Knight of Grace. Sophia JamesЧитать онлайн книгу.
was low, falling behind the Cheviots on its journey west. Night time. Almost. The thought of his new wife readying herself for him was surprisingly arousing. Erotic, even. He had instructed his housekeeper to make certain that she bathed, a custom he had adopted daily since his first sojourn into Acquitaine. He hoped that she would not be adorned with too heavy a nightdress. He hoped that her hair would be down. But most of all he hoped that she would not share the trait of Ruth, her sullen inertness at the whole process of lovemaking a decided inhibitor to any enjoyment.
The sun fell now into the darkening dusk, turning the surrounding countryside into hidden shadow. Taking breath, he released it carefully. He felt suddenly like a young boy, the pull of lust strong in his blood.
How would he take Grace? Quick and hard or slow and soft? Up to him. Completely. The flesh between his legs swelled as an unwanted power, all the old betrayals surfacing. He did not want a wife to worry about. He did not want a spouse to watch over to determine if her conscience was clear or not. He did not want the fetter of trust laced again around him, its tethers pulling tighter and tighter with the passing of time.
If she hated him, all this would be so much easier. He would have her as a wife in name only, to ripen with his children and hold her own counsel. Already he could see how those in his castle had turned against her and he had made no move to make it different. Nay, Grace Stanton with her fire-red hair and her stutter would bear his children and ensure his lineage. That was all.
‘Sheas,’ he muttered into the silence. At thirty-three he was too damn old for all this nonsense. Too old to try to mend what was broken, and lust was such a fleeting companion.
Chapter Five
Grace sat on the chair beside her bed and waited. She had dismissed the woman sent to help her dress a good half an hour earlier. The offered bath had been a wonderful surprise and she felt cleaner than she had in days, despite redressing in her sturdy day gown.
When would Lachlan Kerr come demanding her wifely obligations? She guessed it to be some time after the hour of ten and wished that she had the bravery to blow out the row of candles on the table and bar the door, the slats on this side well hewn and heavy. But if she did that it would only be delaying everything until the morrow and she suddenly wanted what it was that would happen now done, so that she could wake in the morning with at least some knowledge of what she faced…for the rest of her life.
Footfalls outside had her tensing, and, tilting her head, she listened to the sound of voices.
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