Page 53 of The Raven and the Rose
The comer of his mouth twitched. What could he say when she had almost caught him in the act? “Tristan has a bit of a reputation,” he conceded.
She gasped at his audacity. “I’ve been giving his poor wife advice. Perhaps between Rebecca and me we can cure him of his philandering.”
“He should return from Ravenscar tomorrow,” he said.
“Good,” replied Roseanna.
An eyebrow cocked quizzically. “You’ve missed the young devil?”
She smiled serenely. “No. It’s just that the sooner he returns, the sooner you will leave for Ravenglass.” She looked pleased with that barbed arrow and hoped it found its mark.
His eyes lingered on her mouth. He didn’t need to tell her that he intended to kiss the insolence from it. In her agitation she dropped her knife. It fell to her plate with a clatter. “Would you care for more venison, my love?” he asked smoothly.
She looked at him blankly. She couldn’t remember one thing she had eaten during the meal. Her heartbeat thundered so loudly inside her ears that she saw his lips move and then curve into a sensual smile, but she had not heard him. She was about to nod, then thought better of it and shook her head. “No, my lord,” she said, feeling secure with the negative answer. She had missed his words, “Do you wish to cry off?”
Her negative reply had sent his blood throbbing along his veins, and he felt the familiar tightening and swelling in his groin. He signaled to a page to refill her wine cup.
She lifted it to her lips and shot another barb. “Is this to give me courage?”
He shook his head and murmured, “To give you fire!”
Her cheeks flamed. He was enjoying this game of wits between them, and he had to remember when he finally got her in his bedchamber to go slowly and not let the demands of his body run riot and spoil this night. It was Roseanna’s night, and he vowed to pleasure her and savor the hours of arousal that it would take.
As the remains of the meal were cleared away and the last dregs drained from the wine cups, Roseanna’s insides fluttered as if they were filled with a million butterfly wings. Frantically her mind searched for a delaying tactic but found none that was plausible.
As the dining hall emptied, she thought she glimpsed Sir Bryan leaving, and her heart lurched in her breast. If only they had been allowed to marry! Sweet Bryan, her perfect knight. If it were his bed that she was going to tonight, this sick fear that gripped her would be absent. He was so gentle and good, and she suspected that he was as innocent and pure as she was. Why, why hadn’t they allowed her to marry the boy her own age? The golden fair boy who was almost beautiful to look upon? Her eyes flew to Ravenspur’s dark face as he murmured, “Whenever you are ready, Roseanna.”
She shot him a look of hatred. “I’ll never be ready,” she assured him.
He pulled back the heavily carved chair to assist her. His face made him look part hawk; his sharp eyes missed nothing. She felt his hand at the small of her back and quickened her pace to draw ahead of him, but his long strides easily kept up with her and the hand remained. Then they were outside his chamber, and she closed her eyes at the sight of the thick, heavy door. The next thing she knew, they were shut in the chamber to spend the first whole night together since they had been married.
She let out a great sigh as he moved away from her and went across the room. The furniture was made from heavy black walnut, and his large bed dominated the room. Its curtains were dark red velvet, and the deep carpet that covered the floor was patterned in red and black. Her quilted white bedgown lay starkly against the dominant colors of the bed.
Ravenspur came back to her with two goblets. “I want you to try this wine spiced with myrrh. I think you’ll like it.”
She had not moved from just inside the door. She asked, “Is it drugged?”
He masked the hurt he felt and answered her honestly, “No, Roseanna. I would not do such a thing.”
A low knock sounded behind them, and Ravenspur moved to open the door. Alice stood there, pale but resolute. “I’ve come to help my lady undress,” she whispered.
Roger said, laughing, “Nay, you’ll not deprive me of that pleasure. I’ll undress her myself.”
“You will not!” gasped Roseanna, coming out of her trance. “You may go to bed, Alice. I’ll tend to myself.”
When the door closed, he slipped his arms around her and said, “Again I must overrule you. I will undress you, Roseanna. You have made me wait an eternity for this night, but now that it is here, I intend to have everything I desire. We are going to do things my way tonight, my love, even if you scream your head off,” he taunted.
“What things?” she asked, suddenly feeling very fragile.
“Ah, you shouldn’t have left me alone so many nights. I feel like a stallion that hasn’t had a mare in months,” he teased, deftly removing her golden girdle. He slipped the amber tunic from her shoulders, and she stood before him in the thin silk underdress.
One hand encircled her waist, while the other caressed her deliciously round breasts that swelled up impudently. “These past nights I’ve had nothing to do but he in bed and think up ways for you to pleasure me,” he taunted. “You’re not afraid, are you, sweetheart? What have you got for me under that apricot silk?” As he began to lift off her underdress, she eluded him and fled across the room in her transparent shift. He was after her in a flash and scooped her up squealing; her bare legs thrashed the air.
“Do you think you are woman enough to satisfy me, Roseanna?” He rubbed her body against his thick, hard shaft.
“Have you no shame? I am unused to men’s coarse talk,” she panted.
He bit back a retort about his coarseness. That would be playing directly into her hands. She wanted a knockdown, drag-out confrontation that would set them at each other’s throats, but he had very different ideas about how their night together would be spent.
