She rose, heart leaping, and stepped toward the door. She stood on one side of it, so there would be no visible shadow of her feet to whoever waited on the other side. To her astonishment, she saw the withered remnant of the daisy coronet she had worn at her wedding. She quickly bent to put her eye to the crack.
A man leaned against the opposite wall of the corridor, his head bowed. His hair was dark as ebony and wavy. He carried a pitcher with a stopper and a platter of food. His boots revealed that he was not so poor as one might assume from his plain garb, for they were tall and of fine leather, if mired. He wore a redtabard marked with the insignia of Marnis, but no squire in this hall had such fine boots as these.
How had this stranger gotten the coronet? How could he know of it?
She had no chance to wonder further for the man abruptly lifted his head to look directly at the door, proving he was no stranger. The blue of his eyes revealed his identity as clearly as his very name. Amaury’s eyes blazed, as if he would will her to open the portal, but Isabella needed no such encouragement.
Amaury had come to her! She did not know how or why, but the details were not of import.
She silently lifted the latch and opened the portal. She did not have to beckon, for Amaury closed the distance between them so quickly that her breath caught. He shut the door behind himself and set down his tray, then lifted one hand to her cheek and stared down at her in wonder.
“Are you hale?” he asked with such concern that she could not resist him.
“Aye!” she whispered and cast herself into his embrace. He caught her close, lifting her to her toes, then kissed her soundly, his touch filled with the same relief that she felt. His fingers were in her hair, his other arm locked around her waist with welcome strength. She tugged him toward the great bed, not caring for conversation in this moment.
Amaury had come to her.
When he looked at her as he did in this moment, his eyes fairly glowing, Isabella could not form a coherent thought. She had no wish to do as much. She wanted only this man – and if he wanted her solely because she now possessed a holding and might further his ambitions, Isabella could not care.
“Have you eaten?” he murmured into her hair.
“I do not care,” she said, and kissed him to silence again.
“You had to know I would come,” he whispered when he had the chance.
“Nay,” she confessed. “I only hoped.”
“You should have believed, my lady,” he said with heat. “I will never abandon you.” Isabella sighed contentment at the notion, then locked her arms around his neck. Amaury’s mouth closed over hers with surety and Isabella kissed him without reservation.
In this moment, there was only Amaury, only the sorcery he could conjure with his touch, and on this night, she would surrender to him completely.
If Amaury had fearedfor his welcome, his concerns had been without cause. Isabella kissed him with a vigor that left no doubt of her relief – and he wanted only to reassure her. Had she truly feared that he would not come? A man of good sense could only do whatsoever was necessary to dismiss such uncertainty.
She wore only her chemise and her feet were bare. Her hair was braided but the plait hung loose over her shoulder. She looked soft and warm and the shine in her eyes offered an indisputable invitation. There might be peril at Marnis. Edmund might be seeking him out and plotting against them. Someone might be planning the demise of his lady wife, but Amaury forgot all of that in the marvel of Isabella’s kiss.
In this moment, there was only his willing and alluring wife, her lips, her caresses, her softness in his arms and her enticing scent. Not only was she safe, but she desired him – in this moment. She urged him toward the bed, ensuring that he had no opportunity to speak, much less protest.
Though, truly, Amaury found no reason to object. To have Isabella hunger for him was beyond expectation. He could only imagine that he overcame her reticence and that soon their match would be an enviable alliance.
And one blessed with many sons.
She broke their kiss beside the bed and he caught a glimpse of her smile – a surprisingly mischievous expression – before she pushed him onto the mattress. The linens were fresh and clean, with the scent of wind and sunshine upon them. The mattress was soft, undoubtedly filled with the down of swans, and Amaury could not help but groan with pleasure, even before Isabella tumbled atop him.
“And so the truth is revealed,” she whispered. “You came for thebed.”
That she teased him was an unexpected delight. Her eyes were sparkling and her manner so different from the reserved lady he had wed just days before that she might have been a different woman. Amaury grinned back at her, unable to resist the chance to tease her in return.
“Who could fault me for that?” he dared to say. “It has been years since I have slept in a bed, and this one, is unrivaled in its merits.” He closed his eyes and nestled into the mattress with such a show of satisfaction that she giggled. When he opened his eyes, she was watching him, her mood sober again.
“Was it so very austere?”
“Often, aye. But I have no regrets.”
A twinkle reappeared. “Do you ever have regrets, sir?”
“I strive to avoid them as much as possible. And truly—” he rolled her abruptly to her back and she caught her breath in surprise “—there is not a man alive who could regret finding his wife in a bed such as this.” He stole a kiss then, savoring how her lips softened beneath his.
Again, she was serious when he lifted his head.
