Love Everlasting (7 page)

In that instant when Julianna, partially
impaled on the hard shaft of his desire, voiced concern for him,
Royce knew he could never just take from her. If they were to have
any hope of a peaceable marriage, he must do as he had intended
when he first took her into his arms. He must teach her the ways of
pleasure, even if it meant foregoing his own.

“Will you trust me?” he asked, holding
himself perfectly still. “Just for a few moments more?”

“Yes, my lord.” Her grey gaze did not waver.
“Tell me how I can help you.”

“Begin by kissing me.” He lowered his mouth
to hers. “And don’t fight me. Trust me, Julianna.”

His mouth met hers and after a moment he felt
her response, fearful at first, then warming to the caress of his
lips on hers. She moved beneath him and he slid a little farther
into her tightness. She gave a soft cry as he filled her. Then she
gaped at him in amazement and he knew she had never before that
moment been completely possessed by any man.

“Royce, this is all so strange.”

He thought it fitting that she used his given
name for the first time at the very moment when he made her
his.

“Have I hurt you?” he asked, wishing she’d
tell him he felt wonderful inside her. But not yet; he knew better
than to expect that kind of excitement from a near virgin.

“No,” she said thoughtfully, “there’s no
pain. I was a little uncomfortable at first, but now I’m just
feeling very full. You are so huge.”

“Thank you for the compliment.” He smiled at
her, but he knew he couldn’t last much longer. He had restrained
himself to ridiculous lengths and now his body, tightly encased in
her moist heat, was demanding immediate completion.

“Royce, I need to move.” Julianna sounded as
desperate as he felt. “I cannot lie here quietly.”

“Move all you want,” he said. “Do whatever
you want. Scream if you like.”

“Oh, I could never scream. It’s just that I
want - I want something more.” She wriggled beneath him while he
bit hard on his lip to make himself remain still until she had
accommodated herself to his presence. “Royce, please, what’s
happening to me? I never felt this way before. Not ever.”

“I’m glad to hear it.” He reached down
between them to caress the place where their bodies were joined.
Julianna did scream then, not in pain, but in the first stage of
the pleasure he wanted to give her.

Royce finally released the tight reins he’d
held on his passion and began to stroke into her, harder and
faster, until he felt her convulse around him and heard her cry out
his name. And at that glad sound he soared with her to the pinnacle
of a joy so intense it left him shattered and humbled.

For a long time Royce lay sprawled across
Julianna’s body, too stunned by what had occurred between them to
make the attempt to separate himself from her. He knew he ought to
remove his weight from her. He was crushing her into the mattress.
Yet he could not summon up the strength to move. He wanted to
remain as he was, still partly embedded in her moist warmth, still
breathing in the tangy fragrance of her perfume.

“Royce?” Her fingers roved over his head,
threading through his hair, caressing his face. Royce moaned softly
and her hands stopped their pleasing movements. “My lord, are you
ill?”

He wanted to joke that he was dead and
happily so, but he caught himself just in time. Julianna was likely
to take him seriously.

“Not ill,” he murmured. “Nor dead, either.”
To prove his point, he pushed his hips against her, feeling his
member beginning to stir to hard life again. So soon. So
easily.

He wasn’t certain whether it was the
remaining mysteries of Julianna’s lovely body, which were still
waiting to be thoroughly explored, or the deeper, possibly darker
mysteries of her mind and heart that made him ache to possess her
body and soul, to know her completely, to probe every fascinating
crevice, every moist opening, every secret thought and hope and
dream of her innermost heart.

He raised his head to see her lying beneath
him with her eyes closed and her lips parted, absorbed in her
body’s reaction as she tentatively thrust to meet his growing
hardness. He saw a woman married for more than half of her life,
yet deprived of passion, or even affection, for all of that time. A
sensual woman, easily roused to hot desire.

