Page 39 of Betrothal

“Are you always so?” The sudden sharpness of his tone sent a thrill of alarm through her. His eyes were guarded now.

“Aye, my lord.” She plucked at her gown, at a loss to understand how the playfulness had drained from their conversation. “’Tis a virtue I hope will serve me well when we are married.”

Geoffrey took a draft of ale. “I fear truthfulness may be a two-edged sword in marriage if wielded with too much vigor.”

Intriguing idea. “How so, my lord? How would truth not serve a husband and wife?”

“Would you tell me true if…” He paused, leaned close to her ear. His proximity, usually so thrilling, now seemed to menace instead.

“Would I tell you what, my lord?” She could scarce keep the tremble from her voice.

“If I pleased you not in bed, sweet Alyse? Or would you spare my feelings with the barest of lies?”

She gasped, though his words were unheard by any save her. Relief washed over her, though she hardly knew what she had expected him to ask. Her heart beat faster and fire crept into her cheeks. A throb pulsed deep in the middle of her core, making her bold. “What would you have me do, my lord? So I will know what to tell you should the need ever arise.”

Geoffrey leaned back and laughed loud and long, drawing stares from those around him. Thomas glanced sharply from her to his friend and raised an eyebrow. “What merriment are you two up to, Geoffrey? Come, share Alyse’s jest with us all.”

Now she in turn laughed at the sheepish look on Geoffrey’s face. He rallied, however, to reply, “Lady Alyse asked for instruction.” He paused mischievously.

The wretch! Her face assuredly now approached the hue of the blazing noonday sun.

Thomas’s lazy smile broadened. “What kind of instruction, my lady? Perhaps I may assist you in acquiring the knowledge you seek.”

Geoffrey shook his head and said with mock sorrow, “’Tis hardly a topic for your expertise. My lady wishes for instruction in how to best use her virtues to please me after we are wed. I laughed but at the reply I would make to her.”

Thomas smirked. “And that reply, Geoffrey?”

To her dismay, he leaned toward his friend and whispered something that sent the man into a hearty fit of laughter. Why would he betray her confidence by including Thomas in their private jest? She stared at the back of his head, willing him to confront her once more. When he finally turned to her, she had set her features in stern lines, to leave him in no doubt of her displeasure.

Her look must have captured his attention indeed, for he searched her face as if concerned by what he saw. “My lady? You were saying?”

Alyse arched her eyebrows at him and sat straighter on the bench. “I was not saying, my lord. I still await your reply to my question.”

He took her hand once more, running his thumb over her fingers, as if soothing her ruffled feathers. As he leaned down to nuzzle her ear, he whispered seductively, “I will be sure to see to it that the need for such an answer never arises.”

He raised her hand to his lips, kissing the knuckle of each finger with a soft, sensual caress. She closed her eyes, her body aflame once more.

Thank God whatever imp caused his ill mood has vanished.

She stole a glance across the Great Hall to find Guy de Valere’s eyes trained on them—a narrowed, dark gaze atop the thin snarl of his lips. The man had always been arrogant and more than a little peremptory—one reason she had not been disappointed that his suit had failed. Now, if he meant to make trouble between her and Geoffrey, he would find himself on the wrong end of her temper.

A sudden prickle on her neck, pressure on her fingers, and she pulled her attention back to find Geoffrey staring with menace first at her then across the Hall to Guy.

In a voice deepened by emotion, he whispered, “My lady, let us seek a breath of cooler air outside.”

Chapter 16

Apprehension surged through her at his tone, but Alyse nodded. He took her arm and led her out of the Great Hall and into their courtyard, still engulfed by roses. When they stood in the bower, beside the bench, he released her, and she raised her gaze to his face, saddened by the suspicion she found there.

“I would have our conversation private, lady. ’Twill be brief, but I would speak plainly.”

She waited, trying to remain composed, to restrain the tears summoned by the understanding that she had displeased him once more. Although how was almost as big a mystery as Geoffrey himself. The man she had come to care for deeply remained an enigma—one moment the ardent lover, the next a fearsome warrior.

As if two men live in one body.

“We are to wed in little more than a week, Alyse. I must have your oath that you will cleave only unto me. I am your betrothed. I will be your husband. Not Lord Braeton. Not Sir Guy. Unfortunately, I cannot change what has been decreed.” He stood, clenching his fists, brows furrowed.

He did not want this marriage after all. Grief welled in her chest, and she feared the tears would begin to flow. For all his talk of coming to know her, he cared nothing for her beyond the letter of the contract.