* * *
Adam dozed, more at peace than he had been for a long while. It felt good to hold a woman in his arms, a woman who cared for him, wanted him. It was bittersweet. As she slumbered innocently, cradled to his chest, her hips rocked against him, her body betraying a desire she would have denied or misunderstood when awake.
Rosamunda had never made any secret of her feelings for him. She was too unschooled to hide her obvious attraction, but he doubted she understood the physical aspects of her emotions. She had not had the benefit of a mother’s advice and assurance. Were she to awaken at this moment, she would likely not be aware of the curious absence of hard male flesh pressed against her.
He loved the way her body nestled into him, her breath cool on his throat. He had saved her life, the life of a beautiful, intelligent young woman. She trusted him. She was his to safeguard. He rocked his hips gently, matching the slow rhythm of her movements. She licked her lips, purring as she stretched languidly against him.
She would be mortified if she knew what was happening, but he eased her away to brush the backs of his fingers over a pebbled nipple.
It was tempting to put his mouth on her, just for a moment. He bent his head to flick the tip of his tongue over the nipple. The purr became a growl, the rocking more insistent. Her body warmed as her breathing quickened.
He suckled, drawing the nipple into his mouth through the fabric. She writhed, throwing one leg over his thigh, the rocking urgent now.
He should stop. This was no way to introduce a young maiden to the ecstasy of what he had no doubt would be her first experience of arousal.
But she curled her fingers into his hair.
Was she still asleep, or had she awakened?
He glanced up at her face. Her eyes were closed, her lips open, inviting. He had an urge to thrust his tongue into the welcoming warmth of her mouth, but she firmly pressed his head back to her breast.
He suckled hard, elated as bliss carried her rigid body over the edge. He hiked up her shift, lost to the moment. He parted her legs and carefully slid a finger into her warm, wet sheath. The pulsating muscles clenched on him. He edged in another finger, his free arm cradling her to his chest. Her head fell back as her body arched again.
His pounding heart might burst. He was in love with this amazing woman. What had happened between them was the most emotionally satisfying physical encounter he had ever had.
But she would have no memory of it.
As her breathing slowed, he withdrew his fingers, savoring the scent of female arousal. He rearranged her clothing, then glanced up at her face.
Green eyes, rendered all the more startling by moonlight, stared at him.
Naming Cats
At East Preston, Denis had no doubt Paulina was avoiding him. She rarely left the bedchamber. He often caught a glimpse of her at the window, gazing out.
He racked his brain for a solution to overcoming her fears. If anyone understood the isolation of being different it was him. The woman was as much a prisoner here as at Kingston Gorse, but now she was in solitary confinement. She ate in her chamber. Seated alone at the head table in the dining hall, he played with his food, his normally robust appetite gone.
He made up a thousand excuses to pass by her window. It was within sight of the well. He adopted a routine of stopping there for a long gulp of water before glancing up. Occasionally, he caught her watching before she ducked away.
Cats abounded at East Preston, a legacy of the days when the property had been infested with rats. Denis paid them no attention. If asked, he probably would say he did not like cats, though he grudgingly admired their independence.
One hot day, a brindled kitten rubbed itself against his legs as he drank from the dipper. Chuckling, he bent to scratch its ears. “My stature matters not to you, eh mignonne?”
The kitten purred loudly, its little pointed tail rigid as it pressed against him. It was too skinny. “Where is your Maman? Is she not feeding you?”
Soulful yellow-green eyes looked up at him as a pitiful, high pitched meow emerged from its tiny pink mouth. He picked it up, likely the first time he had ever done such a thing in his life. The kitten flexed its claws, but did not struggle. It purred loudly as he held it to his chest. With gut-wrenching clarity, it dawned on him this was the runt of a litter, left to fend for itself.
He swallowed the lump in his throat and looked up at Paulina’s window.
She stood open-mouthed, her gaze fixed on the kitten in his arms.
* * *
Paulina had seen several of the animals people at East Preston referred to as cats, but none as tiny as the one clinging to Denis’ chest. It was small, helpless. The dwarf could probably squash it with one hand, yet the way he stroked it, nuzzling its ear, brought tears to her eyes.
Those arms offered warmth and comfort, if she gave him a chance. Her fear was perplexing. A future hiding in her chamber held no promise.
Better to be dead.
She was sure the gentle dwarf cuddling the cat had sometimes wished for death. Yet, he had made a life, one he seemed to relish, though she had noticed a recent melancholy.
He was still at the well, gazing at her window, but the cat was struggling to be free.
Struggling to be free.
She went to the door, opened it, took a deep breath, and stepped out into the hallway.
* * *
Denis took several deep breaths, hoping to calm his raging heart when he saw Paulina walking towards him, her dainty feet raising puffs of dust from the sun-baked earth of the courtyard.
The kitten squirmed, mewling loudly, but he held it firm. This scrap of fur might be his one chance.
Paulina stood in front of him, her gaze fixed on the kitten.
“Do you want to hold her?”
Her eyes darted from the kitten to him and back again. “Is it a cat?”
He lifted the animal by the scruff of the neck. It cried its indignation, its claws extended. She stepped back.
