A Pleasurable Shame. Linda Skye

seigneurs,” Madame Lessard intoned. “This is the girl requested by Seigneur Eustache.”

      Giselle felt herself freeze as silence reigned for a long moment of scrutiny.

      “So this is the peasant you demanded to have in your bed, Eustache,” an authoritative voice boomed.

      “Yes, father,” Eustache answered in a low, deep voice that rumbled in his chest.

      “And why is this commoner worth such pains?”

      Giselle heard the creak of a wooden bench as someone stood. Then, there were the echoing sounds of heavy footfalls against the stone floor. Large boots filled her field of vision, and she fought the urge to flinch away. He was so close that she could feel the heat from his body.

      “Raise your head, girl,” came the authoritative command.

      Giselle slowly lifted her chin, her eyes downcast. A rippling gasp of surprise spread throughout the room.

      “Didn’t I tell you, brother?” said Alphonse, the younger of the two brothers, leaning back in his chair. “Isn’t this peasant an uncommon beauty?”

      Eustache grunted his approval, his icy blue eyes tracing the exquisite lines of the slender peasant woman’s face as he slowly paced around her in a circle. The rumours about her beauty had not been exaggerated. Indeed, she was the most beautiful creature he had ever laid eyes on. Long, dark curls had escaped her woollen cowl and cascaded over her slim shoulders, framing a perfectly oval face. Her skin was lightly bronzed by the sun, a healthy glow brightened her cheeks and her thick, dark lashes fluttered over delicate cheekbones.

      “A fine sight, indeed, my son,” the current lord of the manor admitted. “But also nothing but a peasant beneath your station.”

      Eustache turned on his heel to face his father.

      “And?” Eustache demanded, voice clipped.

      Alphonse chuckled, slapping his open palm onto their table.

      “Let him be, father,” the younger brother said, still laughing. “Eustache is entitled to enjoy the carnal rights of a lord. Besides, he is so tightly wound that even the other nobles are half afraid of him.”

      Eustache stifled an annoyed growl. The other nobles could shove off as far as he was concerned. In fact, they were right to be afraid of him. For most of his life, he had known nothing but the mud and blood of battle, charging forward with his sword and cleaving through enemy after enemy. It was about the only thing he was good at. Frivolous noblemen and women annoyed him, and their prattling seemed worse to him than the cold, pelting rain on a February day in England.

      “What of it?” Eustache growled in a grating snarl. “I do not care what the other nobles—or even you—think of me.”

      Giselle glanced up in surprise at his back, and his towering girth filled her sight. Awed, she took in his trim waist and broad shoulders. Her chest tightened as she continued to gaze up at him, startled by his sheer size. Though both of the lord’s sons were large men, they looked nothing alike. While Alphonse’s weight seemed to sink to his middle so that he resembled an overripe pear, Eustache carried his muscular bulk in his shoulders and chest. He was clearly a hardened man who exuded raw power with every movement of his hulking frame.

      Then he turned, and his icy blue eyes were sharply trained on her.

      She froze, suddenly realising that she was at the centre of his attention. Immediately drawn into his piercing gaze, her breathing quickened and her heart began to pound. He was ruggedly handsome, and he had thick, golden hair that glinted in the light and a strong, square jaw that was covered in the barest hint of stubble. As he towered over her with contemplative eyes, she felt something warm pool in her belly—an unknown longing that burned low and sent a shiver up her spine.

      “Your name, girl,” he demanded.

      “I am Giselle, mon seigneur,” she whispered softly, heart hammering.

      Eustache placed a finger under her chin to tilt her face upward. Her eyes were pale and greyish blue, the colour of the deepest part of the channel waters on a sunny summer’s day. Her lush, plump lips parted slowly in surprise, and one corner of his mouth twitched upward in the barest hint of a predatory smirk.

      “Well now, Giselle,” Eustache told her, leaning in so that his warm breath dusted her face, “we will meet again on the eve of your wedding day.”

      Caught in his commanding stare, Giselle could only stare back in mute awe. But even so captivated, she suddenly knew what she had to do. As the lord ran the tip of his finger down the column of her throat to her collarbone, she shivered involuntarily. But Giselle fearlessly held his lusty gaze with her own, her plan taking root.

      By the simple virtue of being a woman, she had been forced into this situation. But as a woman, she knew she could bend the steeliest of men with her feminine wiles if she truly tried. She would trap this lord—no, this man—in his own desires, even though he thought that it was he who had her trapped. She would twist her fate yet!

      “And I will have you in my bed,” Eustache promised fiercely.

      Giselle’s eyes narrowed ever so slightly.

      And I will have you in the palm of my hand, she vowed silently in return.