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A horrible realization flooded Aimee’s being that they were going to ignore her embarrassing presence. Likely, they thought her some buxom serving wench that Lord Kentigern was dallying with! An awkward silence fell over the group.

“This is my wife, Aimee,” Konrad said as though the words were dragged from his lips by wild horses. Aimee closed her eyes in mortification, and suddenly Armand de Bussell gave a hearty laugh.

“Armand!” the princess murmured to her husband in reproach. He sobered at once. “Perhaps, if you put her down, Lord Kentigern?” she suggested sounding flustered. “And perform our introduction?”

Aimee felt Konrad’s shoulder stiffen beneath her. Her face turned as red as an apple as she prepared herself for the inevitable and humiliating descent from his shoulder. She just hoped her legs would be able to hold her up.

“We have some business to see to back at our tent,” her husband replied shortly. “I am afraid the introductions must wait until supper.” With that, he turned around and started back up the bank toward their tent.

Aimee gasped, inhaling her necklace, which she hadn’t realized was still in her mouth. She spat the pearls out. “What are you doing?” she choked in a furious undertone, venturing one glance back at the couple watching them with open mouths. “You can’t just –”

“Actually, I can,” he responded. “And I just did.” He ducked into the entrance and then turned, releasing some strings so the material swung shut. Then he carried her to the bed and lowered her down onto the mattress, so they were face to face. “Not another word,” he warned, and rolled her over onto her stomach.

Aimee felt her gown lifted up over her legs and settled at her waist, followed by her shift. He made short work of the strings tying her fine linen under-clouts and dispensed with them altogether. “In case you’re confused, I’m not about to spank you,” he rumbled.

“Then what are – ?”

“Not good at following orders, are you?” His tone was strangely relaxed now. Aimee turned her head to look at him, but at that moment, his big, warm hands settled over her bare buttocks and started to rub her so firmly, he startled a surprised exclamation out of her.

“Too hard?” he asked.

“N-no – ow!”

“There?” His hand paused a moment before concentrating on the spot that had caused her to cry out, circling the pads of his fingertips against the sore area. “This is where it hurts the most?”

“Yes,” Aimee admitted, tears starting to her eyes, but his carefully rotating fingers felt good. Her breath came raggedly as he continued his ministrations, switching to his strong thumbs and then back to the palms of his hands. He took his sweet time about it, and it felt so nice Aimee was tempted to admit she had brought her lotion with her should he wish to use it. By the time he had finished, Aimee was lying there like a limp rag, her face pressed into the blanket. It was the first time she’d felt comfortable all day.

“I will do it again before bed,” he promised.

“I cannot believe I have to ride all that way home again,” Aimee groaned. “Riding is torture.”

He gave a short laugh and drew her shift and then her skirts down, resting his hand on her rump over her clothes. “My poor, spoiled little wife. I suppose you will require a carriage to convey you north to Bartree,” he said thoughtfully. “When it’s finally habitable, that is.”

Aimee felt the warmth from his hand through her clothes and strangely did not even feel embarrassed. “Did your sister ride all that way?” Aimee croaked. Oh, my gods, she could not even imagine a weeklong continuous ride. Did not want to imagine it!

“She and Freda were raised in the country. Both were taught to ride in their infancy.”

Aimee pulled a face. Yet another thing she would have to improve on. She filed it away next to music and embroidery. She had so many shortcomings as a baroness that it was becoming alarming. “I expect Princess Una is a good horsewoman,” she heard herself say, and to her shame, she sounded a little sulky about it.

“She attended a good many battles,” he answered, swatting her backside and rising from the mattress. “If she had not been able to ride well, her life would have been in grave peril. Well, more in peril,” he added wryly.

Aimee turned her head to watch as he peered out of the tent. “Who are you looking for?”

“Jakeman.”

A horrible thought occurred to Aimee. “He – he would not have looked in just now when you were –” she broke off, her face flooding with color.

Konrad shook his head. “He will not come in if the entrance is unfurled.”

She rolled onto her side. “Is that some sort of signal between the two of you?” she asked with sudden suspicion.

He glanced back over his shoulder at her. “What are you implying?” His tone was sarcastic. “That I drag lots of women back to my pavilion?”

Aimee plucked at the blanket, not quite meeting his eye. “No, of course not,” she huffed, though that had been what she was thinking. Was she turning into a jealous harpy now? On top of all her other shortcomings. She groaned, rolling onto her back, and covering her face with her hands.

He turned from the tent entrance and regarded her. “What now?”

“You made me look like such a fool in front of the princess!”