And then a new thought occurred to him, and he glanced at her sharply, demanding, “Were you this unprepared for me last time?”
If she was, her pain would have been so much the worse for it, which would account for her reluctance now, and her earlier fear. Yet his answer was a blush that spread even across her lovely breasts, and this was a lady who did not blush at plain speaking.
Was he wrong? Was the little general not as immune to him as she seemed to be? Even as he wondered that, his finger became drenched with warm moisture, though he had not moved it further, and her blush darkened even more.
His laughter was spontaneous, he was so relieved and, in truth, delighted. It surprised his wife and made her look at him as if he were mad, but he did not care.
“Is—is aught wrong, my lord?”
“Nay, ’tis just right.”
He sat back to tackle his laces, though his eyes remained on her. Although he did not remember it, once again his impatient fingers broke the ties to shed the rest of his clothing. And he was impatient again. She wanted him. So he was not just for Clydon. Hah! The little witch would not give an inch, would make him think anything but the truth, but some things were impossible to hide, and she knew that now.
“If you intend—” she began nervously, then started over. “Will you not close the curtains first?”
“Later,” Ranulf said.
He disallowed further questions by covering her mouth with his as he moved over her into position. And she tasted so good…how could he have forgotten that?…that he delayed entering her—until her tiny hands hesitantly circled his neck. His undoing, that small response from her. He plunged into her warmth with a groan. She felt so good!…how could he have forgotten that, too?…so tight, like a soft hand squeezing, pulling him deeper into her.
Ranulf had never felt anything like it before. Of course, he had never experienced a virgin ere this one. But for the first time in his brutish life, he wanted to take his time with a woman, rather than rushing toward what fleeting pleasure could be found.
What had always been no more than a bodily need, just like eating or pissing, now seemed different somehow, and he wanted to savor the feeling. But wanting and doing do not always mix, and he found, in this case, that his body was not willing to hold off, could not hold off. And he no longer cared as he became mindless in the throes of the most incredible climax of his life, vaguely hearing a roar loud enough to shake the rafters, unaware it was his own.
Chapter Twenty-one
The window embrasure was shadowed still, and cool with the night air emanating through the costly glass panes. Reina sat on the fur-covered seat, arms wrapped about legs drawn up close to her chest, chin resting on one knee as she stared pensively at a sky turning slowly to mauve, now lavender. Her husband still slept, had slept peacefully all night long, commencing the moment he rolled off her last night. She had not been so fortunate.
Long hours she had lain next to him listening to his soft, even breathing. She had hoped he would snore loudly so she would have something to complain about, since she could not complain about what was really bothering her, but he did not give her that satisfaction any more than he had satisfied her earlier. She had come so close to—what? She was not sure, but it had to have been worth having if it could produce the primeval roar of pleasure whenhegot it—whatever it was.
It had been so different this time without the pain, so nice having that part of him inside her. She had felt so strange, but it was not a frightening feeling; warm and languid at first, and that fluttering in her belly had come again. Then the warmth got hotter, for some reason breathing became difficult, and something had started to build deep inside her, centering in her loins, something so very, very pleasant. And then it was over, and she had felt such keen frustration to have those feelings ended that she had almost hit her instantly sleeping husband.
But she was not mad enough to dothat. And the frustration had not lasted all that long. ’Twas other thoughts that had kept her awake, thoughts about that strange conversation they had had.
The whole thing had a quality of unreality to it as she recalled it. She would never have believed Ranulf would show concern for her nervous fear, but he had. And he had been so amusing, claiming he was no different from any other man, when he was not only a giant but an exceedingly handsome one. But then to say his impatience had stemmed from being denied something he wanted. Her? She could not credit it.
She knew she was not beautiful. Her mouth was too wide and full for her small face, her hair an ugly black, her breasts so small they were not worth noticing. Her skin was good, her one saving grace, and people always seemed to notice her eyes first; whether that was good or bad she did not know. She could pass for pretty on her better days, she supposed, but that would be generous. She had servants more pretty, some truly beautiful like Eadwina. And she had seen for herself the type of woman Ranulf found attractive. She did not even come close.
So why would a man as magnificent-looking as Ranulf Fitz Hugh say such a thing? Her worth was in what she could bring to her marriage, not in herself. She had always known that. And yet he had said it, and for a moment she had felt such heady pleasure in hearing it—before she discredited it.
And then their roles had somehow been reversed. She had listened to him doubtinghisown worth, giving her an inkling of what had been bothering him these past days, that he truly did not believe she could think he was the best man for Clydon. Why would he even care what she thought? That had made no sense at all.
His impatience had then returned and she discovered he really did want her. ’Twas no pretense. The coiled tension in him had been palpable all along, but the reason for it became clear only then, when his hand had followed his eyes to the apex of her womanhood, and her glance in that moment happened to take in the hard bulge in his braies. For whatever reason, last night he had felt a powerful lust for her—probably because shehaddenied him, and he had just warned her he did not deal well with denial.
That triumphant laughter, though, that had so amazed her, she still did not understand, especially coming after that embarrassing question of his about whether she had been unprepared for him last time. He obviously remembered naught of last time or he would not have had to ask. And recalling that she was so prepared for him before brought that same moist warmth into her loins. And then his laughter, the first she had ever heard from him, changing him, making him seem an entirely different man, one not so churlish and gruff and unapproachable.
But it had not lasted. If he had not jumped on her the second time, it still seemed as if he had, in such a feverish haste had he been to have from her whatever it was he got. Remembering that reminded her of the frustration she had felt, and her brows drew together. Would it always be like that, quickly on and quickly off? Was that normal, and the fault her own that she was not fast enough with her responses?
Sounds from the bed drew her attention, and she saw with surprise that daylight had banished all shadows from the room. The lone candle she had lit to don her bedrobe and prepare the evidence on the sheets had sputtered out, but was no longer needed. She had not even thought of those sheets last night, so ’twas fortunate she did awake early, allowing time for the “evidence” to dry before her ladies arrived for the traditional collection of those sheets.
Her twice-wed husband was sitting up in the bed, a frown creasing his brow that did not exactly disappear when he finally located her in the far corner of the window embrasure. “Hiding, lady?”
“In plain sight, my lord?”
His grunt was heard clear across the room. “Why did you not wake me?”
She uncurled her legs and found them stiff, so did not stand up just yet. “’Tis early, though you might wish to rise and dress now. There is no telling how soon our company will arrive.”
“Company? Ah, yes, how could I forget.” It was no question, and it was said most dryly. He looked down then at the few measly drops of blood she had smeared on the sheet next to him, and one golden brow shot upwards. “You do my manhood an injustice, lady, when in truth it wrought from you a full puddle of blood. Mayhap I should have produced the true sheet for inspection.”
