Unexpected Pleasures (19 page)

Read Unexpected Pleasures Online

Authors: Mary Wine

BOOK: Unexpected Pleasures
4.36Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
She sighed as the chill she had tried to ignore for the last few days finally left her skin. The dress was made of good wool, finely spun and woven into a fabric thick enough to keep her warm, yet soft enough to not bind at her elbows.
Arlene finished her duty by placing a French hood on her head. It was made of wool but lined with fine linen to keep it from irritating the skin of her ears and neck. The hood curved around her head to keep her warm. At court, such a hat might be decorated with gold and jewels; this one was simple with only a bit of knitted lace. She liked it full well.
“Leave us.”
Justina folded her hands together, dreading the possibility that Synclair meant to lock the manacle around her wrist once more. The maids all lowered themselves before leaving on quick steps.
“I enjoy seeing you free of those court dresses.”
A smile tugged at the corners of her lips. “I agree; I have no love for the necessity of fashion that court seems to deem so important.”
Synclair moved toward her, and she pressed her lips into a firm line to conceal the sickening twist moving through her belly. But she refused to act the coward. She kept her chin level and her gaze on the man approaching her.
“I wonder, Justina, would you tell me what you do harbor affection for?”
The question shocked her, distracting her from her fears. “My son, you know that well.”
He nodded and something flickered in his eyes that drew her attention. He lifted his hand and she flinched, her hands going behind her back, making a mockery of her intention to stand firm in her stance.
He frowned but his hand remained between them with the palm facing up.
“Come with me, my lady, I have something for you.” She stared at his face for a long moment, trying to read his thoughts, but his expression offered her no hints. Her curiosity needled her until she moved, placing her hand in his.
Synclair curled his fingers around hers and turned to the door. His grip was firm and his pace quick. He opened the heavy door with one hand and joined her in the hallway before it closed under its own weight. Feeling the fabric of her skirts about her legs was a welcome sensation. Synclair took her through several hallways and she tried to memorize them. The house appeared to be built in a block, with two wings stretching back from the front of it. Synclair took her around a corner and down the length of one wing until they reached a set of double doors. The framing was decorated with carvings in the wood announcing a room that was reserved for an honored guest.
Synclair reached out and pulled the door open.
“Go on, Justina, and see what I have brought you.”
His voice was deep and sincere and full of tenderness. She was torn between the need to remain near him and discover what he meant, or enter the chamber and see what his newest gift was.
“Look, Nan, it is beginning to snow now, just as Sir Synclair said it would, and he was most correct; it waited until we arrived.”
The young voice drew a gasp from her. Justina ran through the open door and skidded to a stop only a few steps across the threshold. She felt the blood drain from her face as every muscle she had drew tight enough to snap. Her lungs refused to fill but she didn't care. Brandon was kneeling on a chair near the windows, his nose pressed against the glass while he watched the snow falling in the evening light. She knew him more by the older woman sitting near him, for she had chosen Nan carefully to be her son's nurse when she was forced to return to court. The middle-aged woman nodded to her while she reached out to gently tap her young charge on the shoulder.
“Brandon, your mother is here to greet you.”
Synclair pressed an open hand against her back, gently urging her forward. Her son turned and smiled.
“Good evening, Mother. I am very happy to see you.” He offered her a polished bow that Nan smiled proudly at.
Justina sobbed before running across the room and sweeping him off his feet.
C
HAPTER
E
IGHT
J
ustina twirled around and around until her balance failed and she had to stop or tumble to the floor. Brandon wrapped his thin arms around her neck and placed a wet kiss against her lips. But he wiggled out of her embrace the moment his feet touched the ground.
“The snow is falling, Mother! In great white waves, like the tide coming in.” He ran back to the window with a scamper that belonged only to a carefree child.
Tears fell down her cheeks as she watched him rise up on his toes and press his hands against the glass. She raised her hand and pressed it against her lips to smother the sobs that rose from her chest. Every hour of anguish that had tortured her began pouring out of her in a flood of emotion so thick it threatened to choke her.
Two thick arms closed around her from behind. Synclair stepped up and she gratefully turned to him.
“Thank you, thank you, thank you ... I have not seen him in so long ...” She reached up and cupped his face between her hands, placing kisses against his chin and mouth between her words of gratitude.
Synclair cupped the back of her neck, easing her head up so that their eyes met. “You should never have been kept from your son, Justina. I swear I will never allow it to happen again.”
