Page 100 of The Favourite

Jane’s face turned increasingly pink as she wriggled in a vain attempt to evade his fingers. “No,” she gasped. “She told me all about the cathedral, and—oh!”

“Do you know,” he said conversationally, “how many times, I have wanted to do this to you, Jane, over the past few years?”

His fingers stilled and so did Jane. “No,” she answered faintly.

He lowered his face to hers. “Every time I saw that demure look on your face.”

“Tickle me?” she asked, sounding startled.

“Have you at my mercy,” he corrected her, his eyes roaming over her face.

“W-why are you looking at me like that?” she asked, swallowing and clearly finding it hard to hold his gaze at such close quarters.

“Because,” he answered in a harsh whisper, “now the fateful moment has arrived, I am not so certain who is the victor and who is the quarry …” They stared at one another. Before she could speak, he said in a rush, “I have been thinking about you all day.” His tone was rough, the confession, unanticipated. He was slightly horrified to hear himself make it.

“You have?” Jane’s breath was coming fast.

“I have,” he confirmed. “Moreover, I have been sadly remiss in my duties. What have you done to me?” He was fully aware that he should not be talking like this, but in the moment, he felt powerless to stop.

Slowly, Jane’s arms extended from her sides in their defensive huddle to slide around his back and pull him closer. Gods, the action undid him. “Naught that you have not done to me,” she whispered back, and suddenly they were kissing. It was not polished, and it was not elegant. He shoved his tongue in her mouth, and gloriously, she accepted it with a needy whimper.

When she slid her tongue against his, Alisander groaned aloud. He should stop now. They needed to stop, but Jane was licking into his mouth, and he could not call a halt to it, not if his life depended on it. Instead, he started dragging her mantel from her shoulders and palming and kneading at her soft breasts through her thin shift.

Her little nipples were hard and pink, making him feel crazed with need. Pinching them was not enough, he needed them in his mouth, right now. Jane made a noise of displeasure as he lifted his mouth from hers, but she shuddered when he mouthed and sucked on her neck before moving down and engulfing her nipples into his greedy mouth.

“Alisander!” she gasped, and he braced himself to be reminded that they were waiting on supper—or even that he would mark her pale flesh—but nothing of the sort was forthcoming. Instead, Jane gave a helpless little sob of desire that stabbed him right in the chest.

“Jane.” He made a supreme effort and pulled back. “We have to right ourselves—”

The knock on the door startled them both. He was up and off the bed in an instant, adjusting his robe to conceal his blatant disorder. Jane was tugging desperately at the relaxed neckline of her shift to conceal herself.

“One moment!” he called out sternly and stepped up to the door. It was Wat, who hastily averted his gaze when he took in the unruly state of him. “We’ll take ours on a tray in here,” he told him swiftly and shut the door.

Making back for the bed, he picked up Jane’s mantel and wrapped it about her shoulders. “There, now,” he tutted, cupping the back of her head and dropping a gentle kiss to her lips. “All is righted.” Jane’s face was on fire.

“How is it you can hear footsteps from outside of doors?” she grumbled, making her way to the edge of the bed.

“I can’t,” he answered absently, though she was not really attending, for she was scooting around the bed and sitting herself in a chair by the small table. He retrieved her slippers and brought them to her, kneeling to slip them onto her feet. Her hand fell on his shoulder, and as though unable to resist, he turned his head to kiss her wrist.

Another knock sounded on the door and Wat entered, bearing a tray laden with dishes. Alisander straightened up and moved to the fire where he threw the last of the logs onto the blaze. Wat having set down the dishes, withdrew to fetch them more firewood.

In his absence, Robert shuffled in with a jug of wine and two goblets. Alisander eyed him keenly but could see no difference in his trusty servant to indicate the old man was in the throes of some new love affair. Speaking of Ayleth, she too made a discreet appearance with a large ewer of steaming water.

Once they had all departed, Alisander sat at the table and cleared his throat. “Well, they all seemed most keen to facilitate our evening,” he commentated dryly. Jane looked up enquiringly from buttering her bread. “I suspect they’ll be making merry without us,” he explained.

“You mean Wat and Anne?”

He pulled a face. “Take your pick, Wat and Anne, Robert and Ayleth. It seems we are not the only pair of lovers about the place.”

Jane colored faintly. “I am sure they will not be doing anything improper,” she said in faint reproach, which just made him grin.

“Jane,” he murmured, shaking his head, “you are just making me want to fluster you all over again.”

“You scarcely ever cease, my lord,” she told him, and he could see she was trying to hide her answering smile.

“No,” he agreed. “We do deal rather well together, do we not, Lady Bardulf?” He held his wine aloft and she clinked her goblet against his.

“We do,” she agreed, dropping her gaze. “Do you—do you suppose everyone else will be surprised about that?”