Betrothal (Time Enough To Love) (3 page)

“Only if it could not be accomplished behind your back, Geoffrey!” Thomas laughed, moving his words into the realm of fashionable banter.

Geoffrey continued in this vein with his friend, though Alyse prayed he would take her back to her place before she collapsed. Her mind fixed on thoughts of respite, she started when Lord Braeton rose, plucked her hand from its place atop Geoffrey’s and raised it to his lips. “Fair lady, I wish you great joy in your coming marriage. May Sir Geoffrey prove himself worthy of so lovely a maid.”

Her breath caught in anticipation of the fire of his lips, but her eagerness changed to bewilderment when his kiss did not arouse her in the least. Disappointed and puzzled, Alyse paid no attention as he returned her hand to Geoffrey’s arm. The unexpected shock as her bare skin met his made her tense. A fiery sensation coursed through her body, turned her blood molten.

She jerked her head up to stare at Geoffrey, amazed he did not feel it too. But perhaps he did. A slight widening of his eyes and the deepening of their color to darkest sapphire revealed that something had stirred him as well. The unknown look she had observed twice before had returned. Shocked, she finally recognized it: desire.

Alyse’s world reeled. Was that the scorching sensation? Did she look at
Sir Geoffrey
that way when they touched? Her breath quickened.

Dear Lord, do I desire him?

And had everyone in the room seen it? She longed to sink behind the table, safely away from the court’s attention. But she could not escape. On Geoffrey’s arm, she was helpless to save herself. For once, however, he seemed to understand her need. He nodded at Lord Braeton’s compliment then escorted her to her seat next to Anne. She flashed him a grateful smile, the first real one she had given him.

Geoffrey returned it but kept his distance. “Remember, my lady, I am to be your Hercules and attempt the task you set me. I pray I can give you the boon you seek.” With a flourish of his hand, he bowed low and retreated to his place across the
Hall, managing to draw Lord Braeton back with him.

Alyse released a long sigh, unaware she had been holding her breath until Geoffrey quit her company. Sorely drained by the evening’s events, she seized her cup and drank thirstily.

Anne glanced at Geoffrey’s retreating figure then regarded her with bright, mocking eyes. “So, Alyse, at last you have your answer. What say you to your father’s choice?”

Alyse opened her mouth but words failed her. She lowered her face to her hands, uncertain whether to laugh or cry at the question to which she had no reply at all.

“So you finally got your wish, Alyse?” Anne’s caustic voice oozed sarcasm, and betrayed more than a touch of envy. Seated on the bed they shared, she brushed her hair with hard, determined strokes.

“I got my answer, Anne, not my wish.” Her tone as terse, Alyse folded away her rose gown and closed the lid of the chest. Standing in her plain white linen shift, she unpinned her hair.

“You would wish to be married to someone other than Geoffrey Longford?” Anne scowled and stroked harder, but when she spoke again, her tone was more wistful than strident. “Did you
look
at him, Alyse?” Anne’s father had betrothed her to the Viscount de Mantillas, reported to be an older Spanish nobleman, and she had bemoaned her expectations of her wedding night before now.

Her hair freed, Alyse brushed with vigor, venting her temper with each stroke. “Aye, I’ve looked at him, Anne, and altogether too close! As I said earlier, looks are not the only consideration for a husband. From what I observed, Sir Geoffrey has quite a high opinion of himself and no regard for my feelings.” She paused, remembering his response to her silent plea. “Almost no regard. And did you see how huge he is? Up close, I mean? He could crush me like a flea if I displeased him!”

“So do not displease him! All a woman need do is warm a man’s bed well enough and she will find favor with him. You should have little trouble seeming eager with such a man between your sheets. Do you think he is huge all over?”

“Anne!” Alyse suppressed a shudder at the thought.

“Even if he is not, I would change places with you in a snap of my fingers. Put that away for me.” Anne handed her brush to her roommate then scooted beneath the covers. “You are so besotted with Lord Braeton¸ who never gave you a serious thought, that you cannot see a gift from God when it is set down before you.” She turned her back and commanded brusquely, “Blow out the candle when you are done.”

