Knight of Her Heart (Conquering the Heart) (17 page)

Wise words from a truly wise man.

Remembering the unconditional love he’d received from both his parents made him yearn for them. They would still love him even though they may not have approved of all his actions.

Years ago, shortly after the battle at Bramham Moor, Rowan’s rage and bitterness had overtaken all common sense. He’d forgotten the wisdom of his step-father’s words and hadn’t been the man his father wanted him to be. Rowan had been weakened by his thirst for revenge and had not possessed the strength or resolve to practise forgiveness. In what he had convinced himself was the name of justice, he had performed a heinous deed which would stain his soul forever.

There was still one other against whom he sought revenge. The need to make Malin pay for the death of their mother and father still consumed Rowan. In all else he tried to be a man the baron would be proud of, but he would not rest until Malin was punished.

In Lisette’s case, he knew he must strive to forgive her completely—just as the baron had forgiven his mother.

In forgiving Lisette they would have some chance of happiness. She was committed to making their marriage work—and not just for the protection of her unborn babe. The physical attraction between them was stronger than he had experienced and he was certain ’twas reciprocated. He didn’t expect he would ever experience the love Baddesley had known for his mother, nor did he want it. The vow he’d made never again to leave himself vulnerable to the pain of a loved one’s betrayal still provided impenetrable armour around his heart.

The brother he had tried so hard to love had betrayed that bond in the cruellest way. The woman he’d loved and thought to marry, Lady Eleanor, had turned against him when she’d realised he was a bastard son, with no prospects of inheriting title or property. When he had been banished from Baddesley keep to be hunted down like an animal, she’d stood in the crowd and joined in the jeering. The sounds of her scorn had been louder than any other and had haunted his sleep for years. Her contempt had cut and scarred him more profoundly than the whiplashes at his back as he’d been driven from the only home he’d ever known. The wounds she’d dealt him when she’d married Malin were like blades to his heart. The scars of her betrayal were still carried even though they were less visible than the marks on his back.

Rowan was resolved to claim his husbandly rights this eve and consummate his marriage. Lady Lisette, would take her place in his bed. Mayhap, when his mission to destroy Malin had succeeded and he had eased his thirst for vengeance, their married life could be pleasant enough. But, he would not allow her a place in his heart.

Chapter 8

As the door to her chamber opened, Lisette’s hand froze in the process of brushing out her hair. The looking glass in front of her reflected Rowan’s image and she rejoiced as he entered the room.

He had come to her!

“Should you not have a maid to assist you?” A slight furrow appeared between his eyebrows. He closed and barred the door purposefully before he crossed the room.

“I dismissed her,” Lisette informed him breathily. “You promised you would help me this eve and I know you to be a man who keeps his promises.”

“Aye, I am a man of my word.”

He would keep another promise this night, she was sure. He would show her the ultimate pleasure.

One strong, masculine hand closed over hers and she thrilled at the physical contact. The size and power of his hand emphasised the slenderness and femininity of hers. The hairbrush was removed from her grasp with his other hand.

Not a word was spoken for several seconds.

In the silence that simmered between them, her heartbeat reverberated through her chest and up through her skull. The strong pulse at the base of her neck struck its own beat. Her body ached to close the distance between them completely so that she could be hard up against his frame.

Their gazes locked in the mirror. Rowan’s deep, green eyes held hers captive.

Releasing her hand, he gathered the heavy curtain of her hair in one hand and used his other to stroke the brush down through the strands. The brush slid through without a hitch. It created its own rhythmical, rasping music as bristles slid through natural silk.

“Your hair is fine, like spun-gold.”

The reverence in his tone caused her heart to surge with happiness.

Each stroke of the hairbrush increased the tension and anticipation, energising the air between them. Need built its own frenetic tattoo at the juncture of her thighs. Breaths came in quick, shallow and irregular inhalations. Small tremors ran down the length of her spine.

