Then his hand smoothed over her belly, down to that warm, moist place where all of her senses seemed to have collected. She throbbed and moistened at his touch as he fingered the swollen little knob there, teasing and massaging it gently. Maris felt the most inexplicable sensation, rising and swelling inside her, blossoming into something hot and needy and all the world fell away but for the sensation of his fingers, stroking and sliding in her wetness.
“Beloved, I would not hurt you, but I cannot prevent it…and I must have you…
“Yes,” she whispered, hardly aware of what she was saying. With a smooth motion, Dirick moved between her legs, anchoring up on one elbow while he guided himself to her opening. And then, suddenly, she felt him fill her, full, oh…
“Beloved,” he whispered, holding himself poised and still over her, filling her so deeply. “Forgive me.” His breathing was the only sound in the chamber, and she could feel him waiting, uncertain and desperate.
The pain had ebbed and all at once, Maris was aware—
Any lingering discomfort melted away as he shifted, sliding in and out in a long, slow rhythm that made her tighten and reach, lifting and gathering until something exploded inside her. A storm of shivers and fluttering filled her, blossoming from her middle to the end of every limb and digit in a sharp snap of heat.
Maris might have gasped, she might even have dug her nails into her husband’s skin, but she wasn’t certain, for he was moving faster now, faster and with more urgency. His muscles bunched beneath her fingers, his skin was hot and damp against hers.
She knew, hazily, that he reached his fulfillment when he threw his head back and slammed inside her with a low groan. He froze like a beautiful god above her in an instant of vulnerability and ecstasy.
Then he smiled and opened his eyes to look down at her. “Beloved,” he murmured, rolling to the side, gathering her damp body close. “How blessed I am.”
And then his eyes slid closed and he settled against her.
When Dirick awoke much later that night…or mayhap ’twas near the morning…the first thing he saw was the unruly mass of thick, lemony smelling hair that belonged to his wife.
Joy welled inside him and he smoothed a wrist thick wave away from her face, baring the fair skin and rosy lips of Maris.
She stirred and sleepily rolled over toward him. Her eyes fluttered, then opened wide as if surprised to see him. Then, they shuttered and a smile curved her mouth before she opened them again, now fully awake.
“Good morrow, Dirick,” she told him, reaching to touch his face.
“Good morrow, beloved.” His voice was raspy with desire and sleep. “How do you feel?”
“Wonderful,” she told him, stretching like a cat. “And ’tis all you to blame.”
He grinned down at her. “That is one blame I shall not shirk, my lady.” Squinting at the sunlight filtering through a light tapestry, he said, “’Tis morn. They’ll arrive anon to check that the sheets are blooded.”
“Aye.” Maris eagerly drew the blankets away from their naked bodies to show the white sheet and its dark red drops of blood.
Dirick rose from the bed to use the chamberpot, and Maris followed. They embraced in passing, one long, lean, haired body pressing to a smaller, softer, rounder one.
Though he felt himself harden in response to her proximity, Dirick pulled reluctantly away. Their chamber would soon be invaded by a delegate to ascertain whether the marriage had indeed been consummated, and that the lady had indeed been a virgin…and he did not relish the thought of being interrupted thus.
“We will leave London today,” he told her as he settled back on the bed. He felt her gaze caress his nakedness and felt a rush of delight and victory at the realization that she was well and truly his. “Michael d’Arcy has not been found, and you will not be truly safe until he is.”
Maris wrapped a light cloth around her shoulders and curled on the edge of the bed. “He is my father,” she told him unsteadily.
Dirick pulled her to rest her head on his chest. “I learned that only yesterday. I’m sorry that I did not know sooner.”
“He killed my father—Merle.”
“I know that, or suspected that, as well. He is the man who killed my father—the one that I spoke of to you.” Dirick tightened his lips. “I will not rest until he is found.”
Maris pulled away, sitting up to look down at him. “You will have a care, Dirick. You will not put yourself in danger. Michael has killed so many—”
“I cannot let him go unpunished.” He searched her face with his gaze, seeing the love and respect that shone in her green and gold eyes. “You must know by now that I love you, Maris. I never thought to feel this way about any one woman, but you have driven me so mad that I realized I could not live without you…and I must ensure that the one who would see you dead is also gone. And then I can have no fear that you will be taken from me by a crazed madman.”
Her fingers smoothed the hair back from his forehead. “How lucky I am that my papa chose to repudiate my betrothal to Victor…else I would surely be a murderess on this morn.”
Dirick smiled. “Had that happened, I would have spirited you away before the ceremony that bound you to him…or after you had done the deed, I’d have been your escape route.” He frowned. “But even if I did that, there was no certainty you would have accepted my help—as you refused it once before. I must know, now—why would you think I could have been party to your kidnapping by Bon?”
“What else was I to think when I tumbled onto the floor and looked up to see you staring down upon me?” Maris asked indignantly.
“But…I thought you’d known me better than that…and, Maris, how could I have stolen you for someone else when I wanted you for myself? Did you not know that I wanted you? That was why I had to leave Langumont so suddenly—I could not bear to see you given to another.”
She looked at him with wondering eyes. “I did not know, truly. At the time, I could only think you had wooed me to your side so as to make your abduction of me easier. I thought ’twas you who wrapped me in that cloth and carried me to Breakston.”
“Oh, nay, Maris. On the night we first met, I wanted you…and that desire grew, and so did the despair that I could never have you. I couldn’t believe my good fortune when Henry betrothed us…and then he showed me the missive from your father.
“In that missive, not only did he repudiate your betrothal with Victor,” Dirick said, unable to hold back a grin, “but he also requested that, if the king agreed, I should be your husband and Lord of Langumont.”
She gaped at him. “It was my papa’s wish that we should wed?”
“Aye, my lady, and ’twas also the wish of my father that one of his sons should wed with you as well.”
“Aye, I certainly remember that incident. I met your brother Bernard, and although he was very kind…” Maris seemed to be considering her thoughts. “…I do not think we would have suited.”
“Thank fortune you did not,” Dirick said vehemently. Then he smiled. “He and Joanna are like moon-faces about each other all of the time. Completely besotted.”
“Aye,” she replied, with just as much spirit. “But of course, neither of us will ever look at the other in such a foolish way.”
Dirick couldn’t hold back a rueful laugh. “Mayhap that is true for you, my beloved, but I fear ’tis too late for me. The queen has already seen my moon-face, and it is because of her meddling, I think, that we are in this bed together.”
Her cheeks pinkened and she looked up at him almost bashfully. Then her eyes glinted with determination. “Our fathers have exacted a sort of revenge upon Michael d’Arcy, then.”
“Aye, they have. Yet, I still must see this through to its end,” he told her firmly.
“Dirick, you must take care…please,” she looked up at him so earnestly and sweetly, with tears pooling in her eyes, that he felt his heart jerk at the emotion there.
“Aye, my love, I will take care. After all,” he pulled her fingers to his lips, “I have everything to live for. I have everything I could ever want. It is a miracle to me. And I have no intention of letting it go.”