Alyse frowned at Anne’s bold words. She would never call Geoffrey Longford a gift from God, but she was more than a little disturbed that her thoughts returned incessantly to her approaching wedding night. Though it was little wonder after the way his touch had set her body aflame. She’d never experienced the like in her life. Was that normal? Despite her longing for him, Lord Braeton’s caress provoked none of the heated feelings Sir Geoffrey’s touch stirred in her. A shiver overtook her when she remembered the desire in his eyes. All too soon, she would be alone with Geoffrey Longford and that desire would become more than just a look.

She drew a deep breath and exhaled, willing herself to forget about her betrothed for the rest of this night. After one last stroke of her hair, she set the brush aside. As she smoothed her shift, her thumbs brushed against her breasts and she trailed her hands along her waist to flare over her rounded hips. Suddenly, her imagination skipped to two weeks hence and Geoffrey Longford’s rough palms swept over her body instead.

Shudders rippled through her, and heat flushed her cheeks. She hastily dropped her hands, only to realize she was panting. She
had to
stop these thoughts about the man, else she would go mad ere the appointed day.

Alyse blew out the candle and climbed between the sheets, banishing images of the night when she would have to share a bed with the hulking knight she had met this evening.

Oh, that it would be Lord Braeton instead
.
Then I would agree with Anne that I had gotten my wish!

* * * *

In the apartments he shared with Thomas Knowlton, Geoffrey Longford plucked off his cotehardie, readying himself for bed and earning his companion’s scowl of displeasure. Seated in a chair before the banked fire, Thomas relaxed with a cup of wine, his foot outstretched to the hearth. He rubbed his thumb back and forth over the chasing on the silver goblet then spoke in his most persuasive voice. “You cannot tell me you intend to retire at this hour. It is not yet midnight, and there is to be a game in Sir John Claymore’s apartments this evening.”

Geoffrey strode to the table, dressed in nothing but his chausses, and took a cup of the sweet wine for himself. He shook his head. “Nay, Thomas, I plan an early morning.”

“Hawking or hunting?”

“Most definitely hunting.”

Thomas sipped his wine. “What game?”

Geoffrey laughed. “A wide-eyed doe.”

An irritated glare sparked as Thomas sat up. “Oh, do not tell me you have been snared by that little wench you flaunted earlier tonight! You looked insufferably pleased with yourself, though I have no idea why. You did not even win her through your own efforts. Your father chose her, by Christ.” He glared at Geoffrey. "Though why he did not get you a better alliance, God knows. He made a much more illustrious match for your brother.” Thomas shook his head. “And yet you approve of it?”

Geoffrey grinned at the exasperated man. “Aye, I do. The match is better than you may think, Thomas. Her father has no sons and she is the eldest daughter, so his estates will pass to her and her husband on his death. A fair catch for a second son with no expectations, would you not say?” He sipped the wine and sighed. “And strange as it may seem, I liked the little maid.”

“An innocent who will not even know how to please a man properly. As I recall, you usually prefer more lively fare.”

Geoffrey grimaced. Thomas knew his appetites in women as well as his own.
“What I prefer would hardly be what I would wed.” He seated himself across from the man he had called friend for ten years. “She is what I expected in a wife and maybe a bit more besides.”

Thomas grunted, twirling his cup in his hands. “What do you mean?”

“Oh, she is an innocent, but underneath there is a mettle in her that could be very entertaining, both in and out of bed.” Geoffrey chuckled. “She spoke her mind rather freely tonight and challenged me to be her Hercules.”

Thomas cocked his head. “Hercules? I would say she has an eye for the obvious. You fit that immortal’s description so well already.” His face took on the smug smile it so often wore. “I know you saw how smitten she was with me when I pointed her out to you earlier. A bold eye she had, with a face to tell the tale.” He grinned at Geoffrey. “She did not, however, seem pleased with you, my friend. You should be glad she had no dagger within her reach when you forced her to promenade around the room.”

Geoffrey scowled. He knew Thomas’s penchant for baiting well.

“Did you see her face when I kissed her hand? I thought she would drop to the floor.”

Geoffrey snorted and shook his head. “She is young, and you are but a passing fancy.” He shot a glare toward the smaller man. “Trust me, I will make sure of that. And you well know ’twas when
I
kissed her hand before the court that she all but swooned. Neither did she react to your kiss, but to the touch of her hand on mine
after
you had kissed it.”

