Otherwise, she had spent her time mostly in the kitchen, which frankly held the fascination of the unknown for her. She had never actually spent time in one after all. She would sit next to the kitchen fire with a book or a little needlework that Prudie had supplied her with, as her maid busied herself with household chores in the background. Sometimes Robin’s little cat would keep her company, but mostly she was left to her own devices. Really, Mathilde needed a loom and some tapestry work to keep herself occupied, but she had no supplies and felt a little lost without her usual pastime.
She took daily rides through the woods, slowly on Destrian and briskly on the bay mare she had named Sabrina. Strange to say, she had never managed to find Old Helga’s hovel again, though she could have sworn she had hit on the same route she and Robin had taken once or twice, she never ended up at the clearing. It was most strange.
Mostly she longed for her husband to make an appearance. Where was he? Why had he not ridden over since their night together? Had it not been as pleasurable for him as it had for her? She considered this possibility anxiously. He had seemed pleased, but perhaps he had been simply humoring her? Or perhaps, she thought anxiously, the novelty of an inexperienced virgin soon palled on a man? Ought she to return to Old Helga’s book and consult Sir Pelomon’s adventures for some further advice on the matter? The widow had taken good care to give Pelomon a constant reminder of her charms, lest he forgot them, but how was she supposed to do that when Guy was in another residence?
She worried her lip, and bade Robin a good night as she mounted the steps with a heavy heart. It was growing heavier by the day. He could not want her as she wanted him, she thought despairingly. Then you must make him want you, a little voice told her. You must find a way. You are not the shrinking maid you once were! Fleetingly, she remembered her friend Willard’s advice to her. To remind oneself that you are fully equal to everyone else. Nay, to tell oneself, that you are better! You are bold, she told herself, as she rounded the top of the stairs. You are a fully-grown woman and a wife. You are the mistress of your own destiny!
Now where the hells was that book? Robin had lit a fire in her room before supper, so her bedchamber was warm and cozy. Casting off her scarf, she hurried over to the chest at the foot of her bed and flung the lid open. It was filling up now with all her new possessions, and she was just lifting out a bunch of multi-colored stockings, when she heard the discreet knock on the door. “Who is it?” she called out, casting around for her discarded shawl. She didn’t want to embarrass Robin with her breasts spilling out of her tight bodice.
“It’s me,” rumbled back a voice that most definitely was not Robin’s.
Mathilde gasped and let the lid of the trunk fall back in place.
“Guy!” she blurted, as the door squeaked open tentatively.
“Are you decent?” he asked politely, before his eyes fastened on her scantily clad self.
Not really, thought Mathilde, straightening up, and casting him a smile she hoped was both warm and inviting.
“I’m so glad to see you,” she enthused, hurrying around the foot of the bed and approaching him as he slid through the door. His eyes were fixed rather lower than her face, she noticed, so her smile might not actually have registered with him at all. He leaned back against the door as she bore down on him, hands outstretched. When she reached him, he clasped her fingers between his and squeezed them, clearing his throat.
“I’ve missed you,” she said as she gazed up at him, and saw his eyes flare.
“You have?” he rasped.
“Oh yes,” she blinked up at him expectantly.
“I’ve been … very busy,” he responded after a heartbeat.
“Oh, of course,” she agreed, with a quick smile. “I’m sure.”
“You… you’ve been well?”
“Yes,” she agreed enthusiastically. “Only…” she broke off.
“What is it?” The swift look of concern in his eye, heartened her.
“I don’t have all that much to occupy my time,” she confessed. “The snow means I can’t spend as much time outdoors, and—”
“What do you need?”
Her smile wavered. To ask for a tapestry loom now would seem churlish in the extreme after all he had given her. “Just — just to see you a little more?” she suggested. At his frozen expression, she laid a hand on his arm. “I don’t mean to be demanding, I fully realize that your time must be precious—”
He gave a sharp breath, and then Mathilde found herself gathered up in his arms and plastered to his chest. His lips came down on hers, warm and compelling. She gave a muffled exclamation, and then threw herself into the kiss, wrapping her arms around his neck and sighing against his lips. To her surprise, she found herself almost immediately thrust back, and set back onto her feet.
