To his amazement, she set down the jeweled chalice and, with the artfulness of a well-skilled lady-of-pleasure, leaned against the table’s edge in such a way that the front edges of her robe parted to display the lush, top swells of her breasts.
Their crests remained hidden, but what he saw was enough to heat his blood and shoot jolts of fiery desire straight into his loins.
“And when will you retrieve those other chalices, my lord?” she asked, her voice soft, the slight catch revealing she knew exactly what she was about, knew the sight of even just the top rounds of her breasts, would stir him anew.
She meant to use her charms to keep him from leaving.
Marmaduke drew a deep breath, and willed the pull at his loins to recede. “I shall not be retrieving them,” he said, forcing himself to keep his gaze above her shoulders. “In a few days, after Sir Hugh has been dealt with, my men and I – and you – shall depart for Kintail. The goblets will await us, and remain, at Balkenzie.”
“I see.” With one smooth movement, she unfastened her bed-robe’s clasp and let the voluminous cloak billow to the floor. She bent to snatch it off the rushes, purposely choosing an angle that would give him the most stirring view as she did so.
“I shall retire now, my lord. I would welcome your embrace, if you choose to join me.”
Nay, my lady, you shall join me - at Balkenzie, Marmaduke’s heart amended.
His arousal had other ideas and roared at him to follow her, but before he could push to his feet, a small, cold nose bumped against his shin.
As if unsure of his welcome, Leo pushed up on his back legs and pawed Marmaduke’s knee, the accompanying little-dog-whimper assuring Marmaduke’s attention.
And the instant he gave it, the wee creature dropped back down on his rump, turned pleading brown eyes on him, and began to shiver.
A ploy if Marmaduke ever saw one.
Still…
Winter was on the doorstep.
And so he cast a wistful glance toward the great four-poster across the room. His lady had pulled the bed curtains and the saints knew what sultry pleasures awaited him behind their drawn folds.
But another whimper reached his ears just then and this one sounded decidedly pitiful.
Heaving a sigh of defeat, Marmaduke pinched the bridge of his nose, and sent up a silent prayer that is he and his lady were ever blessed with a son, the lad would be spared his father’s soft heart.
Then, his decision made, or, better said, made for him, he leaned down and scooped the furry little bugger onto his lap.
All pretense of his oh-woe-is-me act vanishing from his dark, round eyes, Leo promptly nosed aside the edge of Marmaduke’s cloak and swiftly disappeared beneath its warm folds.
The little dog settled himself without a single glance or grunt of gratitude. And, soft-hearted fool that he was, Marmaduke settled back for a long night, too.
And consigned himself to kneading the wee beastie’s still-shivering shoulders rather than plying the bounty of his lady wife’s irrefutable charms.
Charms he meant to claim in full very soon.
Her charms and her heart.
For now, he rested his head against the chairback, and listened to her tossing and turning behind the bed curtains. All the night through, the rustlings and her frustrated sighs continued. They hung sweet in the air, fair music to his ears.
Burgeoning hope to a heart besieged.
For even one as blighted as he recognized what lurked behind her inability to sleep.
A pleased smile curving his lips, he stared into the darkness, for the hearth fire had all but burned out, and the torches had long since flickered their last.
Slipping a hand inside his cloak, he rubbed gently behind Leo’s floppy ears and savored each and every soft swishing noise to slip past the bed curtains, relished each breathy little burst of impatience to escape her sleep-deprived lips.
Utterly feminine sounds, pointed and recognizable, their meaning well-known to any man capable of satisfying a woman.
Even more so to a man accustomed to winning a lady’s heart.
