Lyn Stone - My Lady's Choice

The long year of celibacy had no doubt prompted the reaction to this new wife of his. After that one unplanned coupling with a willing chambermaid last Michaelmas at a Dover inn, he had sworn off altogether. Unlike a noblewoman, a common wench might be pleasurable and pleasured, but Richard always regretted such occurrences afterward.

He worried that such women would feel that he took advantage of his station as a noble. He had done that once, prior to his first marriage. The resulting child, labeled a bastard, had suffered for his mistake, even if the mother had gained by it.

His own mother had been a commoner, a former servant of his father’s first wife. Richard knew well that the indomitable Janet never let any man use her ill, noble or otherwise. She had wed his father to look after the man, fulfilling a deathbed promise to her lady, Alan’s mother.

Though the marriage had proved long and successful, Richard had not failed to note the barbs his mother suffered because of her former status. He had decided never to wed a woman not of his station and cause her that kind of hurt.

Neither had he intended to wed another of his own kind. Without exception, they were either power mad and conniving like the ones he had met at court and in his travels with the king, or else they were like the angelic Evaline.

She had been perfect, of course. Chaste, above reproach, serene and so lovely it hurt to look at her. Evaline had possessed a cool, passionless nature, which everyone knew was a most admirable trait in a noble wife. By all rights, he should have loved her beyond all reason. Instead of appreciating her natural reserve and dignity, Richard had thought her aloof and cold. He had been at fault, not Evaline. He only realized that after she had died.

Because neither class of woman suited him as wife, Richard had intended to remain unwed forever, but that intention lay in ashes now. And this wellborn wife seemed to be of the conniving ilk. She was in no way reserved, that was for certain.

Question was, what did Sara of Fernstowe want so badly that she would offer her body? Her enemy vanquished for one thing. She had admitted it, but she must know he had no choice about that with orders from the king. A son to inherit her lands? So she said, but he could not imagine a woman suffering so when she would never hold the profits in her own hands. What, then?

His body ached to give her what she asked, for whatever reason she asked it. Why not succumb to her wish and bed her?

Because she would loathe it, that was why. As all noble daughters were taught, Sara would believe it degrading, a necessary evil for begetting. And Richard knew he would hate equally a pretense that she liked it, or a cursory avowal that she did not. Better to do without.

Unfortunately, he did lust after Sara of Fernstowe. If she affected him this powerfully when he felt so weak from a wounding, how the devil would he manage to resist her when he grew strong again?

Friendship, indeed! A gust of laughter broke free and Richard was infinitely glad Sara was nowhere near to hear it, for he knew it might please her. That was the last thing he wanted to do.

The next morning, Sara halted just outside her husband’s chamber. She smiled to herself as she leaned back against the wall and waited for him to immerse himself in the tub Eustiss had brought and filled for him.

Through the partially open door, she had caught a brief glimpse of him unclothed before she stepped back. It would take her a moment to still that wicked heart of hers. Richard’s was a finely wrought figure, even viewed from the back.

In a few moments Eustiss came out and passed her with a look of silent amusement. Sara immediately marched in humming and plunked down a fresh change of clothing on his bed, garments of her father’s that no one else at Fernstowe could wear.

“Here. Have these. Except for the hunting clothes, which were ruined, yours are much too fine for—”

“God’s breath!” The abrupt slosh of water and his shout interrupted. “What do you here?”

Sara walked to the tub, hands on her hips, grinned down at him and leaned over. “Attending your bath, of course.”

He had clasped his hands over his manhood, scowling as though she’d come to relieve him of it. “I can bathe myself. Now, leave me!”

Sara tossed her head back and stared at the ceiling as she spoke. “I’ve seen all you have there, husband. No need to play coy.”

“Coy? Have you no thought to a man’s privacy? Or is there such a thing in this place?”

“Not much of it, I do admit,” Sara said, laughing. She scooped up the soap and cloth from the bathing stand by the tub. “Lean forward, I shall wash your back. Mind you keep that wound dry.”

“Devil take the wound. Go away.” But he sounded less adamant and he bent forward just as she’d instructed.

Sara dipped the rag, soaped it and began scrubbing circles on his back. She dug hard into the bunched muscles. He bit off a groan of pleasure, but not before she’d heard it. Sara smiled, enjoying the small success.

“What do you mean you’ve seen everything?” he asked carefully. “I thought Eustiss did the bathing before.”

“Eustiss? Ha!” Sara exclaimed. “That one rarely bathes himself, much less anyone else. Swears it brings on agues and fevers.”

Richard remained silent after that until she had finished cleansing the long, muscled length of his back. Then she tilted back his head and poured water over his hair, working the soap into the thick chestnut waves. How silky it felt trailing through her fingers!

Not until she had rinsed his hair and handed him a length of linen to wash his face did he speak. “Why do you do this?”

“To get you clean, of course,” she said in a bright voice. “Will you not feel better now? I know I do!” Seeing her husband’s body recovering its strength did her heart good. “You are more than pleasing to look at in any case, and ’tis wonderful to see you up and about.”

She walked on her knees around to his side and again soaped the cloth, intending to bathe the uninjured portion.

He quickly reached out and snatched the wet linen from her hand. “I shall finish this.”

“Fine. I’ll just watch.”

“You’ll just leave!” he demanded.

She paid no heed to the order. Instead she boldly peeked over the edge of the tub and grinned. “Ah. You truly are up and about, my friend! We can remedy that soon enough.”

“Sara!” He sounded perfectly appalled at her words. But it was the first time he had used her Christian name and it pleased her to hear it on his tongue. She was definitely making progress.

“Well, if you do not wish me to do it, I could call Darcy. She might be more to your liking. Not a bad sort, though not the canniest lass you’ll ever meet.”

“Good God, woman!” he blurted in a half-choked voice. “You’d thrust me into another’s bed? What of my vows?”

Sara took that as a refusal. Richard not only sounded appalled. He clearly was. “Never mind, then. ’Twas just a thought,” she said pleasantly as she pushed herself to her feet.

Richard’s restraint gladdened her. She could hardly believe any man would turn down a chance to take his pleasure when he was so obviously in need of it.

Her own father had never been terribly discreet about tumbling a wench now and again. Sara knew that doing so had little or nothing to do with the regard a man held for his lady wife, for her father had truly loved her mother. But still, she felt immensely pleased that Richard would not bed the flighty Darcy.

Of course, he would not bed his wife, either, Sara thought. However, if he believed so strongly in those vows made all unknowing, Richard would soon remember duty. His pride would mend. So would his body. And if he would have none of the round-heeled wenches who worked about Fernstowe, then he must eventually come to her own bed.