A Ravishing Redhead (5 page)

“Have at you?” he queried, raising one eyebrow of his own. “Why Margaret, whatever do you mean?” His lips curved into something that was neither a smile nor a grin, but a combination of the two with a little devilish smirk mixed it. They did something funny to her belly, those lips. It felt like she had swallowed butterflies. Leaping, dancing, pirouetting butterflies. It was not an entirely uncomfortable sensation.

“Beat me,” she explained. “You will beat me for hurting you.”

“Hurting me?” Henry scoffed. “I don’t have so much as a bruise, madam. At least not one you can see.”

She nodded sagely. “I have injured your ribs, haven’t I? I thought as much. I am terribly sorry, Henry. It is just when I lose my temper I tend to go a bit –”

“You didn’t injure my bloody ribs,” he growled. “You’ve struck a blow to my pride, woman. And if you think what happened here today will ever leave the confines of this room, you had best think again!”

“Of course not,” said Margaret automatically. Taking one more step towards the edge of the bed, her eyes narrowed as they swept across his body. Perhaps she hadn’t struck him as hard as she thought she had. Feeling slightly better, she began to draw back, but before she could blink, let alone react, Henry had one arm curled around her waist and was pulling her on top of him.

She landed with a squeal on his chest and instantly tried to wiggle away, but Henry’s arms were like bands of iron and in one swift move that left her breathless he had flipped her beneath him and her wrists pinned on either side of her head, rendering her immobile. “Unhand me!” she demanded, even as her heart quickened its beat and the butterflies in her belly went wild.

“No,” said Henry, looking rather pleased with himself. “Not until you pay your penance.” 

“Penance? Penance for what?”

“For injuring me,” he said.

Margaret bit down on her bottom lip. “You said you weren’t hurt,” she whispered, not quite able to meet his gaze.

“My body wasn’t, but my pride was, and a man’s pride, Margaret, is a very sensitive thing.” Releasing one of her wrists, he gently cupped her chin and lifted it until she had no choice but to stare directly into his burning green eyes. “What shall your penance be for committing such a grave crime?”

“I do not…” Her voice caught. She licked her lips, which had suddenly gone dry, and tried again. “I do not know. A… a gift, perhaps?”

“A gift would be nice,” he said, nodding slowly. “But a token would be better.”

Her eyebrows knitted together. “A… a token? I fear I do not understand.”

“One token of affection,” Henry whispered low in her ear, dipping his head until she could feel his lips move against her skin. “And your penance shall be served.”

CHAPTER FIVE

Margaret trembled. Had she known this would be his price for striking him, she never would have raised her fist… Or would she? Heat was sliding through her body, dark, damp, traitorous heat that burned with the fire of a hundred suns. Was this what it felt like to want? Was this what it felt like to desire?

“Wh-what token of affection would you like?” she said, gasping when his teeth grazed her earlobe, lingered, and nipped. Dazedly she realized he was no longer holding her prisoner. Had released both her wrists a long time ago, in fact. She considered escaping and running for the hills, but before the idea had time to blossom she plucked it ruthlessly by the roots and tossed it away. Why shouldn’t she indulge in a bit of passion? She was a married woman, for heaven sakes.
And still a virgin
, a little voice mockingly reminded her.

“Oh, do shut up,” she snapped.

“What?” Henry asked, frowning down at her.

“Not you.” Belatedly realizing that did not clear up the confusion whatsoever, Margaret gave a frustrated shake of her head. “I was just recalling that I was a… oh, never mind!”

Henry captured a long curl of her fiery hair and twirled it between his thumb and forefinger. Staring at it in rapt fascination, he said in a voice so husky it sent shivers racing through her, “A kiss shall restore my bruised pride, I think. Yes, a kiss should do it. Nothing more, nothing less.”

“Nothing more?” Margaret said before she could stop herself. Chagrined, she pinched her eyes shut as her cheeks suffused with color. “Forget I said that,” she muttered.

Henry chuckled. Releasing her hair, he traced the curve of her cheek with his fingertips as his other hand dipped lower to span her waist. Everywhere he touched her she felt her skin grow hot, even through her clothing. Part of her wished he would hurry up and kiss her already… but the other part, the new, exciting part, yearned for him to draw out this moment into eternity. She opened her eyes and her breath caught when she saw the intense concentration on the Duke’s face. His jaw was clenched, his mouth tightly set. If she didn’t know better she would think he was in pain.    

“I believe I have changed my mind,” he said.

“A-about the k-kiss?” she asked shakily.

“No, not the kiss. I have changed my mind about your choice of dress. I now find your attire to be quite…” He paused. The hand encompassing her waist shifted down. Margaret forgot to breathe. Clever fingers tugged her shirt free from the waistband of her breeches and pulled it up, stopping just shy of her breasts. She squeezed her eyes shut again. The mattress squeaked as he shifted, moving lower. “Delectable,” he murmured against the smooth skin of her stomach.

“Oh,” she sighed. “Oh, I feel quite faint. Do that again.”

Another chuckle, this one as wicked as they came. Henry nibbled, licked, and kissed his way across her ribcage. Margaret mewled like a kitten. He ended above her belly button and when his tongue swirled inside the tiny crevice she couldn’t help but buck her hips off the bed and clutch his thick, luxurious hair in her hands.

With a low growl he shot up the length of her body. His hands framed her face and for an instant she was caught in the depths of his brilliant green eyes before he lowered his head and his mouth sought hers in a possessive kiss that robbed the very breath from her lungs.

