Desired (51 page)

Christian arrived for her as the last pins were set into place. “How regal you look, my love,” he complimented.

Her reply held a barb. “Good enough for a prince?”

“Indeed,” he nodded, refusing to be baited.

The chapel was packed to the doors, but the crowd made way for the newlyweds to pass inside. All were shocked that the Arabian had killed his brother then married his brother’s betrothed, but the king apparently accepted Robert de Beauchamp’s death as an accident and sanctioned the union of Hawksblood and Brianna of Bedford. All the royal Plantagenet family were present for the christening. A chair had been provided for Queen Philippa, while King Edward held the child.
Like a trophy
, thought Brianna.
All men are vain. Especially when it comes to symbols of their virility!

Because he was so tall, she saw Prince Edward’s golden head as he stood with the other princes and princesses. When Joan had her baby, he wouldn’t be able to claim his child. Joan was now Lady Holland and her and Edward’s child would be a Holland. Brianna’s heart ached for Joan. For Edward she had no pity. He was a bloody man, and a powerful one. If he could not marry Joan honorably, he should never have had his lustful way with her!

She glanced briefly at her new husband and was surprised at the look on his face. He was so tall he could watch the christening over the heads of those in front of him. His face was so tender as he watched the baby. Wistful too. The look told her plainly he longed for a child of his own. Brianna suddenly felt faint. Instantly his eyes were on her, his arm at her back to steady her, and she could have sworn he looked at her with infinite tenderness for a fleeting moment before his mask fell back into place.

And then the ceremony was over and they were being jostled by the crowd as the entire Court made its way to the Banqueting Hall. She felt Hawksblood grip her hand so they would not get separated. A long trestle table covered
with white satin displayed the christening gifts that had been presented.

“Oh dear, I gave no gift,” Brianna murmured.

“I sent one from both of us.”

“Which?” she asked, looking at the presents.

“The heart-shaped locket with the ruby and seed pearls,” he murmured low.

Brianna almost gasped at the size of the ruby. It must be worth hundreds of pounds. Was he already dipping into Warrick’s coffers, or God forbid, Bedford’s?

As her husband held her chair for her, she glanced at him and said, “I don’t really wish to be here.”

“We’ll find an opportunity to slip away soon,” he assured her.

Now she was in a fever to stay!

“Have you eaten anything today?” he asked with solicitude as the toasts to the new princess began.

Brianna shook her head, realizing she had not. No wonder she felt faint in the chapel.

“Just sip the wine,” he warned.

Instead, she drank it down quickly, draining the cup.

“You have already broken your vow to obey me. And done it deliberately, Brianna.”

As it bloomed bloodred inside her breast, she shrugged a careless, shapely shoulder. “Since I made them under duress, I’ll likely break them all before I’m done. One precious vow at a time!” As she lifted her cup as a signal for it to be refilled, he took hold of her wrist and squeezed. The cup fell from her fingers.

“You are ridiculous. There is absolutely no question about it; when I give orders, you will obey them or you will be made to obey them. The choice is yours.” His eyes impaled her.

I hate you!
she thought.

“You do not,” he said emphatically.

My God, he read her thought. Now she hated and feared him!

The corner of his mouth went up ironically. “You do not fear me overmuch, lady, or you would not dare provoke me.”

Brianna forced herself to concentrate upon the dishes
before her. She took a slice of lamb, an artichoke, and a little watercress. She managed to chew and swallow a mouthful of meat then picked the petals from the artichoke and lifted one to her mouth.

Christian bent toward her. “You do realize that is an aphrodisiac?” He kept a straight face as she pushed the plate away. When the final course was served she took a small wedge of cheese and a piece of christening cake. She timed her next move perfectly. While Ali offered rosewater to cleanse Hawksblood’s fingers, she picked up her husband’s wine goblet and drained it.

With sudden insight, he realized she needed courage for what lay ahead. He spoke low to Ali, but she heard every word, as no doubt he intended. “Prepare a bath for my lady, then the rest of the evening is yours.”

“
W
e will leave now,” Christian murmured.

“We cannot offend the Plantagenets,” Brianna protested low.

“All here know we were wed this morning and tonight is special to us. Come, Brianna.” He stood up and took her hand. As she arose from the table she was slightly unsteady and he knew the wine affected her a little. He felt the tremor of her hand as his fingers curled about it.

As they moved down the long passage that led from the hall, she said, “If I am to bathe, I will need privacy.”

He squeezed her hand and bent his dark head toward her. “We will have complete privacy, beloved. Ali knows we wish to be alone.”

“That isn’t what I meant!” she objected as they reached their apartment. Ali had lit a fire and set the bath in the bedchamber. The servants were just departing with their empty buckets.

“I have laid out the perfumed oils and towels, my lord. Is there anything else you desire?”

“My lady desires privacy, complete privacy. Please see that we are not disturbed this night.”

Ali bowed and closed the door.

Brianna swung about. Her cheeks were flushed, her eyes brilliant. “You know exactly what I mean! Privacy from you!”

Christian moved toward her purposefully. With his eyes on hers, he lifted his hands to draw out the pins from her coronet. His fingers had been aching this past hour to touch her glorious hair, to take it down, to see it in all its glory. “I cannot understand your shyness, sweetheart. We have already been lovers and yet you needed the wine to give you courage.”

“I don’t need courage, I need privacy!” She tried to pull away but his fingers entangled in her hair made it painful, so she stilled.

“We have total privacy. No one will ever see what we do this night. No one will hear our love cries. None will ever know what intimacies will take place in this bath, in that bed.”

She was bristling with anger now, as was his intent. Her anger would drive out her fear. Her beautiful eyes seemed filled with green sparks. “I will not undress and bathe in front of you!”

