imp’s suggestion. Somewhere, no doubt about the time Michel caught the scent of roses on the lady's skin, everything he intended went awry. That brush of her mouth against his cheek had been deadly. However brief the touch, it had been enough to make the floor beckon, offering itself up as a temporary bed. Indeed, it was for that reason Michel chose to leave the hall through its front door rather than making the shorter trip to the courtyard through the kitchen. As long as the hall floor seemed a perfectly logical place for coupling Michel couldn’t afford to be within reach of Lady de la Beres.
Jesu, but she craved lovemaking the way a starving man longed for bread. Michel hadn’t anticipated the enormity of her wanting. He wondered, if so great a hunger gnawed at her, why she hadn’t already given way and satisfied what ate at her? He was certain she hadn't; all the gossips agreed the lady held tight to her virtue despite the many men who'd tried to breach the pretty woman's defenses.
Michel caught his breath in understanding. It was him! He stirred her where no other man had.
And that thought was so seductive Michel nearly turned on the stairs and climbed back to the hall. Almost.
He was already more vulnerable to her than he could afford to be, especially when one word of complaint on her part would give John the opportunity to destroy Michel's future. Nor was the lady's lust for him any guarantee she'd ever tolerate marriage to a commoner. Rank, and the pretensions that went with it, were all that mattered to folk like her.
That thought brought with it the ideal way to keep her at a distance until Michel at last won John's agreement for the wedding.
At the base of the stairs Michel paused, eying the smith, his journeyman, and apprentices all at their work in the shop. A goldsmith tapping away at some bit of frippery was what Michel might have been save for Lord Amier and his squiring.
Nay, that was Lord Amier speaking. Michel knew now that he would never have been a craftsman, even if his grandsire hadn't made a squire of him. Although Michel’s grandfather and father had both trained as goldsmiths by the time of Michel's birth neither man worked a forge. Instead, other masters and journeymen turned out gewgaws for the well-to-do, leaving Michel's kin free to engage in the far more lucrative trade in currency. So profitable had the exchange of one country’s coin into another been that none of his direct family now needed to lift a finger to earn their keep. Moreover, they lived far better than Lord Amier ever had.
This was something Michel had only recently learned. One condition of his squiring had been the severing of any contact between Michel and his common family. Just as Amier had sold his daughter to the goldsmith to restore his treasury, Michel’s father had traded his younger son back to the gentry to advance his common bloodline.
Five years ago, shortly after Lord Amier's death, Michel had received a missive from his sire, inviting the prodigal son back into the fold. Michel had gone, craving a place where he might feel the ease and comfort others called home. Although that had not resulted, his reintroduction to his kinsmen had led him to entrust his every extra coin to his sire and brother. They had proved better with silver than farmers with seed, reaping crop after crop of profit, something that had steadily improved Michel’s style of life.
Now, as Michel watched Master Robert smooth Lady de la Beres’s narrow veil band, he regretted he hadn’t sought out his family the moment he’d reached his majority. Had he done so he wouldn't have have needed a king’s uncertain promise to get him a wife. Instead, Michel could have simply bought himself a knight’s daughter, free of all political ramifications.
“Master Robert,” Michel called out.
The smith turned to look at his guest, his brows raised and a smile upon his face. “Good morrow, Sir Michel. How may I assist you?”
“By
Jesu, but she craved lovemaking the way a starving man longed for bread. Michel hadn’t anticipated the enormity of her wanting. He wondered, if so great a hunger gnawed at her, why she hadn’t already given way and satisfied what ate at her? He was certain she hadn't; all the gossips agreed the lady held tight to her virtue despite the many men who'd tried to breach the pretty woman's defenses.
Michel caught his breath in understanding. It was him! He stirred her where no other man had.
And that thought was so seductive Michel nearly turned on the stairs and climbed back to the hall. Almost.
He was already more vulnerable to her than he could afford to be, especially when one word of complaint on her part would give John the opportunity to destroy Michel's future. Nor was the lady's lust for him any guarantee she'd ever tolerate marriage to a commoner. Rank, and the pretensions that went with it, were all that mattered to folk like her.
That thought brought with it the ideal way to keep her at a distance until Michel at last won John's agreement for the wedding.
At the base of the stairs Michel paused, eying the smith, his journeyman, and apprentices all at their work in the shop. A goldsmith tapping away at some bit of frippery was what Michel might have been save for Lord Amier and his squiring.
Nay, that was Lord Amier speaking. Michel knew now that he would never have been a craftsman, even if his grandsire hadn't made a squire of him. Although Michel’s grandfather and father had both trained as goldsmiths by the time of Michel's birth neither man worked a forge. Instead, other masters and journeymen turned out gewgaws for the well-to-do, leaving Michel's kin free to engage in the far more lucrative trade in currency. So profitable had the exchange of one country’s coin into another been that none of his direct family now needed to lift a finger to earn their keep. Moreover, they lived far better than Lord Amier ever had.
This was something Michel had only recently learned. One condition of his squiring had been the severing of any contact between Michel and his common family. Just as Amier had sold his daughter to the goldsmith to restore his treasury, Michel’s father had traded his younger son back to the gentry to advance his common bloodline.
Five years ago, shortly after Lord Amier's death, Michel had received a missive from his sire, inviting the prodigal son back into the fold. Michel had gone, craving a place where he might feel the ease and comfort others called home. Although that had not resulted, his reintroduction to his kinsmen had led him to entrust his every extra coin to his sire and brother. They had proved better with silver than farmers with seed, reaping crop after crop of profit, something that had steadily improved Michel’s style of life.
Now, as Michel watched Master Robert smooth Lady de la Beres’s narrow veil band, he regretted he hadn’t sought out his family the moment he’d reached his majority. Had he done so he wouldn't have have needed a king’s uncertain promise to get him a wife. Instead, Michel could have simply bought himself a knight’s daughter, free of all political ramifications.
“Master Robert,” Michel called out.
The smith turned to look at his guest, his brows raised and a smile upon his face. “Good morrow, Sir Michel. How may I assist you?”
“By
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