Page 8 of Betrothal

“Hawking or hunting?”

“Most definitely hunting.”

Thomas sipped his wine. “What game?”

Geoffrey laughed. “A wide-eyed doe.”

An irritated glare sparked as Thomas sat up. “Oh, do not tell me you have been snared by that little wench you flaunted earlier tonight! You looked insufferably pleased with yourself, though I have no idea why. You did not even win her through your own efforts. Your father chose her, by Christ.” He glared at Geoffrey. "Though why he did not get you a better alliance, God knows. He made a much more illustrious match for your brother.” Thomas shook his head. “And yet you approve of it?”

Geoffrey grinned at the exasperated man. “Aye, I do. The match is better than you may think, Thomas. Her father has no sons and she is the eldest daughter, so his estates will pass to her and her husband on his death. A fair catch for a second son with no expectations, would you not say?” He sipped the wine and sighed. “And strange as it may seem, I liked the little maid.”

“An innocent who will not even know how to please a man properly. As I recall, you usually prefer more lively fare.”

Geoffrey grimaced. Thomas knew his appetites in women as well as his own. “What I prefer would hardly be what I would wed.” He seated himself across from the man he had called friend for ten years. “She is what I expected in a wife and maybe a bit more besides.”

Thomas grunted, twirling his cup in his hands. “What do you mean?”

“Oh, she is an innocent, but underneath there is a mettle in her that could be very entertaining, both in and out of bed.” Geoffrey chuckled. “She spoke her mind rather freely tonight and challenged me to be her Hercules.”

Thomas cocked his head. “Hercules? I would say she has an eye for the obvious. You fit that immortal’s description so well already.” His face took on the smug smile it so often wore. “I know you saw how smitten she was with me when I pointed her out to you earlier. A bold eye she had, with a face to tell the tale.” He grinned at Geoffrey. “She did not, however, seem pleased with you, my friend. You should be glad she had no dagger within her reach when you forced her to promenade around the room.”

Geoffrey scowled. He knew Thomas’s penchant for baiting well.

“Did you see her face when I kissed her hand? I thought she would drop to the floor.”

Geoffrey snorted and shook his head. “She is young, and you are but a passing fancy.” He shot a glare toward the smaller man. “Trust me, I will make sure of that. And you well know ’twas when I kissed her hand before the court that she all but swooned. Neither did she react to your kiss, but to the touch of her hand on mine after you had kissed it.”

“You saw that, you devil!” Thomas shook his head. “And I was at my most charming, too. So why does your rough touch make the girl giddy? Have you threatened to beat her already?”

“She is marrying me, not you, Thomas.”

“Geoffrey! You wound me to the quick. But the question at hand is what makes her tremble at your touch?” Thomas laughed, the idea of such a strong attraction obviously ludicrous to him.

Geoffrey chuckled at the question, but avoided an answer. He sat, lost in contemplation. When it came to courting a lady, he could not hold a candle to Thomas. That seductive man possessed charms Geoffrey had watched him ply with great success for years, yet had never been able to emulate. He shunned all but the most necessary entanglements with women and so had little experience with satisfying them outside the bedroom. The memory of the unexpected inferno that had leapt from his betrothed’s hand to his during that kiss bewildered him. Would it make his courtship of Lady Alyse easier or more difficult?

“You know, Geoffrey, according to the art of courtly love it is the height of bad manners to fall in love with your own wife. A man’s true love is found with another man’s lady.”

Thomas always saw too much.

Geoffrey coolly turned the tables. “Mayhap then you will oblige me by marrying Lady Alyse yourself, and wear the cuckold’s horns, lest I disappoint the rules of courtly love.”

With a snort of derision, Thomas got to his feet, apparently done sparring for the night. “Not for the wide world, my friend. Although I bear you great love, Geoffrey, I will wear no horns, nor saddle myself with an untried maid even on a bet. To which end I did not offer for the fair Alyse when I had the chance.” He set his empty cup down and grinned at his companion. “I prefer the well-seasoned dish to plain fare.” He made for the door then turned as he opened it. “In truth, are you not coming?”

Geoffrey rose and stretched. “Nay, Thomas. My business will not keep. Another time, mayhap.”

With a groan, Thomas left the chamber to Geoffrey, who went to stare out the window at the shadowy trees across the royal park.

Thomas’s question still preyed on his mind. The lightning stab of desire when he had caught the maid’s eye, he understood well. She was comely, with face and form fashioned to make a man ache. But why did his flesh seem afire whenever he touched her? Such feelings were alien, unknown in all his previous dealings with women. This was different—and disturbing.

He sighed, and thought of the changes that would soon rule his life. Already ruled it. His refusal to carouse with Thomas was the first sacrifice. He had always matched Thomas pace for pace in whatever pastime they favored—hawking, gaming, wenching. But tonight he had to cry off. He had not aimed to disappoint his friend, but he had devised a plan to satisfy Alyse’s need for time and wanted to put it into motion at the soonest possible moment. Which meant breaking his fast early.

He imagined his betrothed’s face, her crystal blue eyes wide when he laid the plan before her, and could not suppress a smile. She might be outraged, but he aimed to give her exactly what she had asked for. Her Hercules would succeed at his set labor, and she would have to become used to life with a resourceful man.

His thoughts turned to the more intimate things she would have to get used to, and a stir of desire rose in him. He imagined her thick black hair fanned out on the bed, her full-lipped mouth beneath his, and the small dark mole just above the right corner of her lips begging for the touch of his tongue. That dot had entranced Geoffrey in the Great Hall earlier. His mind fixed on the tiny, curious mark, and filled his head with images… A shiver coursed through him.

He conjured her naked, luscious body before him, but his cock insisted on more substantial fare. The thought of two weeks of such torture elicited a low groan. Perhaps he would seek relief with another before the wedding night. Too much hunger might make him overeager, and the last thing he wanted was to hurt Alyse unduly. The problems of sampling plain fare were not unknown to him, though his tastes usually ran, as Thomas’s did, to the more seasoned. Still…this plain fare, with the addition of a little spice, promised to be delectable indeed.

With that pleasant thought, Geoffrey quit the window, doffed his chausses and doused the light. He contemplated the morrow when the campaign for the capitulation of Lady Alyse would begin—with its success to be decided in this bed two weeks hence.