Knight of Her Heart (Conquering the Heart) (19 page)

Lisette’s inexperienced, initial attempts to match his rhythm and rise to meet him thrust for thrust were clumsy. Yet they inflamed his ardour more than he would have thought possible. When she eventually found the right rhythm and her movements were in perfect counterpoint with his, her body became an extension of his. She moved with such faultless timing that storm clouds of passion gathered between them. The air charged with electricity. Blood thundered. Lightning sparked in his head. The storm raged on and on, buffeting him and threatening to shatter his control.

“Rowan...” she begged him on a half-sob.

He felt the slide of smooth calves upward along the outside of his thighs. She clutched his waist with her legs and tilted her hips. Then she arched hungrily toward him, creating a greater angle so he was able to thrust even deeper into her womb.

“I want...,” she panted, “I need...more.”

“More,” he agreed, almost mindless with fervent need.

Her calves urged his body into a more rapid tempo and he immediately and gratefully obliged. He pumped harder and faster and she met him thrust for thrust. The new, driving rhythm extended the swelling pleasure with each plunge into her depths. 

A fierce, swift clenching of her interior muscles around his shaft and a scream on a broken sob, then her fingernails scored down his back as she convulsed around him.

“Ride with it,” he gasped.

She shook her head, appearing to be in a daze.

Poised on the edge of a dagger’s blade, his entire being focussed on holding back his own cataclysmic orgasm, ’twas only when he was sure she must be reaching the end of
La petite mort,
that he permitted himself to succumb to the dictates of his body. The pressure in his neck built as his tendons strained. Her climax squeezed him hard. He threw his head back as acute pleasure pierced through him. Every muscle shuddered and he gave a low growl of triumph as his essence spurted hot and deep inside her with volcanic force.

For several long seconds, her inner muscles continued to clench and unclench, milking him with unrelenting, powerful pressure until he was completely drained of all his life force.

With a moan of appreciation at his ecstatic release, Rowan almost collapsed on top of her. Careful not to crush her with his weight, he rolled at the last moment, carrying her with him so she lay in the circle of his arms. Her head pressed against the fine mat of dark hair on his chest. She fitted against him perfectly—her soft curves a perfect contrast to the hard male angles of his body.

For a while they simply lay together savouring the memory of their lovemaking.

“That was amazing,” she finally whispered on a reverent sigh.

“No pain?”

“’Twas as you promised. There was only pleasure,” she affirmed with a smile. Her hand traced across his shoulder and down over his left bicep. “You are truly magnificent.”

The short laugh he let out was derisory. “My body is a mass of scars, but it still functions well enough.”

She propped herself on one elbow and gazed down at him with concern. “You said your scars don’t hurt.”

“Nay. There is no physical pain.”

“But there is still some mental anguish.” His astute wife nodded in understanding. “’Tis good that you are not self-conscious about the scars. I saw that you trained today without your shirt. You do not seek to cover your body and hide the terrible wrong that has been inflicted upon you.”

“My scars are evidence of that wrong you speak of. They do not shame me. Rather they shame my half-brother.”

The smile of agreement she gave him was full of admiration. Although he only spoke the truth and sought not to impress her with his words, her appreciation wrapped around him like a fire-heated blanket in a blizzard.

“You are very wise, my lord.”

“My name is Rowan, Lisette. I would have you use it.”

“Aye, Rowan.” Once more she rested her head against him and sighed.

The soft little sound she gave made him frown. There was something about it that made him pause. Something familiar teased at his memory, but he couldn’t identify it. Dismissing whatever the notion was, he tightened his arms possessively around her. “You are mine, Lisette. You are the one who is truly magnificent.” Nothing had prepared him for the force of their mutual passion.

He pressed a kiss against her forehead and took a deep breath as he allowed his body to relax. The scent of their lovemaking hung heavily in the air. Her musky arousal intermingled with the spice of his fulfilment and he wanted to savour the perfume forever.

