Philippa (33 page)

“Well,” Philippa said, half laughing, “he has accomplished his goal, but I rather liked the rose velvet.”

“It was faded and worn, my lady. This is so rich and fine,” Lucy said.

“For one night,” Philippa said softly, “and all so my memories of the rose velvet room would always be happy ones. Uncle Thomas is the most thoughtful of gentlemen. No one else, not even my mother, would have considered such an extravagance.”

“He loves all you lasses very much, does Lord Cambridge,” Lucy said. “Come now, my lady, ’tis no use dawdling.”

Philippa gave her tiring woman a small smile, and nodded. “It sounds so strange to my ears to hear you call me my lady,” she said to Lucy while the older girl unlaced her bodice. Her own fingers undid the tabs holding the bodice to her skirts.

“You’re the countess of Witton now, my lady,” Lucy said proudly. She worked busily as she spoke, loosening the sleeves and drawing the bodice off by them, laying it aside. Then she unlaced her mistress’s skirts, the petticoats and the shake fold beneath them. Philippa stepped from them, and Lucy gathered everything up, bustling off into the small chamber where all of her lady’s clothing was kept.

Philippa walked over to her jewel casket, opened it and, removing her earbobs and pearls, put them away. Seating herself she slipped off her shoes and, easing her garters, rolled her stockings from her legs. Lucy came from the other room, gathered them up, and disappeared again. A basin with warm water had been set on the oak table. The young woman bathed her hands and her face. Then she scrubbed her teeth with a mixture of pumice and mint, using a small cloth. She was doing everything as she did it every night before she went to bed. But tonight there would be a husband in her bed.

Lucy came back, and thrust the chamber pot at her. “Pee,” she ordered, “and then bathe yourself there.”

Philippa’s first instinct was to argue she didn’t need to pee, but she found that she did. She obeyed her maidservant’s instructions. Lucy emptied the pot out the bedchamber window, then rinsed it with the water from the basin, and emptied it the same way. She tucked the chamber pot beneath the bed again.

“Well, you’re as ready as you’re going to be,” she said. Then she curtseyed, and without another word was gone out the door of the bedchamber. Philippa heard the door to her little apartment close as Lucy hurried into the hallway beyond.

“My hair,” Philippa said softly, and then she laughed at herself. She was perfectly capable of brushing her own hair. Taking up her brush she sat down in the window seat overlooking the gardens. One hundred strokes was what Maybel and mama had taught her. Each morning, and each night. The boar’s bristles slicked rhythmically through her long, thick tresses.

Philippa watched the river as she brushed. There was a crescent moon tonight, and above it a bright star. It was so beautiful. If only it could stay just like this forever, she thought. And then the door to her bedchamber opened, and she heard him as he stepped into the room.

Philippa did not turn about, but her hand stopped midway in a stroke. He said nothing, but he took the brush from her hand and began to skim it through her long auburn hair. She sat silently, barely breathing as he brushed. Finally he spoke.

“Have you kept count? Is it a hundred yet?”

“I lost count,” she said, “but it must be, or more.”

“Then we have finished,” he replied. “You have beautiful hair, Philippa.” He took a handful, and bringing it to his lips, kissed it. He sat next to her on the window seat, his arm sliding about her slender waist. She stiffened and he loosened his grip, but slightly. His hand pushed her long hair to one side, and he gently kissed the nape of her neck. It was a slow and lingering kiss. Philippa shivered slightly. The hand moved around to untie the ribbons holding her chemise closed.

“Please no!” she pleaded softly, her own hands going to stop his.

“I am only going to caress your sweet breasts, little one,” he told her, whispering in her ear, kissing it.

“I am so afraid,” she admitted.

“Of what?” he asked gently.

“Of this. Of you. Of what must happen between us tonight,” she told him, the words spilling out in a desperate rush.

“This,” he said, “is simply a caress.” He had pushed her hands away, and drawing the chemise aside had cupped her left breast. “I am your husband, Philippa, and you need have no fear of me ever unless you betray me. What must happen tonight between us is to satisfy your family that you are indeed my wife in every way, else I steal your dower, and put you aside for non-consummation.”