Finally, the exquisite stimulation of her scalp was over. Her warrior husband placed the brush on the ornate oak chest in front of her. His hands were on her shoulders as he lowered his face to her hair.

Held in a magical thrall, she was motionless as he inhaled deeply.

“You smell like an apple orchard.” Each word was satisfied. Appreciative.

Gulping hard, she swallowed down on her nerves.

He stroked her hair away from the nape of her neck and bent to kiss her vulnerable, exposed flesh. His lips burned a trail along the delicate skin before he nibbled at her ear in an unequivocal statement of intent. Shivers of longing raced from her neck down her arms to the tips of her fingers. A strange heaviness weighed her breasts while the mound of her womanhood throbbed. The light, teasing adoration of his lips had her trembling with longing. 

“Are you cold, my lady?”

Looking straight ahead she met his gaze in the mirror and sought the courage to speak honestly. ’Twas imperative he know she would speak to him forevermore with only absolute truth. “Nay, my lord. ’Tis your touch that has me trembling.”

“I will not hurt you, Lisette.” The rich timbre of his voice both soothed and thrilled.

“I tremble not with fear, but with...a strange excitement.”

There was a slight tightening of his hands on her shoulders. A kiss against her neck, just below her jaw line, triggered another series of quivers through her frame.

“You welcome your husband to your bed.” There was just a hint of inflection in his words that conveyed his words were partly a question. The earnest sincerity as he looked at her once more in the mirror told her that he would welcome her affirmation that she lusted for him. He treated her with great honour and respect, for they both knew he had absolute right to claim his conjugal rights even against her will.

“I wish to be your wife in all ways, my lord.”

He pressed a kiss to her hair. “’Tis good that it is so.”

When he extended his hand to her, she turned wordlessly toward him.

Placing her hand in his, Lisette was never more aware of his strength—the tempered steel of his body and the muscled breadth of shoulders, almost twice the width of her own. Excitement surged through her at the knowledge that this handsome knight was her husband and would soon become her lover.

She noted the tautness of his skin over high cheek bones and the slight flush to his complexion. The naked hunger blazing from him told her of his need to make her his. ’Twas so intense she nearly lost her nerve. Anticipation of his love-making tightened her womb. Her blood heated to boiling point so that she was half-afraid she would erupt in a conflagration of desire. Yet part of her was overwhelmingly shy.

His fingers still intertwined with hers, he raised one hand and pushed a stray tendril of hair away from her forehead. The gesture was unhurried and achingly tender.

Parting her lips she sought to banish her shyness as she rose boldly on her tiptoes to touch her mouth to his. A soft sigh escaped from her. The tentative kiss was experimental. Rowan stood utterly still as she explored the texture of his lips. They were as warm as she remembered. Firm. Sensual.

With a half-groan, he encircled her with his arms and pulled her possessively against the raw, male power of his body. Their kiss was broken as her head fell forward against the brawny breadth and heat of his chest. He was divine and this was exactly where she wanted to be. She breathed in the faint scent of the sandalwood and citrus of his soap mixed with the essence of pure male. ’Twas an additional stimulus to her senses and filled her with hedonistic delight. She revelled in his physical strength and placed a hand over the spot where his heart beat hard and fast. Awed that she could affect him in this way, she tilted her head up so she could see his expression. He claimed her lips immediately.

There was no gentle coaxing in this kiss. His mouth devoured hers with unconcealed hunger. The slow building of the need between them this night was over. His lips demanded her response fiercely, swept her up in a passionate inferno so that she answered his mastery with fevered eagerness as he stamped his possession upon her.

His tongue tasted of sin as it glanced into her mouth and stroked slowly, tantalisingly, over hers. The erotic action caused her to press her body closer. She trembled in shocked delight as she felt the hard rigidity of his manhood pressing against her abdomen. Her husband was very aroused and she was thrilled that she could affect him this way.

