Rebellious Love (13 page)

The dowager smiled nostalgically. "It was a fetching outfit. Though I wager the tunic looked better on you than me. You had the hips for it." Glancing down, she added ruefully: "Still do."

"Garrett didn't find it appropriate at all," Emelie sighed fondly. "In fact, he wasted no time getting it . . ." She broke off, suddenly aware of the two younger women listening avidly. "Never mind. This is hardly the place for reminiscing. Does Isabella intend to remain in bed all day?"

"I doubt it," Lady Barbara chortled. "Not without someone to keep her company."

Emelie raised her eyebrows. "You know perfectly well she will be here for better reason than that. Isabella has no more faith in our sovereign than the rest of us."

"At least her boy's different," Barbara admitted grudgingly. "Smart little bugger, doesn't miss a tiling."

Arianna shook her head sympathetically. "Poor child, though, to have such parents. Young as he is, I don't imagine Prince Henry has many illusions."

"Nor should he," Emelie said emphatically. "Not if he is to be a good king, please God. It's his father's illusions that have gotten him into so much trouble. John thinks the treasury is bottomless, the people's patience endless, and his lords paragons of endurance and selflessness. Has any man ever more deluded himself?"

"His misconceptions don't stop there," Barbara muttered. "Here comes the greatest of them all."

The women turned, in time to see Queen Isabella and her ladies enter the solar.

At thirty-one, the petite, fine-boned woman retained much of the incandescent beauty that had long ago won her the title of the loveliest lady in Christiandom. That sobriquet was always an exaggeration, yet looking at her Verony could understand why men had waxed so eloquent.

Thick, gleaming hair pale as moonbeams tumbled from a well-shaped head set off by large, tawny eyes and milk-white skin. High cheekbones framed a delicate, straight nose complemented by a ripe mouth and a small chin.

Her almost unlined throat was proudly displayed above an emerald tunic and scarlet mantle worn rather daringly low on alabaster shoulders. Isabella's breasts were still as high and firm as a young girl's, her waist small and her hips slender. She moved gracefully, and her voice, as it reached Verony, was soft and pleasant.

Given such attributes, Verony wondered why she did not find the queen attractive. Puzzled, she looked closer to see the faint tightness around Isabella's lovely mouth and the flinty hardness of her eyes. Her expression was haughty, and there was an air of condescension about her that seriously undermined her charms.

When she spotted Lady Emelie and her companions, the queen's manner became even more remote. Political realities forced her to nod stiffly, but they in no way gentled her tone as she demanded: "Are we expected to feel honored at such a plenitude of d'Arcys, madam? First I spy your husband downstairs with his sons in tow, all busy conspiring at God only knows what evil. And now I discover you in my own solar, stirring mischief I cannot bear to contemplate."

"No mischief, my lady," Emelie said placidly. "I came merely to present my new daughter-in-law. As for my lord, he hardly needs to conspire. Rather it is all he can do to keep order among those who seek to enmesh him in their own plots. Your court," she advised coldly, "is a veritable beehive of conspiracies, though I doubt the honey will prove sweet."

An angry flush mottled Isabella's complexion. Silently she reprimanded herself for forgetting just what a formidable opponent the Lady Emelie could be. Small hands clenched impotently at her sides as she realized a full-blown scene between them would only fuel the gossip mill.

"Your concern," the queen said coldly, "touches me. However, it is misplaced. You would be wiser to attend to your own duties." Haughtily she reminded I he countess: "Your daughter-in-law is waiting to be presented."

This was unfair. Verony was far too interested in the confrontation of two wily, stubborn women to wish attention shifted to herself. But she bore it in good form. Dropping a modest curtsy, she murmured: "Actually, ma'am, we have met before. My lather presented me at court last year."

Isabella's flush darkened even as Emelie struggled to suppress a grin. "It is to be hoped," the queen snapped, "that you make a better impression this lime. I remember you as quite ill-behaved."