“Your pardon,” he said stiltedly. “I did not mean to—”
Mathilde gazed up at him. He did not mean to kiss her? She fancied her disappointment must have been palpable as she struggled to get a hold of herself.
“Of course not,” she agreed blankly. “How stupid of me.”
“Mathilde—” A sharp rap at the door interrupted them. They both sprang guiltily apart and Prudie entered the room bearing a tray of refreshment. She kept her eyes downcast as she placed it on the small table and then made a swift departure.
“Thank you,” Mathilde called after her, one hand fluttering over her exposed bosom. I must be quite scarlet, she thought, cursing her awkwardness.
“I know I’ve shown up at an advanced hour,” Guy started in gruff tones. “But I don’t want you to think I expect you to entertain me in your bed,” he said flushing red. “’Tis only that I was not at liberty to come any earlier than this.” He huffed out a breath. “I want you to know that I do not mean to neglect you in daylight in the future.”
Mathilde digested this a moment in silence. “Oh,” she said cautiously, and moved to the table to pour them both a drink. “I see.” She could feel his eyes on her as she filled the cups. After a moment’s hesitation, he too approached the table and lowered himself stiffly down into a chair. “Perhaps, we could take a ride together on the morrow?” she suggested tentatively.
He gave a brief nod, accepting the goblet from her, and raising it to his lips. “If you like.”
“Unless… Are you injured or in some discomfort?” Mathilde asked, noticing the awkward way he was holding himself.
“No,” he answered quickly.
“Are you sure? Only—”
“I’m well,” he said, clearing his throat and tossing back his drink.
“So, you are at liberty in the morning?” she asked. “And won’t need to depart at dawn?”
He winced faintly at that. “I could come back in the afternoon, if ’twould be more agreeable to you?”
“I mean you do need to leave at first light?” she ventured, vowing to rise with him this time, instead of slumbering through.
“Mathilde,” his voice was heavy. “I do not presume—” he broke off. “That is, I am aware that I have not done anything to warrant—”
“Oh, but you will spend the night here with me?” she asked anxiously. That definitely got his attention.
“Do you want me to?” he asked, staring intently at her.
“Of course!”
He plunked down his cup and gave a small cough. “Then I will,” he said.
Why does he look so serious? Mathilde wondered. And why was he at such pains to make it clear he did not expect his conjugal rights? She wished devoutly she had taken the chance to scan the book again before he arrived. As it was, she would have to simply do her humble best to please him. Without thinking, she tugged on the neckline of her gown, trying to provide a bit more coverage. Then she remembered she was supposed to be seducing her husband.
“That, er, gown.” Guy frowned.
“Yes? Do you like it?” she asked hopefully.
His black brows snapped together. “It, er, the fit…”His wor
ds trailed off. “It’s rather warm in here,” he said in a surprising change of subject.
“Do you want me to open a window?”
“Gods no, it’s snowing again. Only lightly,” he added, and then she thought he cursed under his breath.
“Guy—”
“What is your real name?”
“Pardon?” She frowned. “We spoke at the same time,” she said apologetically. “What did you say?”
He huffed, and stretched out his legs before him, staring down at his booted feet. “I want you to trust me,” he said in a low voice.
“I do.” She said in surprise.
“Do you?” His voice was strangely heavy. “I want you to know, that — that I understand you are under the power, the sway of another. But if you would only trust me. I want nothing more than to be your protector.”
The power and sway of another? Mathilde puzzled. Did he mean her mother? Unsure how to respond, she simply repeated. “I do trust you, Guy.”
He tipped his head to one side and regarded her a moment. “And you have no other name for me?” he asked softly.
