“You dismissed the servants, so they could join in their midwinter celebrations,” Johanna reminded him. She sat on the marble floor, leaning against the backless sofa her husband and king reclined upon. She reached up and took the glass from his hand. “Besides, you don’t need any more, or you’ll fall asleep here. Not terribly regal behavior, passing out all over the palace.” Her voice was low and sleepy. She plucked absently at the wax pomegranates that decorated her towering wig, which sat in her lap.
“That is, by far, the most ridiculous one yet,” Philipe teased sitting up. He slid to the floor beside her, pushing the fashionable—and utterly frivolous—headpiece aside.
“I am a slave to the latest style,” she sighed, leaning against him.
He looped an arm around her shoulders, keenly aware of her breasts, mounded up by her corset, straining above the dark gown. It amazed him that he, the man who’d had a different woman in his bed every night, was still so affected by the sight of his wife after a year of marriage. Truth be told, his lust for her had only grown, making sitting through long official dinners and receptions damnably difficult. It was hard enough concentrating on politics during meetings with his ministers and advisors, but it was impossible when she tucked sly notes into the scrollwork of his desk, promising all sorts of delights to come as soon as he finished his dreary work.
“You know,” he said, pulling one of the curls to watch it spring back into stiffly starched shape, “you are the queen. You could always change the style yourself.”
“Never!” She laughed and swatted his hand away, running her own hand over her hairless head. “Besides, I don’t want the court to resent me. It was difficult enough getting them to even respect me.”
That had been sadly true, and Philipe wished he could have spared her the mockery of the fops and she-snakes who’d welcomed her to court with backhanded compliments and open jests. He’d made it clear by banishing any who’d been open in their disrespect that he would tolerate no slight against his queen, but Johanna had never asked that of him. That she would be content just to be with him, after his horrible, spoilt, misspent life, made him feel all the more protective of her.
“Did you have a nice Midwinter, Your Majesty?” Johanna asked, pushing the wig aside so she could lay one of her legs over his. Her bare foot peeked from the hem of her gown, and she hooked it around his ankle, over the soft brown leather of his boot.
“I did.” It had been a splendid day at the palace, with parties and feasts, ending in fireworks over the gardens. Indeed, the celebrations continued even now, with courtiers gambling and drinking late into the night, long after their regents had retired to their private chambers. Philipe reached into his doublet, to the inner pocket that held a small lump of metal. Before he produced it, he told her, “And I have a present for you.”
She sat up, her perfect mouth spreading into a suspicious smile. “Do you?”
“I don’t wish for you to be disappointed, so I warn you now, it isn’t gold or jewels.” He took her hand and dropped the piece into her palm. Slowly, she uncurled her fingers. A tiny, dull steel rose lay there. She looked up, an uncertain smile ticking at the corner of her mouth. He lifted the rose and held it between his thumb and forefinger. “It’s the arrow that shot me. Or the head of it. I thought it would make a nice anniversary present.”
“Our anniversary isn’t for another week,” she reminded him.
“But today is the anniversary of the day that this arrow pierced my shoulder and brought me back to you.” He made a face, upon reflection. “I can’t believe I’m happy to have been shot.”
“Would it be churlish of me to be happy as well? Not that I wasn’t happy then. It’s just for an entirely different reason now.” In response, he grabbed her around the waist and hauled her into his lap, struggling with her billowing skirt and the contraption beneath it that made her hips wide enough to block a door. By the time she was settled, kneeling astride him, she was breathless and flushed. She leaned forward, the cage of her skirts crumpling between them, and kissed him, long and slow. When she pulled back, her face fairly glowing with pleasure, she said, “I have a gift for you, as well. But I’m embarrassed. It isn’t ready yet.”
“Oh?” He gripped her hips—or at least, some handfuls of her ridiculously complicated clothing near to where her hips should have been—and pulled her tighter to him. “When can I have it?”
“In the summer. The middle of the summer, if I’ve calculated correctly.” She studied his face very carefully, waiting for something. That, more than her answer, gave him his.
