hose disappeared, of how they ended up prone and pressed together on the bed. She only felt the shock and delight of being skin to skin at last.

His hands weren’t still, his petting gentle but so arousing. He was particularly attentive to her breasts, cupping them, kneading them, then driving her wild when his thumb grazed the tips. And his mouth, sweet mercy, his mouth caressed those now swollen, yearning tips with nips and licks until she thought she’d lose her mind completely.

But something wasn’t right. He was doing all these marvelous things to her body. Shouldn’t she be doing something likewise to his? Oh, she’d touched him, too— along his side, over his back. Threaded her fingers through the hair on his chest, and now knew it short and silky. She even dared several strokes along his buttocks.

But ’struth, there were other parts of him she wanted to touch, to explore and learn more of. Except every time her fingers wandered anywhere near his male parts, he grasped hold of her hand and placed it somewhere else, like up on his shoulder or on his chest.

The pressure boiling up inside her was both pleasant and irksome. She wanted the fondling to go on forever, and yet she wanted it over. Was that natural? She wished she knew.

“Roland, I feel so strange.”

He lifted his head, removing his mouth from her breast, but immediately made up for the loss with his palm.

“How so?”

“I cannot help but feel I should be learning something more.”

“Oh, you will. All in good time. We are far from finished.”

“I know we have yet to couple, but should I not be doing something to you? I am just lying here, doing nothing—”

He kissed her into silence, a long, hardy kiss that almost made her forget her resolve.

“Allow me to have my way this time, Eloise. Relax. Enjoy. Next time you can take an active part, but this first time I do not want to risk your disappointment.”

Well, that was sweet of him, but—

“And you? If there is something I should do, I want to know. I would hate to have you disappointed.”

He laughed lightly. “No chance of that, believe me.” Then he reached down, ran his hand from her knee up her inner thigh to where she ached so badly. Her hips rose up off the bed when he slid a finger inside. “Once joined to you, I will know the greatest bliss a man can know with a woman. I need to be sure you will feel it, too, before I come inside.”

She heard what he said, and it all made sense through the foglike haze muddling her head. This first time he wanted her surrender. She so rarely felt vulnerable that she nearly didn’t recognize it. And yet, her trust in Roland diminished the emotion. He wouldn’t harm her, this warrior turned lover. In the end, surrender came appallingly quickly, easily.

“You will come inside soon?”

“Just a few more moments.” He accompanied his promise with several strokes through the juices between her spread legs. “Very soon now.”

“I certainly hope so.”

And with that, Eloise closed her eyes.

Roland shook his head. He should have known making love with Eloise would be different from encounters he’d shared with other women.

Though a virgin, she was as bold and brash as an experienced paramour. He’d only managed to hold a tight rein on his body’s urges because he knew the first time might bring her pain, and he could only ease it by being gentle. If he allowed her to touch him as she’d tried, several times, he might lose control and plow too hard into her depths.

He was so damn hard he should be glad Eloise was neither shy nor afraid, because he wasn’t sure how much longer his control could last. Keeping himself from entering her was painfully difficult.

He’d never taken this much care with a woman. Coupling had always been a physical act, an enjoyment of mutual pleasure, nothing more. With Eloise ’twas more, much more, and he feared he knew why. Because his heart was involved, his emotions entangled with the beautiful, brazen woman whose hips again rose off the bed, a soft hiss parting her lush lips.

She opened her eyes when he moved atop her, covering her, the call to mate an urgent cry for release. He knew the moment when she felt the tip press against her sensitive nub, and her eyes went wider when he slid inside, just an inch.

“Roland?”

He didn’t truly know what she asked, but guessed. “There may be a bit of pain. Do not fret. ’Twill pass.”

She licked her lips, and her woman’s sheath tightened around him like a velvet glove, as though she feared if she didn’t hold him tighter he might pull away.

He couldn’t stop now if he’d applied every ounce of will to the task. So he glided home, past the barrier that broke so easily she never flinched, until buried to the hilt. Again she tightened around him, driving him to the brink of madness.

“Oh, my. Oh, yes.” Her sapphire eyes glittered with wonder and desire. “I did not know. Sweet mercy that feels good.”

Stroke followed stroke, deeper, harder, until Eloise tossed back her head and cried out. With both relief and triumph, he gave himself over to his own quest for release, thrusting in rhythm to her soft pulses.

At the very last moment he withdrew, and with the aid of a towel from the bedside table, allowed his pleasure to flow. He’d withdrawn from other women, the only way he knew to protect them from getting with child. Even while his penis yet pounded and the ache in his loins eased, he knew he’d done right by Eloise. So why did his heart protest, his mind scream that this was wrong?