Page 49 of The Consolation Prize

She hesitated a moment before doing that. “Is this truly comfortable for you?” she asked doubtfully.

“Yes,” he answered, folding his arms behind his head. “Now stay close until I fall asleep.” He closed his eyes, secure in the knowledge that only he would ever know he wasn’t actually cold at this point at all.

*

Armand woke early the next morning, feeling overly warm. Finding Una still lying half atop him, he flung back the covers and dispensed with them instead. If given a choice, he’d take a nice, warm woman over a blanket any day. He palmed her delightfully rounded backside and debated rolling her onto her back and waking her with his cock, which was already perking up with interest. That enticingly close-fitting shift of hers had ridden up in the night and he could feel her soft inner thigh laying against his own. It was extremely stimulating.

After a moment’s consideration, he regretfully decided against it. She had not had the easiest of evenings, thanks to his gods-awful family dropping in on them. Instead, she’d been reduced to hollow-eyed panic and nausea. Only the most inconsiderate of husbands would now insist on a round between the sheets when she might still be feeling the aftereffects.

Besides, he needed to find a way to coax her out of her reservations when it came to the bedchamber. Armand was as lusty and playful there as he was in every other area of his life. He liked a bit of spice and plenty of sauce when it came to bed sport. A straightforward coupling was all very well when nothing else was on offer, but he favored a bit of slap and tickle where he could get it.

Was one supposed to get it from one’s wife though, he wondered vaguely? He’d never really considered the matter previously, but the fact remained, Una was a royal princess and hardly raised to romping in the sheets with the likes of him. He thought about those grave eyes and how they regarded him so seriously when he said something flippant or offhand.

She’d practically ticked him off for pointing out his sister-in-law looked like a windfall last night, he thought ruefully. Still, it was small wonder she was sensitive about such things, after the horse shit she’d had to put up with at court. Spiteful bastards, courtiers could be sometimes, he reflected with a frown.

Flirting with her at the moment seemed entirely a lost cause. She either colored up and refused to rise to the bait or else gave him a hard stare and took whatever he’d said quite literally. It had been as arousing as a bucket of cold water when she’d spoken of his rights and entitlements, he thought with a wry twist of his lips. He liked a wench to be keen and fully participant in the pursuit of pleasure. Not enduring his touch stoically like some kind of martyr.

Then again, Una was not a statue precisely. She’d been willing alright after he’d spent the time getting her worked up with his fingers. Maybe she’d lighten up eventually and even learn to crack a spontaneous smile once in a while.

She was not without a sense of humor, he reflected. He’d seen glimmers of it, flash out at him in the quiver of her lip, the way her eyes would sometimes lighten, and a sort of lilting quality to her voice. Still, he thought with dissatisfaction, he hadn’t actually seen her throw back her head and laugh. Not an honest to gods, outright laugh.

What would it take to hear that? he wondered, his fingers lightly tracing the swell and curve of her buttock. “Are you ticklish?” he asked, moments later, when her head lifted off his chest to regard him blearily.

“I’m sorry?” she asked in confusion. “What did you say?”

“I asked, if you Princess Una, are ticklish?” he repeated huskily.

She regarded him blankly, and for a moment he wondered if she was still asleep. “I don’t know,” she answered with surprise. “Why do you ask?”

“I’m curious,” he admitted. “Let’s find out.” He slid his hand up to where her waist dipped in and pinched her there, making her exhale and flinch against him in surprise. Then he was tracing her sides, lightly at first and then, when she squeaked, with increasing firmness.

“A-Armand!” she protested, trying to lift off him.

“Yes?” he answered, holding her in place.

“Oh!” She squawked and struggled against him. “Oh, don’t!”

“Why? Does it tickle?”

“It—yes, it does!” she answered breathlessly. “Please stop!”

By this point, he was so entranced by the way she was wriggling against his hard cock, that he didn’t even mind that he didn’t get the belly laugh he’d wanted. “I’ll stop if you let me tickle you somewhere else,” he said thickly and rolled her onto her back. And with something else, he thought, his eyes roving over her heaving bosom and flushed face. “Fuck, Una,” he groaned. “Do you still feel sick this morning?”

“No, no I’m quite well,” she assured him. Then she hesitated, just the smallest instant before letting her legs fall open for him. “That’s where you meant, isn’t it?” she asked, with just the smallest hint of uncertainty.

“Yes,” he agreed, feeling a surprising surge of something else, as well as lust wash over him. He wasn’t entirely sure, but he thought it might just be tenderness. “That’s exactly where I meant.”

*

Armand made his way downstairs sometime later feeling refreshed and invigorated. Their morning tryst had been most pleasurable, and while Una had not exactly been tearing his braies off, she had at least welcomed his advances and not started bleating about it being daylight or any other such nonsense, he assumed respectably married women bothered their heads about.

Of course, he hadn’t really cut loose. It was still early days and he hadn’t thought yet of a way to encourage her enthusiastic participation just yet, but he would. He just had to hit on the right method. Maybe next time he should give her his tongue? It would shock the holy hells out of her, but once that was out of the way, he had a feeling she would respond as sweetly to that as everything else he had cautiously introduced her to.

On reaching the great hall, his good mood was rapidly suspended. The tables were piled high with tarnished silver candlesticks and salvers and jugs and he knew not what. They must have stripped the house from top to bottom of all its plate. Rose and that new somewhat garrulous maid were huddled over the great mounds with polishing cloths, conversing conspiratorially.

“Morning, sir,” the dark one piped up loudly as soon as she saw him, and Rose broke off what she was saying with a start.

Armand had the sudden, uncomfortable suspicion they had been talking about him. He cleared his throat. “Your mistress requires a bath,” he said shortly. “Kindly have one taken up to her as soon as possible.”