A virgin she was not, yet she’d never given herself to a man before—only taken from one. This would be different, but she wasn’t sure how. Previously she’d had to control the coupling. She wasn’t sure what was expected of her in submitting to his dominant role, but knew she would yield willingly to his mastery and follow wherever he led her.

More than anything, she wanted to please Rowan this night and lay a foundation for their future as husband and wife.

He broke off their kiss and both of them breathed in raggedly. A fine sheen of perspiration coated his brow.

“Raise your arms, Lisette,” he commanded.

She did as he bade and he whipped her chemise over her head. The cooler air whispered over her body but her blush at her exposed nakedness brought its own heat. The sharp, audible intake of his breath was the only sound in the room as she stood naked before him. ’Twas the first time a man had seen her completely naked and she trembled with nerves and uncertainty. Part of her wanted to cover herself or cringe away, but she banished that instinct when she dared to look at him and remembered the words he’d uttered to her on their wedding night when she had tried to cover her breasts. There was open admiration shining from his eyes. It gave her strength and confidence, enabling her to summon up courage and to stand tall and proud before him.

“You are truly beautiful,” he uttered in wonderment. “You are a goddess come to life in my chamber.”

Shaking her head, moisture gathered in her eyes as she whispered. “You, my lord, have come to my chamber, and you are like a powerful, ancient conqueror.”

“Aye, I am a powerful conqueror. Your conqueror this eve.” His lips twitched. “But you’ll bear witness that there is nothing ancient about me.”

Incredibly giddy and girlish and suddenly very daring, she felt her own lips curve upward into a smile. “I may be able to attest to that after closer inspection.”

His Adam’s apple rose and fell as he swallowed. “You are as bold as you are beautiful. Are you prepared to be conquered by me, my Lady Lisette?”

“Aye.” The word was only just loud enough to be heard above the wild hammering of her pulse.

He scooped her up in his arms as though she weighed nothing at all. The fabric of his tunic abraded her skin as she leant her head against his shoulder.

Rowan held her tight as he walked toward the luxuriously canopied bed. The coverlet had already been folded back. He lowered her gently onto the crisp, white linen. Momentarily, the scene of their wedding night replayed in his mind. He banished it quickly as he took in her lithe, feminine body, bathed in soft candlelight. No spectres of their wedding night would haunt this union.

His wife had a wonderfully alluring siren’s body that a man could simply drown in. Dainty feet with high insteps, gracefully long legs with firm calves and slender thighs, delicately flared feminine hips, a hand-span waist and the most magnificent breasts he had ever seen. ’Twas a maiden’s body with no sign, yet, that she carried a babe in her womb.

Sudden, swift regret stabbed at him. Her body would thicken and her breasts would ripen as her body bloomed with another man’s seed. Angry with himself for the thought, he pushed it aside. ’Twas not worthy of him for he had pledged to raise this babe as if it were the fruit from his own loins. He would lay claim to the infant in time. Now everything in him yearned to lay claim to his bride. Lisette was his and would be forever more.

He removed his tunic slowly, his gaze holding hers. There was such innocent, undisguised hunger in the blue depths of her eyes as she surveyed the naked flesh of his chest, that his arousal swelled larger and harder than he ever remembered. His loins were filled with incendiary heat.

“You like what you see,” he told her without false modesty.

“Aye.” She nodded slowly. “You are superb. The embodiment of virility, power and strong masculinity.” A cheeky light entered her eyes. “I concede there is nothing ancient about you, my lord.”

Vixen!

The need to possess her and find release as he plunged inside her, burned through his blood.

Unfastening the laces of his braies, his rod finally sprang free of its confines. It stood at the ready—large, thick and proud—from its nest of black curls. Masculine satisfaction thrummed through his veins when he saw the tide of pink embarrassment wash over her pale skin. Colour swept up from her chest to her forehead as her interest locked on his erection.

“It enchants me that you still blush like a maiden, even when you have seen a naked man before,” he told her.