He kissed her warm mouth, caressed her
exquisitely sensitive breasts, then drove himself into her with his
own overheated need, until she shuddered into ecstasy even as he
watched her reaction from some distant, detached part of his mind,
knowing he had found, in her body and his, the perfect weapons with
which to trap and destroy her....

If she was disloyal, as King Henry believed
her to be. If she was truly guilty of spying for the French. As he
found his own release and poured himself into her, Royce prayed the
king was wrong. For if her deeds condemned her, if he had to
imprison Julianna, or hand her over to the executioner, he knew he
would never cease to yearn for the passionate ardor he had so
unexpectedly discovered in her.

Julianna was quite beyond thought. She could
only hope that Royce would want to do the same things to her again,
and soon, so she could feel the soaring, bursting emotion that
twice now had left her shattered, yet completed.

His head was on her shoulder, his face
nestled in the curve of her throat, and his breathing was slowly
returning to normal. She liked the warmth of his breath on her skin
and the weight of him pressing her down. Heaven help her, she liked
the sensation of Royce surrounding her, of him plunging deep inside
her, possessing her, making her his.

It was the most dangerous sensation she had
ever experienced. She could not allow herself to care for him. If
she was going to save herself, she needed to be on guard against
him. But how could she remain on guard when she longed to open
herself to him, to accept him and be completely honest with him?
That way, she knew, lay certain imprisonment and probable death.
Worse; if Royce knew everything about her, he’d never want to take
her in his arms again.

The only way she could think of to avoid the
humiliation of his rejection was by allowing him to think she
didn’t care at all, that his display of masculine passion had left
her unmoved, unaffected, indifferent to him. She could do it. She
had taught herself never to reveal what she was thinking or
feeling. For too many years her only safety had lain in self
containment and apparent indifference. She would not, dared not,
allow Royce to be any different from her other husbands.

“After this night,” Royce said, removing
himself from her, “no one can possibly question the validity of our
marriage.”

He pounded the linen-covered pillows into a
neat pile and sat with his back against them, pulling the sheet and
the quilt around his waist. Folding his arms across his broad,
manly chest, he regarded her with a smile that Julianna found much
too calculating.

So, she thought, disappointed in spite of her
understanding of the situation and her decision never to reveal her
own feelings, her original assessment of Royce had been correct.
Perhaps skill in bed was an important quality for a master spy.
She’d heard that he was the best of spies. Tiny, exquisitely
sensitive muscles deep within her body clenched at the memory of
what he’d done to her.

“Well, my lady?” he asked in a way that told
her he expected an enthusiastic affirmative response from her.

“It was - not completely unpleasant.
Comparatively speaking.” She grabbed a fistful of sheet and covered
her breasts. Wanting to be on equal terms with him, she seized the
remaining pillows and made a place for herself next to, but not
touching him. And she, too, sat with her arms folded over her
chest.

“Compared to what?” Royce demanded. “Two
elderly husbands?”

“Not exactly. You are not quite as old as I
originally supposed,” she responded. Her grave comment was met by a
crack of laughter that lacked any true mirth.

“About those two previous husbands,” he said.
“I have a few questions to ask you.”

Julianna had never seen a lion and she hoped
she never would. She imagined the man sitting next to her as
similar to that fabled beast, all tawny, red-gold strength and
sleek, masculine grace, a creature handsome to observe at rest, but
terrifying when roused to anger.

So far, Royce had been kind to her, gentle
and fierce at the same time, and he had given her moments of
indescribable passion and beauty. But she could not afford to lie
to herself; she knew that what he had done to her had nothing to do
with affection. He had only been trying to make the necessary
consummation as pleasant as possible for both of them. If he ever
learned the truth about her, she would see the forceful, outraged
male lion who lurked beneath his deceptive gentleness. He would
destroy her without hesitation.

“Begin with your first husband,” he ordered,
seemingly unaware of the apprehension that paralyzed her and
prevented her from fleeing his bed as she wanted to do. “Tell me
about Lord Armand of Dol.”

“This is neither the time nor the place to
discuss my former marriages,” she protested.

