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Authors: Anna Markland
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the castle, but he couldn’t go near her without his heart and his manhood responding, fiercely.
Her touch on his muddied face had been the perfect ending to a perfect day.
Imagine coming home every day to such tenderness, such caring.
Perhaps making her his mistress was the only way to protect her. Her chapped hands on his back would feel better than Albert’s any day.
H e growled when his shaft agreed wholeheartedly.
~~~
HENRY FINALLY FELL ASLEEP after chattering endlessly about the victory and Alexandre’s part in it. Elayne smoothed her hand over his hair, now finally clean again, and pecked a kiss on one rosy cheek.
Claricia had been sleeping for ten minutes, seemingly satisfied with Elayne’s answer as to why girls couldn’t play soule .
Still caked with dried mud, Faol had collapsed in a snoring heap outside the door, his long tail twitching.
The evening meal in the Hall had been nerve wracking. It was evident all the servants knew she had touched their Master. Some glared, obviously thinking her an opportunistic whore; others winked and smiled knowingly.
Alexandre’s demeanor hadn’t helped matters. He’d never taken his brooding eyes off her. He’d bathed and changed clothes, but sported a livid bruise on the cheekbone she’d touched, and his lip was cut.
She deemed it odd that his participation in the game was the talk of the castle. Apparently, Comtes didn’t join in such pastimes. Too bad. He looked like he’d enjoyed himself, a pleasant change from his normal reserve. It reminded her of when they’d played with the puppets.
The boyish side of him warmed her heart. She had only to cast eyes on the arrogant, reserved, brooding and sometimes aggravating man for other parts of her body to grow uncomfortably hot.
The Comte’s promise to find her a position gnawed at her. What had he meant?
She was about to collapse into the chair by the hearth and put her feet up when Micheline tapped on the door and poked her head into the chamber.
She winked as she came in. “No rest for you yet. Milord Comte wishes to see you in his solar.”
A maelstrom of conflicting emotions whirled in Elayne’s head.
Tell him I’ve gone to bed.
Tell him you couldn’t find me.
Tell him I can’t be his mistress.
Tell him I long for his touch.
Tell him I’m not a servant.
Her feet were lead weights. She stiffened her spine, drew the playd over her head and walked to the door. She looked longingly at her children, wishing she could curl up with them. “They’re asleep. I won’t be long.”
~~~
ALEX STOOD WITH HIS BACKSIDE to the fire in his solar, legs braced, hands on hips.
Too intimidating.
He folded his arms across his chest.
Non !
He stuck out his bottom lip and flicked his forefinger back and forth over it. Perhaps he should have asked Romain’s advice?
He rejected that notion almost before it entered his head. He was perfectly capable of inviting a woman to be his mistress without help from his philandering brother.
He tugged at his earlobe. Why was it taking her so long to arrive?
He walked over to the small table with the tray and decanter, filled the two goblets with wine, then walked back to the fire, one goblet in hand.
About to take a sip, he stopped, the goblet halfway to his mouth.
N ot chivalrous to drink before she arrived .
T he other goblet looked odd sitting on the tray by itself. He quickly replaced his, straightened his doublet and returned to the fire.
Perhaps she’d refused to come.
Impossible.
Maybe she wasn’t feeling well.
Unlikely, though she looked a bit piqued in the Hall.
One, or both of the children had fallen ill. The exercise had been too much for Henry.
Patently ridiculous .
He considered taking off his doublet. The room was suddenly stifling hot. But it would be inappropriate to greet a servant in shirtsleeves.
He scoffed out loud. He was about to invite the woman to his bed. He’d be wearing a lot less than his shirt if she agreed. His shaft
Her touch on his muddied face had been the perfect ending to a perfect day.
Imagine coming home every day to such tenderness, such caring.
Perhaps making her his mistress was the only way to protect her. Her chapped hands on his back would feel better than Albert’s any day.
H e growled when his shaft agreed wholeheartedly.
~~~
HENRY FINALLY FELL ASLEEP after chattering endlessly about the victory and Alexandre’s part in it. Elayne smoothed her hand over his hair, now finally clean again, and pecked a kiss on one rosy cheek.
Claricia had been sleeping for ten minutes, seemingly satisfied with Elayne’s answer as to why girls couldn’t play soule .
Still caked with dried mud, Faol had collapsed in a snoring heap outside the door, his long tail twitching.
The evening meal in the Hall had been nerve wracking. It was evident all the servants knew she had touched their Master. Some glared, obviously thinking her an opportunistic whore; others winked and smiled knowingly.
Alexandre’s demeanor hadn’t helped matters. He’d never taken his brooding eyes off her. He’d bathed and changed clothes, but sported a livid bruise on the cheekbone she’d touched, and his lip was cut.
She deemed it odd that his participation in the game was the talk of the castle. Apparently, Comtes didn’t join in such pastimes. Too bad. He looked like he’d enjoyed himself, a pleasant change from his normal reserve. It reminded her of when they’d played with the puppets.
The boyish side of him warmed her heart. She had only to cast eyes on the arrogant, reserved, brooding and sometimes aggravating man for other parts of her body to grow uncomfortably hot.
The Comte’s promise to find her a position gnawed at her. What had he meant?
She was about to collapse into the chair by the hearth and put her feet up when Micheline tapped on the door and poked her head into the chamber.
She winked as she came in. “No rest for you yet. Milord Comte wishes to see you in his solar.”
A maelstrom of conflicting emotions whirled in Elayne’s head.
Tell him I’ve gone to bed.
Tell him you couldn’t find me.
Tell him I can’t be his mistress.
Tell him I long for his touch.
Tell him I’m not a servant.
Her feet were lead weights. She stiffened her spine, drew the playd over her head and walked to the door. She looked longingly at her children, wishing she could curl up with them. “They’re asleep. I won’t be long.”
~~~
ALEX STOOD WITH HIS BACKSIDE to the fire in his solar, legs braced, hands on hips.
Too intimidating.
He folded his arms across his chest.
Non !
He stuck out his bottom lip and flicked his forefinger back and forth over it. Perhaps he should have asked Romain’s advice?
He rejected that notion almost before it entered his head. He was perfectly capable of inviting a woman to be his mistress without help from his philandering brother.
He tugged at his earlobe. Why was it taking her so long to arrive?
He walked over to the small table with the tray and decanter, filled the two goblets with wine, then walked back to the fire, one goblet in hand.
About to take a sip, he stopped, the goblet halfway to his mouth.
N ot chivalrous to drink before she arrived .
T he other goblet looked odd sitting on the tray by itself. He quickly replaced his, straightened his doublet and returned to the fire.
Perhaps she’d refused to come.
Impossible.
Maybe she wasn’t feeling well.
Unlikely, though she looked a bit piqued in the Hall.
One, or both of the children had fallen ill. The exercise had been too much for Henry.
Patently ridiculous .
He considered taking off his doublet. The room was suddenly stifling hot. But it would be inappropriate to greet a servant in shirtsleeves.
He scoffed out loud. He was about to invite the woman to his bed. He’d be wearing a lot less than his shirt if she agreed. His shaft
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