“Why?” she demanded of his silence, and her voice broke with the depth of her humiliation and misery. “Why go out seeking other women time and time again, when I was willing to give him everything I had, be everything to him? How could he do that to me?”
The tears rolled down her cheeks, but she no longer seemed to notice them.
Henry wished he had Mortred here, beside him. It would have been a grim joy to make his nose nice and bloody. But Mortred was dead and gone, and it was Jenova who concerned him now.
“Jenova, he was unworthy of you.”
She shook her head, bewildered, and anger glinted in her eyes. “You knew, Henry. You knew. You should have told me. I cannot forgive you that you knew and did not tell me.”
“Sweeting—”
“No, there is no excuse. Better to wound me with the truth than leave me to mourn a man like that, Henry.”
He had thought to protect her, but instead it seemed he had caused her more pain. Henry sighed. “I am sorry,” he murmured.
But Jenova was too angry to listen. “I wished I could have taken a lover while Mortred was alive. I wanted to hurt him as he hurt me. But he was dead, so instead I thought marrying Alfric would show them all—all those who knew the truth and pitied me—that I no longer grieved for a man who had never loved me. I wanted to feel again, Henry. I wanted my revenge, even though it was too late. And now I have no Mortred, no Alfric…I have nothing.”
Henry lifted his head and sat up straighter in the bath. A spark lit his eyes. “You wanted to take a lover, Jenova? You wanted revenge? Then take your revenge. Use me to take your vengeance upon Mortred. Here, now, show him you no longer care.”
She blinked, but she didn’t pretend not to understand what he meant. “Here?” she asked, and glanced over her shoulder at the door.
“Here. The water is still hot.”
“But…now?”
“Reynard is watching, we are private. You can do as you wish.”
Henry watched her bite her lips as she thought, saw her gaze drop to his body beneath the water. “Take your revenge on Mortred,” he murmured, “and chase him from our lives.”
She met his gaze again, and now her green eyes shone and her face was flushed and young. She was the girl he had known long ago; the wild girl who would do anything he did and more. And he had loved her for it. Aye, Henry admitted, of course he had loved her then, she had been everything to him. But his life had taken him elsewhere, and they had grown up apart, and Jenova had wed Mortred….
Slowly, her eyes on his, Jenova began to disrobe. Her fingers were trembling, and Henry could read her self-consciousness, though she was pretending hard not to feel that way. She peeled off her yellow gown and the clothing beneath it, revealing a body that was firm and smooth and beautiful. Her breasts full, her raspberry nipples making his mouth water, the slim line of her thighs and the curve of her waist, the rounded flesh of her bottom and the dark curls below her belly.
He wanted her, all of her, with a need that went beyond lust and desire, and seeped into his very soul. He had never felt like this before—it could not be love. Henry was sure he could not love. For with love went trusting, and Henry, abandoned by his mother, hiding his past, found it difficult to trust women. He did not want to open his heart to someone who might break it; he had survived too much to risk himself in that way. Love was such a chancy thing, after all.
Jenova let her chemise slide in a puddle about her slippers. It was not her best one, but she did not think Henry would care or notice. He was gazing at her now as if he truly would eat her up. Revenge, he had said. The notion had taken root in her, and she felt alive, invigorated, powerful.
Henry reached out a hand.
“Nay,” she said, her voice breathy. “Do not touch me. This is my vengeance, remember. You are my lover, and I have brought you here to seduce you, to show Mortred that he means nothing to me. You must not touch me, Henry. I will tell you what to do.”
He did not like that so well, but Jenova didn’t care. Henry had lied to her. Reluctantly, he nodded.
She stepped free of her remaining clothing and stooped over him. Her soft breast brushed his cheek and he groaned, turning to take her in his mouth, but she moved away. Her hands slid over his shoulders and chest, slowly, a little tentatively, and then with increasing eagerness, exploring him as if she had never touched him before. Her palm slid down, below the water, over the hard plane of his belly. He caught his breath and she smiled. His erection nudged against her fingers and she stroked him, and his hips bucked.
“I’m dying,” he groaned. “Jenova, let me touch you.”
She hesitated, unwilling to relinquish control, but her skin was tingling and flushed by the need to have his response.
“Very well, but you must stop when I say so.”
Henry turned, rubbing his freshly shaven face against her belly where she leaned over him, then he reached to caress her breasts, gently squeezing before finally enclosing first one nipple, and then the other, in his warm mouth.
For a moment Jenova felt quite dizzy. She clung to the sides of the bath, awash with feeling. His hand slid up into her hair, tugging her face down to his, and her lips to his lips. He ran his tongue around them, tasting her, and then he devoured her mouth in a long and passionate kiss.
Another moment and Jenova knew she would be unable to think at all. Already she felt his fingers warm against her inner thigh. With a gasp she pulled away and stood, panting, glaring at him. He made as if to rise from the heated water, but Jenova stayed him with a hand to his shoulder.
“Nay,” she said, and smiled. “I want you to remain, Henry. I want to…to ravish you.”