Page 103 of An Ill-Made Match

They kissed, and Eden was quite lost in his embrace, when he pulled back again. She made a sound of protest.

“Unless…” he said, sounding frustrated. “Does that mean you will lose status somehow? As a patroness.”

Eden looked up at him in mingled amusement and exasperation. “Not really,” she pulled a face. “Poetry is not a sporting event. Though I suppose there is some prestige attached…”

“Very well, then,” he huffed. “They can still dedicate poems to you.”

“Roland Vawdrey,” she said with a sigh and laid her hand against his cheek. “You are such a considerate husband.”

“Open your legs then,” he recommended, breathlessly.

“Oh, very well!” Eden said, but she wasn’t even convincing herself with her show of reluctance. He stepped between her legs, and she had to bite back an answering sigh.

“How can you be so-?“ he asked thickly.

“What?” she asked.

“Tart, yet sweet,” he said distractedly.

“What?”

“Like a piece of fruit.”

Eden looked at him incredulously. “A piece of fruit? But Roland was kissing the tops of her breasts. “It’s perhaps as well you’ve never tried to write me a poem,” she observed. “I suspect you would be very bad at it.”

“As bad as you at jousting,” he agreed, and she ran her fingers through his dark hair.

“All this,” he said greedily, dragging down her shift to expose her breasts. “Including this perfect bosom, is mine.” He cocked an eyebrow at her as if daring her to argue with him.

Eden regarded him solemnly as he waited. Perfect bosom? “Yes, yes,” she said indulgently. “It’s all yours.”

“It’s going to turn so red here, from my attentions,” he said with satisfaction, and ran a possessive hand over her white tender cleavage.

Eden gasped. “Did you not shave just now with your razor?”

“No.” He shook his head.

“Why not?” she squawked. He usually did without fail.

“So everyone can see at the celebratory feast, tonight,” he said wolfishly. “That you are a woman who is thoroughly desired by her husband.”

“Roland! That’s absurd!”

He shrugged. “I disagree,” he said calmly. “You have to give me some dispensation if I am to tolerate all your fawning admirers.”

“Fawning-?” Eden broke off. “You’re hopeless,” she said with a sigh, relaxing back on her elbows against the table top. “Are you really going to bestow on me all your tournament crowns?”

“Of course.” He was kissing now between her breasts with exquisite care.

“It will look most particular of you,” she warned him, her hand flying to the back of his neck to cradle him at her bosom.

“I don’t care, everyone knows I’m mad about you. No-one will be remotely surprised.” That was probably true. Sometimes she worried that people laughed, he acted so smitten around her, but Roland didn’t seem to care one whit. She had amassed more jewelry in the last two months than most ladies in a lifetime. She had glittering brooches and necklaces and rings to rival even the Queen’s. Most of them had sapphires as Roland said they matched her eyes. Their wedding had been blessed last month in the royal chapel with the King and Queen in attendance, Lenora, her grandmother and all of Roland’s family including Cuthbert.

”I took those plans into town yesterday, to see about getting the work started on the Keep.”

“Really? So that’s where you went! I was afraid you’d gone to commission more baubles for me.” A guilty look flitted across his face. “Roland, you didn’t!”

“You haven’t got a diadem,” he said in justification.