Virginia Henley (7 page)

He took her firmly but gently by her shoulders and shook her.

“Wake up, my beauty.”

She remained limp, totally unconscious of his urgent voice and hands. Stubbornly he kept trying. He must have her or go mad. The friction of his hardened member against her smooth, supple thigh increased his desire, while her total lack of response to him almost crazed him with frustration.

He increased his efforts, covering her with his body, determined to kiss awake this earthly sleeping beauty. Gem upon gem of his kisses encircled her face, her brow; he kissed one cheek and then the other and then the tip of her nose and eyelids until her face was covered with his offerings, but nothing he did would awaken her. She seemed a beautiful ivory figurine with closed eyes and carved ebony hair.

“Peste!”
he swore in fury at himself and at his limp bedmate. He flung himself to his own side of the bed and lay struggling with his desire. Slowly, slowly the red mist of passion cleared from his brain, and he began to see how utterly ridiculous his behavior was. There was no pleasure to be gained in taking advantage of an unconscious
female. Love play must be shared to be enjoyed. Like it or not, he had to wait until morning, when they could both enjoy it. He grinned into the darkness. Pleasure for both or neither, it was only fair!

Roger awoke to the fragrance of roses. A rush of memories from the previous night made him turn his head upon the pillow to gaze at the exquisite creature beside him. His physical reaction was instant and powerful. He was fiercely aroused and his loins were aching because she had been with him in his dreams. She had been gowned in scarlet, a color he believed suited her nature exactly. Now she was scantily covered with only her raven hair, and her heavy round breasts were thrust out at him, tempting him to touch them, to kiss them. Slowly he eased up on his elbow and bent toward her. He found himself longing to know the color of her eyes and longing also to awaken her with his kiss, as if they were in some fanciful tale. As his head dipped to hers, her eyes flew open and widened in disbelief, and he saw with delight that her eyes were clear gray pools rimmed with lavender. He saw them sparkle with anger, and suddenly, with the clarity of morning light, Roger realized that this was no peasant girl.

Startled and angry to awaken to find herself in bed
with a man, Roseanna screamed and gathered the bedclothes around her. This action uncovered the man’s nakedness, and her eyes flew down his long, hard body, which was insolent in its masculine splendor. She raised her eyes shamefully to his and saw a face so darkly strong, so fierce and primitive that she thought she was looking at an all-powerful god. His pent-up energy transmitted itself to her like a threat. She felt endangered, weak, and wholly at his mercy.

“You beast! What have you done to me?” she cried. His eyes were so dark that night seemed forever locked in them, yet laughter threatened at their brink.

“I have done nothing—yet,” he said, smiling. “But I must admit I find you very desirable.” He reached out to touch her, but she recoiled as if his hand were a hot iron.

She tried to scramble from the bed; unfortunately, her long hair was caught beneath his body, and she couldn’t untangle it without touching his naked flesh.

“Let go of me!” she cried.

He laughed, the rich dark sound sending shivers up her spine. “Not until I’ve made love to you, my beauty.”

She gasped and instantly tore at his face with her nails. In a flash he gripped her wrists and crushed her mouth beneath his. She struggled fiercely but found there was no way she could release herself from his grasp. He imprisoned her in an embrace; she felt small and frail beside his powerful chest and steely muscles. The scent of his body and the pressure of his hard mouth upon hers were aphrodisiacs that ravaged her senses, and she struggled to keep herself from melting into his embrace. What saved her was his rigid hardness thrusting into her thigh. With an age-old instinct of knowing what happens between a man and a woman, she knew he would have her on her
back in another moment, thrusting that rigid hardness deep within her. Her sharp white teeth closed upon his bottom lip until she drew blood. He withdrew his mouth sharply, freeing hers momentarily, and she panted, “I demand to speak to Baron Ravenspur!”

“Who are you?” he asked, wiping the blood from his lip.

She lifted her chin and said coolly, “I am Lady Roseanna Castlemaine.”

“Who?” he thundered.

“Rose—Roseanna Castlemaine,” she repeated, frightened at his tone.

