Page 41 of Betrothal

He shook his head and grasped her hand. “I am the fool, Alyse. I was jealous of your affection for Thomas when we met. I believed you still cared for him when you ran onto the field today.” He raised her hand and kissed it. “Thomas assured me my suspicions were unfounded but I refused to believe him.” He sighed. “And almost lost you because of my doubts. I vow I will not make that mistake again.”

Alyse reveled in the touch of his lips on her skin. “You will have no need to doubt me, Geoffrey.” She cupped his dear face, ran her thumb along its strong jaw. “I am yours.”

That familiar sultry gleam of desire leaped into his eyes. He leaned her head back along his arm and kissed her mouth—a soft, warm kiss that turned quickly into the promise of a passionate life. Eager to convince him, she returned it, greedily snatching at his mouth as though he might take it from her. She stroked his tongue, teased it, taunted it as she tightened her arms around his neck.

He finally broke the kiss to let his lips touch the beauty mark he seemed drawn to. He brushed it with his tongue, caressed it, played with the corner until she had to smile at his attentions to the spot. He moved along the column of her neck, and she shuddered as his lips encountered the sensitive nerve there. She moaned as he nuzzled it, streaks of lightning running down to her breasts.

He nipped her skin with his teeth, blatantly marking her, and she hummed her delight. The sharp pain stoked her passion to a red-hot blaze. She writhed against him, desire overwhelming her as her core throbbed with need. He continued to nibble his way across her chest, kissing her breasts above the neckline of her gown, raising goose flesh all over her body. Through her gown, he cupped one breast, expertly stroking the nipple, raising it into a hardened bud. She moaned low in her throat, streaks of pleasure gathering beneath his hand as her flesh grew taut.

She gloried in these new sensations, past all care for propriety. So when he raised his head as if to leave her, she grasped him greedily and pulled him back to her again. Now she ravished him in earnest, relished the feel of his tongue as she drew it into her mouth, taking full possession of him for the first time. Her moans escalated, and he pressed her against him anew, as if trying to meld them together.

At last, she released him and gazed into his astonished eyes.

I am going to shock you even more, my love.

She burrowed her face into his solid chest, breathed deeply of his hot, masculine scent and whispered hoarsely, “Make me yours tonight, Geoffrey.”

Chapter 17

Sucking in a sharp breath, fearing he misunderstood her intent, Geoffrey grasped her arms and slowly drew her away from his chest. “You wish to lie with me tonight? Before our vows are spoken?”

Her face flushed, and she bowed her head then nodded. “I pray you think me not a wanton wench. But after the terror of today, I feared every second I would lose you.” She gripped his hands convulsively. “I need to be yours in a way no one can ever take from me.” She flung her head back, tears glistening on her cheeks.

He thumbed the precious drops away, his heart stuttering at her words. Here was the proof of love he had sought. For her to offer herself thus freely spoke of her absolute trust and regard for him. And such love had to be guarded, even from himself.

“Little maid, I am struck dumb that you would give your love and gracious self to such an unworthy wretch.” He pulled her back against his chest and wrapped her in his arms. “I am surely honored by your faith in me. But we must bide until we are married true, before the church. I would have no stain come upon your reputation, especially by my hand.”

She twisted in his arms then pushed herself away. When she lifted her face, tears stood in her eyes once more. “You would deny me this one comfort, Geoffrey?” Rising, she turned to him, her voice plaintive. “After all I have endured, you would keep yourself from me for the sake of my reputation?” Her chest heaved as she fought for breath against her sobs.

“Alyse.” He stood and started toward her, but she backed away. The gesture cut his heart. “’Tis little more than a week, my love, until we are properly wed. Surely we can wait that long?”

“But what if something happens to you before the week is out?” Her lips trembled with her misery.

He smiled and held out his hand. “I will attend no more jousts ere we are wed. You have my oath.” Reluctantly, she placed her hand in his, and he coaxed her once more into his arms. The warmth of her, nestled against him, penetrated to his heart. She slid her arms around his waist and pressed herself to him. Desire flamed as his long-denied passion for her urged him to surrender.

Alyse sighed and rubbed her cheek against his chest. “Aye, you will attend no joust, Geoffrey, but the world is a chancy place. And we are not promised the morrow.”

He opened his mouth to deny her words but the memory of his brother’s face arose. When Geoffrey had left Longford less than a fortnight before, Roland had wished him well and seen him off. Word had come three days before that he now lay ill with an ague.

The world is a chancy place.

He peered down at the dark head resting against him as though it had been ever thus. And his resistance crumbled.

He pressed his lips against her ear. “Come with me to my chamber then, sweetheart.” She lifted her head, eyes wide. “We will know the delights of one another before this night has passed. ’Tis true, only a few days remain ’til we wed, but no vows will make me feel differently than I do now. I do love you, little maid, and I too cannot bear it until we are as one.” A surge of lust and happiness sped him on. “Come, my love. Let me love you.”

He kissed her fiercely again then swept her out of the courtyard before reason returned to douse his desire.

* * * *

Before she could catch her breath, they were at the threshold of the chamber he shared with Thomas. He led her in then closed the door and lit a candle. The room was shadowy, though she could make out the shapes of a table and chairs. A bed. She swallowed hard.

Apparently, doubt crossed her face or he noticed her body quivering in the candlelight. He put the holder down and grasped her arms. Staring at her with loving eyes, he asked gently, “Are you sure this is what you want, Alyse?”

Returning his steadfast gaze, she saw not the courtier who stood before her, but the warrior of earlier—hot, sweaty, blood-spattered. She could easily have lost him today. Never have known his touch nor the fruition of the passion she had barely tasted. Agony gripped her heart. She craved every bit of him. With shaking hands, she pulled his face down to hers and stared deep into his eyes. “Make me yours, my love. Only yours.”

Greedy now, she assaulted his lips, covered him with warm, wet kisses. Sliding her tongue into his mouth, she possessed him with a slow and satisfying thoroughness. He tasted of pungent ale, and she would drink the final drop. Relentless, she explored him, savoring the softness as she caressed inside his mouth. His guttural groan sounded sweetly needy.

She locked him in that sensual kiss, until Geoffrey clasped her to his chest and carried her to his bed. He sat down, drew her into his lap. Her eyes flew open in surprise as his hardness stirred beneath her. But this was why she was here.