“Oui, but don’t be afraid. It’s a baby cat. A kitten. I think her mother has abandoned her.”
Paulina gasped and reached out her arms. “Kitten,” she whispered. “Abandoned.”
“Lean back on the wall of the well, and I’ll put her in your arms. Careful, she might scratch. Tickle her ears. Kittens love that. Hold the scruff of her neck like this at first. She’ll get used to you.”
She held her breath as he passed the animal. The kitten quickly gave up its protests, settling into the swell of Paulina’s breasts, narrowing its eyes as she stroked its head. “She’s making a noise.”
The innocently seductive smile that accompanied this observation sent blood rushing to Denis’ groin. “It’s called purring.”
I’d be purring too if my head was resting on those lovely globes.
He sought inspiration to make her smile again. “You should choose a name for her.”
Naming cats! His brothers would suspect lunacy.
She frowned, pursing her lips. “She’s many beautiful colors, golden brown, white, black.”
Suddenly, her frown intensified. “How can you tell it’s a she?”
He coughed as his erection bucked. In Normandie he had never heard of a male brindled cat, but perhaps in England, things were different. “We can check.”
He took the kitten from her and cupped it in his hand, lifting its tail, then parting the fur below its belly. It wriggled, clawing at the air. No little penis or couilles, thank God. He might have erupted in his leggings. He breathed a sigh of relief. “She does not have male parts.”
Paulina looked at him curiously as he handed the kitten back to her. “Male parts?”
Dieu! How had this discussion come about? The woman had two brothers for God’s sake.
He swallowed hard, feeling his face redden. “Males have male parts, whereas females have—female parts.”
What an idiot!
She nodded thoughtfully, obviously interested in learning something new. Bu
t she blushed as she added, “Just as I have breasts, and you don’t.”
The light touch of her palm on her breast undid him. “Ou—oui,” he stammered, running his finger over the kitten’s belly. When our friend here bears kittens you will see little—”
The word stuck in his throat. Instead, he murmured, “Teats. We call them teats on cats.”
“Teats,” she repeated in a whisper, fluttering her eyelashes innocently. “Why will she have teats?”
Denis wished they were abed so he could lovingly stroke her breasts and discover the color of her nipples as he demonstrated how babies suckled. “A mother cat’s body makes milk for her kittens. They drink it from the teats.”
She looked down at her breasts. Her nipples were straining against the fabric of her bliaut. “Is it the same for people?”
Christ! If ever he did sire children he would make sure they were better prepared for the world than this vulnerable innocent. He took a deep breath to steady his voice. “It is.”
She remained thoughtfully silent for a few minutes, watching him tickle under the kitten’s chin. “She likes to be petted. I have much to learn from you, milord de Sancerre.”
If only…
“Paulina, it would be my honor to assist you as you make your way in a new world that can be difficult at times. But, please call me Denis. Milord de Sancerre was my late, unlamented father.”
She kissed the kitten’s head. “You did not love your father?”
He shrugged. “I never met him. I was born after his death, but my mother assures me he would have done away with me at birth.”
She grimaced. “My mother wanted to do away with Rosamunda and me.”
It was joy to converse with a woman and not have to crane his neck to look up. He put his fingers under her chin, gently coaxing her to turn her eyes to him. “That would have been a great loss for the world.”
She blinked away tears. “I will take my kitten to the kitchen. What do they eat? She reminds me of a ring my father wore. He told me once the stone was a topaz. I will name her that. It was a beautiful ring.”
“Perfect! Topaz it is,” he declared, his mind full of her wistful face, not the name she had chosen. “I will accompany you, if I may.”
* * *
Denis and Paulina strolled often through the herb gardens of East Preston in the ensuing days, Topaz their constant companion. Hortense brought an old satchel, sliced off the flap and padded the bottom with straw. Paulina wore the strap across her body, the kitten riding inside like one born to royalty.
“Topaz grows fatter and lazier by the day,” Paulina remarked one afternoon.
“She enjoys the cool leather of her carriage. These last few days of September have brought some relief from the heat, but for a kitten, it’s still hot.”
Paulina turned nervously to listen to far-off voices, tightening her grip on Denis’ arm. He put his hand atop hers. “No cause for alarm. Laborers are bringing in the harvest.”
There was much to learn. “Har-vest?”
“The fields here are fertile. In the spring, they plant seeds that grow with the rains and summer’s warmth. In the autumn, they reap the fruits of their labors. Then, here in the south where the climate is warm, they sow the seeds for the spring crop.”
She had eaten apples and pears. “I like fruit.”
Denis chuckled softly. “Most fruit grows on trees. Montbryce Castle in Normandie, family seat of Adam’s family, boasts an apple orchard that produces the finest apple brandy in the whole duchy. The rewards here in the spring are barley, vetches, oats, peas, and beans, and in the autumn wheat and rye. Cormant sells some of the wheat and rye, and the rest is used for bread. There is also flax for linen, and I believe one of the fields yields hemp which we use to make ropes.”
“And the barley?”
He laughed. “For making a thirst-quenching brew—beer.”
“And the oats?”