“You saw that, you devil!” Thomas shook his head. “And I was at my most charming, too. So why does your rough touch make the girl giddy? Have you threatened to beat her already?”

“She is marrying me, not you, Thomas.”

“Geoffrey! You wound me to the quick. But the question at hand is what makes her tremble at your touch?” Thomas laughed, the idea of such a strong attraction obviously ludicrous to him.

Geoffrey chuckled at the question, but avoided an answer. He sat, lost in contemplation. When it came to courting a lady, he could not hold a candle to Thomas. That seductive man possessed charms Geoffrey had watched him ply with great success for years, yet had never been able to emulate. He shunned all but the most necessary entanglements with women and so had little experience with satisfying them outside the bedroom. The memory of the unexpected inferno that had leapt from his betrothed’s hand to his during that kiss bewildered him. Would it make his courtship of Lady Alyse easier or more difficult?

“You know, Geoffrey, according to the art of courtly love it is the height of bad manners to fall in love with your own wife. A man’s true love is found with another man’s lady.”

Thomas always saw too much.

Geoffrey coolly turned the tables. “Mayhap then you will oblige me by marrying Lady Alyse yourself, and wear the cuckold’s horns, lest I disappoint the rules of courtly love.”

With a snort of derision, Thomas got to his feet, apparently done sparring for the night. “Not for the wide world, my friend. Although I bear you great love, Geoffrey, I will wear no horns, nor saddle myself with an untried maid even on a bet. To which end I did not offer for the fair Alyse when I had the chance.” He set his empty cup down and grinned at his companion. “I prefer the well-seasoned dish to plain fare.” He made for the door then turned as he opened it. “In truth, are you not coming?”

Geoffrey rose and stretched. “Nay, Thomas. My business will not keep. Another time, mayhap.”

With a groan, Thomas left the chamber to Geoffrey, who went to stare out the window at the shadowy trees across the royal park.

Thomas’s question still preyed on his mind. The lightning stab of desire when he had caught the maid’s eye
, he understood well. She was comely, with face and form fashioned to make a man ache. But why did his flesh seem afire whenever he touched her? Such feelings were alien, unknown in all his previous dealings with women. This was different—and disturbing.

He sighed, and thought of the changes that would soon rule his life. Already ruled it. His refusal to carouse with Thomas was the first sacrifice. He had always matched Thomas pace for pace in whatever pastime they favored—hawking, gaming, wenching. But tonight he had to cry off. He had not aimed to disappoint his friend, but he had devised a plan to satisfy Alyse’s need for time and wanted to put it into motion at the soonest possible moment. Which meant breaking his fast early.

He imagined his betrothed’s face, her crystal blue eyes wide when he laid the plan before her, and could not suppress a smile. She might be outraged, but he aimed to give her exactly what she had asked for. Her Hercules would succeed at his set labor, and she would have to become used to life with a resourceful man.

His thoughts turned to the more intimate things she would have to get used to, and a stir of desire rose in him. He imagined her thick black hair fanned out on the bed, her full-lipped mouth beneath his, and the small dark mole just above the right corner of her lips begging for the touch of his tongue. That dot had entranced Geoffrey in the Great Hall earlier. His mind fixed on the tiny, curious mark, and filled his head with images… A shiver coursed through him.

He conjured her naked, luscious body before him, but his cock insisted on more substantial fare. The thought of two weeks of such torture elicited a low groan. Perhaps he would seek relief with another before the wedding night. Too much hunger might make him overeager, and the last thing he wanted was to hurt Alyse unduly. The problems of sampling plain fare were not unknown to him, though his tastes usually ran, as Thomas’s did, to the more seasoned. Still…this plain fare, with the addition of a little spice, promised to be delectable indeed.

With that pleasant thought, Geoffrey quit the window, doffed his chausses and doused the light. He contemplated the morrow when the campaign for the capitulation of Lady Alyse would begin—with its success to be decided in this bed two weeks hence.

As he drifted down into sleep, Geoffrey grinned in anticipation. He dearly loved a challenge.