"My apologies for any distress I may have caused," Verony offered quietly. "I'm certain you will be pleased to hear that my circumstances have now so improved that my temper could not help but follow suit."

A titter passed among the ladies attending Isabella, but their mistress did not share their amusement. Ice glinted in the narrowed eyes focused on Verony's slightly swollen belly. "Curran wasted no time, I see." The queen shrugged. "Of course, all the d'Arcy men fancy themselves great studs. A misbegotten conceit, if there ever was one."

Emelie's self-contained expression did not alter, but her voice went dangerously soft. "There was a time, my lady, when you held to a contrary opinion. Surely only the keenest frustration could spark such disenchantment."

The women around them gasped at the sudden, potentially disastrous turn the conversation had, taken. Flashing Verony a warning look, Arianna hastened to intervene. "If you will excuse us, ma'am, I don't think it's wise for my new sister to remain standing like this. She has just completed an arduous journey and is naturally fatigued."

"Then she should have stayed home with the rest of you," Isabella muttered gracelessly. Suppressed rage trembled through her as she moved off with her ladies.

Steering her mother-in-law and Verony back to the bench, with a highly titillated Lady Barbara bringing up the rear, Arianna complained: "You do tread close to the edge. Would a showdown with Isabella really serve any good?"

"Of course not," Emelie admitted regretfully. "But after sixteen years of having to put up with that bitch, I am almost out of patience. It's not enough that she lusts after any good-looking man in the kingdom. When she went so far as to try to coax Garrett into her bed, we became enemies. We will never be anything else."

"It's not as though she succeeded," Lady Barbara soothed. "Garrett found the whole thing amusing. He turned her down with no hesitation at all and then, when she persisted, made sure the whole court knew about it. Can't remember the last time I had as good a laugh."

"I'm glad you enjoyed it," Emelie snapped, "but I did not. Nor was I pleased when she turned her attention to my son."

Facing Verony, the countess said: "You will hear this soon enough, so I think it best I tell you now. When Isabella discovered that Garrett was not available, she decided Curran would make an excellent substitute. Mark was already plainly infatuated with Arianna, and the other two didn't have enough experience for her jaded tastes. But Curran . . . well, the fact is he was rather wild. Oh, he never deliberately hurt anyone, but he was not averse to enjoying the ladies." A faint smile ruined Emelie's attempt at sternness. "He seemed to feel it was a case of 'the more the merrier.' But with Isabella he drew the line. Told her straight out he wouldn't bed another man's wife."

"Unfortunately," Lady Barbara chimed in, "that wasn't the end of it. While all this was going on, Curran had his eye on a particularly pleasing serving wench who had just arrived at court. John also found her most appealing. He decided to bed the girl first, believing rank has its privileges, and then looked forward to passing her on to Curran. But Emelie's dear son had other ideas. He made fast work of the lass, refusing the queen's bed in the process, and left both John and Isabella more than a bit put out."

"How disappointing for them," Verony muttered. She bore Curran no resentment for his past affairs, being realistic enough to know that his remarkable skill between the sheets could only have come from long, devoted practice. But were he to ever again betray the slightest interest in another woman . . .

"Now don't let this upset you," Emelie cautioned as an angry flush swept over her daughter-in-law's smooth cheeks.

"It will not," she snapped, "so long as no lady, particularly Isabella, so much as wiggles a hip in his direction. . . ."

"Calm down," Arianna advised quietly. "Our gentle queen would like nothing better than to hurt you, and she is looking this way right now."

Verony forced back her irate words. Smiling frigidly, she sat down beside Lady Barbara, who clucked consolingly, "Pay her no mind. She may lust after your husband, but she will never have him. Why would he take her when he has you?"

Because she is beautiful, Verony thought, and the queen, which is bound to flatter any man. And her body will not soon be misshapen with child. And he has not already lain with her night and day through four months. ...