“But how—”
“Hush. For now, trust me. At least until it is time to put Brandon to bed for the night.”
He placed a firm kiss against her mouth, sealing any reply beneath his lips. It was a hot kiss but one that lasted only a moment before he turned her around to see her child once more. Brandon gestured her forward to watch the snow falling.
It was the best invitation she had ever received.
 
Justina watched her son sleeping, unwilling to leave him even after his breathing deepened and she knew he was deep in slumber. Nan stood nearby, her chin sinking lower and lower while she waited for her mistress to be finished for the night. Justina finally left the chamber because she knew that Nan would wait the entire night and go without sleep if she did not leave.
That unfaltering loyalty was the reason she had selected Nan to look after her son.
It was still difficult to leave the chamber, her heart feeling as though she was tearing something off it. The hallway was quiet and chilly, the storm wrapping the house in a freeze that made Justina hurry along because fires would be set only in the hearths that were being used. Wood was a resource that would have to be carefully used if the inhabitants of the house were to have enough to last through the season. Waste made for suffering.
The house was quiet, all of the servants no doubt huddling near a hearth somewhere in the kitchens. Justina turned the corner and made her way to Synclair's chamber.
A single candle was burning on the table near the door. Its light was welcoming, as was the heat coming from the hearth. The fire had died down but the embers glowed red as air moved with the closing of the door. The bed curtains were partially closed, only the side facing the door still open. It allowed her to see Synclair, lying among the plump pillows and coverlet. He was completely bare, the yellow candlelight dancing off his skin. She stared at him for a long moment, enjoying the fact that he was there. The last few nights had been endless, and she suddenly felt very weary, the bed beckoning to her as the most comfortable bed she had ever seen.
“Is he finally asleep?”
Synclair sounded groggy but his eyes opened, and he stretched his arms up and over his head before sitting up. He blinked and looked at her, one eyebrow rising because she had failed to answer. In fact, she was staring at him with her mouth slightly open, the sight of his body fascinating her.
“Um ... yes. He is.”
“Good, then I may claim what remains of your time.” He flipped the covers aside and stood up. Words deserted her once more as he walked, completely nude, across the floor.
A soft chuckle filled the room while he covered the space between them.
“Come, sweet lady, you have seen me without clothing.”
He reached her and gently lifted the French hood off her head.
“Why so shy this evening?”
He sat the hat down on the table.
“I am not certain shy is the correct word.” She felt him move behind her and begin unlacing her dress. The chamber was so quiet, she heard the cord sliding against each eyelet when he pulled on it. The bodice loosened and then drooped down. She tugged on the cuffs of her sleeves, not bothering to untie the ribbons that held the sleeve to the bodice. Instead, she slid them down her arms and reached beneath the front of the dress for the tie that held her slip and hip roll closed.
“I believe it is.” He lifted her up the moment her dress hit the floor, his arms cradling her against his chest while he carried her to the bed. He laid her down and joined her while the bed ropes groaned.
“I rather like to think you are shy about our current situation because you are unaccustomed to enjoying a relationship, Justina.”
“Is that why you brought Brandon to me? So that I would enjoy being with you?” Justina reached up and pulled one of her hairpins free. Synclair laid back down, stretching out and blocking her exit from the bed with his body. He was lying on the side of the bed closest to the chamber doors, and she realized that his sword was leaning up against the wall near within reach.
“I brought him here so that you might begin to trust me.”
Trust?
Justina looked down at the surface of the bed, her hands frozen in the act of pulling another hairpin. She heard him exhale stiffly before the bed moved and he plucked the pin from her distracted fingers.
“When I asked you to wed me, Justina, I offered my name to both you and your son. I brought Brandon here so that you might see that.”
She lifted her head and stared at him. She wanted to trust him but Biddeford's face rose up in her mind to prevent her from yielding to the man lying next to her.
“We would not be the first couple who discovered their union dissolved when the privy council voted against it. You are a peer, you need permission to wed. So do I.”
“Edward Seymour promised to witness our wedding.”
“What?”
Synclair's eyes were no longer sleepy, now glittering with purpose. “Does that change your answer, Justina?”
There was something flickering in his eyes that warned her he was plotting again. Suspicion needled her, making her think.
“You are not telling me everything.”
Synclair's face instantly drew tight, his expression becoming stone hard and unreadable.
“And you speak of trust, but I am correct, there is more to what the Earl of Hertford said.” There was a note of triumph in her voice even if it was a hollow victory. Reality was always far too complicated for simple happiness to flourish.
