Unexpected Pleasures Page 23

  Some of the duke’s men fell to the floor when the door gave way behind them. But the men attempting to gain entry froze when they saw the tips of swords being pointed at them from inside the chamber.

  “Lower your weapons for the King’s men!”

  The knight leading them held his hands up so that the men behind him knew to hold their advance.

  “Sheathe your weapons in the presence of His Grace, the Duke of Portshire!”

  The duke’s men did not abandon their stances. The ones who had fallen to the floor rolled over and quickly joined the men who had entered with the duke.

  “Enough!” The duke raised his voice, the sound almost deafening in the confines of the chamber. “The King’s men may enter. I have nothing to hide.”

  Swords lowered but not before the men guarding the duke looked over their shoulders to confirm that it had been their master who bid them to abandon their position. The bishop who had sealed the wedding document pushed his way through the King’s men and gasped when he laid eyes on the two bodies still lying on the floor of the chamber.

  “It is true! I did not want to believe the tale even as the man who told it to me swore it was so! Murder, there has been murder done here, I say!”

  Justina felt her blood chill. All of the relief that seemed to have settled on her was ripped away as she watched the King’s men look at the bodies lying on the floor. They looked at everyone in the room, their gazes touching on the blood staining the back of her gown and down the front, too. The bishop looked at her and pressed his lips into a hard line of disapproval. Synclair stepped between her and the man even as Justina reached out to stop him from shielding her.

  “I ran de Canis through, and the Lady Bessie Portshire is the witness who will tell you that the man was intent on killing Lady Wincott at the time.”

  “It is true!” Bessie shouted, but her words only drew more frowns from the King’s men.

  “Enough! A peer of this kingdom has been murdered. It is a matter for the privy council.” The King’s man looked at the armed men standing in the hallway. “The Baron Harrow and the Ladies Wincott and Portshire shall be placed under strict guard until the council decrees if they shall be taken to the tower.”

  Justina though her heart might stop. Too many who went to the tower never left it alive. Her freedom from Biddeford might be very short-lived if she was convicted of murdering the viscount. There would be far too many who felt she had good reason to seek his death.

  But that was not what sent dread through her. It was the sight of Synclair being relieved of his sword. Pain slashed through her because of every noble thing that she had ever witnessed him doing. He was a knight and that sword was his by the deeds he had done. To witness it being stripped away was more horrible than anything Biddeford had ever forced her to do. It felt as if her heart might stop because the pain was so great, but it was not yet the most painful.

  Everything began moving in slow motion again. The King’s men surrounded Synclair, their expressions betraying their fear of the knight, but he walked forward, complying with their sanctioning of his person. Justina followed but her guards turned her down a different hallway, tearing her away from Synclair. The pain became unbearable in that moment. Synclair must have felt her distress for he turned and his face became a mask of rage when he saw that she was heading in the opposite direction from himself. The men escorting him suddenly faced their fear as he resisted their direction, sweeping two of them to the floor with one powerful motion of his arms.

  “The Lady Wincott goes with me!”

  “That is impossible, my Lord Harrow!” It was the bishop who spoke, his voice carrying authority. “She is not your wife.”

  Synclair’s face became a mask of rage and she heard him growl across the space between them. His body tensed as he prepared to lunge at the bishop.

  I will overcome any obstacle that is between us ...

  His words echoed in her mind as she witnessed the determination on his face. He would do it, do anything it took for her.

  “Then marry us!” Justina didn’t care if her voice echoed down the corridors.

  The men surrounding her were far too trusting of her gender. By the time they realized her intention, she had slipped between them and was running back toward Synclair.

  She stopped at the bishop and forced herself to look at him in spite of the sounds of struggle coming from Synclair and his escort. She fell to her knees, her gown billowing out because she sunk so quickly. She was uncaring of her own pride in that moment, how she looked was irrelevant. She didn’t care about all the practicing that she had been taught as a child to ensure that she never moved without complete grace. All that mattered was making the bishop do as she wished.

  “You said women need husbands and I agree! Wed us, my lord Bishop, this moment. I beg you.”

  “As the lady says, wed us.”

  The bishop looked surprised by Sinclair’s words. The guards trying to hold him back released him and he crossed the space between them and knelt beside her.

  “But ... my Lord Harrow ... this is not a church ...”

  “All of Whitehall was a sanctuary before it became a palace.” Synclair reached over and grasped her hand. “Marry us here and now because the future is too uncertain to leave sin on either of us. What matters is the Church’s blessing, not the vanities of this world, only that we submit to the Church’s will.”

  “I will witness it.”

  It was the Duke of Portshire who spoke up. He stepped closer and snapped his fingers. A moment later his men carried a small table out of a nearby room and sat it down next to the bishop. Someone set a candle on it, with its flame flickering brightly. The bishop’s manservant stood nearby with the bishop’s box of wax and other important items. He looked at his master and waited for the man to indicate whether he should place the box upon the table or not. Justina felt her heart racing while that moment drew out longer and longer.

