Wolf Bride (19 page)

‘Thank you,’ she said awkwardly, not looking at him.

Wolf bowed ironically and withdrew, cursing himself all the way downstairs for an idiot.

CHAPTER TEN

Eloise stood by the window, her chest tight. It was ridiculous, but she felt trapped in the old hunting lodge, away from her sister and her old nurse. She had thrown back the wooden shutters to breathe in the evening air, lightly scented with spring blossom, but even that freedom could not allay her frantic state of mind. All she could think was that she had betrayed herself with Wolf today.

Looking down into the yard below, she saw the serving man, Yates, fetching in an armful of logs for the hearth. As he puffed past below, muttering under his breath, she wondered what the steward had thought, finding his master and new mistress in bed like that. But no doubt he thought them in love like any other newly married couple, riding out here to be alone, unable to get enough of each other’s bodies.

She turned away from the window, suddenly chilled, reaching for the heavy robe that Mistress Yates had laid out on the bed for her. What must Wolf think now? That he could do what he pleased with her, and she would always surrender, bend herself to his will. He must know what she had tried to hide, that she desired him as much – perhaps even more – than he desired her.

Now, of course, his lust would be slaked. He had taken her, the deed was done. Though he would continue to lie with her until she was with child, she had no illusions about that.

She hung the robe about her shoulders and paced the candlelit chamber, wishing there was a mirror or glass she could use to check her reflection. But the lodge had stood empty so long everything but the most basic items had been put away.

Mistress Yates, a cheerful woman with straggling grey hair, had come upstairs to attend her, bearing cloths and a large pan of steaming hot water. Once Eloise had finished bathing herself behind the screen, the steward’s wife helped her into her gown, smiling at the small marks on her arms and shoulders where Wolf had gripped her in his passion.

‘His lordship be a fine gentleman,’ Mistress Yates ventured shyly, then found a comb from somewhere and tidied Eloise’s hair. ‘May I wish you both well, my lady.’

‘I thank you,’ Eloise murmured. She stood still under the woman’s ministrations, thinking. Then she asked. ‘Have you always served at Wolf Hall?’

‘I was born there, my lady. My mother and father were in service to Lord Wolf’s father, the old lord, and my grandfather before that.’ She laughed. ‘It’s in our blood to serve the Wolfs, my mother used to say.’

‘So you must have known Lord Wolf all his life?’

‘Oh yes, indeed. I remember his lordship as a boy. Big strong lad, he was. Take on anyone in a fight, even twice his size. Not very talkative, mind.’ Mistress Yates clucked her tongue sadly. ‘And who can blame him for not wanting to prattle on? Not after his mother died so young, poor pet.’

Eloise had listened to the older woman talk of Wolf as a boy, and how he had first gone away to war when he was barely more than a child. It was hard to imagine Wolf in his first battle, but she could dimly remember him as a boy. Mistress Yates was right, of course. He had never spoken much, a blunt-mannered soldier in the making. And though Wolf conversed with ease now, she had the impression that he very deliberately never said anything too revealing. But what did he have to conceal?

Standing alone in the chamber now, she heard footsteps on the stairs and shivered.

Wolf.

He knocked lightly at the door, then pushed it open. They stared at each other in silence for a moment, Wolf’s eyes intent on her face, Eloise unable to avoid noticing how he had washed and combed back his black hair, and that his boots had been cleaned.

‘My lady?’ He held out his arm, his voice deep. ‘May I escort you down to the supper table?’

She was astonished at the physical thrill that ran through her when her hand, ungloved, touched his arm. She felt his body heat through the sleeve of his tight black jacket, and her pulse jumped violently. Her response was a shock, wholly unexpected, for Eloise had always considered herself steadfast and not easily persuaded to love. She had known Simon for months before she found him agreeable to look upon, and almost a year before she had permitted him to kiss her. Now this . . .

She looked down at the floor, waiting for her pulse to steady. She despised herself for such weakness. One afternoon in bed with him, that was all it had taken to reduce her to this raw mass of emotions.