A muscle on the side of his jaw twitched. “If you truly want to know, Edward claimed he would witness us wedding if you were with child. My child.”
Of course, she was a proven breeder of sons. That was something a man such as Edward Seymour would consider valuable. She suddenly snarled.
“Is that why you chained me to this bed? So that your seed might have time to take root in me?”
Her temper sizzled and she rose up onto her knees, intent on climbing over him. One solid arm wrapped around her middle and he pushed her down onto the surface of the bed. She was still struggling against having her back pressed to the bed when he rolled on top of her to pin her there.
“There is nothing back at Whitehall except danger for you, Justina. I will not willingly allow you to return there.”
She pushed against him, grinding her teeth when she found him immovable.
“That is what you fail to understand, Synclair. I have always known the dangers, but if I am not there, Biddeford has sworn to send for Brandon, and allow him to be used by those men who prefer boys.”
Synclair spat out a word she had never heard spoken. His face was a mask of rage and the emotion went deep into his eyes. Synclair rolled onto his back but he maintained a grip on one of her wrists, his fingers tight.
“He told you that? In plain words?” His tone was quiet. The sort of quiet that warned of true rage.
“Yes. Do you think I would continue as I am, if it were a matter of silver that the man thought to deny me? I should rather be a scullery maid than a whore in silk skirts. Besides, he could never take my widow's thirds from me, and that would be plenty to live on.”
Synclair turned his head to look at her.
“I thought he placed Brandon under guard to keep you separated. That was monstrous enough, which is why I took him away.”
“But for how long, Synclair?” Her voice quivered and she pulled her hand away from him to hug herself. “How long before that man challenges you in front of the privy council? They will side with him, because he is noble. No one will believe that he might be guilty of threatening my son, even though we all know there are men at court who prefer boy lovers.”
“You will have to trust me, Justina.” He slid his arm beneath her and pulled her into his embrace. She struggled against it, frightened of the way she could feel her will surrendering to his.
He tucked her against him, his legs tangling with hers, and she heard him sigh against her head.
“Be at ease, Justina. For the moment, the storm will keep all of us where we are.”
“But—”
She raised her head to make her argument and his mouth captured hers. The kiss was firm, but tender, too. The joy that had flooded her when she held her son combined with the longing she had nursed the entire time that Synclair was gone. She clasped her arms around him, returning his kiss until he tucked her back against his side and sleep claimed them both.
It was by far the most peaceful sleep she had experienced since leaving her son.
Whitehall Palace
“You are playing a game with me.”
The Viscount Biddeford allowed his lips to curve, and he didn't bother to alter the expression when he turned to look at Francis de Canis. The hallways were darker than normal, the storm keeping the candles flickering and even blowing several out. It made for more dark corners, and those were always inhabited by men such as Francis de Canis. He was obviously waiting on him and that pleased the viscount well.
“Am I, Francis?”
“You are, my lord, and I admit that I find it difficult to resist. So name your price and allow Justina back out where I can catch her.”
“Ah, so simple, but why would I do such a thing?”
De Canis shrugged. “Your reputation precedes you, my lord. You are a man who makes clean bargains and keeps them. I am the same sort. So tell me what you want to step out of my way, or shall I tell you what I can give you?”
“By all means, my good man. I would like to hear if you know anything about what I like.”
Francis de Canis smiled. He moved closer and glanced down both hallways before returning his attention to Biddeford. There was a flicker of arrogance in his eyes that the viscount found rather misplaced, but he admitted that he wanted to know what a man such as Francis de Canis might offer him. It would not be common or boring and that was what kept his lips sealed and him waiting on a man of common birth.
“You want Bessie Portshire, not that I blame you any. She has a nice pair of tits and her bloodline is impressive.”
Biddeford snorted. “That is no secret and you cannot get her for me.”
De Canis continued to smirk at him. “So little faith in me, my lord. Now that is almost enough incentive for me to prove my worth to you, but not quite. I want Justina, and in return I will show you how to neatly trap Bessie into agreeing to marry you.”
The viscount frowned. “Of her own free will? Her father is insistent upon it.”
“There is more than one way to force a woman to kneel.” De Canis dug inside his doublet and pulled out a small bundle that was wrapped in cloth. “This little sack will rob the lady of her wits once it is steeped in warmed wine. Toss her skirts and spill her virgin's blood. I will burst upon the scene, suitably shocked, and she will wed you before I make it public knowledge, ruining her.”
“But how would I get her into my private apartments?”
