Page 69 of The Raven and the Rose
She shot back indignantly, “’Tis my parentage; I learned the words from my mother and father!”
The King chuckled. “Get you upstairs into Westminster Palace, and choose yourselves a comfortable suite with a big bed.”
Roseanna tossed her head regally. “The first thing Ravenspur can do is take me to the most expensive shop in London., If I’m to be at Court, I’m going to be the best-dressed woman there!” She gave Roger a sideways glance. “You can spend some of that fortune I married you for.”
Roger looked at Edward. “She’s incorrigible.”
The King nodded. “You’ll have to beat it out of her.”
Roger grinned. “I don’t know if I’ve a big enough weapon.”
Roseanna leaned into his broad chest and turned up her face to him. “You have, my lord, for I’ve felt it.”
That night at dinner in the medieval Palace of Westminster, the lights blazed, and they dined from plates of gold. The Queen reigned on a small throne at the head table. She wore a magnificent diadem crown and a virginal white gown encrusted with precious jewels. She gave no hint of her recent ordeal in childbirth, nor of her state of mourning. While she surrounded herself with her brothers, sisters, and sons, the King mingled with his nobles, moving easily from group to group, standing out from the crowd because of his great height rather than the magnificence of his apparel.
Ravenspur wore black velvet and stood out as a raven among peacocks. The men of the Court were almost gaudy in the latest styles, with particolored hose, exaggerated shoulders, and beribboned codpieces.
Roseanna knew she looked beautiful. Her gown had cost a small fortune, and it gave her an air of supreme confidence. It was of the palest shell pink silk with puffed sleeves slashed to show deep rose pink underneath. The bodice and skirt were embroidered with tiny glass beads in a delicate pattern of mauve butterflies on rose pink flowers. Her beautiful round breasts were all but bared. Her magnificent hair fell down her back to the hem of her gown and was held back from each temple by jeweled butterflies.
The women of the Court had spent a collective fortune for their clothes and jewels. Roseanna, sharing a goblet of wine with Ravenspur, told him, “If we are to be long at Court, I will need a complete new wardrobe.”
His dark eyes clearly showed how lovely he found her, and how desirable. “You may have anything you want, but we will not be long at Court. We’ll stay only for the christening of the heir. Then I want a week or so at home, at Ravenspur, before …” He hesitated.
“Before what?” she asked.
“The state of the realm is anything but secure. Richard goes north to defend it against Scotland; Hastings goes to secure the Midlands; and I’m being sent to Wales again. It’s so wild, but Edward places great trust in me, thinking I can control it.”
Fear touched her with its sharp finger when she thought of the babe she would bear him in about seven months. He smiled into her eyes and took her hand in his. “That’s why I want you at Ravenspur, where it’s safe. If you find yourself too lonely, you are close enough to Castlemaine to spend time with your mother.”
She gave him a taunting, sideways glance. “You don’t want me at Court because the game of seduction is so rampant.”
“Tonight, every man’s eyes have lingered on you with speculation. If I were not here, they would move in like wolves devouring a doe.”
“You exaggerate,” she said lightly.
“Nay, you are beautiful enough to tempt a saint, let alone a sinner—and at Westminster I’m afraid all are sinners. Be careful whom you dance with, lest they take you to an alcove and have your breasts from your gown. It wouldn’t be difficult to do. Shall I show you?” he teased. She felt her cheeks grow warm, and he laughed. “Thank God you still blush; a month at Court, and you would never blush again.” He watched indulgently as she was partnered by Hastings, Herbert, and Stafford, and then twice by the King’s young brother Richard, who now held the highest office in the land. But when Thomas Grey, the Queen’s eldest son, slipped a possessive arm around Roseanna to partner her in a dance, Roger frowned his displeasure. Before the dance was over, he was on his feet and heading for his wife. The reputation of the Queen’s young sons stank to high heaven. They were lechers of the first order, and no attractive woman was remotely safe with them. Roger took her from Thomas Grey before the last notes of the dance sounded. “Madame, you have eluded me long enough.”
Thomas Grey sneered, “Keep your knife sharp.” It was a common enough saying from one noble to another, but Grey meant it as a reminder of the gossip that had touched Ravenspur when his wife was found murdered.
Roseanna gasped. “That was cruel. Are you going to allow the insult to pass?”
“The Queen’s sons can do no wrong. Besides, I don’t care what the young swine says to me, just as long as he keeps his hands from you.” The music struck up again, and they danced a few measures. He gazed down at her, then let his dark eyes sweep over her. Christ’s bones, she was beautiful!
Her breasts began to swell with longing as he towered over her, making her feel very small and feminine.
“I want to make love to you,” he said huskily.
“I know,” she said breathlessly, wanting it every bit as much as he did.
The thought of her in his bed sent shivers down his spine. He spied a balcony and guided her out onto it. His big hands caught and held her face, and he kissed her almost brutally, seeking her silken tongue and caressing it with his. Her reaction was instantaneous—hot and passionate and filled with lusty, unconcealed desire. Dear God, how she responded to his kisses, and he knew it! No words were needed. He took her hand and led her back through the ballroom, and they slipped upstairs, even though protocol demanded they stay until the King and Queen retired.
Inside their chamber she quickly removed the expensive gown before his impatient fingers could damage the delicate material. In the frantic race to disrobe, Roger was naked before she; he finished undressing her by pushing her back onto the bed and peeling off her stockings. His hot lips left a trail from her ankle all the way up to her soft thigh; she moaned as his lips approached the throbbing center of her womanhood. His desire was so great, he had to crush down the need to mount her instantly; that would be a waste. She was not to be used quickly but savored and cherished. Besides, he wanted more from her than a sexual response. This time he wanted a commitment—and he’d get it, he decided ruthlessly.
She threaded her fingers through his crisp dark hair and tried to pull his mouth up to hers, but he wouldn’t leave the flower between her legs until the bud burst into full bloom. His tongue found the bud, and he pleasured her furiously with his mouth until she came.
“Please, Ravenspur,” she begged him, not nearly satisfied with what he was doing to her. She closed her eyes and thrashed her head against the pillows crying, “Please, please.”
“Look at me, Roseanna,” he demanded. “I know what you want, but I’ll not take you like a whore. Admit that you have fallen in love with me!”
