The Maiden and the Unicorn (37 page)

The Levallois infants arrived to interrupt his reverie, looking like glossy, tiny angels, ready to be kissed and taken back to their cradles under their mother's supervision.

Richard took his goblet to the window. The light was fading early. Soon the watch would be out, grumbling as they patrolled in the wet.

"Another game? You must give us a chance to retrieve our honour." The merchant slid his arm round his wife's waist on her return from ordering the nursery.

It was a mistake for Richard to turn his head and let his anticipation show as Margery looked to him to announce their departure. All her good humour and teasing confidence fled as if a spell was broken. She stared about her, at last aware of the long shadows dulling the chamber. He saw the rising anger in her suppressed and held.

"The curfew, we must go," she announced briskly at his shoulder.

"Not yet," he said softly in English, watching the water droplets chasing down the tiny diamond panes of costly glass. Margery ignored him and began thanking their hosts.

Richard was aware of the merchant moving across to take Margery's hand between his own. "My dear, this is too charming an evening to end so soon. It is decided you are to stay at our house tonight and then we can play some more. I swear we have not enjoyed ourselves so much for ages, have we, dear Adéle?"

Richard swung round. He curled back his lips and gave Margery the sort of dazzling smile that King David might have bestowed upon Bathsheba the morning after her bath.

Cursing, Margery guessed that this had been anticipated, almost planned by the man standing opposite her but her smile could match his. She turned with a swift graciousness to her host. "Sir, you really are most kind but we cannot impose upon you further. I think my husband was unaware that I have to be back in attendance at the castle tonight." Her gaze at Richard Huddleston was level and adamant. "If you prefer to stay, Master Huddleston, perhaps Monsieur would arrange an escort for me."

Her heart was palpitating wildly. Richard Huddleston did not stir. The candlelight danced upon his hair and glinted on the chain across his shoulders but his eyes were dark. "It is too late. The drawbridge is already up." You should have thought of that, his gaze told her. This is the price of arousing me with your enticements.

She stood still, a superficial smile frozen upon her lips, watching as he strode across to the table and took up the pack of cards and held them out to her. "We stay." Then he spoke in slow French so that she would catch the gist. "The Duchess of Clarence may whip my shoulders with a kerchief tomorrow if she pleases. Your deal." Adéle giggled.

Margery's fingers crept up to the gold about her neck. Had he also bought the night's lodging when he had paid for her jewellery? She could not leave without him, without an escort—it would be rude, unseemly. And if the portcullis was already down, where could she go? She had nothing of value but the collar about her neck and that left her the target of thieves. Her throat would be cut before the dawn.

She took the cards and sat down, forcing herself to stay calm, but her fingers trembled as she dealt. He watched her like a cat waiting for a mouse to make its escape.

"The painted cards are beautiful, do you not think, Madame 'uddleson?
Moi,
I find the ones from wood blocks so grotesque." Adéle sent her husband a meaningful smile.

"They must have cost a great deal." Answering required strength. "The line is very fine. They are wearing the latest-fashioned clothes too."

"Pah, the kings and varlets are mere pretty girls," snorted the merchant. "I will wager the painter was a sodomite."

"Monsieur!" reproved his wife but the wine already had the better of her husband.

Richard set down the queen of diamonds. "This one is a beauty though, as fine and fair as any queen." His gaze warmly caressed his wife's face.

The lady on the court card was dainty, her gown looped sweetly over her arm, and there was a pleased but startled expression on her lips as if some man she admired had paid her an unlooked-for compliment.

"Aye, I could bed her," murmured their host as he set down his card, "but I should not rely on the others to defend my purse in a dark alley."

Margery tried to concentrate. She knew she was playing badly. They began to lose.

"I think you did not mean to play that." Her host caught her fingers before the wrong card reached the cloth.

"You grow tired, my dear," Richard observed softly, brushing the fan of cards thoughtfully against his chin.

The warm timbre of his voice and the desire in his eyes was stirring up such a turbulence inside her that Margery could feel a melting in the depth of her belly and a moistness growing between her thighs.

"D'accord,
let us make this the last game and we are quits."

Their hostess rose as they finished, offering to stand in for Margery's maidservant, but Richard shook his head, merrily taking the candlestick.

"If I cannot help a woman off with her gown and garters, then I am no true man."

The guest room was in the adjoining wing of the house overlooking the courtyard and because the house was of new design, there was no need to pass through everyone else's bedchambers. Instead, the room led off a gallery that ran above the courtyard and promised privacy. The fragrance of rain moist upon the summer evening air barely refreshed Margery's senses. She was berating herself for drinking too much wine, for not noticing how the hours had crept away like thieves.

The chamber still held the fresh smell of whitewash but the perfume of flowers overhung the air. Creamy roses stood in a sinuous vase of curious eastern design upon the window ledge and a posy of newly gathered violets lay upon the pale green coverlet.

"I hope this pleases you." Adéle took the candle from Richard and set it upon a small table. The flame sent gentle shadows scampering across the pristine whitewashed ceiling into the dusky corners. Costly tapestries hung about the walls. The bed coverlet was turned back.

"It is a beautiful room." Richard stooped to bestow a kiss upon Adéle's cheek. "Your hospitality exceeds everything."

"Then, sleep well." Meant kindly but an empty blessing.

