Unexpected Pleasures by Mary Wine Page A

it. The groom’s eyes brightened, and he took the money, pushing it deep into his doublet.
    â€œRemember me not.”
    The boy nodded, casting his gaze at the mare. Justina hurried up the stairs that would take her inside the maze of hallways that made up the palace. She knew them well, turning and covering the distance to her chambers through the smaller hallways used by the servants.
    But she was not the only lady walking along the corridors this morning. Other women, whose hair flowed down their backs, made their way, too. They didn’t look up, did not make eye contact with her, but kept to their side of the hallway when she passed them. There were no words spoken but an undeniable feeling of regret permeated the stone hallways. Justina forced herself to not think of it as hopelessness for she wasn’t ready to become so jaded. She resisted thinking about the other women who were but hollow shells of what they had been when they first came to court, drunk on the stories of grandeur and royal majesty. Each of them had learned that marriage was for the gain of the family and their bodies a treat for the men to enjoy. While the horizon continued to brighten, more of her sisters made their way to their chambers and the role of respectable ladies.
    She was no different, no worse, but at least she had truly come from a lover this morning. She would hold that thought close to her heart and hopefully keep it from turning to stone.
    At least for a little bit longer.
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    â€œDid he have you?”
    Justina pressed her hands over her mouth to smother a cry of surprise. Biddeford was sitting in the chair again, only this time hidden in the dark. She heard him snap his fingers and then there was a scuff against the floor before sparks flew out from a flint stone being struck. The groom had to strike it several times before the candle’s wick caught fire and light illuminated the viscount.
    Justina preferred the darkness, for his expression chilled her. Displeasure was showing clearly on his face and there was a warning in his eyes that she had suffered only a few times in the past.
    â€œThe maid claimed that you rode off with Baron Harrow last night after he fought with Francis de Canis.”
    Of course the maid had told him. For a bit of silver any servant might be encouraged to recall where nobles went and with whom, even if those same servants had been paid to remain silent. One never knew; the only thing certain was that if one failed to bribe, the servant would most definitely talk.
    The viscount’s eyes narrowed as he raked her from head to toe. “You look well and truly tumbled.”
    Justina forced her enjoyment of the night down deep inside her, into a place that only she knew of. Reality had arrived, just as she knew that it would.
    â€œWhat else would he have taken me with him for?” She turned to hide her distaste for how her words sounded. Synclair did not deserve to be talked about in such derogatory tones; however, it was better than allowing Biddeford to know that she admired Synclair. The viscount might decide to make an example of him, just to prove his power over her. She would not take the chance. “But I am returned and no one the wiser.”
    The viscount slapped the table, the sound drawing her back around to watch him. The man didn’t have any qualms about striking women so it would be wise to keep him in sight.
    â€œFrancis de Canis knows and he is most displeased with you, madam.” The hand on the table began to tap against the hard surface. “De Canis has powerful friends who enjoy his work enough to want to see the man happy.”
    A shiver crossed her face. She failed to suppress it and Biddeford noticed it.
    â€œLetting de Canis use you might have been advantageous.” He tapped the table again. “Then again, he is the sort of man who likes what he is told he cannot have best of all.”
    Justina watched the way the viscount