“Simple enough, she has befriended your ward Lady Wincott. Have the lady invite her.”
The viscount snarled but de Canis chuckled.
“So it is true, the lady has slipped away from your leash.”
“I am still her guardian. She will return and suffer my displeasure so that she recalls her position quicker the next time I send her out upon an errand. Have no doubt that the lady is still very much beneath my heel.”
De Canis shrugged once more and pushed the little cloth sack back into his doublet.
“We don't need her to trap Bessie, since everyone thinks your ward is here. All we need to do is send out a message to Bessie. The girl is naive enough to come if she believes her friend is ill and in need of company.”
Biddeford knew for certain that de Canis was a man who lived up to his reputation. He was offering him Bessie like fresh meat waved in front of a hunting hound, and the man had learned enough about him to know it was something he couldn't resist. He did want Bessie as his wife; her dowry was a fortune and her father a duke. She was plain-faced enough to keep men such as de Canis from trying their hand at seducing her, too. When he wanted a pretty face attached to his bed partner, he would go to his mistress. He could breed Bessie Portshire and gain powerful relatives in the doing of it.
“Then arrange it, tonight.”
De Canis held up one finger. “I do not work for free, my lord. This little bundle comes from the heart of the Moors' empire. It is no easy thing for a Christian to purchase. Those Persians like to keep the secret of their harems, but I wanted to know how they managed to catch so many rare and beautiful women and keep them.”
De Canis watched Biddeford carefully. The man's eyes were glittering, and he looked as if he might begin drooling. De Canis patted the top of his doublet again.
“But I've seen it at work, it's very potent. A few swallows and even a virgin will suck your cock without a single whimper. All you have to do is instruct her with a soft voice, like a child.”
“I am a nobleman, you may count on me to keep my end of the bargain.”
That earned him a soft snort from Francis de Canis. The sound sent his temper to raging.
“You may be a nobleman, my lord, but I am a well traveled common man and I tell you truthfully. You shall never find another with this same formula, and I do assure you, I have seen it put to the test. The Moors have men who know how to bend the wills of their females.”
“It is truly from the East?” Biddeford licked his lower lip. Anticipation made him almost giddy because he had heard tales of the sultans in the East who kept harems full of women, every one of them devoted to pleasuring their masters. Completely devoted.
“It is and you are not the only man I can trade it with.”
“I will fetch Lady Wincott back to Whitehall. I sent her along with Synclair Harrow to see what the man was about after his meeting with the King.”
“Excellent. I will look forward to doing business with you, my lord. As soon as I hear that Lady Wincott is returned to court, you may count on me to arrange your evening with Bessie.”
Biddeford clenched his fingers into fists and snarled, but there was nothing he could do but suffer his frustration.
The stupid bitch. He was going to enjoy watching her suffer for placing him in such an awkward position. His rage transformed into lust as he considered what dragging Justina back to court would get him. He'd wasted hours and hours on courting Bessie, only to have the girl respond with little interest to his efforts. When she was his wife, he was going to enjoy having her try and appease his temper. She would serve him, on her knees like a wife should. It would be his pleasure to teach her all of the delights that her female body might provide, from using her mouth to ease his cock, to filling her passage with his seed. All of it would be his.
Soon.
 
Her nose was chilled.
Justina snuggled down, humming when she discovered it warm and toasty beneath the bedding. Another body was there and she pressed against it, uttering another little sound of delight when that body moved, the hands sliding along her limbs to send sweet enjoyment through her.
“I can become accustomed to waking up with you in my bed, madam.”
Synclair's voice was husky and still edged with sleep. He lay behind her and her chemise had risen up during the night to bare her bottom. His hips pressed against her, warming her and also allowing her to feel the thick presence of his erection.
He placed a warm kiss against her neck, while his hands smoothed up her belly until he cupped her breasts.
“Very accustomed to it.”
So could she.
Her clitoris began to throb, gently demanding attention from the hard flesh pressing against her bottom. Her back arched slightly, without any thought on her part. It was pure reaction to the warm, male hands cupping her breasts. He toyed with her nipples, making a soft sound as they drew into hard points while he fingered them.
“Shall I take that as encouragement?” He gently pressed her nipples between his thumbs and fingers. Pleasure went through her, shooting down her body to her clitoris.
“Or shall I seek out further proof of your willingness?”
She couldn't help but laugh. A soft, little feminine sound that drew an answering rumble from the chest behind her.
“Perhaps I should gather my own information about your state of arousal.” Justina made sure her voice was sultry.