“But you would never do that!” she cried. “You are an honorable man.”

“I am delighted that you understand that,” he. told her, smiling. “And that is why our union will be consummated tonight, Philippa. Because I am an honorable man. Come, little one, there is nothing to fear. I will join my body with yours, and we will both receive pleasure in the union.”

“Why must it be tonight? Could we not wait?”

“How long would you propose we wait?” he asked her, amused.

“I don’t know,” she said, almost crying.

“Which is why it will be tonight, Philippa. The longer we tarry in our duty the more frightened you will become. Once the deed is done you will see it is not terrible at all. Mayhap you might even want to do it again, and yet again,” he teased her.

“The queen says that the union of a husband and a wife is for the sole purpose of procreation, my lord, and nothing more. And that is what the church teaches as well.”

“I will have neither the queen nor the church in our bed, Philippa,” he said, and his voice had grown hard. “There will be only two in our bed. You and me!” He pulled her roughly into his lap and, a hand grasping her head to hold it still, he kissed her hard.

His mouth worked roughly against hers until her lips parted, seemingly of their own volition. His tongue plunged deep, finding hers, stroking it, subduing it, kissing and kissing her until she was breathless. She shuddered, but to her surprise her arms wrapped themselves about his neck. “I like it when you kiss me,” she murmured.

“You were meant to be kissed,” he said roughly. “Kissed, and caressed, and made love to, little one. I find I can behave like a gentleman when I am not touching you, but when you lie in my arms like this and I pet those sweet breasts that you possess, then, Philippa, I lose control of myself. I cannot ever remember a woman lighting such a fire of lust in my loins.”

She looked up at him, surprised. “You desire me?” she asked him shyly.

The warm gray eyes engaging her hazel eyes gave her the answer even before he spoke. “Aye, I want you, little one,” he told her. “And now I am glad you held me off these past weeks, for tonight we shall take a journey of exploration together that can only end in sweet pleasure for us both.”

Philippa felt as if every bone in her body had just melted away. She wasn’t even certain she had the strength to move, or speak. He tipped her from his lap but momentarily, pushing her chemise from her shoulders. She felt the silk sliding down her body, her hips, her thighs, her legs. He lifted her from the fabric and took her into his lap again as he sat. She was naked! She didn’t know where to look. Her throat grew tight.

Only a few women had ever seen her naked. She had never been naked before a man until now. What would the queen say? Had the queen ever been naked before the king? Philippa didn’t think so. Katherine even wore a chemise when she bathed.

“This is not fair,” she said. “You are taking advantage of my innocence, my lord.”

“You are right,” he agreed, and tipped her from his lap again. “I should be naked too, and then we are equals once more.” He stripped his silk chemise off and tossed it onto the floor near hers. “There,” he said.

Philippa’s hands flew to cover her eyes. “Oh, my lord!” she cried. “The candles still burn and light the chamber.”

“Aye, they do,” he replied amiably, and he took her hands from her face, but Philippa kept her eyes tightly shut. “Why are your eyes shut?” he asked.

“Because you are naked, my lord,” she told him. “It isn’t proper that we see one another naked. God gave us garments to clothe our shame, the church teaches.”

“I cannot make love to you, Philippa, if you are clothed,” he said reasonably, “and if we are to follow the teaching of the church to procreate then we must be naked, I fear.” He was close to laughing, but he did not. Damn Spanish Kate and her over-pious ways. No wonder the king hadn’t managed to get a healthy son on her. How could someone so intent on her immortal soul enjoy her earthly body? And without enjoyment it was all for naught. How long had Philippa been with her? Almost four years? Well, he could not in a single night undo all of the queen’s foolishness, but he was going to make a very good try at it. “Open your eyes at once, little one!” he commanded her. “I am your husband, and I will be obeyed!”

The hazel eyes flew open, startled by the tone of his voice. They found a place just over his shoulder upon which to fixate. “Yes, my lord,” she whispered. Her cheeks were very pink, and her youthful form leaned away from him.

He yanked her hard against him.

“Oh!” She struggled, but he would not give way, and Philippa felt every inch of her husband’s lean hard body as it pressed against her. Her gaze met his.

