“Yea, but I would not use that term in her presence,” he advised. He paused, his hands at the waist of his chausses, and looked directly at her. “You have lied to me, and I do not enjoy being manipulated, but if I must be married, I see no reason why it shouldn’t be to you.”
“Oh, that is lovely, my lord. Very romantic.”
Nicholas lifted a corner of the fur and climbed into bed, still wearing his chausses. He shook a pillow out and tossed it behind his back, and then beckoned to her. “Come to bed, Simone.”
She hesitated for only an instant before crossing the room and joining him. She faced him on her side, hugging the very edge of the mattress. Her pride still stung, but she could not help but feel an immense sense of relief. For whatever reason, Nicholas needed this match to work as badly as Simone did.
“What are we to do about Didier?” she prompted quietly. “Obviously this will be quite an unusual marriage, if we are unable to be…intimate.”
“We shall deal with that once we return to my home,” he said simply.
She wanted to smile from the glimmer of hope he’d given her. Simone felt cleansed after telling her tale to this man, although why she should, she knew not.
Nicholas yawned. “Put out the candle, Simone. On the morrow, I will show you London.”
She twisted around and reached out an arm, and an instant later, the chamber was dark. The fire in the hearth was a mere suggestion now, the flickering coals throwing off the most meager glow.
Simone chewed on her lip in the silence. “Good night, my lord.”
Nicholas grunted, and the mattress bucked as he rolled over.
She sighed, smiled to herself. “Good night, Didier.”
Chapter 8
Nicholas was true to his word. The fortnight following her wedding was a whirlwind of activity for Simone. Her new husband was a most accommodating host, touring her through shops and markets, feasts at countless nobles’ homes, and even several meals with the king and queen. He seemed to enjoy showing her off at every opportunity. Nicholas bought her trinkets and baubles, ribbons and bolts of cloth, and the strangest item of all: a small, slender feather from some exotic bird.
Simone had looked to him in bewilderment when Nicholas handed her the near-weightless gift outside a dressmaker’s shop.
“Thank you, Nicholas. ’Tis beautiful.” She frowned and spun the feather between her thumb and forefinger. “But what is its purpose? ’Tis too small for writing.”
Nicholas grinned down at her, causing her heart to flutter. “Nay, it is not for writing, nor is it for you. I purchased it for Didier.”
“For me?” Didier crawled from beneath a merchant’s cart and scrambled to Simone’s side. “Let me have it, Sister!”
Simone shot her husband a confused look before holding the feather out to the boy. Didier whooped with glee, shouting, “Merci,my lord!” before bolting through the crowd, waving his prize over his head and making wild bird noises.
Simone laughed. “Didier thanks you, Nicholas, but I don’t—”
“Oh, now.” A fat, friendly-looking maid carrying a basket of turnips on her hip clucked her tongue. “The wind’s done stole yer lovely feather, milady. Look”—she pointed a plump finger over the sea of people—“there it goes, for certain. What a shame.” The woman moved on, leaving Simone to stare wide-eyed at Nicholas, a smile dawning on her face.
The baron’s own grin grew even wider. He took her elbow and began walking once more, following in Didier’s wake by the wildly tumbling, white feather.
Simone laid her hand atop her husband’s and squeezed briefly. How ingenious the man was, she was discovering. And thoughtful, when he was of a mind. While Didier could not support items of weight for any length of time, the feather would not prove a burden for the boy.
Nicholas was sly as well. Simone suspected that the root of the baron’s generosity was so that he could detect Didier’s presence himself. The past several nights of sharing a wide, warm bed with her husband in only the most platonic sense was proving much more of a challenge than Simone would have ever guessed. At times she felt certain that Nicholas would kiss her, wanted to, but then Didier would appear, dousing her passion like a spill into the icy Thames.
In truth, Didier had been busy creating mischief wherever he accompanied Nicholas and Simone: at a noble’s home, where two regal, white hounds were found mysteriously painted with jam; in any crowded marketplace, where sudden gusts of wind were often blamed for tossing a fattened lady’s skirts over her head; during a royal feast, where beautifully dressed fish seemed to regain life and flop from their platters to swim in the rushes.
Yea, a feather to track the prankish boy was a fine idea.
Except for Armand’s odious company—forced upon them on a handful of outings, begging coin from her husband and spoiling her carefree moods—the past two weeks had been like a dream for Simone. She had noticed on occasion the familiar manner in which some of the noble ladies addressed her husband, and she was disconcerted by the pinch of jealousy she felt, but Nicholas never acted inappropriately while in Simone’s presence. Already, the initial attraction she’d felt for him was blossoming into a friendly affection.
The only instance since their wedding night that Simone had observed Nicholas less than jovial was on an outing to an open air bazaar. Simone had mentioned a desire to peruse the heavy woolen fabric offered in a nearby stall. Nicholas had immediately obliged her but, upon reaching the stall, sponsored by the nuns of a local convent, he had suddenly become tense and distant. They had returned to their rooms shortly thereafter, and Nicholas had immediately excused himself, stating he had some forgotten business to attend to. ’Twas well past midnight when he finally returned, and as Simone had feigned sleep as he crawled in bed beside her, she could smell the strong drink and cologne on him.
She had no idea what had affected him so that day and was too fearful of breaking the spell of camaraderie to pry into matters Nicholas clearly wished to keep private. She was shamed of her reluctance to inquire about the particularly feminine scent clinging to his clothing. Simone did not think Nicholas had sought another woman, but…
Any matter, he was his same pleasant self the next morn, and he even allowed Simone to read the letter his mother had sent to him. A messenger from Hartmoore had arrived that day, bearing not only the message for Nicholas but also a small chest. The words scrawled gracefully across the parchment buoyed Simone’s hopes for a strong marriage even further.