  “My secretary will draw up the papers while you give the blessing.”

  The bishop looked around to discover that he was the center of attention. His face flushed and his teeth worried his lower lip, but his eyes flickered with growing excitement, and he raised his hands into the air while his voice began the first verse of their wedding. The stone was hard beneath her knees and there was not a single note of music or pleasing scent in the air from incense or bees wax candles.

  But the man kneeling beside her made it the most perfect moment of her life.

  The moment the bishop sealed their wedding document, the guards gestured them off their knees and down the hallway again. The men charged with the duty of escorting them did it quickly, marching them toward a chamber. They shut the doors behind them with the nerve-shattering sound of an iron lock.

  Synclair chuckled, making Justina turn to face him. His face was transformed by a smile that split his lips and reached all the way into his eyes.

  “Have you gone mad?”

  One of his eyebrows rose. “Your tone is less than respectful, Wife.”

  Justina froze, her emotion unsure in that moment. Synclair’s smile faded. He reached across the space between them and cupped the side of her face tenderly.

  “Do not look so alarmed by the word, Justina, for it brings me much satisfaction.” His fingers gently stroked her jaw and along her lips. “And happiness.”

  She shivered, emotion rippling through her along with his touch. “I couldn’t bear the idea of being parted from you, especially since we may not live much longer.”

  He snorted and his hand dropped away from her face. “We shall see about that. It was justified action.”

  “Anne Boleyn was innocent of the charges against her, too.”

  Synclair offered her another sound of male disgruntlement. “Have a bit of faith, Wife. We are still breathing.”

  He turned to look at where they were. The chamber was of good size but still dark because the window shutters were closed. Synclair unhooked his sword belt no
w that his sword was missing and dropped it over a chair.

  The sound of the bar being pushed up on the other side of the door made them both turn toward it. The doors opened and the Duke of Portshire stood there for a moment while his gaze found Synclair.

  “You are not a man I want to surprise on a day like today.” The duke offered a grin along with his words.

  “I will not complain for I saw a goal of mine accomplished, one that was very dear to me.”

  Synclair didn’t look at her but she still felt cherished. More so than she could ever recall in her entire life. The duke nodded and walked into the chamber. He swept it with a quick glance before snapping his fingers.

  “This chamber needs a bit of comfort since it will host a newlywed couple.” Servants began to carry bundles in through the open doorways. “Lady Harrow, the guard has graciously agreed to escort you to my chambers where you may bathe in privacy. Lord Harrow and myself need a bit of time to discuss the trial.”

  The word trial stuck in her throat. Justina was reluctant to leave but more afraid of offending the duke if she refused him.

  They needed his support.

  “That is very kind of you.” She lowered herself before turning toward the doorway and the men waiting to escort her. There was no doubt in her mind that she was about to take the most expensive bath of her life, for it had surely cost the duke plenty to bribe the guards.

  In spite of the apprehension attempting to choke her, Justina felt her lips turning up into a genuine smile.

  Lady Harrow indeed.

  Now she just needed fate to be kind enough to not have her executed before she had the chance to enjoy her husband. It was certainly something she had never expected to do.

  The Duke of Portshire clearly knew how to express his gratitude. Justina returned to a chamber that didn’t resemble the one she had left at all. It smelled fresh now, the window shutters having been opened to allow the breeze to carry away any smoke left lingering. The bed was made with a brocade coverlet and there were plump pillows in creamy pillow cases. The table was laid with pitchers of wine and fresh milk. A tray held dried fruits and thin, delicately rolled peppered meats. It was expensive fare, fit for only the highest nobles or those with a great deal of gold to spend. The Duke of Portshire was obviously more than a titled noble, but a knowledgeable businessman, too.

  “You are too quiet.”

  Synclair was watching her. His blue eyes had been trained on her since the moment she stepped back into the chamber with the guards at her back. Justina discovered herself grateful to be locked behind the doors because at least she had privacy.

  Except from her new husband, that was. But he had not spoken, only watched her every motion, and she discovered herself becoming uncertain of him.

  “I am struck silent by the fact that you are now my wife.”

  Justina found herself in almost the same position but there was too much turmoil to remain silent.

  “I hope you are pleased.” Her voice was low but not soft enough, for he clearly heard the uncertainty in it.

  “How could you doubt it, Justina?” Synclair didn’t raise his voice much above a whisper but it cracked like a whip. He crossed the space between them on silent steps and captured her in an embrace that betrayed just how tense he truly was. His lax demeanor of the last hour had been merely a sham. Her hands landed on his biceps and she could feel the tension in his muscles.

  “What did the duke say?”

  His hand smoothed up her back until his fingers clasped her neck. He leaned down and sealed her mouth with his, kissing her harder when she tried to twist away and continue asking questions.

  “Synclair ...” She succeeded in getting one word out and she heard her husband snarl.

  “We are not going to spend the remains of this day—our wedding day—talking about what the future holds, Justina.”

  “I cannot be at ease while I worry about our fate.”

