Betrothal (Time Enough To Love)

Betrothal (Time Enough To Love) by Jenna Jaxon Page B

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Authors: Jenna Jaxon
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pulled his head up, breathing as if coming up out of a cold pond. He shuddered and she glimpsed the hot desire in his eyes. Fear surged through her at that look, urged her to redouble her efforts to flee him. She pulled against him, and suddenly she was free, stumbling away, hand over her mouth.
    “Alyse, my love, stay! I…beg pardon,” he called after her, his voice ragged with passion.
    Still gasping for breath, she stopped several steps away from him. She panted as fear and desire fought for control. Desire whispered to return to Geoffrey, throw herself into his arms, circle his neck and renew the kisses that had so enthralled her.
    But those kisses would surely be followed by other, more intimate caresses. Once she allowed those pleasures, they would be bound irrevocably together, as surely as if their marriage vows had been spoken. After his hurtful display this morning, did she want to reward him? Did she desire Geoffrey enough to relinquish all hope of Lord Braeton?
    His step sounded behind her and she turned, unsure whether to run or stay.
    The plea in his eyes stopped her flight, even before he spoke. “Alyse! I beg you! Stay, love.” Then more slowly, “Did I hurt you?”
    At his contrite tone, some of her composure returned. “Nay, my lord. You have given me no hurt.” Heat crept into her face at the memory of what he had done.
    “You make me forget you are an innocent.”
    His low tone sent a new shiver through her. She could not reply for her racing heart. He stood so close she imagined she could feel his arms around her still.
    He reached out to capture a tendril of her hair. Rubbing his face against it, he inhaled deeply. “You smell so sweetly. ’Tis like flowers in summertime all about you. Even your hair smells like the meadows near my home.”
    Alyse smiled at that, her breath coming more normally. “’Tis lavender, my lord. My mother has it cut in our fields, and dries it to make sachets to keep the clothes and linens fresh. She says it gives us good health.” With a shy glance at him she continued, “I do bathe in it too, for it calms and soothes the soul.” She gave a rueful chuckle. “I fear I will require such a bath when I return to my room.”
    He grunted. “Perhaps I have need of one as well.”
    They sat down on the bench, companionably silent for some time, as Alyse gathered her courage. Though loath to bring up unpleasantness, she had to broach the subject.
    “Sir Patrick says you are to joust with Lord Braeton at the tourney. A challenge match. Is this true?”
    “Aye.” Geoffrey shot her a questioning glance.
    “Does this match have aught to do with me?” His silence provoked her to speak more sharply. “Sir Geoffrey. Do you fight this match because of Lord Braeton’s part in our quarrel today?”
    He finally met her eyes. “Aye,” he confessed. “Though it did not begin that way. Thomas challenged me to a joust earlier today, as a friendly wager. Afterward, I told him that his interference had cost me your respect and trust and, if I emerged the victor of the joust, I claimed as prize his apology to you for his meddling words.”
    She liked that forfeit well, but should he not carry the day… “And if Lord Braeton wins the joust?”
    Geoffrey snorted. “In that unlikely event, Thomas will lay claim to you for the first dance at the final banquet.”
    For a moment, she stared at him, stunned.
    His reward for victory is a dance he never sought before?
    Was this the confirmation she required to prove Lord Braeton’s intentions?
    A sudden giggle turned into a full laugh at the perplexed look on Geoffrey’s face. “My lord, I do wish you well against Lord Braeton in the field. But should you lose, you will have assisted me in one of my cherished dreams, for never has Lord Braeton deigned to ask me to dance. It has been an experience I have much thought about, though never realized. So I will admit that other than fearing for your safety, I will be most eagerly

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