How had she fallen under his spell so quickly?

‘Are you unwell?’ he enquired, leading her down the dimly lit stairs. ‘You look pale.’

‘A little tired, my lord. That is all.’

In truth, her body ached from the unaccustomed intimacies of their afternoon together. She felt oddly weak, and there was a moistness about the apex of her thighs which reminded her at every step of his invasion.

His possession of her had been determined. Violent, even. Yet she had responded like a wild animal with her mate, urging Wolf on as though she had come into season at his touch, eager for seduction.

‘Here,’ he murmured at the foot of the stairs, and gestured her through a narrow doorway.

Supper had been laid out for them in a cosy, candlelit chamber off the main hallway. A good fire was burning in the stone hearth. Wolf pulled out the high-backed chair and she sat down, glancing uncertainly at the steward, Yates, who was pouring the wine into two ornate wine cups, their stems decorated with tiny carvings of flowers and bees. Eloise was still embarrassed that Wolf’s servant had discovered them in bed together that afternoon. But the man kept his gaze discreetly lowered while serving her, and gave nothing away in his expression.

Wolf tasted the wine, then nodded to the man to leave. ‘That will be all for now, Yates.’

‘Aye, my lord.’

When the door had closed behind the steward, Wolf looked at her over the rim of his wine cup. There was a certain hard amusement in his expression.

‘You seem on edge. Does the supper displease you? It is not as elaborate a meal as we might have enjoyed at the hall, but I did not think you would mind.’ His gaze examined her slender figure thoughtfully. ‘You eat so little when we are at table.’

‘Not at all, it looks very good,’ she demurred, glancing about the array of dishes. Indeed, the smell of the food was unusually mouth-watering; it seemed that lovemaking had increased her appetite tenfold. ‘It merely feels a little odd to be here alone. Susannah will be alone at the hall tonight. She must be concerned by my absence.’

‘I doubt it,’ he said coolly, rising to carve a few slices of pheasant breast for her. ‘Hugh Beaufort is there to keep your sister company, remember.’

‘They seem very close.’

He looked at her sharply. ‘You disapprove? Master Beaufort may not be noble, nor is he yet a wealthy man. But he has excellent prospects. He is a good friend of mine, besides enjoying the king’s special favour. In such troubled times as these, that is worth a knighthood.’

‘She is still very young.’

‘But of age.’

‘And in my care while she is at Wolf Hall,’ she muttered.

He served her with the pheasant breast, then offered her a bowl of spiced beans and vegetables, from which she took only a very little. He frowned down at her frugal helping, then spooned more beans onto her trencher. Before she could refuse it, he also placed a thick slice of veal pie on the side, then returned to his seat again at the end of the table.

‘I am master at Wolf Hall,’ he reminded her, helping himself to the veal pie. ‘So your sister is in my care while under my roof, not yours. And I have no qualms about allowing her . . . friendship with Beaufort to continue. She is young, it is true. But Hugh has been about the world. He grew up at court and knows better than to tamper with a gentle-born maid. The connection will be good for her. It is certainly not something you need concern yourself over, my lady.’

‘You think Master Beaufort intends marriage, then?’

‘I have not the slightest idea what he intends with your sister. But I know this. He will not risk his good standing with the king by seducing the daughter of a gentleman, however elderly or obscure. Such misdemeanours are punishable by whipping and exile. Even death, in some instances.’

She did not wish to provoke another argument, but she had felt the impact of Hugh’s charming smile. He would be quite a lure for her sister, whether he meant to be or not.

Wolf had noticed that she was only pushing her food about with her little dagger, not lifting any of it to her lips.

‘Eat,’ he told her sternly, and for a long moment his gaze clashed violently with hers. She felt weak under that cold, blade-like glare, her pulse drumming in her ears, but she refused to surrender by lowering her gaze. His tone dripped irony as he added, ‘Or you will hurt Mistress Yates’s feelings.’

