When her breathing steadied, he lay on his back and pulled her on top of him, burying his face in the fan of her hair, inhaling the faint traces of the sprig of spring jasmine she’d worn for the ceremony.
She came to her knees and straddled him. “I need you inside me,” she whispered, her eyes still darkened with desire, her voice sultry.
His cock saluted as the swollen tip touched the wet heat of her woman’s place. She lowered her body onto his, taking all of him quickly.
“Don’t move,” he rasped. “I want to feel you pulse on me.”
She stilled, reaching one hand behind her to fondle his couilles, never unlocking her gaze from his.
His heart swelled when she began to croon softly.
Car tant vous aim, sans mentir
Qu'on poroit avant tarir
La haute mer
Et ses ondes retenir
Que me peusse alentir
de vous amer.
Sans fausser; car mi penser,
Mi souvenir, mi plaisir
Et mi desir sont sans finer
En vous que ne puis guerpir n'entroublier
The words of the haunting love song weren’t in his language, but it was close enough that he recognized it. “Where did you learn to sing in Provençal?”
She smiled. “At home, in Scotland. More than one troubadour made his way to the court of King Dabíd.”
She moved up and down on him slowly, only once, still cupping his couilles.
“Dieu, it doesn’t get much better than this,” he rasped as need built within him. “Do you understand the words?”
She pouted. “Of course I do.”
She sang to him again, this time in his own language. “I love you so much, truly, that the deep sea could dry up, its waves held back, before my love for you lessened.”
She rode him faster as she sang. “’Tis true, for my thoughts, my memories, my pleasures and my desires are perpetually of you, whom I cannot leave or even briefly forget.”
The lilt of her beautiful voice, the love in her eyes and in her words, the grip of her tight, wet sheath conspired together to carry him to the edge of ecstasy. He withdrew, turned her onto her back and lifted her hips, pulling her legs to his chest. He curled his arms around her calves as he thrust in and out, in and out, the inexorable rhythm finally releasing him as his seed erupted into her body. He called her name again and again as euphoria washed over him, cleansing his soul.
Long minutes later, as his breathing steadied, he traced his fingertips over her thighs when his sated cock slipped slowly from her body. “God willing, we’ve made a child this night,” he whispered.
“Impossible,” she replied with a smile, taking him off guard.
He gathered her into his arms. “Don’t worry, Elayne. You will bear more children. It may take us a while, but—”
She giggled. “No, I mean we already made one before.”
It took a moment or two before he understood. He carefully placed a hand on her belly. “You’re enceinte? Even after being bowshot?”
She put her hand atop his, her eyes wide with happiness. “It was meant to be. Perhaps I’m carrying the next Comte de Montbryce.”
He came to his knees beside her on the bed and leaned over to bestow a reverent kiss below her ribs. “I thought my joy complete, but you’ve proven me wrong. We’ll name him Bernard Alexandre Rambaud Robert de Montbryce.”
She laughed heartily, renewing interest in his couilles. “That’s a mouthful. Maybe he’ll be known simply as Barr.”
He frowned. “Barr?”
She eased up to support herself with her elbows. Her beautiful breasts were bigger now she was with child, the areolas darker. He couldn’t believe he hadn’t noticed, but then it had been a while.
Her voice jolted him from his preoccupation. “Don’t you see? B-A-R-R.”
“Hmm. Barr de Montbryce. It does have a certain appeal.”
If you’d like to know the reason Gallien’s hair turned silver, Infidelity is his story.
Here’s a short excerpt.
Ellesmere Castle, Salop, England, 1125 AD
“Surely you did not think me a virgin?”
Struck dumb, Gallien stared in uncomprehending disbelief at the rumpled but unsoiled linens of his marriage bed, shivering as gooseflesh marched over his naked body in step with a drumming in his ears.
He had made his way in the dark to the ewer, intending to lovingly cleanse his bride after their joining. The light of the candle, lit with a spill from the dying embers of the fire, illuminated the truth of Felicité’s mockery on the pristine sheets. His gut clenched.