The door closed and they were alone. The house was silent about them save for the rainwater still dripping from the roof with the regularity of heartbeats into the butts within the yard.

Margery moistened her lips and turned to face the man she could not purge from her life. The reckoning had come.

Chapter 18

He stood with careless arrogance like a tournament hero, chin lifted proudly, lips stern but exultant as if he could hear the applause of the courtiers in the stands and the cheers of the populace, and Margery trembled, tormented, beneath his stare.

It had happened before, or rather it had not happened. Before, it had pleased him to be chivalrous but tonight was different and tonight she did not know her own mind.

"You knew this would happen." Her voice was husky, scarcely recognisable.

"Be thankful. It is better than an inn." He leaned back against the door, his eyes exploring the contours of her body like a hungry man confronted by a board laden with wondrous dishes. "I cannot wait for you any longer. This evening was agony, desiring you, knowing that within a few hours I would have you in my bed."

Strange sensations spreadeagled throughout her body as he peeled her clothing off her with his gaze.

"You promised me that you would be patient, that you would wait until—"

"—you wanted me."

"But I..." She felt hot and cold both in the same instant, as if she was on fire within yet glacial beneath the heat in his gaze.

"Still so diffident, Margery? Let me prove to you that for all your pretended protests I can light a fire in you this night that will keep us both warm."

It was a statement not a plea. To persuade him otherwise would have been as unwise as trying to muzzle a lion. She watched him unbuckle his belt. It fell with a metallic clang behind him. His pleated doublet was tossed aside, his burning eyes never leaving her face. He wanted nothing but surrender from her. She felt her breath turn ragged, her heart growing frantic within the cage of her body.

"Did I ever tell you how beautiful you are?"

"No." But she had read it in his eyes, over and over.

Her hope of annulling this marriage was gone—he would take her against her will if she refused. She had a choice: she could be cold and hate him or she could give in to the wild feelings that were pulsating through her and yield. His eyes were dilated with desire, his skin flushed with the intensity of his lust. Could she tell an incoming tide to turn? Her hand streaked to her sleeve, the silence split by the rasp of steel as she unsheathed her dagger.

His advance was checked. "Now that was something I did forget." Yet he took a step closer, close enough to touch. "Are you going to teach me a trick or two tonight?" His voice was light but sensual. She could feel the vitality, the heat, the determination that emanated from him and knew a curiosity and a longing that was as old as Eve's. "Are you?"

She rallied, still the rebel. "It requires half a pound of butter."

For an instant his jaw slackened then he gave a shout of laughter and clapped his arms about her trembling body, heedless of the dagger. He could have twisted the knife from her fingers but he drew her to his shoulder, his arms sliding protectively around her back.

"You are shaking, honeymouse." He held her tight against him.

She knew the hardness of him, awakened and ripening against her belly; she felt the thud of his heart pulse against her shoulder. "Did you truly think to withstand me, Margery? I'd hunt you to the ends of the Earth." Her dagger could have stopped him then, even a bodkin would have sufficed, but to staunch the mad longing to be held, to belong, to be touched, was no longer within her power. "By Christ, why have I let you torment me all these weeks?"

His words were breath on her face as he held her back from him and unpinned the cone and veil and tossed them aside. The honey hair fell and he plunged his hands into its silky mass. "You have been under my skin so long. To possess you has been a compulsion in me. God knows, I have tried to free myself from this slavery but, Jesu, you are so desirable." She would remember the words later but now she was a lute beneath his fingers to play on as he pleased.

For an instant his lips brushed hers tantalisingly and her lips parted wanting more. The dagger fell with a clatter and he laughed, drawing her towards him like a bowstring. Then his mouth came down on hers, gently at first, coaxing, persuasive, while his hands made circles, arcs, forays, reducing her body to seething bewildering sensations. She gave a low moan as his fingers sent messages through her that she had never experienced before, not even with Ned. Shyly, she slid her arms around his neck. "You want me to stop?"

Margery shook her head, knowing this was inevitable, had been so since he had seen her across the street and desired her. To be compliant at last was a relief. The cat and mouse game that had played havoc with her emotions was ending—even if it meant her surrender to the enemy. The aching in her body was growing.

"I want you willing." His voice was a low growl. "You agree? You
must
agree!" He trapped her face within the broken spire of his hands. "Look at me!" Her eyes fluttered open. The dark passion and unsheathed desire in his face made her weak with obedience. Her fingers flexed in his hair. "I am not being unreasonable?" She shook her head. "That indeed is a blessing for I fear my reason is fast deserting me.

Her fingers stroked down his neck. Her lashes dropped like gauzy veils as she lowered her eyes. "Six years... I..." She swallowed, hunting for the words that eluded her out of modesty.
 

He understood. "Lady," he lifted her face by the chin and brushed his mouth across her parted lip,. "I will prise you open as sweetly as I would that oyster which conceals the most priceless pearl in the whole world. Believe me, I would not damage your pleasure in this for all the gold on Earth."

He unfastened her belt and threw it aside so that he might ease the skirts of her gown over her head. The half-globes of her breasts dwelling sweetly within the silk underkirtle glimmered in the candlelight. He groaned. His mouth caressed her neck while his fingers slid the soft silk down over her shoulders and coaxed her nipples into the candlelight. "I have been dreaming of this for so long," he whispered against her throat. "If you only knew how much." How easily he lifted her now and carried her across to the bed.