He was on his feet instantly. He pulled on hose, boots, and doublet and strode to the chamber door. He flung it open and bellowed, “Tristan!”

The young squire who had been asleep outside the door clapped his hands over his ears as if he’d been deafened. Roger cuffed him and said, “Get my brother. Now!”

He must have graphically communicated Roger’s mood, for Tristan appeared quickly. Roger almost hauled him through the door. “This is a plot the two of you cooked up to put my betrothed in my bed so I’ll have to marry her!” he roared.

“Your betrothed?” gasped Tristan.

“Marry me?” shouted Roseanna, who was in a high rage now that she realized she’d slept with Ravenspur. “I wouldn’t marry you if you were the last man on earth! I came here yesterday to dissolve this distasteful betrothal that hangs around my neck like a millstone!”

Roger’s eyes narrowed warningly.

“Honestly, Roger, I mistook her for a peasant girl,” Tristan said.

Roseanna’s eyes clouded in anger. “Strange,” she said in a menacing tone, “since I told you the moment we met that I was Lady Castlemaine!”

Roger swung around to his brother, who had the decency to look shamefaced. “She speaks the truth.”

Hoisting the slipping sheets around her, she said regally, “I always speak the truth. You are two depraved monsters of lechery! Do you not realize the misery your childish little joke has caused? I have been away from home all night. My family will be frantic. When my father learns of my treatment at the hands of you Montfords, he will issue a challenge!”

Roger, ignoring her impassioned words, said to Tristan, “Keep those whores behind locked doors.”

Roseanna looked startled. That was why the woman she’d seen yesterday had looked so strange and fascinating—she was a prostitute! My God, men were vile. Is this what they did under the guise of hunting? She was overcome by hatred for them. She wanted to shriek her rage and rake their handsome faces to ribbons, but the elder one would likely fell her with the back of his hand.

“I’ll need at least two servingwomen,” said Roger.

Tristan shrugged, “There are only—the young ladies from the riding academy,” he finished lamely.

Roger gave him such a scorching look, the younger man stepped back.

“I’m going to the kitchen,” Ravenspur announced, and then threw over his shoulder, “Stay!” as if they were two dogs.

As soon as Roger left the room, amusement danced into Tristan’s eyes. “By God’s bones, this is rich! Do you really wish to get out of your betrothal?”

“With all my heart!” she spat.

He grinned wickedly. “Then you’d best not tell your parents you spent the night in his bed.”

Roseanna’s mouth fell open as she realized she couldn’t use that weapon against him.

Roger returned with two women from the kitchens. “This lady needs a maid and a chaperone,” he explained to them.

“But yer lordship, I only knows kitchen work,” the first woman protested.

Roger said smoothly, “My good woman, I have just promoted you. Find this lady some modest attire. If none can be found, then you will have to stitch something.” He turned to the other woman, whose eyes were like saucers at the exalted company. “You will stay with this lady at all times as her chaperone. Under no circumstances is she to be alone for one moment.”

Roseanna opened her mouth to protest, but Roger ordered, “Silence!” He turned to Tristan, “I want ten knights for her escort, and by Christ they’d better be sober. See to it!” He issued one last order before he departed. “Be ready to leave by the time I’ve finished breakfast.”

Roseanna gasped at the sheer arrogance of the man. She said to Tristan, “I shall get down on my knees every night and thank God for delivering me from such a union!”

Tristan thought to himself, “Roger will do as he pleases as usual, but if I had any sort of claim on you, I’d never let you slip away.”

Roseanna turned to the women and decided to take charge. To the first she said, “I’m cold. Please get one of the squires to light this fire.” She turned to the second
woman. “While the baron is at breakfast, I too shall dine.”

The servants were in a bit of a quandary. They had received orders from Ravenspur to find her clothing and also to chaperone her.

Tristan looked more amused than ever. “It seems two servants aren’t enough for you, my lady.”

“It seems not,” she said coldly.

“Then allow me to be of service. I shall go in search of a gown and shoes. My brother doesn’t like to be kept waiting.”

