At His Command-Historical Romance Version (19 page)

She sat on the bed, at just the right level for him to explore the wonders of her breasts.

“Ah, yes,” he breathed.

He lowered his head and relished her gasp as his mouth found her nipple. Her hands grasped his hair, drawing him closer. As he proceeded to lavish kisses on her other side, a loud growling noise rumbled in his ears.

“What was that?”

Embarrassment flooded her. Amice tried to hide it with a nervous giggle. “My stomach. I hardly ate anything at dinner, so I had this tray sent. I thought I could eat, but….”

He smiled, a cunning look in his eye. “We’ll eat something now, then.”

“Now?” she cried, fearing the mood broken, fearing he wouldn’t continue to make love to her.

When he kissed her breasts, the power of his desire poured into her. She’d never felt anything but mild distaste with Edwin. Now she knew she was on the verge of experiencing the heights of passion. She’d hoped so long for this moment only to eat cheese?

He smiled, reaching for the large platter of bread, cheese and fruit on the table beside a jug of wine and two cups.

“What have you been doing while we’ve been apart?” Nicholas asked as he tore off a piece of fresh white bread.

Amice started, her haze of desire fading. She felt exposed, and had a sudden urge to cover herself.

“Waiting with Margaret.” Copying documents for the king’s rival. Furthering York’s cause, easing his way to power, she thought as he cut a slice of cheese.

She couldn’t tell him that. Guilt sopped up her appetite. Though it had taken a while, he’d been honest to a fault with her, yet she concealed her involvement with York.

She swallowed. She’d tell him, soon. Selfish, perhaps, but she wanted a few hours with him. Nothing, nothing, would come between them this night. Not her omissions, not concern for the king.

This night was for her and Nicholas to share.

Gently, he pushed her back on the bed. Tearing off a small piece of bread and one of cheese, he placed the remainder of the food on her stomach.

“Open your mouth.”

Gazing at him, she complied. He placed the morsel of bread and cheese on her tongue. She chewed, licking her lips, not the least bit shy in front of the man she loved. There was no denying it, she loved Nicholas and would give him and take from him as much happiness she could. She swallowed, then smiled. A sensuous smile, she hoped. A smile of love.

Nicholas enjoyed this test of his will. Clearly Amice was aware of how the sweep of her tongue affected him. He’d see how long he could hold out.

He took another piece of cheese and fed it to her. She closed her lips around his finger and proceeded to lick off the remnants. The rhythmic, sucking motion of her warm, wet mouth augmented his already intense desire.

“Now I’m thirsty.” Smiling, she sat up and reached for the jug of wine, pouring some into a cup. Her curls slid seductively over her shoulder as she handed it to him.

Taking a sip, he bent toward her, letting the liquid trickle into her mouth. When it was gone, his lips replaced the wine and they shared a deep kiss. He gave her the cup, and they repeated the intimate drink.

Next he stroked her from the inside of her pretty thigh upward, enjoying her body’s soft yet firm feel, admiring the undulations of her breasts as he caressed them. She arched against his hand, silently urging it lower. He trailed his fingers across the dark triangle, venturing into the folds of her heated flesh. The wetness that greeted his probing sent a surge of need to his erection. She was ready, too.

His desire reached a fevered pitch.

Amice gasped with pleasure as his fingers found her. “More. I want more. All of you. Nicholas, now.”

He was happy to comply. As he adjusting his position, her gaze raked his body, from his chest to his flat stomach, then lower still. As her eyes widened at the sight of his hardness, need consumed him. He wanted to go slowly, to savor their first joining, but the instant he felt his flesh meet hers he lost control. He slid into her, deep and smooth. Both gasped. A powerful thrill coursed through him.

Amice gasped again and again, her pleasure increasing his as he joined her at the height of sensation.

They lay entwined as their breathing slowed, neither wanting to break the mood by speaking. What words could describe the passion they felt for each other, the overwhelming need, the incredible surge of feeling?

“I love you.”

“I love you too, Nicholas.”

He propped himself up on his elbow and stroked her face. One by one, he arranged her long curls into a fan on the sheets. There was no reason to say anything else. Further words would inevitably lead to a discussion of the future, their future, if there could even be one. There’d be too many questions with too few answers.

Had his heart ever been so full? He wasn’t the writer Amice was, and lacked eloquent words to express his sentiments. But he knew he wanted to look at her until his eyes were tired and then look at her some more. And then stop looking and start touching. He wanted to make love to her, help her, just be with her. No other woman had ever made him feel this way, satisfied beyond release, so at peace. And to feel at peace even in a time of turmoil was a great thing.

He wouldn’t let his awakening into love be marred by thoughts that she might be given to another man.

“Ah, Amice, I must go. It’s too late already,” he said.

Amice clutched him. She hadn’t had nearly enough.

She’d clenched his shoulders, overjoyed at his intensity, feeling bereft each time he temporarily left her, only to be renewed each time she was filled. Excitement vibrated through her. She didn’t want the waves to end. She’d spiraled ever higher, holding her breath as the peak washed over her. How would once be enough?

“Stay a little longer. How can I go on as though everything is the same? Everyone who looks at me will surely see the way I feel for you shining in my eyes. They’ll know. I can’t dissemble as they do.”

Slowly, with obvious reluctance, he eased himself out of her grasp. “Fortunately, everyone has other things to worry about.”

“Yes and no,” Amice said. “Of course they’re worried about Henry. But he’s been ill so long, people are starting to grasp at any diversion. The gossip would be worse than before.”

“We mustn’t give them anything to gossip about,” Nicholas decided. “We’ll have to take things a day at a time. Henry could recover, and then there will certainly be war.”

“Do you really think he’ll be himself again?” Amice asked.

