Page 14 of The Wager and the Wedding

“I know you will. Sleep well, and dream of me.”

And God help her, she did.

Chapter Six

Martin woke beforedawn with a crick in his neck and frozen toes. He could not wait to leave Northumberland. Winchelsea wasn’t exactly warm this time of year, but it wasn’t nearly as icy as these northern reaches.

Shivering, he stole a glance at his sleeping bride and smiled. He’d made progress in his campaign to win her over. The night before had been quite successful as far as he was concerned. There was still a considerable distance to go, but with dedicated effort, he could get her to lower her defenses bit by bit and let him in.

If it was too cold for him in this room, it was certainly too cold for her, even if she was under the covers. Aching, he got up and threw more wood on the embers of the previous night’s fire until it grew to a merry flame.

Isabella stirred in her sleep. She looked so sweet and vulnerable resting there, poker clutched close like a child’s favorite toy.

He had best sit back down and pretend to sleep. It wouldn’t do for her to wake and find him staring at her. It would have confirmed all her worst suspicions about him.

Settling back on his stool, he closed his eyes and then opened them a crack when she stirred again. Through lowered lashes, he watched as she climbed out of bed, cast a wary glance at him, and then stretched.

The pale light of dawn streaked through chinks in the shutters, making her shift nearly transparent in places. Her ample breasts came to pert points where her nipples, hardened from the cold, tented the thin fabric. The curve of her buttocks made him want to weep.

God in heaven, what have I done to deserve such sweet torture?

She lowered her arms and padded over to her chest, pulling out a serviceable green wool gown, putting it on, and tightening the laces on the sides. Then she pulled on thick, black, woolen stockings and tied the garters, in the process exposing tantalizing glimpses of her bare thighs.

Thank God his voluminous surcotte hid his reaction or she might use that poker on him yet.

Then she unraveled last night’s braid, combed her hair out, and began winding it into side buns. The visceral memory of touching that lustrous skein almost undid him. It had been so soft beneath his fingers, and he had breathed deeply the light herbal scent from her bath oils. How he would love to bury his face in its silken warmth!

Instead, he sat still as could be, struggling to keep his breathing deep and even so that she wouldn’t suspect the extent to which she affected him.

She walked over to him with poker raised and prodded his shoulder with the point. “My lord, it is time to get up.”

That’smyIsabella, he thought as he feigned being startled awake.

“My lady, I am at your mercy.”

“And don’t forget it.” She narrowed her eyes and pressed to punctuate her point.

“How could I forget when you are standing over me like Cupid, ready to pierce me with love’s dart? I had no idea you were so desperate for me, my lady. I am yours for the taking.”

She gave him a withering look and lowered the poker. “Must you speak such nonsense so early in the morning? Your tiresome wit makes my head ache.”

He smiled. “And your fearsome wit makes my heart ache. You are magnificent. I could sing your praises all day long.”

“I would rather listen to bleating sheep.”

“Then let me join your flock, my shepherdess. You have hooked me with your crook.”

She cocked her head. “No, I think I’ll throw you to the wolves. You are too troublesome, and I do not care what befalls you.” The teasing look on her face said otherwise.

He laughed. “Are you so heartless, my lady?”

“Oh yes,” she said, setting down the poker and stepping toward him. “It is pointless to woo me, my lord. You cannot win my heart when I do not have one.” She held out her hand as she stood over him. “And now it is time for us to depart. The sooner we leave, the better.”

He took her hand and stood, delighted that she had reached out to touch him voluntarily. It was a small victory, but a victory, nonetheless. Lifting her hand to his lips, he kissed her fingers. “On that we agree, beloved.”

She pulled her hand away swiftly. “Don’t call me that.”

“Then what shall I call you?”

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