Mary Wine - Improper Seduction

Something such as affection.

That opened up her heart, and it sent a sense of vulnerability through her. She felt exposed and in danger of having her heart broken by the man.

The thought was ludicrous. No sane person allowed themselves to fall into romantic love. It brought nothing but insanity. For someone in her position, romance would bring only misery. She had to cast the memory out of her thoughts and resist the urge to dwell on them.

Lined up in front of the main entrance to the largest tower were more than a dozen maids, all of them wearing matching livery of blue wool with topaz edging. Their hair was covered with linen caps, and there wasn’t a rumpled apron in sight. On the opposite side of the path leading to the tower was an equal number of male servants. Their doublets were buttoned to their collars, and every pair of boots was clean and reflecting the sun.

“May I present Bridget Newbury, my bride and your mistress?”

Every single head lowered. Bridget felt her resolve waver before the staff finished offering her their respect. Curan did not have to say she was their mistress. His bride, for certain, but most noble brides did not gain such public displays of respect until they had performed at least a few of their expected intimate duties. That tenderness returned to assault her heart, and this time it proved impossible not to notice how much the man was giving her.

And recall in vivid detail the fact that she had lied to avoid the duties that went with the position Curan was publicly announcing her in.

Shame wrapped around her as thick as tar. It felt impossible to keep her chin level with dishonesty dragging her down. Curan began leading her down between the waiting lines of his staff. A great deal of tension showed as they looked on their lord and new lady.

The head housekeeper stood at the base of the stairs, a large ring of keys hanging over her clean apron. The thick keys were a badge of her status and fit into locks that secured the more costly items, such as silver plate ware and spices.

“Welcome home, my lord.”

She curtsied and kept her gaze lowered, but her lips were pressed into a hard line. Bridget felt empathy for the woman. Who knew what mood Curan might be in when he returned after so long away? His staff likely expected the worst, to be demoted from their positions because they displeased a lord whom they had no clue how to serve because he might have changed during his absence.

But you know how to please him …

Her memory erupted with the recollection of Marie sucking Tomas. The man had looked pleased, all right. But could she truly bring Curan to such a state? Shifting her gaze to him, she worried her lower lip when she noticed how much larger and hardened he was.

But there was a part of her that rose to the challenge of it. Oh, stop it!

Such curiosity would land her in trouble if she did not stem such ideas. She had to recall all of the logical reasons why she could not celebrate her union with Curan. Her growing passion for the man would lead her to ruin if she was not disciplined enough to ignore her weak flesh.

“This is May, head of the house. I will leave you in her care while I attend to making sure Amber Hill is secure. A task I will be happy to see done so that I may focus on welcoming you personally.” Curan’s voice dipped down into that brassy tone that seemed to melt through her resolve to think of their union in only logical ways. When she raised her eyes to meet his, she found a look of satisfaction on his face, but it lacked the arrogance that normally irritated her. Instead she was fascinated and humbled by the sight of a man who looked very happy to be home.

She could discover herself growing affection for this side of his personality. It would be so simple, so very completing …

Bridget realized that he was still staring at her.

“Yes … thank you, my lord.” Her own curtsy was shaky.

“So, you are finally home. I’ll die of your strict nature for certain.”

Curan cleared his throat and glanced up the stairs. Bridget did as well and felt her jaw drop. One of the most beautiful girls she had ever set eyes on stood there. She was slender and petite and everything poets wrote about. Her skin was creamy and fair, her hair a perfect complement in lightest brown that was almost blond. She watched them with honey-brown eyes that sparkled with mischief.

“This ill-spoken girl is my sister Jemma.”

Jemma performed a perfect curtsy, but her lips remained in a smile that made light of her respectful gesture.

“And my dearest brother Curan keeps me secluded here to avoid having my behavior shame the family at court.”

Curan climbed the steps and stood towering over his sister. Bridget marveled at the size difference. Curan caught her staring.

“We have different mothers.”

“I am much younger.” Jemma shot Bridget a smile with her comment. “Which accounts for my brother’s lack of understanding of me. The old rarely comprehend the young.”

“I understand too well the court and what such a pretty face would gain there.”

Jemma waved a hand in the air. “Well yes, and there is that bit of fact. Yet I am not as dim-witted as those other noble girls. Sweet words do not lead me so easily.”

“Gossip is all that is needed to ruin a person at court,” said Curan. “I was glad to turn my back on it.”

Jemma’s smile grew larger. “You mean to say that you were eager to claim your bride.”

Curan shook his head. “Enough out of you, Jemma. We are soaked, and I do not wish my bride to think she has a shrew of a relative to tolerate along with learning to be a wife.”

“Compared to you, I am an angel.”

“A truth if ever I have heard one.” Bridget spoke before thinking. Jemma’s teasing nature reminded her very much of Marie and what the courtesan had tried to teach her.

Curan lifted an eyebrow at her. “I was hoping you might set a fine example for my sister on the virtue of marrying.”

Jemma scoffed at her brother. “Only if God has managed to create a man who is not boring, and able to gain your agreement to court me. I have abandoned hope of such a coincidence ever happening in my lifetime.”

She reached out and caught Bridget’s hand. “Come out of the rain. My brother seems to have forgotten that you were going to bathe.” She smiled widely once more. “Another trait of the old.”

Curan snorted, but his sister paid him no mind. She tugged on Bridget’s hand and led her away, but Bridget felt his eyes on her. Peeking back over her shoulder, she allowed her eyes to narrow with passion. It took no playacting on her part, for her body truly did desire him. His expression instantly transformed from the stern one he wore so often. Surprise covered his features, but it faded quickly into a mask of dark passion. He’d looked like that last night, she was sure of it. A shiver raced down her spine, touching off ripples of recalled sensation all along her body. She felt it travel over her skin, up and over the mounds of her breasts until her nipples tingled as they recalled exactly how hot his lips were. It did not stop there but slipped lower, across her belly and into the folds of flesh that covered her clitoris. A soft throbbing began there, a hunger that whimpered for satisfaction.

She must deny that urge. Turning her head back around, she focused her thoughts on absorbing the path that Jemma took her on. She would need to memorize how to escape when the moment presented itself. Her flesh wailed against that thought, but her heart also lamented it. She wanted to stay and learn more about the part of Curan that was happy to be home. In truth, she longed to share that feeling with him.

Yet she must not, for both their sakes. The world was an unforgiving place, full of men who would not give mercy. Her mother was correct; she must not celebrate her wedding because Curan’s honor would not allow him to see the logic in obeying her father’s letter. He was a knight, and in all honesty, part of what softened her heart to him was his unfaltering sense of honor. Without it, he would be weaker. That left the task of protecting him to her.