Chapter 29 #2
“I wouldn’t dream of it,” Richard said dryly.
Owain gave him a curt nod. “I must see to my duties, my lord.”
“Of course.”
Richard’s hand strayed to his sword and he suddenly remembered he had forgotten to put it on. Jesú, what was his life coming to?
In just a few days the household was packed and on the way to London. The earl of Dunsmore took servants enough for a large house. Wagons of supplies rolled along half full, though they would be overflowing on the return journey with items only obtainable in a great port city like London.
Gwen patted her mare’s neck absently. Her eyes sought Richard. He rode ahead with his knights, laughing and talking about whatever it was men discussed at times like this. She worried over him, but he seemed fine. If his wound pained him, he didn’t show it.
She’d not been alone with him in a fortnight.
The inns were too crowded to obtain a private room.
Richard could have commandeered an entire inn, being a high-ranking nobleman, but he had not done so.
Gwen was thankful he didn’t kick people from their lodgings even if it did mean she’d had to share with Anne.
Gwen cast a glance at Alys. She’d begun to notice the woman seemed preoccupied, especially when Owain was around. It was hard to miss the way the two stared at each other.
Gwen hid a smile behind her hand. At least Alys’s love life seemed in order. Hopefully hers would be too, once she and Richard were finally alone and could talk.
She hoped he would talk. She’d wanted to approach him more than once, but the timing was never right. There were always servants or knights or someone else hanging about. It didn’t seem appropriate to try to discuss their lives while riding horses.
A short time later, they emerged from the forest road. Gwen’s jaw dropped. “Jesú,” she breathed. In the distance, London stretched across the landscape like a huge spider, tentacles gripping the hills with the firm tenacity of a creature that would not be moved.
“Is it what you expected?” Richard asked.
Gwen started. She’d not realized he’d dropped back beside her. “It’s huge!”
He smiled, and her heart lurched. It was far too long since he’d smiled at her.
“Aye, and full of every privilege and decadence you can imagine. Thirty thousand people live in London year-round. ”Tis crowded and dirty in many places.
There are whole streets named after the tradesmen who line them: Chandler, Tailor, Wine, Cloth, Milk, Honey—it goes on forever. ”
“Elinor told me that people actually live on London Bridge. Is it true?”
Richard nodded. “Aye, ’tis true. London Bridge is packed with houses and shops. ’Tis easier to solve the problems of water supply and sewage when one lives over a river.”
Gwen was much too excited by the sprawling city to catch the humor in his reply. She’d heard her father talk of London and she’d been unable to believe the things he’d said. It was impossible to imagine thousands of people living in a place, and yet it was true.
She turned to say something to Richard, but the words died on her lips. His expression was so intense, so hot, that a thrill coursed down her spine. There was no mistaking he wanted her.
“I want to make love to you,” he said softly. “For hours—nay, days. Days, Gwen…”
“Weeks,” she whispered, her heart soaring.
“Years,” he countered, his eyes traveling over her face, down the thick folds of her velvet cloak, then back up again. “I have missed you.”
“I ache for you,” she said.
His eyes darkened. “Soon, wench. Very soon…”
She shivered. Talking could wait.
They did not enter the city of London, crossing instead over the Tyburn Brook to Thorney Isle and the burough of Westminster.
The snow had been cleared to the side and the horses’ hooves clicked on the cobblestones.
People in bright cloaks hurried past, barely noticing the arrival of yet another nobleman and his household though none hesitated to get out of the way once they looked up and saw the crimson and black livery coming their way.
Gwen gazed at her surroundings with wide eyes. Nothing Elinor or her father had ever said prepared her for this. The houses and shops were packed together tightly, stone and timber buildings rising three and four stories above the street. The dirtiness Richard spoke of was not at all apparent here.
As they rode farther into the burough, the houses became larger—sprawling stone buildings surrounded by walls that enclosed vast courtyards and grand gardens. Houses of the nobility.
Westminster Palace rose above the Thames in the distance. They rode toward it, then turned onto a street that Richard said was called the Strand.
Anne Ashford’s party didn’t turn with them, continuing toward the palace instead. Gwen breathed a sigh of relief. She’d hoped the woman wouldn’t try to insinuate herself at Dunsmore House, but she’d fully expected it.
Dunsmore House was one of the grander residences, or palaces as they were sometimes called.
Set against the flowing Thames, its white walls and intricate gardens were enhanced by the great sheets of costly glass adorning the windows.
It took great wealth to indulge in such an extravagance.
Gwen swallowed. She’d had no idea Richard was so wealthy.
Why did a baron with the power and status he carried risk his life riding the borders?
Servants in the Dunsmore livery hurried to greet them. Richard swung down off Sirocco and came to help Gwen. Gripping her hand firmly, he turned to Owain, who was still wide-eyed from the ride through the city.
“The steward here is Sir Charles. Find him and see to the unloading. Do not disturb me unless it’s important.”
Owain’s gaze trailed to their linked hands. A broad smile creased his face, and he bowed. “As you command, my lord.”
Gwen didn’t mind that Richard pulled her through the house before she got a good look at the marble columns, the spacious hall with its gilded walls, the floor-to-ceiling windows that bathed the rooms in light. She didn’t care because she was as singularly minded as he at the moment.
She could see it later. Everything could wait until later. Everything but the wild heat that begged for release.
He sent her up the stairs in front of him. When she was halfway up, she turned and put her arms around his neck. Even standing on the stair below, he was taller than she.
Hungrily, they fused their mouths together. Gwen clung to him, pressed against him until she felt his hard manhood like a pillar between them.
He cupped her breasts and she whimpered. God, it was so long since they’d made love that she was extra sensitive.
Nearly mindless with need, Gwen sank backwards onto the stairs. Richard came down on top of her. Her hands slipped beneath his tunic and he shuddered as she caressed bare skin.
“Gwen, ah Christ, Gwen…” His lips moved down her throat, licking, kissing, rediscovering. “We must get upstairs before I take you here and now,” he said thickly.
“I care not,” she breathed.
“We must, cariad.”
He picked her up and started to carry her to the master chamber. “The stitches!” she cried. “You will hurt yourself!”
Richard laughed. “Jesú, wench, you are too light to injure me. I strain it more when I pull myself into the saddle than I do when holding you.”
He set her down and kicked the door closed. Gwen threaded her fingers through his hair and pulled his head down. His lips on hers were firm and strong and devouring.
His fingers worked her laces until he could push her surcoat and chemise open. Then he bent to seize a nipple. Gwen cried out.
His arm wrapped around her waist and pulled her close while he suckled her breasts with heartstopping precision. Gwen kneaded his shoulders like a kitten.
He groaned when she cupped his manhood in both hands. Somehow, they found their way to the bed. Richard pressed her onto the mattress, shoving her skirts up while she worked to free his chausses.
“I want to be inside you, Gwen. I want to feel you hot and tight and clinging. I want to hear you cry my name while I’m thrusting into you,” he said huskily. “I’ve wanted it for weeks.”
“Yes, Richard, yes. I want it too…”