Wolf Bride (40 page)

Comely?

She had not known the meaning of the word when she first applied it to Master Beaufort. He was the most sensual man of her acquaintance, his looks almost god-like in her eyes. Yet she could never admit such foolishness to him. She had betrayed herself enough already.

Hugh lowered his arm, looking back at her, and she could not help noting the dark stubby lashes through which he surveyed her, unsmiling; nor the abrupt gesture as he swept off his velvet cap, thrusting a hand through thick fair hair; and saw the jutting determination of his chin . . .

He had come to offer her his hand in marriage.

Again.

‘Hugh!’ she exclaimed, a little shaken at the sight of him, and took an involuntary step forward. She saw Morag’s eyes narrow on her face and hurriedly amended her speech. ‘I mean . . . M . . . Master Beaufort. What do you . . . Why are you here?’

Did she have to stutter and trip over her speech like a lovesick girl? Morag already suspected she had not returned to her father’s house as innocent as she had left it. Susannah had noted her pursed lips whenever talk between her and Eloise turned to men and suitors. Though if Morag knew the truth, she would doubtless take a birch switch to Susannah for her loose and wanton conduct. And put her weight behind every stroke.

‘Mistress Tyrell.’

Hugh bowed, cap in hand, his face very stern. No one looking at him could think he had come here to court her; perhaps to offer for her hand this very day. Yet surely that was his intention in visiting? It must appear so to Morag. Unmarried gentlemen did not call upon unmarried women unless they intended to make a proposal.

She curtseyed a little belatedly, wishing her hair was not loose to her shoulders and no doubt covered in straw, then shot Morag a fierce look. ‘Do you need me up at the house, Morag?’

Fists on hips, Morag looked shrewdly from Susannah’s flushed face to Hugh’s stern countenance. Slowly, she shook her head. ‘I cannot pretend to like this business, a young girl speaking with a man alone, without the company of your sister or one of the maids, but . . . if I leave Bess alone with the wash tub much longer, she’ll mar the laundry, for she is a brainless flibbertigibbet.’ She glared at Hugh suddenly. ‘Do you wish to speak with the master before you leave, sir?’

Hugh met that hard look without flinching. ‘I shall pay my respects to Sir John if he is at home, yes.’

Morag gave an abrupt nod, then turned on her heel, muttering under her breath as if she had already put them both from her mind. ‘I only hope Bess has not rubbed a hole in your father’s best shirt!’

Left alone together, they stood a moment in the door of the threshing barn. Outside, the sunshine beckoned, but Susannah preferred to stay indoors, hiding the heat in her cheeks. Her heart began to beat faster. She had forgotten what an effect his proximity had on her body, and did not raise her eyes to his, determined not to speak first – nor even to speak at all.

‘I know we did not part on pleasant terms,’ Hugh began stiffly, and unable to help herself, she abandoned her decision and interrupted at once.

‘Pleasant? I should think not!’

‘Susannah, for pity’s sake, I have made my apologies for what happened. Hear me out, at least.’

He reached for her.

‘Don’t touch me!’ She turned back into the shadowy interior of the barn, her arms folded across her chest, instantly furious with him – and with herself, for allowing him to disturb her peace of mind again. Her voice sounded high and breathless, almost girlish. ‘You abducted me, k . . . kissed me, then dared to offer for my hand out of a sense of duty.’

She whirled about to find him mere inches away. He had followed her closely, his green eyes as stormy as her own, his body hard with tension.

‘That’s not true,’ he said tightly. ‘That is, I do wish to marry you. But not out of duty.’

‘Then why?’

His eyes held hers. ‘You know why.’

The air thickened between them. There was silence in the barn except for their breathing. She did know why. He still wanted her. It was in every line of his body. And she wanted him too.

They were standing on a soft, uneven floor of earth and straw, Susannah realised, and behind them were the shadowy stalls where the carthorses were kept in poor weather. It would be so simple for them to lie down together in the darkness there.

