Page 9

M artin woke before dawn with a crick in his neck and frozen toes. He could not wait to leave Northumberland. Winchelsea wasn’t exactly warm this time of year, but it wasn’t nearly as icy as these northern reaches.

Shivering, he stole a glance at his sleeping bride and smiled.

He’d made progress in his campaign to win her over.

The night before had been quite successful as far as he was concerned.

There was still a considerable distance to go, but with dedicated effort, he could get her to lower her defenses bit by bit and let him in.

If it was too cold for him in this room, it was certainly too cold for her, even if she was under the covers. Aching, he got up and threw more wood on the embers of the previous night’s fire until it grew to a merry flame.

Isabella stirred in her sleep. She looked so sweet and vulnerable resting there, poker clutched close like a child’s favorite toy.

He had best sit back down and pretend to sleep. It wouldn’t do for her to wake and find him staring at her. It would have confirmed all her worst suspicions about him.

Settling back on his stool, he closed his eyes and then opened them a crack when she stirred again. Through lowered lashes, he watched as she climbed out of bed, cast a wary glance at him, and then stretched.

The pale light of dawn streaked through chinks in the shutters, making her shift nearly transparent in places. Her ample breasts came to pert points where her nipples, hardened from the cold, tented the thin fabric. The curve of her buttocks made him want to weep.

God in heaven, what have I done to deserve such sweet torture?

She lowered her arms and padded over to her chest, pulling out a serviceable green wool gown, putting it on, and tightening the laces on the sides. Then she pulled on thick, black, woolen stockings and tied the garters, in the process exposing tantalizing glimpses of her bare thighs.

Thank God his voluminous surcotte hid his reaction or she might use that poker on him yet.

Then she unraveled last night’s braid, combed her hair out, and began winding it into side buns.

The visceral memory of touching that lustrous skein almost undid him.

It had been so soft beneath his fingers, and he had breathed deeply the light herbal scent from her bath oils.

How he would love to bury his face in its silken warmth!

Instead, he sat still as could be, struggling to keep his breathing deep and even so that she wouldn’t suspect the extent to which she affected him.

She walked over to him with poker raised and prodded his shoulder with the point. “My lord, it is time to get up.”

That’s my Isabella, he thought as he feigned being startled awake.

“My lady, I am at your mercy.”

“And don’t forget it.” She narrowed her eyes and pressed to punctuate her point.

“How could I forget when you are standing over me like Cupid, ready to pierce me with love’s dart? I had no idea you were so desperate for me, my lady. I am yours for the taking.”

She gave him a withering look and lowered the poker. “Must you speak such nonsense so early in the morning? Your tiresome wit makes my head ache.”

He smiled. “And your fearsome wit makes my heart ache. You are magnificent. I could sing your praises all day long.”

“I would rather listen to bleating sheep.”

“Then let me join your flock, my shepherdess. You have hooked me with your crook.”

She cocked her head. “No, I think I’ll throw you to the wolves. You are too troublesome, and I do not care what befalls you.” The teasing look on her face said otherwise.

He laughed. “Are you so heartless, my lady?”

“Oh yes,” she said, setting down the poker and stepping toward him. “It is pointless to woo me, my lord. You cannot win my heart when I do not have one.” She held out her hand as she stood over him. “And now it is time for us to depart. The sooner we leave, the better.”

He took her hand and stood, delighted that she had reached out to touch him voluntarily. It was a small victory, but a victory, nonetheless. Lifting her hand to his lips, he kissed her fingers. “On that we agree, beloved.”

She pulled her hand away swiftly. “Don’t call me that.”

“Then what shall I call you?”

“Isabella.”

Another victory! She was allowing him to use her name.

“Then let us prepare for our departure, Isabella.” He stood, his body aching from the awkward night atop a stool, not to mention the tightness of his braies.

At least on the journey back to Winchelsea, he would be able to sleep in a hammock with the rest of his crew, away from temptation.

He would leave the captain’s cabin to her and her sister, of course.

“I need to wash and change my clothes before we depart. Since you are already dressed, perhaps you would like to break your fast before we leave and check that your sister is prepared to depart.”

