He’d known her only a matter of days. Yet there was something between them, binding like ropes of exquisite silk.
“You could not remember what I asked of you?” He glared at his supposed wife. “I do not often make my demands twice, Lady Sybilia, but today I will make an exception. Perhaps the pleasures of the wedding night completely swept your mind clear of all other matters.”
She stood very straight, looking at him as if she feared he might leap up and strike her with his fists.
“I asked you, my Lady Sybilia, to bring your handmaiden Deorwynn to our bed one evening, so she might join us.” He paused, one hand resting on his wounded thigh. “Do you remember now?”
It took her a few moments to compose herself. Her thin brows curved slightly, her lips parted, exhaling a small sigh of resignation. “Yes, of course,” she murmured finally.
“And you agreed. Did you not?”
“Yes.”
He squinted. “You do not forsee any objection from the other woman?”
“Of course not, my lord. Deorwynn always does as she is told.”
He wanted to laugh at that, knowing this was absolutely a false statement. That was why the entire matter was puzzling. A woman of Deorwynn’s stubborn, proud nature would not willingly take another woman’s place and give her virginity away to a man she considered her enemy, unless she had an important reason.
“And you are content with the arrangement?” he demanded. “You will do all that I ask?”
“You are my husband and your wish is my command.”
There was no emotion on her face. Unlike the other woman, she would gladly share him it seemed. “Good. I look forward to our evening’s sport.”
Sybilia moved back around the bed, suddenly raising her hands to the collar of her gown. “Why wait until then, my lord? You have not enjoyed my body since our wedding night.” She jerked the cloth downward. “I am ready for you. I always will be. Whatever you wish me to do.”
He was shocked at how quickly she went from prim and proper to half-undressed, offering herself without dignity to the man she’d thought to fool on his wedding night. She was a woman desperate for him now, it seemed, although two nights ago she gave him to another.
She tugged her shift down likewise, exposing two high, firm breasts with pale nipples. He signaled her closer. Glancing down at his lap, she must have seen the hem of his tunic lift as his cock hardened again. A small, pleased smile parted her lips, triumphant relief gleaming in her eyes.
“Kneel before me,” he commanded. “Take my cock in your mouth.”
She did. Darkly amused by her mute obedience—so different to Deorwynn—he stared down at her bared breasts as she sucked his cock diligently. Her skin was so ghostly pale that a tiny network of blue veins could be traced from her nipple, spreading over the full curve of flesh.
Suddenly his door opened and Thierry barged in. “I thought I…” He stopped, turned and would have left without a word, but Guy called him back.
“So much for privacy,” he grunted. “Now you’re here you may as well stay. You can take over in a moment as business calls me elsewhere.”
Sybilia scrambled to her feet, his crest slipping from her mouth with a loud pop.
“My lady wife tells me she will do anything I ask,” he said to his friend.
Thierry was staring at her ripe breasts, his interest evident. He had, of course, told Guy how attractive he thought her on the night she arrived. “Does she?” he mumbled. “Very nice.”
“Yes. And I’m sure she’ll be equally generous to you. If she knows what’s good for her.”
The woman made a small gasp of protest.
Guy reached for his wolf-skin robe. “Now those dewy pink, noble woman’s lips of yours—at both ends—will tend my good friend’s prick to his satisfaction and perhaps I might manage to forgive the massive deception you and your father tried to play upon me.”
He stood, pulled the robe over his shoulders and limped out of the chamber.
Chapter Eleven
Again she disappeared and this time he knew she wouldn’t turn up in his bed later. A hot sickness mounted in his gut at the thought of losing that woman. He yelled at the guards by the gate who were nonplussed by his anger. No one, they assured him, had come in or gone out.
And then he heard her laughter, coming from the cookhouse. He turned, belting his robe with unsteady hands. Limping, he crossed the yard and jerked open the door. A hot blast of steam hit him in the face, instantly dampening his skin and hair. The place was filled with servants, all busy at work, until the cold air he let in caused them to stop, look over in readiness to complain, and then notice him there. At once they fell silent, heads bowed while his gaze swept the crowded interior.