He took a breath, hoping, and bracing himself against that hope, if he were wrong. “You mean…”
A tear rolled down from one violet eye, in a halting path over the scars he occasionally forgot were out of the ordinary. “Your heir, Your Majesty. My apologies for not producing him sooner.”
“It was not for lack of trying, so I don’t fault you.” He could no longer keep up the pretense of formality, and wrapped his arms around her in a crushing embrace. He buried his face in her neck, mumbling “I love you,” over and over, until he was certain it constituted blubbering. He lifted his head, a list of preparations growing to a scale of thousands in his mind. “We’ll have to announce it, formally. And have some kind of celebration. Not too large, it can’t overshadow the celebration of his birth. We’ll have to be very careful with the invitations, we can’t snub any of our allies. Charitable donations, of course, will have to be made to commemorate—”
She put a finger to his lips, cutting off the ramble that sounded increasingly insane to his own ears. “There will be time for that, later.”
“You’re right, of course.” He pressed his palm to her cheek, and she covered it with her own hand. “Thank you.”
“Thank you,” she echoed. “For giving me this life. And for sharing it with me.”
He kissed her again, marveling at the feel of her in his arms, at the many small mercies of fate that had brought them together. “My love, I cannot imagine sharing it with anyone else.”
About the Author
The alter-ego of USA Today Bestselling Author Jennifer Armintrout, Abigail Barnette was born during a conversation with author Bronwyn Green, who encouraged Jennifer to develop an elaborate fantasy persona-- complete with nom de plume-- under which to pen erotic romance. Abigail enjoys long naps in fairy-filled glades, running through corridors in tragically romantic haunted castles, and drinking goblet after goblet of spiced wine.
Abigail loves to talk to her readers and can be found at abigailbarnette.com.
Also Available from
Resplendence Publishing
Glass Slipper by Abigail Barnette
Naughtily Ever After, Book One
When Julien Auvrey promises to help his goddaughter snag a prince, he has no idea that the squalling infant he held in his arms nineteen years ago has turned into a beautiful young woman. Once he sees Joséphine, he knows that she’s just what the prince wants in a woman…and just the type of woman that Julien wants in his bed. But Julien is a life-long bachelor, and Joséphine deserves more than just a brief affair. With his help, she’ll blossom into a wife fit for the prince—in and out of the bedchamber.
Joséphine Thévenet wants nothing more than to be quit of her father’s crumbling house, her stepmother’s temper, and her two obnoxious stepsisters. Notorious seducer Julien Auvrey appeals to her desire for escape, and plenty of her other desires, as well. When etiquette lessons turn to carnal instruction, Joséphine fears she will lose her heart before she can win the prince.
Julien can’t deny the raw heat between him and Joséphine, but he also can’t deny the promise he made to her father. To possess Joséphine, Julien must betray his friend, and give up his own life of indulgence. Can he truly ask Joséphine to turn her back on the chance to be princess for nights of endless pleasure? Can he trust himself to love her as she deserves?
Bride of the Wolf by Abigail Barnette
Comm
anded to marry the son of Lord Canis, a powerful ally of her father and King Edward, Aurelia knows she is about to venture into a den of wolves. For the men who live at Blackens Gate are no ordinary men, able to change at will into enormous, bloodthirsty beasts…and as a mere human, Aurelia is a reviled outsider.
When the wolves escorting his brother’s bride to Blackens Gate turn on her, Sir Raf Canis finds himself in the unlikely position of rescuer. After losing his leg—and his place in the pack—Raf refuses to bring himself further shame by failing to deliver the lovely Aureilia. But the innocent maiden proves to be a temptation even he cannot resist.
Within the dark, dangerous forest, a love begins that neither can deny. To protect Aurelia, Raf must betray everything he has come to believe about his life among wolves, and risk death to save the only woman ever to touch his wounded soul.
Unmasked by Genella deGrey
Venice, Italy, 1795 - Gwendolyn Rawleigh longs for adventure, but has fallen into a clandestine, carnal game of instruction with an intimidating stranger who insists she must embrace this new found tuition before she can proceed.
Marcello Verdante finds the alluring Miss Rawleigh irresistible. However, he must remain anonymous for her safety as well as his own.