‘Well, we can’t have that,’ she managed.

She took a cautious pinch of salt from the shallow well in her trencher, seasoned her food, then rolled back her lace-trimmed sleeves to prevent them being soiled. She cut into the jellied veal pie first, which smelt gorgeous, and took a small bite. It was so delicious, the pastry melting in her mouth, that she cut a larger slice at once. This she devoured hungrily, hoping he would not think her uncouth. It was true that she did not often eat heartily at table, but as soon as she began to taste the food Mistress Yates had prepared for them, her appetite became suddenly insatiable. She even managed to find room for some of the spiced beans and pheasant too.

Wolf ate too, watching her in silence for a while. Then he put down his knife. ‘Did I hurt you earlier?’

She looked up, surprised by the suppressed violence in his tone, and saw his gaze narrowed on her arm. Glancing down, Eloise found some mild blue bruising where his hand had encircled her wrist earlier, pinning her to the bed.

‘It’s nothing.’

His voice hardened. ‘It doesn’t look like nothing to me. It looks like I manhandled you.’

She shrugged, and rather recklessly drained her wine cup. His gaze lifted to her face, then he rose silently and poured more wine for her. Before returning to his seat, he brushed his fingers across her cheek. It was the tiniest of caresses, barely perceptible, and yet her cheek flared with heat afterwards as though his fingertips had burnt her.

‘Forgive me.’

She stared at him, not quite sure if he had spoken, the words had been so softly spoken. Barely a breath of sound, in fact.

Had those words been directed at her? Yet who else, if not? Wolf was looking down at the greasy pheasant carcass he had been picking over, but glanced up again cautiously when she said nothing. There was a slight tinge of colour to his face too, as though he had been burnt by the same fire that had touched her. Then he sat up, tossed one of the pheasant bones into the fire, and watched as the flames licked greedily at its length.

‘Wolf?’

His jaw clenched hard and he dragged his stare reluctantly from the flickering fire to her face. ‘You see, I had been waiting so long to bed you,’ he began to explain, not quite meeting her gaze, ‘I couldn’t hold back as I intended. It was my intention to take you gently the first time, but . . . Your response was so powerful . . . It felt right to . . .’ He stopped, looking down at the table again, his expression shuttered. ‘I trust I didn’t hurt you too badly.’

She did not know what to say, but stared dumbly.

‘Nor afterwards, when I spoke of . . .’ He paused. ‘It was stupid of me to mention other women at such a time. Forgive me.’

It was not what she had thought, she realised, shocked and unable to reply. She had thought him cruel at first, then indifferent, then triumphing in his power over her when he saw how easily she responded to his touch. But it was no such matter. He did not love her, she knew that for certain. There had been no tenderness in his voice when he spoke to her just now, nor in his hands today when he forced her to surrender. But he was neither cruel nor indifferent to her, and if this was triumph, it was an odd kind of victory when the winner could not raise his eyes to hers.

For the first time it struck her that he might have bedded many women, but he had never been married before, and perhaps knew as little as she did about the wedded state. What she had mistaken for cruel dominance might have been merely a clumsy attempt on Wolf’s part to make her respect his authority.

Or was she fooling herself, imagining her new husband a saint in disguise when he was in truth – just as he had told her – a sinner? Yet perhaps Wolf was a sinner with a conscience: a sinner who would take whatever he wanted, in precisely the way he wanted it, then ask her to forgive him afterwards? She did not know which version of this man was worse, but felt her desire for him grow as she tried to understand him and failed.

She stammered something incomprehensible, and saw him rise and approach her; he looked down at her with hooded eyes. What was he thinking?

‘Come,’ he said, and held out his hand.

Eloise rose unthinkingly at his command, leaving her meal unfinished, uncertain what was to follow but not scared. There was a high-backed wooden settle by the fire, old and cracked, but broad-seated enough to be comfortable. He sat her there and stood above her, his face expressionless.