Johanna Lindsey: Johanna Lindsey When Love Awaits

carried herself proudly, her chestnut hair flowing down her back, her

green eyes sleepily seductive.

Rolfe watched her approaching slowly. She saw the immediate effect

she was having on him.

"Sit, my lord," she purred. "I am not tall enough to lift your heavy mail from you."

Bemused, Rolfe moved to a stool by the hearth. Amelia caught the

hem of his chain mail and lifted it, then brought it over his head as he sat

down. Some men remained in their armor for days when they were doing

battle, and stank worse than an untended stable, but she had never

known Rolfe to do so. He had an odor of sweat about him now that was a

clean smell, his own smell. It was pleasant.

"You have been away several days, Rolfe," she said, adding a little

pout as she bent down to untie his cross-garters. "I began to wonder if I would see you again before your wedding."

He grunted and Amelia smiled to herself. How much did she risk

saying about the wedding? "Sir Evarard has been busy hunting for the

feast," Amelia continued. "I myself saw to the cleaning of the hall, for your steward was too busy."

This was a lie. She never bothered with supervising servants, but Rolfe

didn't know this. She wanted him to think she didn't mind that he was

marrying, that she intended to help.

Amelia next removed his tunic and undershirt, but with such slow

deliberation that Rolfe yanked her onto his lap before she could put the

clothing aside. She feigned a squeal of protest, and he fastened his lips to

hers in a heated kiss.

She felt his urgency, but was unmoved except to feel satisfaction in

knowing he wanted her so badly. She leaned back from him, bracing her

hands against his chest so he could not capture her lips again. "Then you do still want me?" she asked him.

"What fool question is this?" He frowned. "Does it seem I do not?"

"I was not sure you would, my lord, when I heard of your marriage."

She spoke very quietly, as though wounded.

"You need not concern yourself with that," Rolfe replied gruffly.

"But I must, my lord. I have been so afeared you would send me

away." The tears sprang to her eyes, just as she'd expected they would.

"Why should I?"

Amelia nearly lost her whole campaign by showing surprise, but she

quickly recovered.

"It is my wish to stay, Rolfe, but . . . your wife may have something to

say about it."

"She will not."

"You must not be accustomed to women's jealousies if you can say

that. If she knows that you favor me in any way, she will demand that I

leave."

"She will demand nothing here," he stated flatly. "My will shall be her will."

"But you are not always here, Rolfe." Amelia pouted. "What if she is cruel? What if she beats me?"

He scowled. "Then she will be beaten. I will not have my people living

in fear of their mistress."

That was not the answer she was looking for.

"But how can I protect myself from her wrath when you are not here?"

Amelia persisted.

"You concern yourself without reason, Amelia. She will not abide here.

I marry her for her land, no more."

"Truly?" She could not hide her surprise, and he laughed. "My dear, if I desired her, then I would have no need of you."

Amelia grinned, relief making her almost giddy. "On the morrow,

there will be many guests here for the wedding. What do you tell them—

"

"That you are my ward."

She put her arms around his neck, rubbing her firm breasts against his

chest. "Then my position here will not change, Rolfe? The servants must

still do my bidding and—"

"You talk overmuch, woman."

Rolfe fastened his lips over hers. He knew her game and was amused

by it. But had he not needed this distraction, he would not have been

amused, for he was not a man to be manipulated. If he had not been

willing to grant what she asked, the time of asking would have made no

difference. He refused to be enslaved by his own desire.

As far as Rolfe was concerned, ladies were silly creatures, good only

for sewing and gossiping and making trouble. His mother and her ladies

had taught him that. All women used sex to get what they wanted. He

had watched his mother work her wiles on his father for years. He had

seen the same in every court he had been to. He made it a rule, usually,

never to grant a woman anything she asked if she asked it in the

bedchamber.

When Rolfe finished with Amelia, she was forgotten. Without the

distraction of Amelia, his mind returned to what was troubling him so

badly. In a rage, he had decided he wanted Leonie of Montwyn. Another

rage had taken him to the king to secure her. Now that the rages were

past, he was filled with dread.

He did not want a wife he could feel no pride in and would never

love. He planned to confine her to Pershwick, and he told himself it was

because of the ills she had caused him, but it was really her reputed

ugliness that worried him. Already he was feeling guilty over that. It was

not her fault she was ugly. Perhaps her appearance was what caused her

to be such a spiteful woman.

Rolfe was sick at heart for what his fool temper had gotten him into.

His honor would not let him try to squirm out of the situation, and his

guilt mounted each day, thinking of the girl and her expectations. The

poor creature was more than likely overjoyed to finally have a suitor,

even one she had been doing battle with. Why shouldn't she be pleased?

What prospects had she ever had before this one?

His guilt rose to choke him. Perhaps he wouldn't send her away.

There was an old tower at Crewel. She could have that for herself. He

would not have to see her, and she would not have to bear the disgrace of

being sent from her husband's home. Still, her expectations for a child, for

a normal married life, would be crushed. He came back to wondering

again if he could bed her, whether the sight of her would turn him cold.

Every man wanted an heir and he was no different in that. But if the sight

of her made it impossible . . .

For a man whose nerves were usually like steel, these were very

uncomfortable feelings. On the morrow, he would have to bed her, at

least for that one time, for her parents and the other guests would inspect

the wedding sheets the morning after, as was customary. He might

choose to forgo some of the customs, such as the bedding ceremony, but

there was no way he could avoid the inspecting of the sheets which

confirmed the girl's virginity. There was no way to escape it. He would

have to bed her or face more jesting taunts than his temper would stand

for.

Chapter 8

LEONIE came to at the sound of Wilda's startled cry. She could have

cursed the girl for rousing her to the pain.

"What they did to you, my lady!" Wilda wailed. "Your face is black and swollen. May they roast in the fires of hell! May the hand that dared

touch you rot and fall off! May—"

"Oh, hush, Wilda!" Leonie snapped, trying to move her jaw as little as possible. "You know how easily I bruise. I am sure I look worse than I

feel."

"Truly, my lady?"

"Bring me my mirror."

Leonie tried to grin to ease the girl's anxiety, but her jaw and her

cracked and bloodied lips hurt too much to manage it. The polished steel

mirror handed her confirmed that she looked like something trampled

under the hooves of a great war-horse.

One of her eyes was swollen tightly shut, the other was a mere slit.

Blood had dried on her lips and chin and beneath her nose, but it was