Other name? Mathilde knew herself to be hopelessly floundering now. “Um. My middle name Therese,” she said, unable to think of anything else.
“Therese?” he repeated.
“But no one calls me that.”
“Would you permit me to?” he asked, and his tone was very strange.
She stared at him. “But I don’t want you to,” she answered honestly. “I prefer Mathilde.” She wouldn’t even want him to call her Matty, as she had urged Robin to. When she looked at him again, he looked conflicted.
“Very well,” he said, but he looked strangely disappointed.
“Do you not want me to call you Guy?” she asked uncertainly. Was that what this was about?
“Of course, you should call me by my given name,” he answered shortly.
Unable to think how else to respond, Mathilde simply took another swallow of wine. They seemed to have become mired in confusion all of a sudden, she thought.
“Perhaps I should go,” Guy said, straightening up in his seat.
“Oh, please don’t!”
“I can return first thing in the morning,” he carried on as if he had not heard her. “I should not have come at this hour.”
“Why should you not?” Mathilde sprang from her own seat and moved as though to bar his way to the door. “I don’t want you to leave!” He gazed at her, looking, she thought, rather conflicted. “Please stay.” In the end, he gave a short nod and sat back in his chair. Clearly, he did not mean to take her to bed, she thought, casting about. Conversation between them was only muddying the waters this evening.
“Shall we play cards?” she suggested brightly. “I found some in the drawer earlier. It might be a way to while away some time?”
He grunted, not looking exactly enthusiastic. “What games do you know?”
“I know lots,” Mathilde told him excitedly, and received a rather hard look in return. “I always play cards with Robin and my friends.”
“Your friends?” Guy asked casually.
“Piers, Gordon, Willard. They all taught me how to play cards.”
He said nothing at that, but feeling his scrutiny, she looked up from the drawer where she was retrieving a hand painted pack of cards with hunting motifs. “These,” she said, and carried them over to the table placing them down. “I am not familiar with this precise deck, but they look similar to Huntsman Bold.”
Guy picked up the deck and untied the string binding them together. “I remember these,” he said. “They were my father’s.” He was silent a moment as he shuffled through the deck. “It’s called Hound takes Heron.” He went through the rules of the game, and indeed it was very similar to Huntsman Bold to Mathilde’s way of thinking.
He dealt, and Mathilde arranged her cards into groups. She thought she had a fairly decent hand. “Ten of hounds,” she said discarding her first.
They quickly went through the first round which Mathilde won, though she had a suspicion he allowed it. Then she shuffled and they started a second round. It seemed to Mathilde, that every time she raised her eyes, Guy was watching at her. It really wasn’t so surprising, she thought critically, that she was winning the game hands down. “Should we introduce a wager?” she suggested. That might keep him focused.
Guy’s eyebrows rose. “Do you bet money with Piers, Gordon and Willard?” he asked.
Something about his tone made her look up sharply, but his expression was bland enough. “We gamble, but not with money,” she answered, shaking her head. “They are always short of funds.”
He was silent a moment, absorbing this. “What sort of things would you wager?” he asked.
“Myself? Usually my mending skills,” she admitted with a smile. “Or a penny, or a clean handkerchief.”
“What about a kiss?” he asked.
Mathilde frowned. “None of them ever asked for that,” she admitted.
“I meant for me.”
“Oh!” she blushed. “Of course, if that is what you want.”
“I do. And what about you? What should I wager?”
“A kiss of course,” she answered promptly.
He gave a startled laugh. “So, if I win, you give me a kiss and if you win, I give you a kiss.”
“Exactly.”
He smirked. “We could just forget the cards and kiss, Mathilde.”
She caught her breath. It just would not have sounded the same if he had called her Therese. “We could,” she admitted. “But I like the idea of finding out the difference.”
“The difference?”
“Between me kissing you, and you kissing me.”
His eyes seemed to darken at that. He cleared his throat and gathered up the current hand. “Very well, let’s start a new hand.”