“I had no idea bedding could be like that,” she confessed huskily as she pressed a kiss against the base of his neck and snuggled in against him.

“Nor, I,” he confessed, utterly exhausted. His limbs were weak and heavy. Never had he been so completely physically replete.

She tensed at his words, then raised her head sharply. Her blue eyes flashed with hurt. “You mock me, my lord, after what we have just shared?”

Her golden hair curled in wild disarray around her shoulders—soft and feminine and in stark contrast to the proud firmness of her chin that warned him that he should take her need for reassurance seriously.

“Nay, Lisette. ’Tis the truth I speak when I say that I have not known passion so fervent.”

Suspicion was still visible as she tilted her head in enquiry. “But I am untutored and you must have known many lovers—experienced lovers.”

His wife was insecure.

He shook his head and told her firmly. “My lady, my past is not open to discussion.”

“I find it hard to believe that—”

“Leave it, Lisette. A man does not discuss his past lovers with his wife.”

“But—” She yelped as he delivered a short slap on her bare rump.

“Do not argue with me.” His hand had not been hard enough to bring her pain, her cry had been more from surprise. The way she stared at him in utter indignation communicated bruised pride rather than bruised flesh, for he would never strike a woman to inflict damage.

“How dare you!”

“Curb your temper, Lisette, for it will do you no good against me.”

Flames ignited in her eyes and she attempted to push out of his hold. “You will not strike me, my lord.”

“And you, my lady, will not doubt my word.” He shook his head wearily as she struggled against him. “When I tell you I have never known a coupling so passionate—so fulfilling—you will believe me. I have no reason to lie to you.”

It took a few seconds for her to absorb his words and cease her struggling. Her frown cleared. Her features relaxed into the most beautiful smile of joy Rowan had ever witnessed.

There was excitement and hope in her voice as she confirmed, “Then there is real hope for our marriage, my lord.”

“Aye. I promise you I take our vows seriously, Lisette. I would never insult your position as my wife with infidelity, regardless of the pleasure or otherwise of our marital bed. But know that I speak true when I tell you I have never wanted a woman with the fierceness or urgency that heats my blood whenever you are near. Nor have I ever been as physically sated.”

Moisture filled her eyes and she looked ready to burst with sheer joy. This wife of his was an emotional creature who felt everything very deeply. She moved sinuously against his body as she positioned herself to kiss his lips.

Instantly his body stirred and his member began to swell and pulse as his blood rushed south.

“Not completely sated I would venture,” she teased and smiled with the power of a seductress who knew her mate was under her spell.

“Then, my lady wife, it is you who must take the blame and resign yourself to the consequences.”

“In this instance, I assure you I will be a most dutiful and obedient wife,” she vowed cheekily.

“In all instances you will be a most dutiful and obedient wife, my lady,” he warned.

Long after he had taken his lady on another journey of sensual delight and fulfilment, Rowan doubted Lisette would heed his warning. He suspected this spirited woman, who now lay sated and sleeping deeply in his arms, would sorely challenge him and try his patience at times. No other woman had ever been anywhere near as physically or mentally stimulating. Although he had not sought nor wanted a wife, there were going to be distinct advantages in this union. His future with the Countess of Romsey would certainly not be mundane. Whilst he had no intention of shattering her spirit, he acknowledged it may be a challenge to rein it in from time to time.

Just as his eyelids grew heavy and sleep beckoned him, he was roused by an insistent knock against the door.

“My lord, come quickly!” The voice of the captain of his knights was only barely audible through the thick oak. Even so, Rowan heard the urgency in his tone.

At this hour, the summons could only mean trouble.

Chapter 9

The short sharp rap on the door barely penetrated Lisette’s brain as she enjoyed her deep slumber. Pushing the sound to the back of her subconscious mind, she snuggled closer into the unfamiliar cocoon of human warmth, her cheek pillowed against the soft, fine mat of masculine chest hair.