“Now, Philippa,” he told her, “I intend caressing every inch of your delicious little body, and I intend that you caress me in return. We will kiss as well. And when our lustful natures have been well aroused, little one, then we shall come together as man and wife, and you will cease this prudish nonsense. The joining of two bodies can, with God’s blessing, produce offspring, but it can also offer pleasures unlike any you have ever known before, and that is good. I suspect the queen has never known those pleasures, and for that I am sorry. But you will know them!”

“The queen says a wife should say the rosary and pray without ceasing when her lord mounts her,” Philippa informed him primly.

“Not a bead, girl, or a prayer when we come together. The only noise I would hear from your lips should be cries of delight, and pleas for me not to cease. Do you understand, Philippa?” His big hands fondled her bottom, squeezing the twin halves.

Philippa started, surprised, and in an effort to escape those wicked hands pressed against him. But then her eyes widened with greater surprise. There was something hard pressing against her belly. “Oh!” she gasped, and tried to back away but he would not allow her to do so. “Crispin!” she pleaded, using his name.

“Aye?” he responded, his eyes dancing with merriment.

“Please,” she said softly.

“Please what?” he replied.

Suddenly a tear rolled down her cheek. “Oh, you are cruel!” she told him.

His tongue reached out and licked the tear away. “Aye, but sometimes a man must be cruel to be kind,” he told her.

“I do not understand,” she said, and she was trembling now. His tongue on her cheek had been the most sensuous gesture she had ever experienced in all her life.

“Nay, you wouldn’t,” he answered. “Not yet, little one. But you will.” Then he lifted her up in his arms and carried her to the waiting bed, where he gently deposited her.

Her eyes could no longer avoid him. He had an elegant body much like the statues in Lord Cambridge’s gardens. It was far more beautiful than his plain face. She cried out softly when that body covered hers.

He had seen the admiration in her gaze when she had looked at him, though her eyes had not lingered on his manhood at all. He was careful to position himself so that he did not crush her. Taking her face into his two hands he began to kiss her again. He was ready, but she was not, and he would harm her no more than was necessary to capture the prize of her virginity. His lips brushed over her lips and her face. To his delight she responded shyly, returning his kisses, her arms going about his neck once again. He rolled them so that he was now beneath her, and she atop him. She gave a little cry of surprise, but did not protest. He drew her forward until her breasts were within easy reach of his mouth. First he buried his face in the valley between those small fruits, and then, unable to restrain himself, he began to lick her nipples, first one, and then the other, back and forth until she was moaning so softly that at first he wasn’t even certain the sound was coming from her. His mouth closed over one of those tempting nubs. He suckled hard, and she cried out, but the sound was neither of fear nor distaste. When he had taken all he could from the first nipple he moved to the second, drawing on it with pleasure, taking delight in her as her head moved back and forth, the auburn hair tumbling about her.

“This cannot be right,” she gasped.

His teeth grazed the nipple teasingly.

“Oh, Crispin!” But she did not ask him to cease.

He rolled again, and she was beneath him once more. He began to bathe her body with his fleshy tongue. First her round little breasts, then her throat, and he felt the pulse leaping beneath his caresses. He rained kisses from her shoulders to her hands, each in its turn, and sucked suggestively upon her fingers. His tongue then foraged its way across her shapely torso. He kissed the small mound of her belly, considering carefully his next move. He wanted to taste the virgin nectar of her, but she was much too innocent for so powerful a passion yet. Instead he moved to lie next to her, cuddling her, while his hand explored her further, brushing across the curls on her mons, pressing a finger between her moist nether lips.

“Oh, you mustn’t,” she cried weakly when he did.

“Aye, I must,” he told her. He found her sensitive little jewel and began to worry it, gently at first, and then more insistently.

“Oh! Oh!” Philippa half sobbed. What was he doing? And why did it feel so ... so ... absolutely wonderful? This could not be right. The joining was for procreation, but then a small part of her reason deliberated that they had not yet been joined. She shivered with the small wave of pleasure that washed over her, not realizing at first that he had pushed a single finger into her love channel.