The Dragon and the Jewel (41 page)

Simon was acutely aware of Eleanor’s strange mood. His eyes returned to her again and again, though Frederick and Richard dominated the conversation in an effort to convince him to join their Crusade. Finally he said to his wife, “You have eaten nothing, Eleanor, are you unwell?”

“I never felt better,” she bristled, controlling the urge to pull the Damask cloth from the table and smash all the dishes.

The concern did not leave his eyes as he murmured, “Perhaps your stomach is a little delicate just now.”

She flared, “I wondered how long it would be before you announced your virility!” All eyes swung to her and she knew the devil that dwelled within was looking to escape this night. Richard seemed highly amused at his little sister’s outburst, but Frederick seemed unaware of the undercurrents and relentlessly pursued the topic of the Crusade.

Simon threw his wife a warning glance to curb her sharp tongue then gave his attention to Frederick. “One of the things
that has stopped me from committing myself is money. However, I have just negotiated the sale of the forest of
Lincoln to
the Hospitallers.”

Eleanor was speechless. How did he dare pledge himself to this damned Crusade without consulting her? Obviously her feelings and her wishes meant less than nothing!

When the table had been cleared, thick, sweet Turkish coffee was served out on the stone balcony. Eleanor was damned if she was going to be part of this family circle any longer. Rude or not she said curtly, “I shall leave you in the capable hands of your host. You must all please excuse me.”

The bedchamber was large with great arched windows to let in the breezes from the sea, but tonight Eleanor’s blood was high and she found the night hot and oppressive. She bathed and donned an Egyptian cotton nightgown, finespun as a spider’s web. It covered only one shoulder in Grecian fashion and the hem was embroidered with gold thread in a Greek key pattern. The marble floor felt deliciously cool against the soles of her feet, and she leaned her cheek against one of the slim marble pillars that decorated the long, airy chamber. When de Montfort joined her she would be an ice maiden. She would not speak to him, she would freeze him with a glance. The Mediterranean climate might be hot and sultry, but he would find his bed cold this night. She was determined to totally and completely ignore him.

As the long moments stretched out to an hour, her emotions were in turmoil. Where the hell was he? How could she ignore him if he wasn’t even there?

The guests departed shortly after Eleanor retired, then Simon returned to the stone balcony that afforded such a lovely view of the sea. It was a moonlit night, very conducive to romantic fantasies, and he wished his love would come down so they could walk on the beach. Or perhaps he could even tease her with some water play like they had enjoyed in their mere at Kenilworth. The water beckoned him and he decided not to resist.

He stood in the dark and removed his clothes, then he fastened back his hair with a leather thong and walked slowly to the water’s edge. He knew she would see him from their chamber
above if she was looking from the arched windows. If her need was as great as his, she would join him.

Eleanor did see him, but not until he emerged from his swim. As he stood poised upon the beach looking straight up to her windows, the moonlight glistened upon his powerful, wet body. He was Neptune, the ancient sea god rising naked from the waves. Her eyes clung to the bare length of his bronzed body, unable to look away. His torso turned in the moonlight until he was fully facing her, then as he raised his head she knew he was aware of her at the window. She went weak. His body looked sculpted from marble and she’d explored every plane and hollow, every muscle and sinew. His deep chest covered with sable-black hair was covered by moonlit drops of water. The thick pelt on his chest narrowed to a thin line that ran straight down over his hard, flat belly then became thick and dense at his groin.

The muscles in her thighs and belly contracted as she tore her eyes away from his virile maleness, and she almost choked on her jealousy. At last he moved and she saw his step was purposeful and determined. By the time he entered their chamber the ice in her veins had turned into pure molten lava.

He stepped into the room and stood mesmerized at the loveliness before him. “I wish you had joined me. This climate invigorates me. I have so much energy … sexual energy …”

“I wish you’d drowned!” she spat.

Simon’s blood kindled. She wanted a fight. He knew from experience when she was in this mood her passion knew no bounds. He’d have to subdue her, of course, but their verbal dueling was like taunting foreplay that lifted them both to such a pitch they became almost insatiable and it would take a full night of ravishment before their appetite for each other was slaked. His shaft went rigid with anticipation, reaching all the way to his navel. It looked exactly like a battering ram.