She looked him up and down, and he prayed that his state of arousal wasn’t obvious to her, not that she would know what it meant.

Still, after last night’s talk about marital relations, he certainly didn’t want that.

At long last, she shrugged. “Meet me in the great hall once you have dressed, and don’t tarry.

I wish to be gone from this place as soon as we can manage. ”

“As you wish, my lady.” He swept into a deep bow.

With an eyeroll, she left the room.

As soon as she was gone, he stripped off the heavy wedding cotte and pulled off his shirt, walking over to the water pitcher and basin.

A layer of ice had formed at the top of the pitcher, and he cracked it with his hand before pouring frigid water over his head.

The combination of the water and the chill air on his chest did what he had hoped, and his arousal abated at last. Then he got out the sharp blade he used for shaving and removed the prickling hairs on his chin, leaving his upper lip alone.

By the time he got back to Winchelsea, he would have his full mustache back, thank God.

He dressed hurriedly, donning a plain, linen undershirt and the practical, dark-blue wool cotte he wore for sailing.

Then he packed his few belongings into his sea chest and flagged down a servant in the hallway to request that his chest and hers be taken down to his ship and that his crew be notified of their imminent departure.

That taken care of, he headed to the great hall for a quick bite before they set sail. Isabella was sitting with Adelaide in deep conversation. The earl sat alone, and the countess was nowhere to be seen.

“Come join me, my lord,” the earl said, beckoning.

Martin would rather not have, but he had little choice in the matter. Besides, if he was to leave Isabella free to annul the wedding, he needed to plant the seed that they had not yet consummated. He’d already concocted an excuse to give the earl and countess.

“You’re still in one piece, so I take it the wedding night was a success?” his father-in-law asked, winking.

Ugh. What a way to treat his daughter. “It was, my lord. I didn’t touch her, and she didn’t kill me. I would call that a resounding success under the circumstances.”

The earl frowned. “You didn’t consummate? What are you playing at, man?”

“My family is very traditional, and they would prefer that we consummate upon reaching Winchelsea. They want to be fully assured of my bride’s virtue and that there is no risk to the succession.” Fortunately, the earl had no way of knowing how far that was from the truth.

Lord Ferdinand nodded. “I see. Very wise. And it gives you time to tame your tempestuous bride so that she’s obedient when the time comes.”

“Indeed,” Martin said with a thin smile. God’s bones, what a terrible father. Not that what he said was so very different from what most fathers would say. Martin was fully aware he’d had unusual parents. Still, hearing her father talk of taming her made his skin crawl.

To avoid further conversation, Martin turned his attention to the food before him, taking a large bite of bread and chasing it down with a swig of ale. He could do with a bit of fortification before taking to sea in this frigid clime.

As soon as he had eaten his fill, he stood. “My lord, I’m afraid we must be going. Thank you for the hospitality of your hall. We must take our leave.”

The earl stood and clapped him on the shoulder with manly bonhomie. “Best of luck to you. I’ve had my men load her dowry onto your ship. Feel free to check it and let me know if anything is amiss.”

The dowry was the last thing on his mind.

Winchelsea was prosperous. What it needed was an intelligent baroness who could manage things while he sailed the seas to keep it that way.

“Thank you, my lord. I’m sure everything is in order.

Isabella,” he said, turning to his bride, “it is time for us to depart.”

She turned from her conversation with her sister and nodded. “Very well, my lord.”

Isabella and Adelaide stood and pulled thick shawls around their shoulders. Just as they were about to take their leave, their mother came sweeping in, descending on Isabella like a hawk on its prey. She dug a talon into Isabella’s shoulder.

“There was no blood on the sheets this morning. Have you shamed me, you worthless strumpet?” she hissed in her daughter’s ear just loud enough for Martin to overhear.

“No, my lady,” he said in a low, cold voice as he reached for Isabella. “We did not consummate the marriage last night. My family wishes for us to do so in Winchelsea. Isabella,” he said, pulling her up and away from her mother, “are you ready to leave?”