Ellie Appelton wants so badly to emulate Gwennie's sophistication, but is afraid of where her own wicked thoughts may take her. She finds her liberation in a close, intimate friend . . . her impromptu Chaperone.
Never in his wildest dreams did Preston Rawleigh think to find himself attracted to his sister's innocent best friend… Then again, the magical wonderland of Venice can reveal secret truths even a masked reveler cannot hide.
Come spend a few days exploring the sensual mysteries of Carnivale -
Some will be pursued, most will be caught, and all will be Unmasked.
Tutoring Miss Molly by Lyn Armstrong
Desperate to help her sick aunt through another brutal winter on their meager farm, Molly Cambridge will do anything to survive. Even if it means becoming a courtesan at the scandalous Harmon Manor. To catch the eye of a wealthy benefactor, she must learn the art of carnal pleasure from a resentful Marquess. Yet her traitorous heart cannot resist the handsome tutor that harbors secrets that may destroy them both. With attempts on her life and time running short, love is a luxury a courtesan can ill afford.
Bored with the spoiled, decadent lifestyle of the infamous sex society, Lord Devlin Harman has little time for courtesans and their cunning wiles. Blackmailed into tutoring an inexperienced courtesan, he is determined to show the farm girl the error of her ways. However, a unique beauty exists beneath the mud-stained rags, causing his jaded heart to melt and his flesh to burn for her touch. If she does not become the chosen courtesan at the mistress auction, he must marry a devious aristocrat by spring. Can he let Molly be a courtesan to gain freedom from his marriage contract? Or will he sacrifice everything for a farm girl?
Heat Lightning by Patricia Pellicane
Arizona Heat Series, Book Three
Abby was going home for her mother’s wedding. Caught in a train crash, she was horrified to suddenly find a strange man laying over her. That he was attractive bore no consideration. This simply could not happen. “Don’t fall asleep,” she pleaded, “oh please, don’t.” What had she ever done to cause this impossible moment? She couldn’t stay here. She couldn’t! She’d never sleep while pressed to the train’s filthy floor, held in place by the full length of a strange man.
The night went wild with the sounds of shattering glass, crushing metal and wood splintering into a million jagged pieces. Linc realized he taken a blow to his head. Something had hit him hard. He was bleeding, he thought, but the pain was already easing some. There wasn’t an inch of space and nothing he could do about it. Something held him in place. Hours later he awoke to find himself sprawled over the softest women. It took a moment before he remembered. She was that neat, little piece he’d been talking to seconds before the crash. Damn, if she didn’t smell and taste delicious. Could he be blamed for sampling a morsel of luscious woman? After all if she truly didn’t want it, wouldn’t she have stopped him?
Lady of the Isle by Temple Hogan
From the Sea Series, Book One
From the sea, two tormented souls are washed ashore—one a beautiful, mysterious lady, the other a man who'd once been the King's warrior and is now a lowly fisherman. As Rioghnach and Cormac learn to heal and trust in love again, they spend sun-seared days and starlit nights exploring the need that draws them together.
The Pirate Bride by Temple Hogan
Book Three in the Pirate's Booty Series
Red Charlie is the scourge of the sea, the devil himself, so imagine Jackson Shaw’s stunned disbelief when he recovers from a drunken night of revelry and discovers he’s married to the infamous pirate captain. Furthermore, he did not acquit himself with much sexual finesse on his wedding night. Now he wants to redeem his mangled pride, but a few nights in Red Charlie’s arms will make him forget about pride…
Charity, known to the world as Red Charlie ever since she was abducted by the same bloodthirsty pirate who killed her parents, relaxed her guard for one night and was ushered into a hasty marriage with a man who mesmerized her. But when the bridegroom mistakes her for a whore on their wedding night and expects her to perform sexual acts she knows nothing about, she runs away. But there’s no running away when Jackson captures her pirate ship and refuses to return it unless she spends two weeks as his wife, with all that entails.
Charity sets out to teach Jackson a much needed lesson, but the tropical nights of lovemaking teach her a few things about men that she never expected to learn.
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