Page 18 of The Raven and the Rose
His eyes clouded with anger. He got up and took a turn around the room as if he were trapped in a place too small for his great vitality.
Holding her breath, she waited for him to repudiate her and hoped his anger would not explode into violence. Slowly, he turned to face her. “I have decided not to dissolve the betrothal. I have decided to take you for my wife.”
“No!” she cried, aghast, springing up from the bed.
His dark eyes narrowed. “For one so close to starvation, you have amazing recuperative powers! Why do you prefer a union with the other man? Has he gotten you with child? Do you need an abortifacient?” he shouted.
“How dare you?” With all of her strength she slapped his cheek.
He grabbed her wrist and held it in a cruel, ironlike vise until she thought he would snap the fragile bones.
“I dare do anything, Roseanna Castlemaine—never doubt it! I dare strip you and verify your virginity or lack of it this very moment. Now you will apologize for slapping me.” His dark eyes bored into hers as if he were reading her thoughts.
She pursed her lips stubbornly and kept silent.
“When you do that with your lips, I don’t know if you want to kiss me or spit on me,” he said with glittering eyes. Seeing her eyes darken with anger, he dipped his head to take possession of the lips that seemed to have been fashioned solely for his kisses. He held her mouth firmly with his, not wanting to give her the opportunity to bite him again.
She had the same inflaming effect on him that she’d had the night he’d found her in his bed: He was like iron, erect and ready. He pressed against her softness so she would have no doubts about his desires. His kiss took and took and took, plundering her mouth, deeper and deeper while one hand cupped her round, full breast, his thumb stroking her nipple until it hardened like a diamond. His scent of jasmine made her dizzy, and where their bodies touched, her nerve endings burned with a mixture of pain and pleasure that she’d never before felt. He let her go, and she backed away, rubbing her wrists to restore circulation.
“Why are you doing this? Why do you insist on having me?” The fine-spun robe seemed to shiver against her breasts as they rose and fell with her great agitation.
He pulled his gaze from her breasts and looked into her eyes. “We are pledged. ’Tis as simple as that.”
As she looked at him, she knew him for a man who made his own rules. He wouldn’t keep a pledge unless it suited his own purpose. “There must be other reasons. Tell me!”
As he looked at her, he thought her beauty magnificent. He wanted to rip the filmy gown from her body, lay her back upon the bed, and fuck with her all night. Her eyes blazed defiantly. She wanted none of him and made no bones about it. The challenge she offered was impossible for Ravenspur to resist!
He smiled, and it reached all the way from his sensual mouth to his night-dark eyes. “We are two of a kind, Roseanna. You will make me happy.”
“I will make you wretched!” she vowed.
The evening went surprisingly well for a day that had begun so disastrously. Kate Kendall’s motherly qualities came to the fore as she took charge of Roseanna. She gave her the key to the maidenbelt, helped her bathe, put her to bed, and brought her a tray that held broth, calf’s-foot jelly, and restorative egg custard. When Roseanna wrinkled her nose and asked for roast boar, the good woman was off to the kitchens at double speed.
In the hall, seated between his host and his hostess, Roger Montford broached the subject of their daughter before the first course was served.
“Sir Neville, I formally request your daughter’s hand in marriage.”
Sir Neville, ignorant of the day’s details and the week’s events, gave his wife a congratulatory look and wondered how she had pulled it off.
Utterly surprised but nonetheless delighted with the turn of events, Joanna picked up her goblet and raised it to Ravenspur. “My lord, let me be the first to congratulate you. I offer a toast to Roger and Roseanna.”
If Ravenspur noticed that two young knights sitting farther down the table did not respond to the toast, he gave no sign of it. Joanna rapidly calculated when the best time would be for the marriage to take place. Harvest was almost upon them; since Roseanna was stubbornly opposed to the match, she would need time to be brought around. Christmas was a festive time of the year when everyone was free to celebrate and indulge; if the wedding were then, the months between would give them time to sew Roseanna a spectacular trousseau.
“I think Christmastide is lovely for a wedding, my lord.”
Ravenspur frowned. “The betrothal has already been overlong.”
Joanna hastened to suggest November eleventh. “Martinmas, then?”
His frown deepened. “I thought next week, but perhaps I am precipitate. Let’s say the first day of Autumn.”
“But September twenty-first is less than a month away,” she pointed out. When she saw his brow slant like the wing of a raven, however, she acquiesced. “We will be hard pressed, but I will see that all is ready.”
“Sir Neville, Lady Joanna, please don’t think I am being difficult, but it will be impossible to have the wedding here. The King wants me in the North, where there is unrest,” he explained shortly.
Joanna’s eyes went quickly to his. “There’s trouble between Edward and Warwick, isn’t there? Men’s ambitions! I told Edward he would make a mortal enemy of Warwick if he offered Warwick’s daughters husbands from the hated Woodville tribe.”
Since Joanna seemed to know the King’s business, Roger was free to speak of it. “I suppose that is at the bottom of it. Warwick wants no less than both the King’s brothers to marry his daughters.”
