Spencer must have sensed something, because he slowly turned and looked at her, his gaze heating as it moved down her body. Neither of them breathed.
With trembling fingers Roselyn loosened the laces of her smock, then let it slide down to the floor. He inhaled a breath that widened and lifted his chest, and the sweet softening of his gaze made her feel all strange and wobbly inside.
“Rose,” he breathed, lifting a hand toward her.
She walked forward and placed her hand in his. They stood still, just a single candle flickering at the bedside table, their hands joined the way she so desperately wanted their bodies joined.
Spencer pulled her against him, and she gasped at the rough feel of his garments against her bare flesh. He caught her face between his hands and leaned down to kiss her, so softly, so gently, that she sighed her pleasure.
“Rose, are you sure?” he whispered against her lips.
In answer she spread the laces of his shirt and pressed her mouth against his chest. With a groan, he held her tight to him, and shuddered in her arms as she licked his nipples. How she savored the knowledge that she could affect him, how much pleasure she took in touching him!
Roselyn removed his garments one by one, then stepped again into his embrace, moaning at the heat of his skin down the length of her body. She looped her arms around his neck and stretched on tiptoes to kiss him. As his tongue joined hers, she felt a growing ache inside herself, a restlessness for more. She wanted to be one with his body, to feel a part of him.
Spencer gently pushed her backward onto the bed, holding her so she didn’t fall. She held out her arms to him, but instead of lowering his weight onto her, he stretched out at her side.
She gave a little moan of disappointment and turned toward him, but he pressed her back onto the bed.
“We’re here for the night,” he murmured, leaning down to kiss between her breasts. “I promise not to rush this time.”
She hadn’t felt he’d rushed the first time he’d made love to her, but her protests died when he closed his mouth over her nipple and suckled her.
A fierce burst of pleasure spread out through her, and she stiffened beneath him. Over and over he licked and kissed her, until her body moved restlessly, no longer obeying her. He turned to her other breast, and with a moan, she ran her fingers through his soft hair and held him to her.
His free hand caressed her hips, her thighs. When he parted her knees, she thought he would rise above her, but instead his fingers teased the sensitive skin of her inner thighs, moving nearer, nearer to the center of her, until her body quivered with excitement and longing and uncertainty.
Suddenly his fingers slid into the curls between her thighs, and she stiffened at the wave of passion that shimmered through her body.
“Easy,” he murmured against her breast. “You’ll enjoy this.”
Their gazes met, and his was filled with the knowledge of what he could make her feel, if only she’d let him. She relaxed, and was rewarded with the most exquisite feelings of pleasure as he began to stroke her, his fingers sinking inside her, then moving out again to circle and tease and press.
Roselyn felt the buildup of such a mindless, driving urgency that she was drowning in it, overwhelmed. Every caress of his tongue against her nipples, every probe of his fingers between her thighs, made her feel ever more desperate, ever more tense, until suddenly everything she was seemed to come apart in the most wonderful sensation of all. Only afterward, when she was trembling and sated, did she open her eyes.
Spencer’s forearm rested against her chest, and his chin rested on that. His smile held warmth and humor and something else, something so soft and genuine she was afraid to think about it.
She blushed. “That was…that was…”
“Your first real experience with lovemaking,” he said softly, giving her a crooked grin.
“I hadn’t thought so, but…I guess you’re right. I didn’t know I could…feel that way.”
“Might I feel that way now?” he asked, his voice growing husky.
She smiled and put her arms around him. “Oh yes, please.”
But instead of rising above her, he rolled onto his back. “Come here.”
“I don’t understand,” she whispered as her gaze strayed down his candlelit body.
“Come up on your knees and straddle me,” he said.
Roselyn felt awkward and silly, but she did as he asked, then caught her breath as she settled against his erection. His soft groan affected her as much as if he’d caressed her. Then he did, reaching up to cup and play with her breasts. Between her legs, he throbbed and seemed to grow even larger, and she again felt the shudder of rising desire.
“Guide me inside you,” Spencer said, his voice strained.
When she lifted her hips up and touched him, she didn’t know what she’d expected. He was certainly hard, but the skin itself was soft and hot. For a moment, she let herself explore down his shaft.
