Lord of the Abbey (52 page)

Rowena blushed scarlet, snapped him again with her fan. “Behave yourself, my Lord. We are in company after all.”

Of course Lyon was highly amused with the entire exchange. He grinned broadly.

Micah was not yet finished with Harry. “Rowena, did you enjoy our encounter? If you did not, perhaps you might allow me to try again? I’ll do better this next time.”

Rowena and Lyon laughed aloud.

Harry glowered. “Enough, Micah! And no, you may
never
try that again. There will be no next time!”

A wide grin spread across Micah’s face as Harry turned back around. Lyon burst into a fit of amused laughter, before lifting a flask to his lips. Micah joined in his laughter, and accepted the flask from him.

“Ah, look there, Harry. Tristan has bested Newt just now, and they look to you to declare him the Champion of the Day.” Rowena smiled smugly when she saw Tristan grinning from ear to ear. She saw him glance longingly over to his waiting Lady Caroline.

“Humph,” Harry grumped aloud. “Micah, I must leave my wife in your care for a moment, and I trust you to remain vertical in my absence.” Harry placed Rowena’s hand on Micah’s arm when he stood. Both were unable to conceal their mirth as Harry stalked off.

Micah knew that Harry still worried for Rowena’s safety. No matter how he carried on, he trusted him with Rowena’s care. They learned just that morning that Amelia Whitely had indeed disappeared the very same night as Percy Davitt, just as they suspected. She left her manor shortly before ten o’clock that night with about one thousand pounds from her husband’s safe and a carriage and driver. All wondered if she rescued and took her lover Percy Davitt with her. She had not returned to the town since that night.

Rowena, Micah and Lyon laughed as Harry placed himself between Tristan and Caroline to award Tristan his prize, a bright and shiny, bronze crown.

“Poor Tristan and Caroline.” Rowena clucked her tongue.

“If Tristan is serious about obtaining Lady Caroline’s hand, I feel for him. Harry is not convinced it is a good match,” Lyon said with an indifferent shrug.

“I am glad you said that Lyon. For I think you may be far kinder toward Julyan Trevelyan than Harry is to poor Tristan.”

“Julyan Trevelyan? What? What do you mean, Rowena?” Lyon looked at her with a puzzled expression.

Rowena sighed, “Do not tell me, Lyon Ravenscroft, that you neglected to notice the attention Julyan pays to your sister, Sarah. It is quite plain they are interested in one another. Look there, is that not proof enough for you?” She pointed her fan in the direction where Julyan Trevelyan and Lady Sarah stood.

Lyon and Micah both followed Rowena’s gaze to see the strappingly handsome Julyan Trevelyan standing next to Lyon’s blonde sister, their heads bent close in conversation. Julyan leaned nearer to her ear when he next spoke to the beaming Lady Sarah. Lyon stood, his lips pursed in grim determination, “If you’ll excuse me a moment, Lady Glaston. Wincanton.” He began to slowly make his way with his cane across the tournament field.

“You mean he truly did not notice?” Rowena looked to Micah.

“No. Both Lyon and Harry still think of their sisters as little girls. Neither of them believe their colleagues could be interested in their ‘little’ sisters.”

“Well, they’re both in for a surprise, wouldn’t you agree?”

“Oh, indeed.” Micah and Rowena laughed.

“
Ah, I am to escort the Lady of the Lake! You’re a vision, Rowena.” Harry bent to taste his wife’s lips. And she was a vision.

Dressed in a Renaissance tunic style gown of shimmering aqua with large bell shaped sleeves of sheer and shimmering silver, the splits in the sides of the tunic revealed a silken underskirt of thin panels in alternating shades of aqua and different shades of palest blue shot through with silver thread. His Angel this night was transformed into a water goddess. He was once again reminded of Botticcelli’s Venus, save his own personal goddess was clothed. For now. The gown revealed her slenderness, but also accentuated the full womanly curves of her breasts and hips. One long thick golden braid trailed down her back, entwined with silver, aqua and blue ribbons. Wispy golden curls framed her lovely face. A circlet of fine silver crowned her head. And of course she wore the silver sword of St. Michael and the sapphire wedding ring he had less than a week ago placed on her finger.
His
wife.
His
Goddess.
His Love.

“I am proud to be escorted by none other than King Arthur, himself, tonight.” Rowena perused the handsome figure of her husband. He wore a tunic patterned after the Abbey coat of arms, a crystal cross on vert, with the small insignia of the Virgin and Child over his breast. Very fitting for the new Lord Glaston to wear, she thought. Of course, the design was her suggestion. Though he refused to wear hose alone under his tunic he did wear white breeches emphasizing his muscular legs and tucked into tall boots that fit his calves snugly. And on his head, he too wore a silver circlet crown which sported an emerald.

“Is that a real emerald, Sire?” she asked.

“Why, yes, my Lady. It is one from our recent cache of priceless gems.” His hand moved to the curve of her bottom. “May I ask what does the Lady of the Lake wear beneath her tunic?”

“Nothing, Sire.”

“Not even a petticoat?” Harry felt himself harden further.

“The tunic is quite form-fitting,” she explained.

“I noticed that very thing. I was wondering, because, I know I can’t make it through this long night without lifting your skirt, madam. That costume is quite alluring. I find myself aroused already. I shall no doubt have to pull you into some dark and deserted corner and introduce you to Excalibur.”

Rowena smiled. It was a very seductive sort of smile. “I do remember some time back you explained that there was a way to lift my skirts and make love in a very hurried but satisfying manner. But alas, you never taught me such a thing.”

“I recall that instance, my Lady.” Harry’s hand moved to her breast. “Shall I demonstrate?”

“We are due to be downstairs and in the receiving line in a quarter of an hour. Will we still be on time, do you think?”

