Читать книгу Underneath The Mistletoe Collection - Джанис Мейнард, Marguerite Kaye - Страница 36

Chapter Eight

Richard nabbed a lit torch from the wall of the outer chamber before following Isabella into the room.

Standing with his back against the closed door, he held the torch high enough to illuminate the area around him before using it to light a brace of candles. He mounted the torch in a wall sconce, ignoring Isabella’s gasp of dismay.

While a layer of dust had settled from weeks of non-use, this small chamber was serviceable and, as far as he was concerned, that was all that should matter. He crossed the room to slightly open one of the shutters just enough to allow in a breeze of fresh air.

He expected her to make some comment, but to his amazement, she held her tongue and simply glared at him.

The bed jutting out from the far wall looked more inviting that he’d imagined it would and he longed for nothing more than to crawl beneath the covers, drop his head on to a pillow and then sink into the overstuffed mattress.

However, he couldn’t help but wonder if Isabella would plunge a knife into his heart while he slept.

Before he could formulate any plan to prevent such an undesirable occurrence, she asked, ‘Where do you plan to sleep?’

‘In my bed.’

Her brows winged over her hazel eyes. Light from the candles flickered in the speckled depths of her stare.

‘And where then will I sleep?’

Even though there was little doubt his answer would be acceptable, he forged ahead. ‘In my bed.’

‘When boars grow teats.’

Richard wanted to laugh at her bald statement, but knew that would only encourage her. Instead, he asked, ‘Did you learn your refined speech at Warehaven’s docks?’

‘My speech is none of your concern.’

‘As your husband, it is of great concern to me. I’ll not have you bandying coarse talk about the keep. You are well aware of the trouble it invites.’

‘Are you once again saying you have no control of your people?’

She’d taken up that familiar arms-crossed-against-her-chest, rigid-spine, chin-up stance that he’d come to recognise as her ready-for-battle pose. He knew that she would refuse to see reason or agree with anything he said.

His patience was in short supply at the moment and suddenly the idea of locking her in a cell seemed a good one.

Richard sighed. Refusing her bait, he sat on the edge of the bed. ‘If you want everyone to think you are nothing more than a trollop I pulled from the dregs, so be it.’ He tugged at a boot. ‘But don’t come crying to me the first time one of the men decides to taste your wares.’

He tossed the boot across the room, drowning out her gasp of outrage. She could feign shock all she wanted. Right now he just wanted sleep.

‘I do not have to stand here and listen to you.’ Isabella headed towards the door.

Richard reached it first and hauled her over his shoulder. ‘You are partially correct. You don’t have to stand here.’ He crossed the room in three strides and dropped her on to the bed. ‘However, you will remain in this room, in this bed and listen to whatever I have to say.’

When she tried to get off the bed, he pushed her back on to the mattress. Holding her shoulders to the bed, he leaned closer. ‘If you get up from here again, I will tie you to the bed.’ Richard waited for her wide-eyed glare to ease into a frowning scowl to ask, ‘Do you understand me?’

Oddly, instead of fighting him, arguing or making demands, she nodded. Her easy acquiescence now, along with her silence when he’d first pushed her into this chamber, made him wary. His concern that she might stab him in his sleep grew stronger.

Richard released her and backed off slowly, not certain she’d actually stay put. With one eye on her, he once again sat on the edge of the bed to remove his other boot and stockings, then turned to slide Isabella’s shoes off.

‘Don’t.’

The tremor in her whispered command caught him unaware. Was she frightened, angry or tired like him? ‘I was simply going to—’

‘I know what you were going to do.’ She drew her legs away. ‘I can do it myself.’

‘Then do so.’

Once she dropped her shoes and stockings to the floor alongside the bed, Richard stood and stared down at her. The look she returned was...timid...no, not quite timid, he doubted if there was a timid bone in her entire body—perhaps more worried or concerned than frightened. Her arrow-straight body, tense, poised for escape most likely, spoke louder than any words she might have said.

He jerked the covers and sheet from beneath her and drew them over her body. Her gaze followed him, he felt it burning a hole into his back, as he walked around the bed to the other side.

Sliding beneath the top cover, leaving the thinner blanket and sheet beneath him, he settled his head on to the pillow, unable to hold back a sigh.

The leather braces supporting the mattress creaked as she sat up. He opened one eye. ‘What are you doing?’

‘I can’t sleep here.’

‘You might want to give it a try before crying defeat.’ He reached up, seeking to draw her back down. ‘Close your eyes.’

She pushed his hold away. ‘I can’t sleep in this bed with you.’

He didn’t need the candlelight to see the tenseness of her body—not when the tightness of her voice gave evidence to the anger roiling just beneath the surface.

‘There is no reason we cannot share this bed.’ Richard debated for a heartbeat, before reminding her, ‘We are married.’

In a flurry of limbs and covers, she was up and out of the bed before he could stop her. From the other side of the chamber, she said, ‘In name only and I’d prefer to keep it that way.’

‘If you remember correctly, Conal left the chamber with proof that states this marriage is far more than name only.’

‘That proof is nothing but a ruse.’

‘Agreed. But who will attest to that in your defence?’

‘I know the truth and that is enough.’

Richard knew any battle waged with words was lost, she would argue until the sun rose and beyond. ‘This has become tiresome.’ He sat up and dragged her side of the covers back, then patted the mattress. ‘Get back in the bed and go to sleep. You will awaken in the morning as much a virgin as you are now.’