XIX
Guy watched as, flushed with triumph, Mathilde laid down a winning hand. He was not going to withstand much of this.
“I claim my kiss,” she said, clapping her hands together.
Whose stupid fucking idea had kissing been, he wondered as he braced himself to withstand it without exploding. To his consternation, she jumped out of her chair and rounded the table to sit on his lap. Immediately, his brain leapt to the last time they had been in this position. He flushed, and that was before he noticed her practically bared breasts in his face. Gods. Tipping his head back, he nearly jolted out of the chair at the feel of her breath on his lips. He couldn’t even believe she would even want to kiss him after the way he had treated her last time, like an ill-mannered brute. He remembered sweeping the remains of their supper onto the floor and spreading her out on the table before him, and his throat went dry. Sadly, she chose that moment to lift her face back from his and frown at him.
“What is it?” he rasped.
“This may sound odd but…” She hesitated.
She didn’t want to kiss him. He swallowed down his disappointment. It was hardly surprising. “What is it?”
“Can you — can you take your tunic off this time?” she asked wistfully.
Guy stared at her. “My tunic?” he repeated blankly.
“So I can feel your bared chest against mine. When we kiss,” she explained. Her face was red as a beacon now. “I really wanted to the other night, but you kept your clothes on.” When he didn’t move at once, she added hopefully, “Please, Guy.”
What? He gulped and started unfastening the laces at his chest. His fingers felt like thumbs and she had to help him maneuver the garment over his head. He had no sooner discarded it over his shoulder than her hands were running over the expanse of his chest. He had to bite back an exclamation at the feel of her hands skimming over him.
“You’re so well-built,” she murmured admiringly. “I like this.”
He glanced down. His chest hair? Is that what she meant? He watched her lightly scratch her fingers through the dark scattered hair, and felt speech was beyond him. Her gaze flickered up
to meet his, and then slowly, deliberately she inched forward and pressed her mostly exposed bosom to his wide, muscular chest. Guy held his breath, as she expelled hers in a dreamy sigh.
“I knew it would feel nice,” she said, then placed her hands gently on either side of his face. “I’m going to kiss you now,” she said, perhaps realizing he needed a warning. He gave a short nod, his eyes dropping to her mouth.
Then her lips were against his so soft and sweet, that Guy’s world tipped sideways. He breathed in through his nose and willed himself to lightly return the pressure of her lips and not do anything else. Then he felt it. Her little tongue licked along his bottom lip, and Guy’s eyes shot open. What? Surely, she did not mean to deepen the kiss? Then she did it again. He gasped and Mathilde’s tongue darted into his mouth. Guy’s brain shut down altogether.
One of her arms was tight around his neck. Her fingers tangled in the hair at his nape. She was whimpering into his mouth, and the world just did not exist for him outside of the hot, wet slide of their kiss. The soft swell of her cleavage gently rubbing against his chest was not enough. He managed to insert one hand between them, and grabbed Mathilde’s already plunging neckline, dragging it down until he could feel those pink little nipples against his chest. Mathilde gasped, but even his lust-addled mind could tell it was with pleasure and not shock.
“Yes, Guy,” she moaned, dragging her hard nipples through his chest hair. This was what she had wanted? Nice was not a strong enough word for it.
He was just considering how much of a wrench this gown would need to rip it clean off her, when she drew back, her eyes unfocussed and her breasts heaving. “Time for the next hand,” she quavered and went to lift off his lap. His hands tightened at her waist, preventing it, keeping her squarely in his lap. “Guy?” she asked uncertainly.
He drew in a deep breath. “Next hand?” he repeated blankly.
“Of Huntsman Bold,” she reminded him.
It wasn’t Huntsman Bold, but at this precise moment he couldn’t remember the exact name. Instead he licked his lips, still staring at hers in unspoken invitation. “You want to play cards?” He all but growled the words.
Wed By Proxy (Brides of Karadok Book 1) Page 17