  He released her and walked toward the bed. He sat down on the edge and used a bootjack to pull his thigh-high boots off.

  “It will be my fate, not yours. Only I will answer to the lords of the privy council on the morrow.”

  Justina felt her eyes widen. She flew across the space between them and placed her hands against his cheeks.

  “But I killed Biddeford; it is my trial to face.”

  Synclair growled at her, his arms clamping around her. He rolled onto his back and took her along with him in one swift motion that stole her breath. Justina landed on her back with his hard body alongside her. Synclair rose above her, his expression tight.

  “It will be mine to face, Justina, because I shall shelter you, and now that you have wed me, you will allow me to protect you.” His hand cupped her chin, his fingers smoothing along her jaw and up to her cheek. It was a tender touch, the opposite of his tone, but she realized that Synclair had always been a combination of strength and tenderness with her.

  “Do you still fail to understand how much you mean to me, Justina? You are the only woman I have ever been unable to ignore. You stick in my thoughts when I should be devoted to other matters. I hear your sweet voice at night and smell your skin when I close my eyes.”

  He lowered his head and nuzzled against her neck. She heard him draw a deep breath and hold it for a moment before softly exhaling. His hands threaded through the strands of her freshly washed hair and she felt him quiver against her body.

  “I would rather die than watch you walk out of here tomorrow to face those charges.”

  He lifted his head and she witnessed the emotion shimmering in his eyes. “If you wish to please me, then hold me and make love with me and trust me.”

  Synclair didn’t allow her to answer. His mouth claimed hers in another kiss that stole her breath. She reached for him and for all the things she had forced herself to leave behind for the better good. Desperation sent her hands stroking over every inch of his body, not content to merely feel only part of him. She needed more, craved more, but she wasn’t alone. Synclair stripped her dressing gown away, his lips trailing kisses down the column of her throat and onto her chest. His hands slid up and over her belly until they cupped each breast, sweet sensation flowing through her while she quivered with anticipation of his kisses reaching her nipples. Each one contracted until it was a hard point, the skin more sensitive than it had ever been before. Synclair didn’t rush and Justina heard her own little cries filling the room.

  “That is the best thing I have heard from you this day, my lady.”

  His voice was husky and edged with need. He leaned down and she felt his breath brush one puckered nipple. Sharp desire spiked through her and she arched up off the surface of the bed in her quest to feel his mouth on her flesh. Synclair pressed her back down, his lips closing around the puckered point as his tongue took a swipe across the very top of it.

  A soft cry passed her lips and she heard him chuckle. “I believe we should conduct all of our conversations in bed, madam. We seem to agree often when we are bare and alone.”

  “I think we need to stop talking completely.”

  He lifted his head and brushed the hair back from her face. She couldn’t suffer the distance between them and reached for him. He covered her body, her thighs parting to allow him to settle where she craved him. The head of his cock nudged against the opening of her passage, discovering her wet and eager already.

  “Because it prevents you from thinking of the outcome of the trial?”

  “Because I want you and I don’t care what is happening in the world, so long as we may forget about it.” She gripped his biceps and lifted her hips so that his length filled her completely. “So long as you do nothing save shelter me, I care not what else is happening.”

  “Exactly my plans, Lady.”

  He pulled free before thrusting back into her. The bed moved along with their motions and Justina let the pleasure tear her away from every thought beside the hard body holding hers. Pleasure crested and they clung to one
another for long moments until they began to tease and touch again. The sunlight reached in long fingers across the floor of the chamber before it faded completely, leaving them with nothing but the glow of the candles. Synclair never extinguished those flames. They flickered throughout the night while he held her, his embrace becoming everything she had told herself she might never expect from any man.

  It was perfection.

  Dawn invaded their chamber and along with it came tension in the arms of her husband.

  “I wish I might bid you remain in bed but I do not wish you to be seen by others as I enjoy you now.”

  Synclair rose and began to dress. Justina followed him, taking time to pull a chemise over her head before she began to help him dress.

  “No argument today?” He looked at her while she went to retrieve his doublet from where it hung on the back of a chair.

  Justina offered him a smile. “The very first time that I laid eyes upon you, I was impressed with the fact that you were a true knight. It is part of you and something that draws me to you. I would not have us argue this day. Let us speak of love instead.”

  He waited until she had buttoned the doublet all the way to his chin before slipping his hand beneath her chin and locking gazes with her.

  “Because you fear that it might be our last day? Well, Lady, I am a knight and one who is willing to risk everything I have for victory.”

  He was cocky and arrogant but she smiled at him even as she shook her head at his vanity. He chuckled and a solid smack landed on her backside when she foolishly exposed it to him.

  “Get dressed, Wife! The day has broken and we’ve matters to attend to.”

  Justina didn’t get time to dress before there came a solid knock on the doors. She shrugged back into the dressing robe that was lying forgotten on the floor. The Duke of Portshire offered her a brief nod before Synclair strode across the chamber to join him. Her knight never looked back but faced his next challenge with every bit of courage and determination that she had come to expect of him.