Margaret had never been kissed so rashly. So dominantly. So… so utterly
wickedly
. His tongue forced her lips apart and slipped into the dark recesses of her mouth, boldly stroking. On a gasp he broke away only to suckle at her jaw, the curve of her neck, the delicate skin of her earlobe.

Helpless, Margaret clung to his broad shoulders and let him do as he wished. If this was to be her penance for hurting his pride then she would gladly fight with him every day of the week and twice on Sundays.

Henry sought her mouth again and she relinquished it readily, arching into his kiss with a desperate need that surprised them both. His fingers tangled in her hair, pulling just enough to illicit a purr from the depths of her throat. She raked her nails down his back and he groaned, trembling beneath her touch. She wanted… more. Something she could not name. In quiet desperation her hands swept lower, to the hard curve of Henry’s hips. And then as suddenly as the kiss had begun it ended when Henry pulled away from her and sat back, his eyes pinched tightly shut and his breathing ragged. 

Feeling oddly bereft, Margaret sat up herself and leaned against the bed’s wrought iron headboard. Her mind whirled, her thoughts a jumbled mess. Dazedly she bought her fingertips to her lips. They were already swollen, testament to the ravishment they had received. A ravishment she was rather disappointed had ended so soon. 

“Henry?” she said hesitantly when he continued to sit in silence.

His eyes opened. He stared at her, his expression unreadable. “Yes?” he said after a moment’s pause.

“Is that… Is that all then?”   

One eyebrow quirked. “Were you expecting more?”

Margaret blushed and looked down. Her fingers fell away from her lips to twine absently in her lap as she considered what to say next. “Well,” she said finally, taking a deep breath. “I rather did enjoy myself. You are… You are quite adept at kissing. Not,” she said quickly as her cheeks turned bright pink, “that I am an expert judge on the matter. Quite the opposite, in fact. But if I were to judge, I would say that was a most excellent kiss and not at all overdone.”

“Overdone?” said Henry in a strangled voice.

She nodded. “And if you wished to kiss me again, I wouldn’t mind at all.”

“An excellent thing to know.”

Silence hummed between them. This time it was a companionable kind of quiet that Margaret quite enjoyed. She took a moment to discreetly study her husband beneath her lashes, noting for the first time the way his nose curved faintly to the left as if it had been broken a long time ago and the tiny silver scar that traced down from the corner of his mouth. He was not as handsome when one studied him up close, she realized. His beauty faded away to reveal the rugged man underneath. A man she was coming to understand a little more. A proud man, who shouldered his problems without complaint. A foolish man, too, for not thinking she would help him if he had but told her the truth.

“I forgive you,” she said impulsively.

“What?” said Henry, looking up.

“I said I forgive you. For marrying me for my dowry,” she explained. “It was not a kind thing to do, but I understand why you did it and I forgive you.”

The hint of a smile captured his mouth, pulling it up to one side in a half smile that did funny things to her heart.

“You are nothing like I thought you were,” he said.

Margaret sat up a little straighter. “Oh? In what way?”

Henry stretched out on his back and settled his head on Margaret’s lap. One booted foot swung off the side of the bed while the other tangled with her right leg, hooking around her ankle and holding it firmly in place. It was a decadent position, to be certain, but neither Henry nor Margaret thought to complain.

“For one,” he began, his eyes flashing with amusement, “you are stubborn as an ass.”

Margaret’s mouth dropped open. “Stubborn as an… Stubborn as an
ass
?” she cried, glowering down at him.

“Yes, but much more beautiful.”

“Well as long as I am prettier than a donkey,” she sniffed.

“
Much
prettier. I have never seen hair the same shade as yours before. It reminds me of a tomato,” he decided. “A big fat tomato, ripe for the plucking.”

“My hair reminds you of a fat tomato?” she repeated in amazement. “You, sir, are certainly not a poet.”

“Far from it,” he agreed.

“Henry?” said Margaret a few moments later, breaking the silence that had settled back over them, snug and comfortable as a blanket on a cold winter’s night.

He looked up at her. “Yes?”

Absently she twirled a lock of his hair around her finger, spinning the soft curl round and round as she said, “Perhaps, since we are, in fact, married we might try to get to know each other… That is, more then we do now.”

Henry propped himself up on one elbow and smiled wryly. “We do not know each other at all.”

Margaret nodded. “Precisely my point.”

“And what pray tell,” he queried, arching one eyebrow, “brought on this sudden change of heart? One hour ago you were claiming we did not suit and throwing dinner plates at my head.”

“I may have a bit of a temper,” she acknowledged stiffly. “But you got no less then you deserved, courting me under false pretenses and marrying me just to get at my dowry! They have names for men like you, you know.”

“And what,” he said, gracing her with a slow, wolfish smile, “would those names be?”

Biting her lip, Margaret did her best to ignore the little pitter patter of her heart. Damn the man, but he was quite charming when he wanted to be. “A rogue and a scoundrel,” she said, trying her hardest to appear stern.

“Aye,” he admitted without batting an eyelash. “I am both of those and more. Still care to get to know each other?”

“If I do, can I ride Finnegan?”

“Absolutely not.”

“You will let me eventually,” she predicted.

Henry scowled. “You will never sit on that horse again, Margaret.”

We shall see about that
, she thought. Gently easing her legs from beneath Henry’s head she swung off the bed, stretched, and crossed to the doorway.