The pleasures of marriage, exquisite though they were, had not softened Verony's nature. A powerful streak of tensile steel still ran through her. She had not survived a brutal father, the plots of an unscrupulous king and months of trial in the forest only to be undone by another woman. Her chin stiffened as she silently resolved Curran would have neither the will nor the energy to look elsewhere.

P
arting from his father and brothers in the courtyard of the family compound, Curran made his way to his own quarters slowly. The long, tension-filled day at court had left him weary in mind and body. Yet he did not doubt that the efforts of the d'Arcy men were worthwhile.

In separate meetings with the king and the barons, Earl Garrett had subtly managed to get his own way while allowing ail others to believe the victory theirs. For the mutinous nobles, there was the knowledge that a series of specific demands had at last been presented to the sovereign. Having their ambitions voiced in clear statements of policy calmed some measure of their discontent.

For John, there was the carefully managed opportunity to pretend consideration of the proposals while maneuvering for more time. Thinking over the meeting with the king, Curran wasn't quite sure how his father had managed to make John think the suggestion of a delay until Easter was his idea instead of the earl's. But the king had come away believing just that and no doubt congratulating himself on his cleverness.

A slight smile curved his hard mouth as Curran considered what this gain of time would mean to them. While plans were made to fight, should that prove necessary, efforts would continue in Rome to secure the support of the pope. The barons would still need scrupulous tending to keep them in line, but the chances of maintaining a united front through the spring were now greatly improved.

His mind still firmly on matters of state, Curran entered the bedchamber. What he saw drew him up abruptly. Far from being asleep as he had expected, Verony was awake and sitting up in bed. A brace of candles burned beside her, illuminating the perfection of ivory skin touched by a faint blush. She put down a missive she had been reading and smiled at him shyly.

"Good evening, my lord."

Curran's eyes remained fixed on her as he shut the door. Far from being annoyed at his long absence, as he had half feared, she welcomed him warmly. After the turmoil and deceit of the court, his wife offered a haven of peace he hardly dared to approach.

At his hesitation, she took a deep breath, which further swelled the curves of her luscious breasts above her low-cut sleeping robe. Leaving the bed, Verony moved toward him gracefully.

"You must be tired, my lord. Let me help you."

Slender, white hands were making quick work of the lacings of his surcoat before Curran recovered enough to speak. "That gown ..." he muttered thickly. "I don't remember seeing it before."

"It is new," Verony informed him simply, continuing the pleasant task of removing his tunic. She saw no reason to explain that the sheer, midnight-blue silk creation was on loan from Arianna, who absolutely guaranteed its efficacy. From a plunging neckline that barely concealed the rosy velvet of her nipples, the gown clung to her narrow waist before flaring outward at the hips. Waves of cloud-soft silk floated about her as she moved, half revealing flashes of her alabaster skin. Her red-gold hair spilled in a tumult of satiny curls to her waist. The fragrance of jasmine mingling with some spice he could not identify rose to tantalize Curran's already spinning senses.

"Are you hungry?" Verony asked softly as she cased the tunic from his massive shoulders. "I could send for food."

In fact, there had been no opportunity to eat at court, and Curran's stomach was empty. But he could manage no thought of food as he stared at his wife. Exquisitely beautiful and desirable as always, I here was yet something very different about her. It took him several moments to realize just what was changed.

Through the four months of their marriage, Verony had always responded to his lovemaking with unbridled passion that was everything a man could ask for. But she had never before made any but the most indirect advances to him. Their intimacy was always at his prompting. Now, suddenly, their roles were reversed.

In the flickering candlelight of their perfume-scented chamber, she became a temptress. Her wide, indigo eyes, veiled by thick lashes, glowed with a fire he had not seen before. Her ripe mouth parted slightly with the urgent rise and fall of her breasts. Beneath the transparent silk, he saw her nipples harden and marveled at the thought that his nearness alone could so move her.