“Close enough.” Harry took her hand and pulled her toward the sixteenth century wainscot chair. As she faced it his hand moved to rest between her shoulder blades. “Bend over, please, my Lady of the Lake,” he demanded huskily. She did as he bid. He placed each one of her hands on the thick sturdy arms of the chair. Harry moved to stand behind her. He lifted the hem of her tunic, then her underskirt and pulled them up to rest on top of her back, leaving him to view her bare bottom, and silk stocking covered and gartered legs. He slid her long, thick braid over her shoulder.

Rowena felt the cool air caress her naked skin. Felt the tingles of anticipation shoot through her limbs. Felt the heat begin to flame inside her. His fingers caressed her buttocks, brushed over her mound, then slid into her, readying her. She cried out as his cock entered her in one swift movement. Suddenly she was full and so close to the edge of release. She gasped. Sucked in a breath. Her legs trembled with her intense pleasure.

He groaned in anticipation when his fingers found her already wet for him. He lifted his own tunic, unbuttoned his breeches. His cock sprang free, fully engorged and ready. He inserted his fingers inside her fully to make certain she was ready for him. And she was. So hot and wet already. Placing his hands on her hips, he pushed into her fully. Her entire body trembled. There wasn’t much time in the last two days for love making, and it appeared tonight they were both strung tight, ready to explode. He moved slowly within her, until she moaned. Quite loudly.

Rowena felt so full, so close to exploding and they just started. She felt him so acutely this way. She moved her bottom up and back to take him deeper. She heard him groan. Felt his hands tremble on her hips. She did it again. He groaned again. The next time she exploded, white, hot heat engulfing her, pleasure coursing through her leaving her sated and trembling, her knuckles white as she grasped the arms of the wainscot chair.

Harry wasn’t finished. His rhythm increased. He moved quicker, deeper. There was the sound of skin against skin as he sunk into her heat again and again. She came again, moments before he fell headlong into the white hot abyss with her, expelling his seed inside her with a kingly roar.

“And that, my Lady, is how such a thing is done.” Harry explained, somewhat out of breath, as he cleaned her with his handkerchief. After placing a tender kiss to her exposed nape, he allowed the hems of his goddess’ gown to fall back to the floor.

“Very impressive, Sire.” She turned, reached up on tip-toe so she might kiss him passionately. Then she adjusted his tunic. “I am very partial to your, ah, Excalibur!”

“That is very good, for I believe Excalibur shall make another appearance before the night is done! Be prepared to sneak away with me so I may lift your skirt yet another time before the last guest has quit Stonedown.” He’d make certain she consumed many glasses of champagne before that time came.

“You and Excalibur are most welcome anytime, Sire. I await our tryst.”

Together, beaming, hand in hand, and somewhat flushed, they made their way downstairs. They dutifully joined the receiving line so they might greet their guests.

“Sir Lancelot!” Rowena greeted Micah. Her friend was dressed in silvery gray with a white tunic decorated with a blue fleur-de-lis.

“You’ll not steel away the King’s Lady this time, Lancelot!” Harry warned teasingly.

“That remains to be seen, Harry!” Micah replied good-naturedly. “I actually came to steal her for a mere dance. Trevan wishes to speak with you for a moment.”

“Is it a waltz?”

“No, the next is to be a Quadrille.”

“Then you may dance with my wife. All of the Lady of the Lake’s waltzes belong to me.” Harry nodded his consent. He watched Micah and his wife begin the Quadrille. He smiled. Micah was more like his old self than he had been in the last seven years since Lucy died.

Trevan came to stand beside him. “I received a message this afternoon that George Whitely confirmed that his wife left with a thousand pounds and a carriage from their stable. She also took jewelry worth another thousand pounds. I just received another message from my cousin, Jago, that the Whitely carriage was found in Manchester at The Bell yesterday. The woman, whom we believe to be Mrs. Whitely, and now calling herself Mrs. Jones, was not alone. A doctor was called to tend to the badly wounded man she traveled with, called Mr. Jones. They claimed they were set upon by Highwaymen, he being shot and stabbed, and their luggage stolen. Jago questioned the doctor, who said he felt Mr. Jones would not live through the next twenty-four hours after he examined him.”

“Are they still at the Bell?” Harry asked.

“No. The innkeeper found their room deserted yesterday morning. Carriage, driver and horses were left behind. No one knows where they went. Or how they left. The lady could not carry Davitt down the stairs herself, and he was apparently in no condition to walk on his own. The driver swears he did not assist the lady to bring the gentleman downstairs. Jago will remain in that area tomorrow to see if he can pick up their trail.”

“Damn!” Harry nodded with a grim expression. “He should be dead. You saw how much blood he lost.”

“We’ll find them, Harry. Don’t worry.”

Harry claimed his wife for the next waltz. He, no doubt, held her closer than propriety allowed, but he cared not for she was his wife. He made certain that his thighs brushed hers whenever possible. As their wedding day was filled with tension and even fear, he wanted her to remember this day and night for a long time. Their first entrance into society as Lord and Lady Glaston.

“Tristan and Caroline seem to be enjoying themselves, as do Julyan and Lady Sarah.” Rowena smiled up at her husband.

“Hmm.”

“I should try to find someone for Micah-“

“I confess, Rowena, I knew not of your proclivity for matchmaking before we wed.” Harry could not stop himself. He kissed the tip of her nose in the midst of the ballroom.

“I did not have one until I met all your friends, Harry. Aunt Frances, Sir John and I led a rather quiet, uneventful life. I had no one to make matches for. I am just so happy, Harry. And Tristan and Caroline…” she stopped mid-sentence, seeing his frown, “I wish Micah was happy too.”