‘What does that mean?’

He sighed. Apparently she was in the mood to argue every little thing he said. ‘It means that if you do as I suggest, I will not touch a hair on your head...tonight.’

‘And if I don’t?’

Was she begging him for an all-out battle? He stared at her. ‘What are you seeking to do, Isabella? Do you want me to force you?’

Ah, and once again her ready-for-battle pose—she stiffened her spine and crossed her arms in front of her against her chest. Why would this woman want to enrage him?

‘You couldn’t force me.’

‘Haven’t we already established the fact that I can? And I will?’

‘You didn’t force me to wed you. You simply forged my name on a document. I meant I would rather die than have you force yourself upon me.’

Force himself upon her? What the hell was she...? He frowned as her meaning dawned on him. They were talking about two different things. He’d only meant that he’d force her to sleep in the bed, nothing else. Yet she obviously thought he was talking about rape.

Outside of battle, he’d never in his life intentionally harmed any man smaller or weaker. He certainly wasn’t about to start doing so with a woman now. He gritted his teeth at the ungodly thought, threw the covers off and rose from the bed. Without another word, he crossed the chamber.

Isabella backed away, reaching behind her for the door. ‘Don’t touch me.’

He again tossed her over his shoulder. ‘Too late.’

This time, instead of arranging the covers to separate them, he dropped her on the bed and launched himself behind her. With one arm wrapped about her waist, he pulled her back tight against his chest, hooked a leg over hers and pulled the covers up.

‘Now, close your eyes and go to sleep.’

When she struggled against his hold, he simply tightened his arm, hoping that eventually she’d wear herself out.

Once her struggles lessened, Richard closed his own eyes, certain that he’d have little trouble holding on to her if he fell asleep. After all, he’d long ago learned to remain alert even though he slept. Had he not, it was doubtful he’d be alive today.

Just as the hazy relaxing cloud of slumber rolled over him, Isabella reached for the edge of the bed. Her upper body followed her extended arms, while her soft rounded buttocks pressed against his groin, sweeping away any thought of sleep.

With a grumbled curse, Richard opened his eyes. While splaying his fingers low over her belly, he pulled the pillow from beneath her head and curled his arm in its place. He pressed his palm against her forehead, tipping her head back to ask hoarsely, ‘Is it your intention to ensure neither of us sleeps this night?’

To lend emphasis to his question, he held her in place and thrust his hips forward. ‘If so, you are succeeding.’

She froze immediately, gasping a strangled, ‘No.’

The surprise in her voice only sent more blood rushing to his groin, making rational thought difficult. Richard groaned. What was it about this woman that enticed him so? She was nothing more than a means to an end—a pawn—someone to use to his advantage.

So why then did he keep having to remind himself of that simple fact? And why did he ache to touch her, to taste her, to take her and make her his wife in all ways?

Even through the layers of clothing separating them, the heat of her body swirled around him like a warm, beckoning caress. It was all he could do not to accept such a tempting invitation.

She tugged at his wrist, trying to move his arm. ‘You need to release me.’

‘No.’ He snuggled impossibly closer. ‘I find this rather comfortable.’

Finally, with an exasperated huff, Isabella fell still. After a few moments of blessed silence, Richard thought—hoped—she’d fallen asleep and he once again closed his eyes.

And once again, just as sleep promised to overtake him, Isabella broke through the fog. ‘This will not work.’

Richard swallowed the growl rushing up his throat and asked, ‘What will not work?’

She relaxed, easing down into the mattress and against his chest. ‘If you think to seduce me with this sudden bout of gentleness, rest assured you cannot.’

Seduce her? The notion hadn’t entered his mind—until now. He didn’t know whether to laugh at her assumption, or curse at the ideas filling his head.

‘I cannot? And why is that?’

‘I am immune to your...charms.’

‘Charms?’

She tapped his forearm. ‘Yes, this holding me close and not attempting to force yourself on me.’

He choked on a laugh, then cleared his throat. ‘The only reason I am holding you close is so you can’t run a knife through my heart while I sleep.’

‘No. I think you lie. If you were truly worried that I might murder you in your sleep, you would have gone elsewhere.’

‘You don’t think it would appear odd were I to sleep elsewhere on my wedding night?’

She shrugged. ‘You gave your man bloodied sheets to flaunt before the others. As far as everyone is concerned you already...did your duty.’

Richard rolled his eyes. Did his duty?

Before he could say anything in response, she continued. ‘So, the only reason for this...closeness...is an attempt at seduction. And just so there is no doubt in your mind, let me assure you, it will not succeed.’

Richard withdrew his arm from beneath her head, unhooked his leg from hers and rolled on to his back. He was torn between two immediately clear options—kiss her until she shut up, or lock her up somewhere and conveniently lose the key.

He sat up, grabbed a pillow and the top cover from the bed and tossed them to the far side of the chamber. Leaning over her, he stroked a fingertip along her cheek. ‘Because I am too tired to think clearly or battle any further, you win this round, my lady. But to erase any doubt from your mind, let me assure you of one thing...’ He paused until she turned her head and looked up at him. ‘...I have never in my life backed down from a challenge.’

‘But I didn’t—’

He cut off her denial by covering her lips with his own. It didn’t matter what she’d said, she could lie to herself all she wanted, but her body didn’t lie. He knew the truth the instant her mouth softened beneath his.