“In that case you’d best carry out the orders he gave you to get the escort readied. I assure you, you can be of no service to me, sir.”

He bowed mockingly, “Well, that’s put me in my place. But somehow I don’t think you’ll manage Roger quite so easily.”

When Ravenspur returned, he found Roseanna curled before the fire, finishing her breakfast. His heavy eyebrows rose in surprise. “Why aren’t you dressed?” he demanded.

The serving woman hurried into the chamber with a pair of dainty boots in her hand and a silk dress over her arm. “One of the ladies was kind enough to let me have this, yer lordship,” she said breathlessly.

He lifted the low-cut gown disdainfully. “I said
modest
attire!” He threw the dress to the back of the fire. The old woman gasped in horror. “Get some table linen and fashion a gown. I want it to cover her from her chin to her toes. Do I make myself clear, madame?”

Roseanna was bubbling into a froth of fury, and it took all her willpower to stop herself from flinging herself upon him. She had an overwhelming desire to strike him,
and she was teetering dizzily on the edge of attack when a little voice told her that her best weapon against him would be feigned indifference. Still, she was determined to address him in an insolent voice. “Are you finished giving your orders?”

His dark, assessing eyes swept over her. “I haven’t begun. Shall I give you your orders now?” he asked in a deceptively pleasant voice.

“No one gives me orders, my lord,” she informed him.

“That is quite obvious. You are an undisciplined child who has been allowed to run wild. If your family thinks it can palm you off onto me, they are sadly mistaken.” He swept her with his dark eyes. “I find most high-born ladies to be shrews and harpies.”

“Is that why you consort with prostitutes?” she shouted.

The servingwomen gasped. His dark eyes looked deeply into hers for a moment. “It is,” he said evenly. He did not allow himself to smile until he had turned his back on her. He took one of his cloaks from the wardrobe and turned to the gaping servants. “I set you both a task; I want her dressed.” Then his gaze settled on Roseanna once more. “You will need this. Yesterday’s storm ended the summer weather. There is a distinct autumn chill in the air.” He bowed. “I shall await you in the courtyard.”

    Roseanna surveyed herself with dismay. Never in her life had she been dressed in such a plain, modest, unbecoming garment! She pulled off the headcovering as the servingwomen looked on with pursed lips. Briskly she braided and looped her long dark hair and bound it back in a style every bit as plain as the gown. She had been utterly determined not to wear the cloak he had given
her, but the thought of facing ten knights dressed as she was made her change her mind. She wrapped the cloak around herself and lifted its great length from about her ankles so that she would not trip. Emerging from the hunting lodge, she walked with her head held high past the ten mounted knights who would act as her escort. Ravenspur led out two horses, his eyes glinting with amusement. “If you are afraid of horses, my lady, I will take you up before me.”

“Afraid?” she choked, and words failed her. He had offered her the final insult! She mounted with the sleek, supple movements of a panther, wheeled the animal about, and took off at such a reckless speed that the men had difficulty keeping up. Roger enjoyed himself. Everything about her delighted him.

It soon dawned on Roseanna that she did not know the way home, so she had to swallow her pride and allow Ravenspur to take the lead. They did not exchange one word or one look on that long ride home, yet no man or woman had ever been more acutely aware of each other. Her thoughts were wild and disordered. He was a barbarian, a devil! She had conceived an instant disgust for the man. He was too arrogant, too virile, too—male!

She shuddered at the narrow escape she had had, not only from this morning, but from a lifetime tied to him by a Gordian knot. Sensations teemed through her body —indignation, smoldering anger, and relief, as well as strange blossoming sensations that darted through her body in the most extraordinary fashion. Imagine! Marriage with Ravenspur would submerge a woman’s very soul, so dominant would he be. Her spirit would be vanquished. Whenever he willed it, she would be in the bondage of his arms! He was obviously a much-practiced
womanizer, used to having his way. Well, she was the exception to the rule. She was one woman who would never give him the chance to have his way. Although some women might find him attractive, she did not!