“Brevis and Nox love their oats, as does Rosamunda’s new palfrey.”
She thought of her sister then, finding it odd she had not missed her for several days. Denis had filled her time and her mind. She looked forward to the hours they spent together. He was patient, kind, and understanding. Because he was her height, she did not have to crane her neck to speak to him. She did not feel beneath him. They looked into each other’s eyes when they talked.
Adam had declared Rosamunda a natural horsewoman. Paulina was terrified to go near a horse, though the reason eluded her. “I hope Adam and Rosamunda are faring well at Poling. I wish I had the courage to ride. I am a coward.”
Denis took her hand. “You must not believe that. You and I are small in stature. Most horses tower over us. I am not afraid because I have been riding since I was a child, but I can understand your fear.”
They walked in silence for a while until they came to the edge of the fields. “Are you a farmer, Denis?”
He grimaced. “Non, ma petite, I am a warrior, a cavalry officer. But noblemen interested in the prosperity of their lands must understand farming.”
“Like what?”
“Well, the sowing of the fields is on a three year cycle. Every field is sown for two straight years, and left fallow for the third.”
“What does fallow mean?”
“Nothing is planted there. This allows the land to rest, so it can produce more next time. Also, if you plant wheat in a field one year, the next year you plant something else.”
“Why?”
Denis smiled. “Land is like us. We get tired of the same old thing over and over. Do you understand?”
She snorted. “I do! Rosamunda and I grew bored and cross-eyed doing nothing but needlework.”
Suddenly, she wrinkled her nose. “What a horrible smell!”
He pointed to a pile of muck. “Over there. It’s manure, from the pigs and chickens. After they finish the harvest the laborers will spread it on the fields. It’s good for them.”
Another mystery solved. “That’s what Vincent meant by muck-spreading.”
Rosamunda was right, there were many interesting things to learn in the outside world. “Do they grow flowers here at East Preston? My mother grew roses.”
He furrowed his brow. “I don’t believe so.”
It was a disappointment. “I love roses. My brothers used to filch a few for me. When they faded, I used the petals and rosehips for all kinds of things.”
Denis turned to look at her. “If I had my own lands, I would plant roses for you, acres and acres of them.”
“These are not your lands?”
“They belong to my stepfather, Antoine. He holds sway over many properties. Something will come to me, either when he dies—or when I marry.”
Paulina’s world had consisted of chambers in the attic of Kingston Gorse. It was difficult to conceive of someone owning many properties in far-flung places. She gazed around. “Would you want East Preston?”
He shook his head. “Non, Adam wants East Preston.”
This was confusing. Vincent and Lucien had said Adam was the oldest son who would inherit Belisle Castle. “I thought Adam was heir to his father’s castle?”
Denis turned away abruptly. A chill swept over her. She had said something wrong. But what? “I am mistaken. I’m sorry. I have confused the tale.”
Denis turned back to her, his face bleak. “There has been a change in the succession. Adam’s brother Mathieu will take over Belisle.”
It was on the tip of her tongue to ask why, but he took his leave without further ado.
Revelations
Adam stopped breathing. There was no censure in Rosamunda’s startled gaze, but she had evidently awakened at some point during his pleasuring. She took a deep breath, smiled, and fell back to sleep, cuddling against him.
He dozed, strangely content, contemplating the possibility of taking her to wife. He had never felt as close to a woman, never been filled with this strong urge to protect, this overwhelming rush of possessiveness.
&n
bsp; But he would have to be honest with her, make it clear there would never be children. He shifted uncomfortably. It was one thing to admit he was deaf, quite another to divulge his male problem. She might consider him less of a man.
Locked away her whole life, she was likely ignorant of what went on in the bedchamber between men and women. She may not know how children were created. Perhaps if he kept her ignorant, she would never become aware of what she did not have.
But then he would be imprisoning her as surely as her parents had.
He barely knew this young woman who slumbered trustingly in his arms, even after he had acted in an untrustworthy manner. He had taken advantage, but only to bring her pleasure. It had brought him immense pleasure to arouse her.
If he confided in her, she might not guard his confidences if she did not agree to marry him.
Dawn broke suddenly, its brightness heralding another warm day. Rosamunda yawned and stretched her arms above her head. She opened her eyes. His heart turned over in his chest. She would probably despise him for what he had done.
She smiled, the lazy, satisfied smile a woman might bestow on her lover. He basked in its warmth. He opened his mouth, but she touched her fingertip to his lips, then to hers. “Hush.”
He sat up, drawing her on to his lap, and kissed her lips softly. She locked her arms around his neck, pressing her breasts to his chest. A need that had nothing to do with lust flooded his body. He nibbled her bottom lip, whispering her name.
Her lips parted. He put his hand behind her head and flicked his tongue into her mouth. She opened wider and sucked him. The low growl emanating from her throat echoed in his ears. She reached for his hand and put it on her breast.
He withdrew it quickly. “Non, Rosamunda, we must talk.”
She shook her head and put his hand firmly back on her breast.
He brushed his thumb over the distended nipple. She arched her back, humming, beaming a radiant smile. He read her lips. “I like that.”
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