“This is lovely,” he said tightly, “but if I’m not inside you soon I shall explode, and that is not nearly as much fun.”
Smothering her laughter, she did her best to guide him between her legs. She wasn’t sure if she was in the right position until he grabbed her hips and pulled down, sheathing himself inside her.
With a gasp, she fell forward and rested her hands on his shoulders.
“Are you all right?” he whispered.
Roselyn looked down into his eyes, narrowed and dark with passion, and felt raw power held quiescent beneath her, at her mercy. She lifted her hips and sank back down. His eyes closed and he shuddered.
“Did I hurt you?”
“God, no,” he said hoarsely. “Please, please continue.”
She smiled with pleasure and satisfaction, and he gave her a wary look.
“Be gentle with your servant, my lady.”
She leaned down until their lips almost brushed. Up close, she watched his face again as she lifted and lowered her hips. He arched beneath her, and she felt him so deeply inside her that aching wonder shook her.
“Spencer,” she whispered, then pressed gentle kisses to the corner of his lips, to his cheek, even to his eyelid. He was so precious to her that tears stung her eyes at the beauty of her blossoming feelings for him.
For a moment dark thoughts intruded, as she wondered how long it could last, but she pushed them aside and took control of their lovemaking, riding him until he cried out her name and shuddered beneath her. Roselyn fell down into his embrace and rested atop him, feeling him beneath her, inside her.
Finally she slid off him and lay at his side. He turned in her embrace, pillowing his head against her shoulder as she slid her arms about him. She brushed his hair back from his face. His eyes were closed, his long, dark lashes resting on his cheeks.
She wanted to question him about their journey, about their relationship, but before she could work up the courage he gave a soft snore. She smiled, feeling warm and peaceful and strangely grateful, as she continued to stroke his hair.
“You were the first man to kiss me,” she whispered.
He didn’t react to her words except to snuggle his head against her and pull her more tightly to him. His face seemed open and vulnerable in sleep.
She felt braver now. “You were the first man to care for me.” Then softer: “My betrothed.”
She pulled the blankets up over them both and fell quickly to sleep.
Before dawn, Spencer awoke as if swimming up from deep water. At a level just below true consciousness, he remembered the words Roselyn had whispered as he’d fallen asleep.
She’d never been kissed.
What kind of monster had that stable groom been? When she had lost everything in her gamble for happiness, had he only punished her?
Spencer opened his eyes and looked down at where she cuddled at his side. He’d already known she’d never experienced pleasure in her husband’s bed. As he imagined how unpleasant sex must have been for her, he felt a strange ache in his chest. He wished he could have kept the pain from her, that he could remove all those ugly memories.
He smoothed her hair back from her cheek, and just the sight of her sweet face made his heart come to pieces in worry for her. Had he brought her deeper into danger?
He realized then that he loved her.
The thought made him all the more terrified for her safety. Aye, he loved Roselyn, loved her bravery in choosing her own life and living with her decisions, no matter the outcome.
He cursed himself for not even bothering to get to know his betrothed, to see how they might have made the best of their parents’ command. He had not thought a woman could love him, and was still uncertain if Roselyn did.
He slid his hand down her warm stomach. He ached for her that she’d been a mother so briefly. Even now she could be carrying his child.
What if they executed him for treason? Roselyn and their child would be banished, outcast, and it would all be his fault.
How could he tell her he loved her, when he might be dead soon? Better she hate him and think he used her, than to know he’d gone to his execution loving her.
But he was still a weak, selfish man, and he woke her as he wanted to wake her, caressing her body to welcoming life, then forgetting his sorrows briefly in the shelter between her thighs.
Afterward, Spencer washed quickly in the cold basin. It was difficult to keep his mind on the day when Roselyn lay warm and dreamy on the pillow they’d shared.
She laughed softly. “Your body tells me you’re not ready to leave my bed.”
“This freezing water will soon change that.” He limped to his saddlebag and changed into fresh garments. “I’ll bring you food, my lady. Be up and about when I return.”
“Stop calling me that,” she murmured.
