Bride Of Trouville. Lyn Stone

to him now. Forever.

      Her upturned face invited kissing and he did so, trying to restrain his fervor. They did, after all, have the Mass to get through. And a celebratory meal likely to last the day. He almost groaned thinking of the long hours they must abide before the bedding. Even thinking the word stirred him nearly past endurance.

      Edouard ushered Anne before him as they entered the chapel proper and took their places beside one another for the nuptial mass. The priest droned on and on, the liturgy endless, the Latin barely intelligible, while Edouard allowed his mind to dwell on the night to come. So there he stood, erect and shameless, ignoring mass and thinking lascivious thoughts.

      He could almost laugh at the torture he worked upon himself. Not once did he seriously attempt to quell this unprecedented, public randiness of his. He desired Anne and he wanted her to know it. He wanted everyone to know. Therein lay the difference in this and his other marriages. This time he was more than willing. This time, he had chosen.

      Yes, theirs would be a love match. Edouard had decided now, and no jest about it. He could think of absolutely nothing that would prevent their loving each other.

      Chapter Five

      

      

      Anne drew in an anticipatory breath as they exited the chapel and made for the dais where they were to break their fast in splendor. Meg said the cook and staff had outdone themselves, given the short time for preparation and supplies available.

      Uncle Dairmid had helped them along by procuring various delicacies such as anise and almonds, along with the expensive wine. He had even purchased lampreys, which she could not abide despite their worth. But the French adored them, so said her uncle.

      The trick here would be to avoid the disgrace of penury before her new husband, without impressing him enough to warrant frequent visits in future.

      “What a pleasant ceremony,” she observed as the comte seated her and took his own chair. “Far preferable to my first, though I do recall little of that day. I was so young then.”

      “As you are still,” Trouville said. Nay, Edouard now, she reminded herself. She must call him as he wished, even in her mind. Do everything as he wished.

      “Ah, here are our sons, come to wish us happy!” he said, turning to greet the lads.

      “Felicitations, Lady Anne, Father,” Henri offered with a formal bow.

      “Many thanks, Henril” she exclaimed, smiling at her stepson.

      “Appy Day, Mama,” Robert said, and with a hesitant look at the comte, added softly, “Fathah.”

      Anne knew if she lived to be a hundred, she would never forget the look on her husband’s face. His usual savoir faire deserted him for a mere instant, and she could swear he looked humble. Either that, or Robert’s outrageous presumption had rendered him speechless.

      She hurried to concoct some explanation. “Forgive us, my lord, but I am afraid Rob misunder—”

      “I am honored,” Edouard interrupted, his eyes locked with her son’s. “Deeply honored. Son.”

      Henri chuckled. “Then may I call you Mother, my lady?”

      “No!” Rob interrupted, cuffing Henri on the shoulder.

      Edouard frowned at Henri and looked about to chastise him when Rob interrupted.

      “Say Mama!” her son explained with wide-eyed reproof and repeated, “Mama.”

      “Mama!” Henri repeated, laughing and poking Rob playfully in the ribs.

      Anne watched the boys scramble for the bench at the far end of the dais. Edouard ignored their unseemly behavior and faced her with hope in his eyes. “Do you mind?”

      She placed her hand on his sleeve without any consideration for propriety and smiled. “Nay, I do not! Henri is a fine son.”

      “Then you would not object if I should leave him here with you when I go?” he asked. “I vow I have never seen him so content. He has had few true friends near his age and no mother at all.”

      Now what? Anne searched about in her mind for a reason to deny him this. She liked Henri, but it bode no good for Henri and Robert to become attached as friends and brothers. Henri would have no secrets from his own father, after all. He would tell Edouard all about Robert. ’Twas a wonder he had not already discovered the truth. The fact that lads of their age spent most of their time in physical pursuits and little conversing was probably the only thing that had prevented it thus far.

      “Will he not miss you?” she asked.

      “I think not.”

      Edouard clutched her hand and raised it to his lips. “You do realize that a son’s disposition ought to be the farthest thing from our minds at the moment? By right, we should be dwelling on each other.”

      The double entendre could hardly go unnoticed with that wicked light in his eyes. Anne found herself responding with a heated blush, amusement twitching her lips. “Indeed?”