Knave Of Hearts. Shari Anton

On the third day of his visit, however, they gave in to their lust—and once done, easier done.

      “Stephen, I fear your audience with my uncle must wait a few moments,” she said, her voice matter-of-fact, and yet melodic. She turned to Ivo. “His lordship wishes to sit at table for evening meal. He asks you to send his body servants to him.”

      “At once, my lady. I gather you and our guest have met.”

      She glanced Stephen’s way before she admitted, “We have.”

      Most assuredly they had. So many years ago and so well met. For two days they’d taken every chance to place eager hands and warm mouths on each other’s bodies. Well met, indeed.

      Stephen bowed in her direction. “Lady Marian and I have known each other for several years. Mayhap she and I can renew our acquaintance while I await his lordship’s convenience.”

      Ivo’s eyebrow arched. “Only a moment ago you were ready to tear down the draperies from around his lordship’s bed.”

      Stephen shrugged off his former impatience. True, he needed to talk to William, but the mystery of Marian’s presence proved too enticing to resist further examination. Obviously she was visiting Branwick, but why and for how long? With or without her child and husband?

      Had she ever tumbled in the hay with her husband? How odd he should wonder. Even odder he should realize he’d never tumbled in the hay with any other woman.

      “’Twould hardly further my cause if I disturbed his lordship at an untimely moment,” he explained to Ivo. “I shall wait until he is fully prepared for my visit.”

      Ivo took his leave.

      Stephen took a longer than normal breath, remembering the unease of his last conversation with Marian. Part of that unease, certes, had been their state of undress and seclusion in a bedchamber. Yet, even though they stood in Branwick’s hall, with servants scurrying about to prepare for evening meal, with Armand hovering nearby, Stephen’s body and mind were firmly engaged by the woman standing before him.

      “I do not see you for many years, then you appear in the most unexpected places,” he said, then could have bitten his tongue for evoking the faint blush that bloomed on her cheeks.

      He’d seen her turn vivid scarlet once before, her face and chest fully involved. She’d been astride him at the time. He hadn’t known those many years ago what that meant, but he did now—a female reaching her full pleasure. Try as he might, he couldn’t tamp down the pride of realizing he’d brought Marian to her peak without knowing what he was doing. He truly hadn’t—which meant Marian must be one of those women who reached bliss with little effort on her bed mate’s part.

      So much for pride.

      Marian’s husband must be delighted with so easily pleased a lover for a wife, if he cared at all. Many men didn’t, which made no sense. Pleasured bed mates made for eager bed mates.

      “I hear Carolyn did not receive you well.”

      The edge in Marian’s voice both rebuked him for reminding her of their meeting in a bedchamber, and turned the conversation back to Carolyn—whose rebuff had been witnessed by enough people that the tale would have spread swiftly to all in Branwick.

      Stephen hadn’t a doubt he would be back in Carolyn’s good graces by the end of evening meal. He must be, despite the distraction of Marian, whose good graces wouldn’t be so easily obtained.

      Knowing full well it wasn’t true, but not willing to admit to anyone but himself that his intended bride had purposely deserted him, Stephen prevaricated. “Apparently I intruded on Carolyn’s previously made plans for an afternoon ride.”

      “Mayhap your visit with William will go better. He cannot get up and walk out on you.”

      Marian turned as if to leave.

      “How fares William?” he asked, partly because he wanted prior knowledge of the man’s current mood. Partly because Carolyn had already turned her back on him and he hated the thought of Marian repeating the insult.

      “His mood or his health?” she asked.

      “Both.”

      “His mood is decent and his health is improved.”

      Not much to go on.

      “I gather his illness does not keep him abed permanently.”

      She hesitated a moment before answering. “The apoplexy drained his strength and restricts his movements. He remains abed, for the most part, because he does not like having servants carry him about. My uncle’s body may be sorely afflicted, and one must listen carefully when he speaks, but have a care not to mistake his slur for lack of intelligence.”

      “My thanks for your help.”

      “I do not tell you this to help you, but for William’s sake. I would not have him upset because you treated him in thoughtless fashion.”

      Marian’s admonishment stung. Surely, she knew him better. True, he possessed the devil’s own temper when crossed unfairly, and a nobleman’s natural expectation of deference. He wasn’t so high flown with himself, however, that he’d treat William as a lesser man because of his affliction.

      On the edge of his vision, Stephen saw two young men slip behind the draperies, one carrying a pitcher and washbasin, the other bearing what must be garments. They would soon have William suitably robed.

      “Your caution is unnecessary,” he told her.

      “Is it? I do not remember you as the most considerate of lads.”

      It irked him that Marian hadn’t forgiven him for a lapse of manners nearly six years ago, a lapse not his fault. Nor had she seen fit to accept his tardy but sincere apology, having told him it came too late. ’Twas as if she thought him both brainless and unfeeling.

      Damned if he’d apologize again. If the woman chose to hold a youthful mishap against him, so be it. He didn’t need her good opinion. ’Twas Carolyn he must win over, not Marian.

      “I intend to treat William de Grasse with no less than his rank and intelligence deserves. ’Twould not further my interests to do otherwise.”

      She blinked, then said softly, “Nay, you would not treat a man of rank with disregard. I should have known better than to think you would.”

      He didn’t know how to answer, and indeed Marian didn’t give him the chance. She spun around and walked toward the door.

      “You do have a way with the ladies today,” Armand commented.

      Stephen winced, having forgotten Armand stood so close as to overhear. Thank the Lord the young man could be trusted not to reveal this latest debacle.

      Women. He thought he understood them, how their minds worked. Indeed, not until today had he questioned his ability to talk to a female in perfectly reasonable fashion. How had he managed to fail so completely with two women on one day?

      Ivo came toward him. “His lordship awaits you.”

      Grateful for what he hoped would be sensible meeting of minds, Stephen followed the steward to the right side of the bed.

      Carolyn’s father appeared much as Stephen expected: aged, white-haired and withered. But, possibly due to Marian’s cautions, Stephen noted the sharp clarity and unmistakable self-assurance within the man’s deep-set brown eyes. Carolyn had inherited her father’s eyes, his intelligence, and most probably his stubborn nature.

      Stephen nodded to William de Grasse, who occupied a bed with the dignity befitting a king upon his throne. “Good tidings, William. ’Tis good we finally meet.”

      “You find your bedchamber to your liking, your lordship?” he asked, the words slightly ill formed.

      “I have traveled widely, both in England and without. I find no lack in Branwick’s hospitality.”

      William’s