“Rowan,” she murmured with contentment. As exhausted as she was, she registered she lay in her husband’s arms and relished it.

Even as she sought to drift into deep sleep again, her heavy limbs were levered gently, but firmly away from the cosy haven. Her brow furrowed. Seeking to reconnect with him, she shifted her limbs. The touch of linen against her naked body replaced the natural warmth of human flesh. On a moan of protest, her eyelids fluttered open and her hand reached out to him. In a room illuminated only by the silvery beams of moonlight which wedged their way between the slightly parted drapes, her eyes found his as he sat upright.

Instant connection raced through her—both physically and emotionally—when he caught her outstretched hand but set it away from him, intent on getting out of bed.

A knock sounded on the door.

At this hour?

She registered belatedly that ’twas a knock that had awakened her in the first place.

“I hear you, Sir Bradford,” Rowan called toward the closed door.

“What is it?” Lisette asked, scrambling half-upright.

“I’ll soon find out.” Rowan raised her hand and pressed his lips to it all-too-briefly before he got out of bed. “Go back to sleep, Lisette.”

Whatever was happening, it didn’t absorb her interest as much as the sight of her husband. A flash of yearning flickered through her core and she was aware of the pull of inner muscles between her thighs. Sensual need ignited as she watched her husband pull on his braies and his breeches with haste. ’Twas impossible to summon sleep when her awareness was glued to the splendour of his half-naked male form.

This man was still a stranger to her in so many ways and yet he knew her body more intimately than any other person. He had taught her to know her own body’s natural responses and realise needs she’d never known existed.

Amazing memories of his recent lovemaking crashed back with the ferocity of ocean waves breaking against a rocky shoreline. Sweet sensations rippled through her as she recalled the intensity of his passion. A masterful lover, he had kept his own pleasure at bay until she had been totally fulfilled. The tautness of the tendons in his neck and the strain on his face had communicated what it cost him to hold back until he’d gifted her with divine pleasure. How fortunate she was to have such a virile, generous lover when she’d originally expected to be forced to share Lord Collins’ bed.

A shudder of revulsion wracked her frame at the thought of the older man taking such liberties with her body. There was no question of Collins ever being a threat to her or to Genevieve again, for Rowan had received word that Collins had been found guilty of his murderous crimes by the royal court and had swung from the gallows.

Rowan would never have to force her to his bed for she would go willingly wherever her warrior husband led. Now she knew what lovemaking was all about. Finally she understood the bliss and contentment to be found in the marital bed.

Lisette wanted to experience the delight again. There could be nothing more heavenly than to enjoy the power of Rowan’s body for all eternity. The fact that the ecstasy they found in each other was mutual, would surely bring her closer to this man who was her husband.

What was it that was so critical that they would be interrupted after having retired to their chamber for the night?

Once he was decently covered, Rowan’s long, urgent strides took him toward the door. Instinctively she drew the bed linen up high to her chin to cover her nakedness when the door opened, even though she knew it would be impossible for Rowan’s captain to see her from the doorway.

The light from a torch burning in a sconce outside in the corridor, flickered over her husband’s bare chest. Every well-defined muscle would be a dream model for a master sculptor. Her fingers itched to trace over the contours.

“What is it, Sir Bradford?”

The deep, authoritative tone of Rowan’s voice thrilled her. There was no doubt he was a leader among men—a man she could depend on. So innate was his confidence and ability to command he wore it draped around him like a cloak. It inspired her trust and admiration.

“Your pardon, Lord Rowan,” the knight began.

Lisette’s ears hung on every word while her eyes devoured the Earl of Romsey’s bare masculine torso. Moonbeams caressed the criss-crossed flesh of his naked back. It mattered not to her that he bore such scars—they merely made her feel outraged on his behalf that he had suffered so unjustly. In her view they did not detract from his physical perfection.