“I think it is the perfect time and place. I
assume your father arranged your marriage to Lord Armand?”

“He arranged both of my marriages,” she said,
giving in to the need to provide at least partial information in
hope of placating his curiosity. “Exactly what do you want to know,
Royce?”

“Everything,” he answered. “I know almost
nothing about you, or about your life.”

“I am not especially interesting.” She knew
that excuse wasn’t going to put him off, but she needed a moment or
two in which to think about what she ought to tell him - and what
she absolutely must keep hidden.

“Nevertheless.” A smile curved his mouth,
then vanished quickly, to be replaced by an expression of
sympathetic interest that Julianna dared not trust. “Tell me all of
it, my sweet. I’m willing to listen.”

How encouraging he sounded, how mild and
gentle. Perhaps, she decided, unimportant details would help her
effort at concealment.

“Very well, then,” she said, and proceeded to
offer a brief account of her life. “I was raised in a convent in
Brussels, because my mother was dead and my father spent most of
his time at court. I remember being happy and enjoying learning to
read and write. My contentment did not last long. I was just
fourteen when my first woman’s bleeding came upon me. The abbess
sent word to my father at once, and he sent an armed escort to
conduct me to court.

“When we met, Father told me the bleeding was
a sign that it was time for me to marry. He explained that all men
use their children as a way to attain lands and power for
themselves. It seemed reasonable to me; as his only child, I was
his sole chance to increase his property. He informed me that the
arrangements were already made. He and his old comrade in arms,
Lord Armand of Dol, had already drawn up the marriage contract.
They had only been waiting until I was old enough to bear
children.”

“None of this is unusual,” Royce said.
“Though I do entertain a strong personal feeling that girls who wed
at a later age bear healthier children and live longer, healthier
lives, themselves. Go on, Julianna.”

“As I said, I was fourteen. Lord Armand was
fifty-six years old. We were married for two and a half years. I
was not yet seventeen when he died.” She knew the story was
unremarkable, except for one small, yet vitally important detail.
“Lord Armand had a son by his first wife. Both the son and the wife
died during a winter pestilence. He wanted more children to inherit
his lands, and he believed a young second wife would give him the
heirs he needed.”

“Earlier tonight, you offered to assist me,”
Royce said. “Which makes me ask whether Lord Armand was able to
consummate your marriage in the way we just did?”

“Not on the first night. I was so
apprehensive about what was to happen that my woman’s time came
upon me again. There was blood on the sheet, and because it was my
blood, Lord Armand said it provided sufficient proof. He made me
swear never to tell anyone, but it scarcely matters now, does it,
since he is dead? Later, he showed me how to help him. He tried
over and over, night after night. Sometimes, he seemed to succeed.”
She stopped, thinking about the nights of her first marriage. After
having been possessed by Royce, she knew that even Lord Armand’s
apparent successes had been failures.

“He never got you with child?” Royce
asked.

“No.” And now she knew why. “He was never
completely inside me, the way you just were.” Julianna marveled
that she was not cringing with shame at all she was telling him.
Still, it was possible that if she inundated Royce with the most
intimate details of her marriages he wouldn’t begin probing into
the areas she wanted to keep hidden from him.

“After more than a year of trying, Lord
Armand declared that I was barren,” she said. “I was heartbroken at
his accusation. I had done everything he demanded of me; when we
were in bed together I helped him as best I could. I wanted a child
as much as he did, perhaps more. I reasoned that if I gave him the
heir he craved, he would look more kindly upon me and stop cursing
me and blaming me. But then he fell ill and I knew I’d never bear
his child.

“I pitied him,” she went on, “poor, old,
unhappy man that he was. I nursed him through his last illness, but
I could not grieve for him when he died.”

“What happened then?” Royce asked when she
had been silent for a time.

“By the terms of my marriage contract and
with King Henry’s consent, I inherited all of Lord Armand’s lands.
They, along with my dowry and my person, reverted to my father’s
guardianship.”