He was hardly aware when soft hands on his bare torso eased him down on a bench. As Verony bent to remove his boots, the gown fell away to reveal the full glory of her breasts. They swayed and bobbed rhythmically as she bared first one foot and then the other.

Docile as a child, though his body already gave ample proof that he was anything but, he allowed himself to be stood again and stripped of his chausses. When nothing remained but his straining loincloth, Verony turned away from him. A devilish smile curved her lips as she scrupulously folded each article of clothing and put it neatly away.

The sight of her husband's long, tapered chest with its thick mat of ebony curls, his narrow hips and muscular thighs and the thrusting power of his manhood stirred her fiercely. But she hid her own desire, determined that this would be a night Curran would never forget. To assure that, his anticipation had to be drawn out to the utmost.

Tossing her head so that the thick waves of gleaming hair moved against her slender back, she drew his attention to the arching curve of her buttocks visible through the transparent gown. Curran's large hands clenched with the instant need to be filled by those glowing orbs. He took a step toward her.

"Perhaps you should lie down," Verony breathed, putting the bed between them. Drawing back the covers, she leaned forward to plump the bolster, providing another tantalizing display of her breasts.

"Only if you join me," Curran growled, reaching out for her. His need was becoming urgent. All thought of fatigue and hunger vanished as he concentrated solely on his wife.

She evaded his grasp laughingly. "So impatient, my lord?"

A low rumble of agreement emerged from deep within Curran. He considered that the game had gone on long enough. Long, lithe strides ate up the distance separating them as he tracked Verony around the bed. Her back was against the wall beside the headboard before he stopped. Heavily muscled arms shot out on either side to hold her trapped. "Come to bed, my lady, and we will seek to tame my impatience."

The lambent flame in his gray-green eyes warned I hat the first stage of preliminaries was over. But Verony was not distressed. She had much, much more planned for her ardent husband.

Lifted gently but determinedly into his embrace, she offered no resistance as Curran laid her down on the bed. But when he sought to remove her gown, Verony drew back. Kneeling before him, the silk held under her legs so that it could not be raised and her shoulders arched so that the bodice could not be pulled down, she teased: "I have been waiting all evening for you, my lord. The least you can do is allow me my way."

Unsure as to exactly what she intended, but more than willing to indulge her, Curran leaned back. He was rewarded by the soft brush of moist lips against his. Seeking to deepen the kiss, he was distracted by the sudden sharpness of her nails digging into his flesh.

"No," Verony demanded. "Lie still."

Astounded by her boldness, Curran obeyed. Curiosity mingled with desire as he studied the sensual witch his wife had suddenly become. Through hooded eyes, he watched as she removed his loincloth, freeing the arching fullness of his manhood.

A low purr of pleasure broke from Verony as she caressed the proof of his desire. Skillful fingertips barely brushed him in repeated strokes that quickly brought a sheen of perspiration to his bronzed length. "V-Verony ..." he began, only to be stopped by a groan of delight.

The swollen globes of her breasts had replaced her hands, drawing him within a nest of sweetly scented skin thinly covered by silk. Dropping feather-light kisses across his flat, muscled abdomen, Verony rubbed a hardened nipple against him. Over and over she repeated the motion until Curran moaned. "E-enough ..."

Again he reached for her, and again she evaded him. "Hardly enough, my lord. We have only begun."

Aching with desire, Curran was in no condition to argue. He enjoyed love play as much as any man, but was used to being in control. This new experience was as unsettling as it was delicious.

Moving away from the bed, Verony at last gave in to his desire to have her unclothed. Slowly and seductively, she slipped the gown from her shoulders, baring first her ripe breasts, then her still slender waist, and finally the swelling mound of her belly and gently curved hips. Stepping free of the silken spill, she could almost feel the heat of Curran's gaze searing her.

His response was unmistakable. Already swollen in passion, his manhood hardened even further. Its prodigious size caused Verony a brief moment of fear for her own safety and that of the babe. But her concern vanished instantly. No matter how teased and tempted Curran might be, she knew he would never treat her with anything other than loving gentleness. Confidently she allowed the game to continue.

