Page 44 of Betrothal

“’Tis but a lifetime, you mean.”

He chuckled. “You speak true, little maid.”

She blushed and turned her head from him. “No longer a maid, Geoffrey.”

He lifted her and hugged her close to whisper in her ear. “You will always be my little maid.” One last lingering kiss and he murmured, “Goodnight, my love.”

Then he strode down the passage before it became impossible to go.

* * * *

Alyse watched until the shadows took him then lifted the latch and entered her chamber. The soreness between her legs as she moved served as a sharp reminder of the evening’s activities. She could not help the wide smile that crept over her face at the remembrance of their bodies intertwined. Wrapping her arms around her waist, Alyse twirled in place, her scarlet skirt belling out. She leaned her head back and laughter bubbled up.

“I suppose this means you’re no longer averse to marrying Sir Geoffrey, Alyse?”

Anne’s smug voice ripped the joy from Alyse’s heart. She stopped twirling so abruptly her skirts bunched around her ankles, and she almost toppled over. Then she straightened and turned to stare at her chamber mate, dressed in her light chemise for bed, pale face and dark eyes making Alyse think of an apparition from the ghostly tales told around the fireplace in Merwyck.

“Wh…what do you mean?” The girl could know nothing of her and Geoffrey’s tryst.

“Humph. You think me a fool?” Anne deliberately ran her gaze up and down Alyse’s form.

At the gesture, Alyse could see herself, almost as if she looked out of Anne’s eyes. Her hair loose and flying around her shoulders, her gown rumpled and in disarray, slipping off her shoulder where she had not taken time to fasten it properly before leaving Geoffrey’s chamber. She moistened her lips and felt them swollen from his passionate kisses.

Before she could think of any words to explain the disaster of her appearance, Anne turned on her bare heel and stalked off to bed.

Alyse stood alone in the middle of the chamber, the happiness of earlier drained away. ’Twould likely be all over the court by tomorrow evening. Her shoulders slumped.

Thank God her wedding was but a week away. The change in bedfellows could not come soon enough for her.

Chapter 18

The night after the banquet, Alyse stood before the fire, brushing her hair in preparation for bed. One week from tomorrow would be her wedding day. Then she and Geoffrey would be together forever.

This week would seem an eternity, and for more reasons than one. Surprisingly, Anne had held her tongue regarding her disheveled appearance last night. At least, Alyse had heard no gossip featuring her and her beloved at the dinner this evening. Still, she feared it merely the calm before the storm.

A quiet knock sounded on the chamber door. She frowned at it then glanced at Anne, already asleep in the bed they shared. Who could want them at this hour? She grabbed the candle from the table and tiptoed to the door.

“Who is there?” she called softly through the stout wood.

“Geoffrey.”

“Geoffrey!” Alyse pulled the door open so violently the flame wavered.

She thrust it atop the mantle and launched herself into his arms without hesitation. She had scarcely glimpsed him all day, not even at dinner. Had not spoken to him since he had left her here last night. Hunger for his touch gnawed at her, like an empty belly appeased by only one food.

Geoffrey chuckled. He gathered her to his chest, his warmth soaking into her through her sheer chemise. After gently bumping the door closed, he strode into the room to stand exactly where she had been—in front of the fireplace. He released her slowly, letting her slide down him inch by incredible inch until her toes touched the floor. Before he could say a word, she pulled his mouth into a greedy kiss. His lips were the remedy she craved for an illness she did not wish to cure. He struggled not at all but moved to deepen the kiss, sending shivers of desire through her body.

Though he seemed as reluctant as she to break apart, he pulled his lips from hers. Breathless, she attempted to control herself.

I am a shameless wench whene’er he is near me.

Leaning a hand on the mantel, Geoffrey stared into her eyes, his bright and glittering in the scant light of the candle. When she finally broke from his gaze, the flickering flame revealed him dressed in riding boots and traveling cloak. Had the king ordered a midnight ride to test his warriors’ readiness?

“What brings you here so late, my love?” She spoke in hushed tones, mindful that her sleeping bedfellow could not be counted on to remain so. A glance at Anne assured her she and Geoffrey were safe for now. Her gaze traveled down to her own dishabille. Her gown gaped open, baring the smooth flesh of her breasts.

When she lifted her head, his gaze rested brazenly on her exposed chest. He nodded, a grin spreading over his face.

What must she look like! Her hair spilled wildly over her shoulders; her chemise pressed erratically against her body in several telling places, and pulled away in others. She shifted from one bare foot to the other on the chilly floor, clutching the neckline to her, more than a little aware of his appreciative gaze.