Free Yearning Heart by Zelma Orr

Stephen would be reminded of her? Was that why he raged at her?
    Inside her room, Rebecca leaned against the door and looked at the bed turned back for her to get into and rest. Rest. She had never been so rested. Her body was rested. Her mind could not.
    The guest bedroom—with its single bottle of perfume, perfume Sir Stephen forbid her to use. Whose fragrance?
    She started as the knock on the door vibrated against her backbone. She opened the door to look straight up into Stephen's dark blue eyes. She took a step backward and inclined her head.
    “My lord,” she said.
    His hair was plastered close to his scalp, drops of rain sparkled in his beard, and she could smell the wetness of his clothing.
    He stepped into the room.
    “You are well, Rebecca?”
    “Yes, my lord.”
    “I am your husband, not your lord, Rebecca.”
    His hands came up to yank her to him, and his mouth was hard against hers. His lips, wet and cold, ground into hers and his hard tongue forced her lips apart.
    She didn't like to kiss that way. She struggled and twisted away from him. But Stephen was strong, and she had little chance to free herself if he wished to hold her. His mouth gentled on hers, his tongue withdrew as his lips brushed back and forth across her mouth, stirring an odd shivering within her. His big hands bunched the material of her dress under her arms, his thumbs resting beneath her breasts. She felt his warm breath in her mouth, the stiff brush of his beard on her chin.
    She was suddenly free, and she stared at the man who was her husband.
    “I have been hard at work, Rebecca. Surely it is not too much to ask for a kiss of welcome?”
    “N—no, my lord.” She couldn't help the stammer.
    “I will have to give lessons, I suppose, in teaching you my name.” He turned toward the door. “I am in need of a bath and food. Ask Malvina to see my meal is ready within the hour.”
    “Would you desire help with your bath, my ... S-Stephen?”
    His steps slowed, and then stopped. He turned, his gaze sweeping her slight figure, and a roguish glint brightened his eyes. He bowed from the waist.
    “I would greatly enjoy it, Lady Rebecca.” He stood aside to let her pass. “This way.” He took her elbow and guided her across the hall through an open doorway.
    “I have not asked Malvina to bring your meal,” she said, unable to meet the probing directness of his steady gaze.
    “Food can wait,” he said and pulled her into his arms. His mouth descended swiftly, catching Rebecca's lips parted. His tongue darted into her mouth and, as though remembering her withdrawal, he slipped his tongue over the surface of her teeth, over her lips, and finally pressed his closed mouth firmly over hers. She felt the hard demand, and then over the demand, she sensed a restraint as though he would go easy with her.
    Squeezing her eyes shut, Rebecca pushed her face against Stephen's and her lips parted without thought from her. A strange warmth like the path of a shooting star trembled through her stomach, fluttering beneath her ribs. Stephen's hands slid over her buttocks, pressing her into a body hard and irregular to her flat stomach. She gasped as she realized what the rock hard thing was between them.
    “Ah, Rebecca.”
    His mouth left hers to trace a moist path down her cheek, his tongue whisked lightly into her ear, and he nibbled at the lobe before kissing her neck. He shivered and held her more tightly.
    Rebecca's eyes were wide open, staring at Stephen's thick hair ruffled over his collar. What else is there to making love? Is this all? She wondered. She sort of like it this way.
    Stephen's voice snatched her away from such thoughts.
    “Help me undress,” he said and pushed her far enough away that she could reach the hooks on his clothing.
    Once she had helped undress Richard when an angry bull hurt him. She knew how the shirt came off, but she had trouble with pants. Impatiently, her husband pushed her clumsy fingers away and almost