His fingers stroked her golden hair and spread it about her shoulders. “There is no need. I will undress you and bathe you.” Even as he spoke his fingers had undone the lacing at the side of her tunic.

Her fury made her breathless. “You are a devil … an Arabian devil!”

His sure hands removed the tunic and moved to the underdress. “And you are the bride of an Arabian devil.”

His words sent a tremor through her body. She could feel the heat of his powerful hands through the fine material of her underdress. One hand moved up to cup a full breast while the other moved beneath her skirt and slid up her thigh. She was all ashiver at the way he touched her.

“My beautiful, beautiful Brianna. I want to explore you until I come to know you fully. I want to see you hissing and spitting with fury, I want to see you laughing and crying and loving. I want to see you in a tower of passion that
topples at my touch, and then I want to see you experience them all over again when you are naked.” His hands almost succeeded in removing her underdress.

“No!” she cried, stubbornly clinging to the diaphanous material.

“No? You need a little more courage before you feel ready to embark on the journey to womanhood?”

Brianna had no ready reply to the outrageous things he said to her. He moved across the room to a cabinet and poured wine into an exquisite chalice. Then he returned to her and towered above her, far too close for her comfort. She reached out to take the golden cup, but he took her hand and placed it upon his hard muscled chest, then he himself lifted the wine to her lips. “We will share,” he murmured huskily. “We will share everything as lovers.”

She lowered her dark, gilt-tipped lashes and quaffed the golden wine. His hand allowed her to take all that she wanted, all that she needed. “Drink deeply of the cup of life, the cup of love,” he murmured low, his voice as rich as dark velvet.

When she looked down at herself she saw that she was naked. When had he removed her last garment? He drained the last mouthful she had left him and she watched, mesmerized, as he brought his lips down to hers and gave her the wine-rich kiss. His mouth tasted like Heaven and hell. She hated him, loved him, loathed him.

Christian savored the loveliness before him. He lifted her hair and let it tumble back against her skin. Golden silk against cream satin. He cupped her face, his long fingers tenderly curving about her cheeks, then his lips brushed her brow, her cheekbone, the beauty mark. The tantalizing cleft of her chin drew the tip of his tongue to trace its shape, and then at last his mouth took possession of hers in a kiss that explored her scented, wet alcove, her wine-drenched sweetness.

The deep, sensual kiss engaged all her senses so completely that she did not feel his hand slip between her legs. She became aware of it only when the heat from his strong palm cupping her whole mons seeped up inside of her. She felt his other hand slide down the curve of her back, beneath
her hair and come to rest firmly upon her rounded bottom.

And then he lifted her!

“Hawksblood, no!” she cried out, and had to cling to him to prevent herself from falling.

His wicked mouth teased hers. “Christian, say Christian. I want to taste my name upon your lips.”

“Devil! Devil! Devil! What does that taste like?”

“It tastes wicked and wanton and wondrously sinful.”

She gasped with exasperation and then surprise as he lifted her high, then lowered her into the warm, scented water, carefully draping her hair outside the bath. He knelt beside the tub and reached for the sponge.

“No! Please, Hawksblood, allow me to bathe myself.”

“Say Christian.”

“Please, Chris—” Before she had finished his name, his mouth possessed hers, savoring the feel of it upon her lips. As a reward for obeying him, he placed the sponge in her hand and stood up. A sigh of relief floated from her lips, but before the sigh was completely released, she drew in a swift breath. Jesu, he was taking this opportunity to strip naked. She dare not look away from him for fear of what he would do next, this maddening, infuriating husband of hers.

Brianna’s eyes widened at the pure splendor of him. She had forgotten the physical perfection of the man. He was as darkly beautiful as some mythic god. The firelight reflected upon the sheen of his skin, highlighting every muscle and lithe sinew of his chest and iron-hard thighs.

The heat of the water and the wine combined to make her body tingle. It turned traitor on her and began to remember the sensual sensations he had aroused in her at Bedford. A longing began, an aching that intensified relentlessly. The emptiness inside her magnified a thousandfold. Her body needed to be filled. She was skin-hungry, needing his touch. She was ready to scream.

She watched him move about the chamber. He spread a big, thirsty towel before the fire, took the stopper from an alabaster flagon and set it beside the towel. Then he was coming for her. When he lifted her from the water, she shivered as the cool air touched her warm skin.

He laid her on the towel before the fire and spread her golden tresses in a glorious halo about her head. The water that clung to her skin slowly evaporated in the warmth from the fire. Some of the drops, however, formed tiny rivulets between her breasts, around her navel, at the vee of her thighs. Christian bent down to lick the iridescent drops from her damp body, until she was shivering from head to heels.

“Oh God, oh God,” she whimpered, wanting him to stop, wanting him to continue forever.

He poured scented oil from the flagon into his palm, warmed it at the flames, then smoothed it with a sweeping, sensuous stroke down her throat, between the valley of her breasts, across her taut belly, then down to her thighs. The fragrance of myrrh and lemon almost stole her senses and her skin turned from ice to fire as he stroked and massaged her firm young flesh until it gleamed in the fireglow.

His voice, low, vibrating with dark passion flowed over her. “I want what we feel to go deeper than love, for the soul has greater depths. Love, like the symbolic wedding ring, has no beginning, no end. Deepest passion, once it starts cannot be stopped. When I take you to bed, inside the curtains, in the dark, we will trace what we feel back to the root of love. You must surrender everything you know, everything you are, with abandon.”

Brianna was in a fever of need as he lifted her and carried her to the bed. But it was a purely physical need he had aroused in her, it had nothing spiritual about it. It had nothing to do with a meeting of their souls. She could feel his thick shaft rub against her thigh, hot and hard as the great iron poker that stood against the fireplace.