Page 9 of An Ill-Made Match

“What possible objection could you have to this one?” Mason asked.

“She’s not Eden,” Roland slurred and fell forward face-down onto the table-top.

**

Something was tickling Roland's nose. He scrunched it up and blew out of his mouth to try and dislodge whatever the irritation was. It drifted away before settling again across his mouth this time. With an annoyed murmur he tried to reach up to drag it away, only to find both his hands were already occupied, palming the charms of his current bed-mate. He glanced down in surprise to find one handful of buttock and one of breast. She was lay sprawled a-top of him and was gently snoring into his chest. His eyebrows shot up as he tried and failed to remember how this one had ended up in his bed. He must have gotten steaming drunk he realized, as his last memory was sat between his two brothers at the betrothal feast. He must have picked up some serving wench, he thought uneasily, though he had done precious little of that in recent months. Not since that witch Eden Montmayne had kissed him and tied his libido up in knots. He frowned down at the top of his companion’s hair, which was black and shining, but he didn't remember a damn thing. Eden’s hair was black, he thought uneasily. Maybe that was why this one had caught his eye. He released her perky breast with faint reluctance and reached up to brush her long hair from his face. It was straight and long and smelt faintly of roses. That was when he felt the first frisson of alarm. Most serving wenches did not smell of flowers the morning after. He reached down and gently lifted her hand from where it lay on his mattress. Slender and soft with clean rounded pink nails. Holy fuck. He'd bedded a high-born lady yester e'en. If she was married, he'd cuckolded some poor bastard and if she was a virgin, even worse! He lay staring at the ceiling in horror a moment as he absorbed this. Pray to the gods she was a horny widow who had fallen into his bed like a ripe plum! But even widows could be troublesome he thought with distraction as he released the soft hand and absently re-cupped her breast. What if she demanded he made an honest woman of her? He'd finally pledged his troth to most beauteous woman at court - Lenora Montmayne. It would not go down well if he’d swived some friend or relative of hers at the betrothal feast! He cleared his throat and the wench gave a muffled groan which made his dick perk up with interest.

“Thirsty,” she whimpered and lifted her face to gaze at him through blurry blue eyes. He knew those eyes, though usually they were sharp as gimlets. He knew those delicate features too.

Fuck.

They both stared.

The moment stretched.

Then an insistent hammering started on the door.

Eden yelped, and he sucked in a sharp breath, as they drew closer to each other in mutual confusion. Roland slid his hand from her bosom around her back to cradle her body against his.

There was a splintering sound, and then suddenly the door burst open and they found themselves confronted with their host Sir Leofric Montmayne, his brother Sir Christopher, Roland’s own two brothers and an astonished looking man he vaguely recognized as the steward.

“Ah there you both are,” said Oswald. There was a glint in his eye that Roland didn't care for.

Eden gave a strangled scream and bounced off him, dragging the covers up to her neck and exposing his naked body and very hard cock. For some reason, when he had realized his naked bed-partner was Eden Montmayne, it had gone from half to full stand. He sat up with a muffled exclamation and dragged a cushion over his crotch.

Oswald coughed, and Sir Leofric made a strangled noise in his throat. The steward’s eyes opened so wide they almost fell out of his head. Sir Christopher’s face turned an outraged purple color as Mason rolled his eyes.

Oswald looked like he was struggling to keep his face straight, the bastard. “Tsk, tsk brother!” he said shaking his head. “I didn't like to speak out of turn Sir Leofric, but I could see how things were brewing when I saw them together yesterday.” He gave a heavy sigh. “Roland has seduced your poor niece.”

“You - you - Blackguard sir!” shouted Sir Leofric. “If I had not seen this with my own eyes I would ne'er have believed such infamy!”

His words seemed to rouse his brother Christopher’s ire too. He took a hasty step forward and pointed at Eden. “You’ve certainly shown your true colors and no mistake!” he wheezed. “The apple never falls far from the tree. You have nurtured a viper in your bosom Leofric. She’s nothing but a little wh-!“

Mason’s arm shot out and pinned Sir Christopher to the doorway. “Who the fuck is this again?” he asked Oswald over his shoulder. He dwarfed the other man, who was dangling feebly from his fist.

“I forget,” said Oswald. “Some cousin of yours?” he asked Sir Leofric, turning to him.

“My brother, Christopher” said Sir Leofric awkwardly.

“Tell him to shut the fuck up,” said Roland from the bed. “I’ve got a pounding head.”

“Yes, do,” said Oswald. “His shouting isn’t really contributing to the matter at hand.”

“Shut up your racket, Christopher,” said Sir Leofric irritably. “You’re not master here, I am.”

Sir Christopher opened and shut his mouth like a fish. “Very well,” he uttered on a wheeze. Mason released him and he landed on his feet with a yelp.

“This is an outrageous business,” agreed Oswald cutting in smoothly. “You have every right to be incensed at his behavior, Sir Leofric. Let us not sink to his level, however. Let us remember that we are gentlemen.”

Eden who was sat rigidly at Roland’s side, tried to speak. Roland thought she said ‘uncle’, but then went off into a coughing fit.

“Get your bride-to-be some water, boy,” said Oswald mildly.

Roland's head snapped up and they locked eyes a moment. He experienced the oddest feeling of …. He didn’t know how to describe it. Something blooming in his chest. He’d never felt anything like it. Whatever it was, it seemed laced with something very close to relief. He exhaled noisily and climbed from the bed, dropping the cushion. There no longer seemed a reason to shield her from his nakedness. After all, she was going to have to marry him now. He sauntered over to where his clothes were neatly folded onto a chair. Dragging on his braies, he then turned to a small table with a glass pitcher full of water and some cups. He downed a cup himself before pouring a second for Eden.

Oswald, he noticed was talking in a persuasive and smooth voice to Sir Leofric. “Shall we repair into the adjoining room to thrash out the details, my dear Sir Leo,” he said. “After all, the damage is now done. Let us attempt to pick up as many pieces as can be restored.” Sir Leofric mumbled something, passing a shaking hand over his brow, before allowing himself to be ushered into the sitting room. He looked a broken man. Mason turned and followed them.

Roland crossed swiftly to the door and shoved out Sir Christopher and the steward who were still stood there still staring. Then he shot the bolt. He was surprised to see it hadn't bust off its hinges at the ill-treatment it had suffered. He turned back to look at Eden who was as white as the sheet she was wrapped in. “What happened?” he said simply.