It came to him that in the throes of passion he had not felt the resistance men boasted of breaching, but he had never bedded a virgin and did not know what to expect.
His mind whirled. Was he trapped in a hideous nightmare? His eyes wandered to his sneering wife’s pouting breasts. She made no effort to cover her body, still sheened with his sweat. Twirling a finger in her hair, she lay seductively on her side, head propped on one hand.
Since their betrothal, he had itched to put his mouth to those dark nipples. The silky hair at her mons was exactly the color and texture he had dreamed it would be. But she had constantly rebuffed his advances as if he were a naughty child. “You must wait until our wedding night, milord Montbryce.”
An insidious dread wormed its way into his befuddled wits. His gaze fell to her belly. The thunder in his ears grew louder. His lungs refused to fill with air. He was drowning. Had his infatuation rendered him blind? He recalled too late her insistence the candles be snuffed before she disrobed.
“You are with child,” he rasped, though the voice seemed faraway, not his own.
Smoothing a hand over the swell, she made no reply, but the proud glint in her seductive eyes pierced his already shattered heart.
With a trembling hand, he set down the candle. A giant shadow loomed on the wall, disappearing as he bent to search for his wedding finery, scattered earlier with reckless abandon. Desperate to cover his nakedness, he resisted the urge to put his hands over his shaft. She must deem him a fool.
Someone had to answer for this travesty. “Is your father aware of your condition?” he asked, pulling a shirt over his head. He had insisted the tailor not make it too long. Now he wished it fell to his feet.
Felicité grinned, a wicked gleam in her eye. “Of course not. He would have sent me to a nunnery.”
His innards in knots, Gallien cast about for his leggings. “Then why marry me? Why not wed your lover?”
She looked at him as if he had lost his wits. “He is already married, silly.”
He pulled on his leggings, cursing under his breath when he lost his balance. He hopped on one foot, collapsing onto the edge of the bed. Tying the laces, he got to his feet quickly, lest the serpent in his bed bite him.
If he could put his hand on a dagger he would plunge it into her treacherous heart, but he had not expected to need a weapon in his bridal chamber. He clenched his fists. No one would censure him for beating her.
But Felicité had been clever. She knew he was not a man to raise his hand to a woman, no matter the provocation.
Trembling with rage, trapped by his own nobility, Gallien sprawled into his favorite chair by the hearth, chewing his knuckles. He pressed his palm against the knee of one leg that seemed to have fallen victim to the dancing plague. He wanted to howl like a wounded beast and tear the room apart. The glowing embers of the once hearty fire did nothing to warm his chilled heart.
His faithless wife had turned the comfortable chamber he loved into a place of torment. He had to flee, but wedding guests still made merry in the Great Hall. The lavender perfume that had enthralled him hung in the air, making his belly roil.
Married less than a day, he had already been cuckolded.
Grab your copy of INFIDELITY today.
About Anna
Thank you for reading Jeopardy. If you’d like to leave a review where you purchas
ed the book, and/or on Goodreads, I would appreciate it. Reviews contribute greatly to an author’s success.
I was born in England, but I’ve lived most of my life in Canada. Education, business and disaster relief provided three interesting and rewarding careers before I became a writer. I have a keen interest in genealogy. This hobby has had a tremendous influence on my stories. My historical romances are tales of family honor, ancestry, and roots.
For me, novels are an escape into another world and time where I lose myself in the characters’ lives, confident they will triumph in the end and find love. I love ferreting out bits of historical trivia in order to provide the reader with an authentic experience.
I hope you come to know and love my cast of characters as much as I do.
Escape with me to where romance began and get intimate with history.
You can find me at my website and my Facebook page, Anna Markland Novels.
Tweet me @annamarkland, join me on Pinterest, or sign up for my newsletter. Follow me on BookBub and be the first to know when my next book is released.
Jeopardy (The Montbryce Legacy Anniversary Edition Book 10) Page 21