Through the haze of his throbbing need, it occurred to Curran that he was being well and truly seduced. In the brief moment before all thought became impossible, he felt a flicker of wonderment in l he extraordinary instincts of the unleashed female.

Patiently, expertly, Verony coaxed and incited end aroused him to a point almost painful in intensity. Each time he tried to bring the loving torture to a rightful end, she stopped him. Each time he allowed her to go on, driven mindless by her determination to tempt him even higher.

In the past, he had lain with some undeniably skillful women. But nothing had prepared him for Verony's enthralling onslaught. She required no graphic instruction in the workings of a man's body to know exactly what would most please him. Their lovemaking of the last four months had prepared her well to play the temptress. When she added to it loving perception of his every response and devoted determination to drive him to rapture, she could not be surpassed.

Every part of Curran's mind and body and spirit resonated to her touch. As she finally brought him within her, drawing out his release with exquisite sensuality, he was consumed by a firestorm of pleasure far beyond even his wildest imaginings. His climax was so powerful and so extended that his very soul seemed to shatter beneath its force.

Recalled slowly from the tumult of her own delight, no less complete than that experienced by her husband, Verony snuggled against him contentedly. She watched as utter relaxation carried him away into sleep before allowing her own eyes to close, after silently promising herself that his rest would be brief.

Curran awoke to the soothing touch of oil against his skin. He opened his eyes curiously, only to find the room plunged in darkness. Blinded by the heavy blanket of night, he could see nothing. But his other senses suffered no such disability.

Every inch of his lean, hard body came acutely alive as small, strong hands stroked him. He breathed in the heady scent of musk perfuming the oil. A low sigh of contentment broke from him as the muscles of his legs, chest and arms were slowly kneaded.

Then Verony began to talk. Her voice a dreamlike caress on the night air, she told him of the delight she found in his body, of how his lovemaking made her feel, of the way she thought of him when they were apart, of how each separate part of her responded to his look and touch.

Massaging the corded sinews of his thighs, she told him how it felt when his hardness filled her. She described her surprise when their first lovemaking brought no pain, and her embarrassed astonishment at her own ardor. She laughed as she confessed her susceptibility to wanton thoughts under the most awkward circumstances. Her words became a whisper against his heated skin as she spoke of their child, telling him of both the strangeness of finding life growing within her and the joy.

She fell silent only when his manhood rose again hard and urgent to give her tongue and lips better occupation.

This time, as their rapture grew, Curran resolved not to be outdone. Turning his wife in his arms, he kissed and nibbled the slender line of her back down to her dimpled buttocks and beyond. Arching against him, Verony moaned with pleasure. Curran had long ago discovered the sensitivity of her shoulder blades and the small of her back. Now he used I hat knowledge to good advantage, stroking and licking until she shivered in delight.

"C-Curran . . ." she murmured huskily, trying to turn over again and draw him to her.

A low masculine chuckle was his only reply. Holding her firmly face down on the soft mattress, he carefully lifted her hips. Rubbing his hardness against the silken smoothness of her inner thighs, he tenderly parted her legs and slowly, cautiously entered her.

One large hand cupped the swelling that sheltered their child as the other played over her engorged breast. A low whimper of pleasure tore from Verony before she gave herself up totally to her husband's impassioned care.

Much later, lying snuggled in his arms, she drifted contentedly back to sleep marveling at her own boldness and its delightful results.

That contentment remained with her through the early morning as she and Curran rose to dress, a process much prolonged by frequent pauses to touch and gaze at each other lovingly. Any lingering doubts she might have had about the wisdom of her plan were banished when Curran whispered against her ear: "My beautiful enchantress, you delight me! No man was ever more fortunate."

Blinking back tears of happiness, Verony kissed him lingeringly. They broke apart with regret only when sounds from the courtyard alerted them that the family was ready to depart for court.