The naked desire must have shown on her face too, because something seemed to snap like a leash, and suddenly Hugh was dragging her forward, his mouth slanting down over hers, tasting her hungrily.

The weeks flew away and she was back in the dark forest with him, hiding from their pursuers, when their lips had met and passion had flared like a torch between them. Later he had insisted in a stilted voice that they must marry, not meeting her eyes, saying he had taken advantage of the lady he should have been protecting. She had rejected his offer, of course, for to her mind it would be no better than the marriage her father had arranged for her. She would not have married Hugh Beaufort if he had been the king of England himself, not merely to satisfy his honour because he had been too intimate with her.

Hugh’s shock at her refusal had quickly given way to anger, and that curt tone which had become his habitual expression with her. He and his men had spent days searching for her, sent by Lord Wolf to bring her to court after she ran away from home, and she supposed it was understandable that he had found her rejection infuriating. But after all, there was no need for him to behave so nobly and marry where he did not love. She had wanted him to kiss her; he had not forced his kisses upon her.

Nobody knew what had happened on her journey to court that spring, and nobody needed to know if only Hugh Beaufort would stop so obstinately pursuing her when she had already said no.

And now he was kissing her again!

His hands cupped her breasts, and as they pressed together, she felt the swelling in his codpiece, and became almost delirious in her desire.

‘Hugh,’ she moaned, and his tongue pushed between her parted lips, licking and teasing her, stabbing in and out, each thrust a promise and an invitation.

Her hands clutched at his shoulders, and suddenly she was in his arms, being carried into one of the dark stalls and laid upon a bed of musty straw. Their mouths met again fiercely, and then their bodies. Susannah wished she had the strength of mind to struggle against him, but to own the truth, she had thought of little else since they had parted. Still, she was no fool. The straw might be softer than the forest floor where they had once lain in each other’s arms, but the place was far less private, and she whispered urgently, ‘Not here, not here!’

Hugh paid no attention to her objections, his chest heaving, his face possessed by desire.

‘You want this as much as I do. God’s blood, woman, I have been driven half out of my wits these past weeks.’ He yanked up her skirt, stroking along her inner thigh until he reached her hot moist core, unfettered by any undergarment. Her breath hissed in at his touch, and his answering groan told her how much he had been imagining this too. ‘Refuse my offer of marriage if you will, Susannah, but I cannot hold back any longer. I must touch you again.’

Breathless, Hugh settled himself on top of her as though trying not to crush her with his large body. One finger already stroking in and out of her eager cunt, his tongue slipped into her mouth again, urging her to respond as she had done last time, willingly and with passion.

‘You want this too,’ he muttered against her mouth, and it was not a question.

He pushed a second finger inside her, slowly. She moaned, unable to prevent herself, and her body arched towards his. Hugh withdrew both fingers, then pushed them back inside, this time more forcefully, stretching her tender flesh as though preparing the way for a deeper invasion. Her gasp was muffled by his kiss. Then a third finger was inside her, his thumb pressing against the moist nub above, playing her mercilessly.

Shifting above her, he kissed her throat, then tugged her bodice down with one brutal jerk, exposing her breasts.

‘Beautiful,’ Hugh breathed, caressing one breast until her nipple stiffened to a peak under his fingers. His lips travelled down the valley between her breasts, then suddenly he turned his head and suckled first on one breast, then the other, licking and blowing on her wet nipples until her limbs turned to water and she had no memory of why she had been fighting him.

It was the most exquisite torture in the world.

‘Yes,’ Susannah found herself whispering, lost to reason, lost to everything but the drumming of blood in her veins. ‘Take me.’

Yet Hugh did not take her, as she had naively assumed he would. Dragging her gown to her waist, his head descended instead between her thighs, and Susannah cried out in wordless astonishment as his mouth found her most intimate place.

Surely he did not intend . . .?