“I have to.”

As he left her with a lingering kiss, as the moon waned, she couldn’t stop smiling. She’d finally brought some of her feelings for Nicholas out in the open, and they were returned. This was better than she, Joan and Maud had imagined all those years ago when they played at being married. A shadow dimmed her smile, because of course she and Nicholas weren’t married, and it was highly unlikely they’d ever be. She felt married to him in her heart. And knew she would love no other.

The thorn in her roses was her work for York. She’d have to stop, giving up something she enjoyed that made her feel valuable, and that served a great cause, or bring herself to tell Nicholas the whole truth.

On his way to break his fast, Nicholas recalled how Amice’s scent had washed over him as he entered her room last night. How beautiful she’d looked in the moonlight, in that thick robe that masked her lithe figure, motionless, eyes wide. Her hair had been down, tiny ringlets tumbling past her waist gleaming red in the glow of the many candles augmenting the firelight. If only they could be together more often.

Whispers and giggles from several women grouped in the corridor ahead caught his attention.

“I wonder when she’ll tell Amice. It’s about time something interesting happened around here,” one said softly. Margaret’s attendant, Eleanor Roos, he thought, but couldn’t be certain.

He tucked himself behind an open door.

“The queen said she couldn’t endure the somber atmosphere one more day,” whispered a second woman, Rose Merston. “She’s been lying-in for weeks. Though the baby could…any time, she is so bored, so frustrated. Even though she can’t attend, what better than a wedding to liven things up? To give people hope.”

Nicholas strained to listen, but could barely hear her. Had he missed anything of value?

“How fortunate we were to be in the room when Margaret made up her mind.” He recognized the third voice instantly. Belinda’s. “We’re the first to know! Who else shall we tell? Shall we go tell her now?”

Nicholas’s heart raced. Amice to wed, so soon. He’d lose her if they couldn’t find a solution, fast.

They’d been lax, thinking the queen had a lengthy list of far more important issues to handle before finding Amice another husband. Impending childbirth, Henry’s illness, deciding who should govern, to name a few.

The footsteps stopped in front of his hiding place.

“No, let’s relish our secret,” the first woman said.

“Besides, Margaret would be furious if we told, and she’d know it was us because we were the only ones there,” Rose added. “I know! We could tell some of our friends…and tell them not to tell.”

Another series of giggles.

“We must find out when the announcement will be.” Belinda again. “And be in attendance. I don’t want to miss the look on Amice’s face when she finds out who it is!”

Still more shrill giggling. Margaret’s ladies were so exasperating.

Nicholas clenched his fingers and tried to breathe quietly, fighting the urge to move
. Go away…. I don’t want to know any more! If you say his name—

“A member of the House of York, no less. Margaret will do whatever she can to stay in power, even if it means pacifying a few enemies.”

“Such urgency, to hold the wedding in a week. I think she worries Amice will try to run away like I heard she did when her first husband’s cousin wanted to marry her, if you can believe that.”

The voices faded as the three continued on their way.

Nicholas let out his frustration in a loud grunt. He leaned his back against the cold stone wall. Amice was to marry a Yorkist…in a week. Margaret must have gotten a dispensation to move things along so fast.

How could he go to Amice now, knowing what he knew? How could he tell her? How could he not? He’d thought they had more time to work out a solution, but Margaret had surprised him.

Nothing had really changed, not yet.

This new knowledge shattered the contentment that had been his only moments before.

Now that he’d admitted his feelings to her and more to himself, losing her would be all the more painful. Jealousy had soared when he watched her with William. How would he handle the agony of seeing her with this new betrothed…and wed within a week?

A vision of her lying in bed washed over him. Memories of making love were wonderful, but not as good as the real thing. Nor were they enough. But memories might be all he would have.

Amice couldn’t stop smiling. Her time with Nicholas was the best thing that had happened to her. The comfort of his heat remained with her and her body still tingled from his touch.
So this is happiness, this is love.
Even a summons to visit Queen Margaret in her lying-in chamber didn’t dampen her good mood. Surely the queen was too focused on the birth of her first child to think of arranging marriages.

She curtseyed to Margaret, who was propped up by piles of pillows and dressed in long robes. Perhaps Margaret wished to while away the time discussing Christine de Pizan or to recommend another book for her to read. Or maybe she was ready to enlist Amice as her scribe, as she’d suggested. If so, there was no way to refuse. But how would she handle working for York and Margaret, hostile, bitter opponents?

“I have news for you. I have found you another groom. Your third, is it not?” Margaret wasted no time on pleasantries, clearly uncomfortable in her final days of pregnancy and bored with her long lying-in.

Amice looked at her shoes, flushing as other ladies hid laughter or snide whispers behind their hands. Chilling fear wiped away her smile. What could she say? She was supposed to appear pleased that Queen Margaret had not only thought of her yet again, but had gone to such trouble on her behalf at such a time.

“You’ll wed in a week’s time, that the event might take place before the prince or princess arrives,” the queen added, patting her large midsection. “Well, Lady Amice? Have you nothing to say? Aren’t you curious about his name and standing?”

Margaret didn’t wait for Amice to answer, which was a good thing, for her throat had gone dry and her imagination had fled.

“He’s of the House of York, and highly ranked. Sir James Bourchier is his name. He’s one of York’s closest advisors as well as a relation of the Duke of Norfolk. This marriage is to show our good faith, to attempt to bind our factions. I wasn’t the proponent of this union, but others on the privy council persuaded me it would be for the best.”

Amice flushed again. Guilt washed over her like a cold rain, knowing that Margaret’s hope for unity through her marriage was a sham. She might reside with the Lancasters at their command, appear to be one of them, but her political heart was with the Yorkists. By now the duke himself knew this, too.