“An idea I adore, madam.”
She rubbed her bottom against his cock, swiveling her hips from side to side so that her cheeks moved over the surface of that hard flesh. He gently pinched her nipples again, slightly harder this time, sending heat snaking through her belly. She could feel her passage warming, becoming moist with need. Her back arched again, wanting nothing more than a gentle climb toward passion's peak this morning.
“Mother! You must come and see how high the snow is!”
Synclair jumped and Justina found herself flung onto the far side of the bed as Brandon scampered across the floor, his small boots tapping against the stone.
“Brandon ... you must not push in doors... .” Nan was out of breath and only half dressed.
Brandon was too excited to heed his nurse's instructions. His face was lit with a smile that warmed her heart because it spoke of his longing to be with her, too. He climbed right up into the bed, and she had to smother a giggle when she watched Synclair pull the coverlet up to hide his aroused state.
Brandon didn't stop until he was sitting on her lap, his small hands reaching for her cheeks to turn her attention completely onto him.
“It looks like heaven fell onto the ground because everything is sparkling.”
“I cannot wait to see it.”
His eyes lit with anticipation, but he turned his head to look at Synclair.
“Did my mother agree to marry you, Sir Synclair?”
Synclair reached out and plucked the boy off her lap. “Not yet, you scamp, but I plan to attempt to soften her resolve today.”
Synclair ruffled Brandon's hair before setting him down beside the bed. Nan came forward with her hand outstretched.
“Come, Master Brandon, and allow your mother time to dress.”
Brandon went back to his nurse with a lighthearted step but he turned at the door and performed a perfect reverence before leaving.
The gesture melted her heart.
“Isn't he the most wonderful child?”
“His timing could use a little refining.” Synclair sounded grumpy, and he pushed his lower lip out in a pout to complete the moment.
Justina lifted her chin. “Now I simply cannot have such behavior. My son is at an impressionable age, you understand. I will not reward surliness.”
Synclair laughed. He tilted his head back and roared with amusement. A moment later, a pillow hit her square in the face. The bed bounced and she fell backward onto the jumbled comforter while Synclair chased her with his weapon, hitting her several more times with it.
“How is my behavior now, madam?” There was wicked enjoyment in his voice and he hovered over her on all fours. While covering her face with her hands, she looked down his length and spied his erection. Reaching out, she grasped it, tightening her hand enough to freeze Synclair in the midst of his attack.
“I seem to have found the means to controlling you.”
A soft rumble of male amusement shook his chest.
“That has yet to be proven, but I am willing to explore the idea with you, madam.”
He rolled over and landed on his back, sending the pillows near the headboard flying onto the floor as his feet landed where they had been. He reached over and gripped her waist. He lifted her up and over him, bringing her down with her thighs straddling him.
“I cannot wait to see how you plan to master me.”
Now he was toying with her like a man, and she found it equally charming. Leaning forward, she combed her fingers through his sleep-tousled hair.
“Is that so, my lord?” She lifted her bottom and felt his cock spring up from where it had been trapped against his belly. His hands slipped up her thighs, beneath her chemise, to grip her hips.
“It is, Justina.”
He pushed her down, slowly guiding her onto his length. Her passage was wet and welcoming, the head of his cock burrowing between the folds of her slit to the opening of her sheath.
“Ride me.”
His eyes glittered with passion and need. She allowed more of her weight to drop and his cock began to penetrate her body. The walls of her passage stretched around the flared head while his hands guided her down further, until his length was completely inside her.
With his length clasped inside her passage, Justina sat up and grasped the sides of her chemise, pulling the fabric up, baring her body completely. The cold morning air didn't bother her now. Her heart was beating fast enough to warm her and the feeling of his hard cock inside her sent more heat across her skin.
“Perfection.” Synclair growled the word, his gaze on her breasts.
Justina rose, lifting herself off his length, and then allowed her body to sink back onto his erection. Her breasts bounced, just a tiny amount, and his jaw tightened, the fingers gripping her hips flexing at the same time.

Other books

A Taste for Violence by Brett Halliday
Crotch Rocket: A Bad Boy Motorcycle Club Romance by Natasha Tanner, Amelia Clarke
The Fourth Protocol by Frederick Forsyth
Deadly Currents by Beth Groundwater
Can't Get Enough by Harper Bliss
Before Tomorrowland by Jeff Jensen
Felix Takes the Stage by Kathryn Lasky
The Last Days of Summer by Vanessa Ronan