He could see the blush that flowed from her face down her neck. “How far does this lovely rose color go?” he asked, peeking beneath the blankets, then planting a kiss between her breasts as she laughed. “Right to there, I’ll wager. Any lower?”
“Spencer!”
“Ah, I guess this is not the time for exploring. And you are a lady,” he added soberly. He wanted to say “my lady,” but knew it might hurt her in the end.
After they’d broken their fast, he handed her a dagger and scissors he’d borrowed from Francis.
“What are these for?” Roselyn asked warily.
“I need you to cut my hair and beard.”
“But why?”
Her frightened eyes made him ache to reassure her, and he smiled to hide the knot of grief gripping his chest. “I need to enter London as myself, to prove that I have nothing to hide.”
She trimmed his hair and beard, and he took a sharp knife to the whiskers left on his face. He’d been wearing that beard for well over a year. As he looked into the cloudy hand mirror, he could see that his skin was paler where the beard had been.
He suddenly felt more like himself, more confident that he could convince the queen and her government that he had only done their bidding.
He definitely enjoyed Roselyn’s startled look as she studied his face, and the blush that she tried to hide.
As the sun set and the sky reddened across long fingers of clouds, Roselyn rode beside Spencer into the narrow streets of Southwark on the southern bank of the Thames, where she and Philip had lived. Returning reminded her how much she hated London, from the traitors’ heads mounted in warning on London Bridge, to the rats and refuse overflowing the trenches in the center of every street.
In London itself she had always ridden by carriage, but as a resident of Southwark she had walked everywhere. Now, mounted on a horse, she felt the overhanging floors of the houses pressing in on her. She’d forgotten the smells of a crowded town, forgotten the constant noise of vendors calling, “Hot apples,” or “Fresh herrings,” and the never-ending sound of hammer on metal.
Everywhere people pressed in on her, startling Angel. Roselyn wanted to crawl into Spencer’s lap and let him hold her, but that would be cowardly. So instead she concentrated on him, on the stunning face revealed under his beard. His handsomeness awed her.
He ducked beneath a tavern sign, then rode down a narrow alley. She tapped Angel’s flanks to catch up with him. A courtyard and garden opened up behind the tavern, with a crowded stable for guests’ horses.
“This is it,” Spencer said, dismounting, then limping over to help her to the ground. “I know the owner well. We’ll leave the horses here and continue across the Thames by wherry.”
“Why by boat?”
He put his arms around her and nuzzled her ear. “Because my home is best approached that way.”
“Of course,” she breathed, suddenly excited and nervous to see his home. Surely if he were guilty, he would have fled London, not shown his clean-shaven face and taken her proudly to his family.
She knew then that she trusted him, that he was telling her the truth. Wouldn’t a man being chased by his enemy run the other way, instead of facing his accuser? She would give Spencer the pouch, in hopes that it would help him make everything right, and then they would have plenty of time to discuss their life together.
After he had made arrangements to temporarily stable their horses, they moved off through Southwark, picking their way through the garbage on the streets.
“Where are we going?” Roselyn asked as she clutched his hand and balanced her saddlebag with the other.
“To the river. I think the best place to hire a wherry is down this street.”
“No, this way,” she said, veering opposite the way he meant to go. “I lived near here.”
She saw his face pale, then he put his arm around her and gave her a fierce hug.
“You’re a brave woman,” he said hoarsely, “but I still say this is the street.”
She tugged on his hand. “But I’m certain—”
Her voice faded away as three dangerous-looking ruffians emerged from the shadows of an alley behind Spencer. Spencer’s own face was wiped of all emotion just as a man’s hand gripped her elbow and yanked her back against him. Her nose felt assaulted by the smell.
“Gentlemen,” Spencer said smoothly, wearing an amused expression. “I suggest you let the lady go and be on your way.”
The hand gripping her elbow only tightened, and a rumbling voice said, “We’ll be takin’ yer purse, man. The odds be four to one, eh?”
Spencer swiftly brought his cane up hard, cracking it against the temple of one of the brigands, who promptly collapsed into a sewage-filled trench.
“Three to one,” Spencer said.