His tongue snaked out, catching that sensitive nub of flesh he had played with before, and she caught her lip between her teeth, biting down hard so as not to scream with pleasure. His tongue lathed up and down her aching flesh, then pushed inside, his invasion shocking her again with its thrusts and stabs, its dark promise of ecstasy.

There was sweat on her forehead. She could no longer think, only feel. The centre of her being was so hot and swollen, so desperately sensitive to every flick of his tongue, her body would surely burst into flames if he did not . . .

Writhing beneath him, shame left far behind, Susannah gripped his fair head and urged that tongue further inside, her thighs splayed wide.

‘Please,’ she managed incoherently, her face on fire, her hands begging him, though she did not properly understand what it was she wanted. ‘I need to . . . Please don’t stop.’

But suddenly Hugh was gone, leaving her frustrated and confused. He was on his feet again, panting and hot-faced. He shoved a hand through his dishevelled hair, then bent to help her up.

She was still staring up at him in shock, mystified, when she heard her father’s voice, close by in the doorway to the threshing barn.

‘Susannah? Come to me at once! Where are you?’

Her father sounded furious.

Swiftly, Hugh pulled her to her feet, smoothing down her crumpled gown and pulling straw from her hair. ‘Go out to him,’ he whispered. ‘I will remain here. No one need know . . .’

But it was too late. Her father was standing right inside the barn. No doubt he had heard some noise within, perhaps her cries of passion. He stared at them both, his lined face a mask of barely contained fury.

‘Susannah, I want you to come here and stand behind me.’

‘Father, please,’ she began, stumbling over her words in rigid embarrassment, ‘it’s not . . . what it seems.’

‘I told you to get behind me, girl!’ His voice shook, and she was suddenly frightened that her father would burst his heart in this rage, so incontinent was it, so at odds with his age and infirmity. ‘For once in your life obey me and do as you are told.’

Reluctantly she left Hugh’s side, daring a swift glance at his face, which was resuming its usual control now their passion had been stemmed, and stood to one side behind her father.

‘Now, Master Beaufort, what is the meaning of this? First I hear you have come on a visit, not to me but to my daughter, and now I find you alone with her, guilt written on both your faces.’

He looked from Hugh’s stony face to hers, but did not wait for an answer. Perhaps he feared what might be admitted, for if he was told that it had gone too far between them, he would be forced to insist that Hugh marry her. And Susannah knew her father had his mind set on her marrying one of his old friends.

‘How dare you sully my daughter with your inky clerk’s hands, you villain?’ her father demanded. ‘If I were a younger man, I would run you through for this insult. No, do not move from that spot, you coward. I may yet send for my sword. What have you to say for yourself?’

Hugh looked at him directly. Although he held his large body still, it crackled with purpose and determination. ‘I intend to marry your daughter, sir,’ he told him calmly. ‘I wish to make Susannah my bride as soon as may be, if you will consent to the banns being read in church.’

But her father shook his head, just as she had suspected he would. Sir John Tyrell was a Yorkshireman, and while he had respect for the king’s authority, he was not impressed by smooth-talking southerners from court, nor by their learning. ‘You can wish all you like, boy. I will not give my consent. Not to such as you.’

‘Father,’ she remonstrated, not keen herself to be married to Hugh against his will, yet still embarrassed by the insult her father had thrown so carelessly in his direction, ‘you forget, Master Beaufort is the king’s clerk, and much respected at court. He has the king’s ear.’

‘I do not care if he has the king in his pocket. Silence, girl. This is none of your concern.’ Her father jerked his head at Hugh. ‘Be off with you. And do not come back or I shall have you whipped from my land like a beggar.’

Hugh Beaufort stood a moment without responding, his hands by his sides, his expression under control, giving nothing away. She saw a dark storm in his eyes though, and felt the curbed restraint of violence behind his stillness, and she feared for her father, who was frailer than he seemed.