“You whoremonger!” she spat angrily. She was exactly like a sleek and savage cat, spitting at him, and he knew she’d claw him before she was done with him, but before he was done with her he’d have her purring and filled with cream.

“Does this whore have a name or are you just accusing me in general?” he taunted.

The name almost choked her. “You
married
Joan of Flanders. I was your second choice, Frenchman!”

“So that is what you were gossiping about all night.” He was furious with those two jealous bitches for telling her and furious with himself for not telling her at the outset.

“Gossip or truth?” she blazed hotly.

“It was before us.” He said the statement in a final tone as if that was the end of the matter and stepped toward her.

“Don’t touch me.” She gasped. “Don’t you dare to touch me.”

“Eleanor, you are my wife. I haven’t seen you for weeks. I cannot make love to you without touching you, and be assured I do intend to make love to you.” He took another step.

“You act as if everything were the same,” she flared,
“but it is not!
We fled from England to avoid imprisonment and charges. The charge of adultery against me was false, but the charge of seduction against you was not! I was blind not to see that you seduced and impregnated me exactly as my grandfather did to my namesake, Eleanor of Aquitaine. I have only just realized it was for ambition, not love,” she said bitterly.

“I love you,” Simon thundered, “and I am certain you love me.”

“I did love you, Simon, but after what I heard tonight about Joan of Flanders, my love is dead.”

“Don’t kill love—you will regret it for the rest of your life!” His large hands encircled her waist and he pulled her against the hard, naked length of him. Her hand came up and slapped him squarely in the face. She pulled slightly away from him and then she was slammed against the hard wall of his chest, his fingers digging into her shoulders. His mouth descended upon hers, branding it with his ownership, teaching her anew his great power. Her nails came up and recklessly she raked his cheeks bloody.

With a savage curse he tore the leather thong from his tied-back hair, intending to secure her wrists behind her so that she was lashed to the marble column. A picture flashed into his mind of a man his size needing to bind a woman to have his
way with her, and it effectively stopped him. If he could not subdue her with his powers of seduction, he did not deserve to receive her passion. He flung away the leather thong, then slowly, deliberately he lifted her furious face in his hands and helped himself to her vulnerable mouth. It was achingly sweet, and his delving tongue forced entry and thrust within her. As she twisted against such intimacy he thrust ever more forcefully, stroking deeply in the primitive passion of man against woman. Her body writhed against his muscular torso, but he held her face immobile for his relentless invasion. The fire of his passion scorched her breasts, thighs, and mouth, but soon he knew he would ignite her with the flame of her own passion. She was not afraid of him and his heart soared because it was so. He did not want a woman he could intimidate, but one who matched him in courage, in daring, in fury, and in passion. She refused to close her eyes and surrender to the tempting pleasures whose hot flame licked at her so seductively. She watched his eyes dilate with need as he pushed her Grecian nightrail from her shoulder. It slipped down to reveal both breasts, which thrust forward so provocatively because he held her wrists behind the pillar with one of his big hands. His lips teased them to ruching arousal in seconds, and she prayed that they would hold his interest so that he would not lower his dangerous mouth to her most private and most vulerable center, which he called her rosebud. She knew he was a conquering predator wise in the ways of woman. If his mouth reached its goal she knew she would be lost to her need for him.

Fight! she commanded herself, but her treacherous body wanted to receive him in hot abandon. He lifted the hem of the filmy gown to bare her to the navel. When his tongue parted her it found the liquid fire. She tried not to arch into him, but he simply took her bottom in his hands and lifted her mons so that his tongue could stroke her more intimately.

Triumphantly he heard her tiny moan, watched her eyes close in ecstasy, then with total male assurance he exulted as her arms came up about his neck. “Sim, Sim,” she cried.

