Page 19 of The Wager and the Wedding

Martin looked at her long and hard, unnerving her completely. Then he shrugged. “Suit yourself. How is Lady Adelaide?”

“Mercifully asleep. The sleeping draught was quite effective.” She gritted her teeth, then mumbled, “You have my thanks.”

He beamed and winked, the scoundrel.

“I am very glad to hear she is resting peacefully. The seasickness should only last a day or two, and then she’ll adjust. In the meantime, there are plenty of ginger biscuits. Might I trouble you to bring me my citole?” He gestured at the door. “It’s in my cabin, and I don’t want to disturb her.”

Isabella ducked into the cabin, found the instrument, came back out, and handed it to him gingerly.

“Here’s your little lute,” she said, hoping to annoy him.

He grimaced for a moment before composing himself. Good, she’d scored a hit. It wouldn’t do for him to think she was softening toward him. The sooner he concluded she had no heart to give, the better off everyone would be. She was on a mission and didn’t want the distraction of his courtship.

“I was hoping you would join me for dinner and let me play you a few more tunes from Aquitaine,” he said, strumming the instrument a few times and tuning the strings.

His proposal sounded rather tempting, which was dangerous. “I would rather hear a dog howl at the moon than listen to another one of your love songs.”

Chuckling, he leaned close, his lips nearly brushing against her ear and whispered, “Woof.”

Her breath caught and her pulse spiked, as tingles ran through her body. “Don’t taunt me, you cur.”

“Then don’t bait me, you temptress. If I’m a dog, you’d best beware my bite.” His teeth clicked shut right next to her ear, and she gasped. Why was she wondering what it might be like to have his teeth graze her earlobe? Worse yet, why did she want his lips to trail down her neck, for him to nibble on her shoulder and perhaps on places lower down?

He took a step back and gave her a look that was pure sin as his gaze lovingly caressed every curve, his lips twisted in wicked amusement. “Give in, Isabella. You know you want to.”

“Give in to what?” Her voice was altogether too breathy.

“Everything. Let me worship you, my queen. Let me give you pleasure you’ve never dreamt of. Let me love every inch of you, goddess of my heart. Just say you’ll be my wife in truth, and I’m yours.”

All she could do was stare into those chestnut eyes flecked with amber and onyx. She was transfixed. Her heart was going to beat out of her chest if this went on much longer. Could he see what he was doing to her? Did he know?

“Or, if that’s too much,” he said, holding out a hand, “you could simply agree to join me for dinner.”

“I suppose dinner would be acceptable,” she said, resting her hand in his as if in a trance, but then she shook herself, forcing her mind back to reality. “The rest is never going to happen.” She hoped he couldn’t hear the regret in her voice.

This was no good. She had a plan, and she had to stick to it. Martin was a rogue who was under Eleanor’s thumb, and shecouldn’t let herself forget that, not for one moment. There was too much at stake.

Martin only smiled. “Good. I’ve prepared a place for us to dine in the hold. I’ll go ask Baldwin to set the table and bring the food, and I’ll return for you in a trice, if you’ll excuse me, my lady.”

“You are excused.” She wiggled her fingers dismissively, and he walked away chuckling, the bothersome lout. Ducking into the cabin to check on Adelaide one last time, she mentally braced herself for battle. By the time he knocked, she was ready for war, and come what may, she intended to win.

Chapter Eight

Martin grinned ashe reviewed his plan for the evening one last time. His campaign to pierce her defenses would begin even before they sat down to dine. It was clear that Isabella doted on her sister, and winning over Adelaide would go far toward softening her heart. While he’d been at Bamburgh Castle, he’d assigned his men the task of making friends with the servants and learning as much as they could about what the sisters liked.

He held a tray in his hand as he knocked on the cabin door. Given the state of Adelaide’s stomach, he’d kept her meal simple—a bowl of hearty chicken broth, an apple, and a small dish of honeyed walnuts, which he happened to know Adelaide adored. There was a sprig of holly with bright red berries to decorate. But the realpièce de resistancewas the scroll that lay on the side of the tray. He could hardly wait to see her open it.

When he knocked, Isabella opened the door, eyeing the tray with suspicion. “What is that?” she asked pointing her chin at the tray.

“Dinner for Adelaide,” he answered. “Will you let me in?”

Isabella looked him up and down as if examining him for weapons, then grumbled as she opened the door.

“Oh dear,” said Adelaide, as he carried over the tray. “Thank you for your kindness, but I don’t think I could eat a thing.”

Narrowing her eyes and giving him a withering look, Isabella took the tray and turned to her sister. “You must try, sweeting,”she said in the softest, kindest voice he’d ever heard her use. “You must keep your strength up.”

Adelaide bit her lip. “Perhaps I could stomach a few of those honeyed walnuts. Those are my favorite. How did you know?”

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