If she could not deny her passion and her need, she would make sure his needs brought him to the edge of begging alongside hers. She only used his Gaelic name when she was in the
throes of love, and it raised gooseflesh on his dark skin. With her arms raised so her fingers threaded through his damp black hair, he felt the whisper of her nightgown fall to her ankles. Then she went high on tiptoe and raised herself so that she straddled his manroot, levering it downward so that her cleft lay along its topside. As his tongue again slipped into her mouth she used her own tongue to duel with his, then darted inside to tease and arouse him further. She intended to taunt him and plague him until she owned his very soul.

He cupped her pretty bum as he took her to their bed, and she traced the outline of his ear with the tip of her tongue and whispered, “Sim, let me be on top.” Her suggestive request sent a thrill into his loins, and she felt the throbbing evidence of his male power pulse against her. She held her breath as their bodies parted long enough for him to stretch his great length upon the bed, then lithely, seductively she straddled him. He was surprised that she had mounted him the opposite way, with her back toward him.

Eleanor smiled wickedly; this way his long, hard male muscle was vulnerable to any erotic whim she chose. She bent to drop a kiss upon the crown of its head and heard his ragged voice whisper, “Kathe, Kathe!”

Then she stroked the inside of his thighs knowing full well that though he was a man he was sensitive in many places. When she cupped his testes and her delicate fingers traced the outline of each large sphere, she heard his masculine groans of pleasure and felt his damnably attractive hands come up to stroke her creamy back, sending a knife-sharp thrill through her whole body. She took his shaft between her palms and rolled it, gently at first, then she increased the speed and intensity of her manipulations.

His voice rasped harshly, “Darling, stop … I’ll spill myself.” She did stop but before she slid about to face him she trailed her fingertips up and down the insides of his thighs one more time. She smiled down into his eyes. “Nay, I’ll decide when you spill yourself.” Then slowly, inch by deliberate inch she allowed him to enter her, anointing him with her liquid fire. She had used him expertly with lips and fingers until he was reckless and urgent. He could not remain still inside her but
bucked and thrust wildly in an effort to bring to a climax the exquisite torture.

She locked her muscles upon him, trapping and holding immobile his male weapon deep within the honeyed walls of her tight sheath. He thought he would burst. Then she began to flex upon him and he knew he’d never experienced anything so sinfully pleasurable before. He built and built until the blood pounded in his ears and he felt it all the way to the soles of his feet. Suddenly she lifted herself so that only the head of his shaft remained inside her, then she plunged down and cried, “Now, Sim, now!”

His body obeyed her command and with a deep masculine cry he ejaculated, filling her with cream. When he spiraled back down to earth she was waiting for him. “Now will you admit that I am your equal in all things, Simon de Montfort?”

“Sweetest love, you are far above me. I put you upon a pedestal long before you were even mine and I have worshipped at your feet ever since.”

His words were so disarming, she wanted to believe them with all her heart. “Oh, Sim, did you love Joan of Flanders?” she cried.

He gathered her into his arms and cradled her against the wide planes of his chest. “My own sweet love, she is old and plain-faced. I was never more relieved in my entire life than when Louis stepped in to prevent the marriage.”

She was laughing and crying at the same time. He kissed the teardrops from her face and whispered, “Lord, you were so angry with me tonight.”

“How could you decide to go on Crusade without consulting me?” she demanded.

“I haven’t decided, I am only on the verge, but what is my alternative?” he asked quietly.

She considered for a moment, trying to put herself in his shoes. “Well, if you do go, I’m coming with you. I won’t stay here.”

“It’s lovely here,” he protested.

“Oh, Simon, it is lovely here. I’m pampered and indulged and feel wicked not to appreciate it more, only …”

“Only Italy isn’t England, Brindisi isn’t Kenilworth, the sea isn’t our mere.”

“Oh, Simon, you do understand!” she cried.

His lips brushed the tiny tendrils that curled about her temples. “Of course I understand, I feel exactly the same.”

She lifted her mouth to his and was shocked at the sensual response she aroused.

“If we are equals I think it is now
my
turn to make love to
you.”

“Beast! I cannot lift a finger,” she protested. “That’s a relief,” he teased, and she knew to just exactly what he referred.