Joust of Hearts Read online

  From the outside, the bar was lifted noisily from the door. Parker entered with much haste and observed the body of Jeremy Sinclair, lifeless against the wall. “From the look of this room, I can attest to the fact that both of the Sinclairs are dead and their York cohorts are either dead as well or running in different directions through the countryside. We have dispatched messengers to the King at Windsor with the report.” He stood there with his hands on his hips. “Dupree will be set to rights once again, m’lady, be assured of that. Even as we speak, thine household is returning from the stables where they were being held.” He then returned his attention to Devin. “The war between the King’s knights and the Yorkist traitors has been a sweet victory, wouldst thou not agree, Sir Devin?”

  “Devin, that was beautiful.” She realized too late that the moment she and Devin had just shared was now shattered to pieces, but she couldn’t bear to let it go so easily.

  Devin cleared his throat. With a sheepish grin, he looked at Parker and shrugged.

  “Methinks her head is overly chilled,” Parker said, obviously referring to her comment and state of undress.

  Devin tossed his head toward the door. But just before Parker took his leave, he kicked the earlier discarded furs from outside the door toward them.

  Wrapped in the furs and in Devin’s arms, Melisande felt the warmth of his love welling up in her heart. They stayed thus for a short while until she spoke again. “Devin?”

  “Aye, my lady love?” he answered, his head pressed to hers.

  “I must tell you something.”

  “I am listening.”

  “I’m afraid you will not like what I have to say.”

  “Go on,” he urged.

  Melisande took a breath, but she knew that there was no delaying the inevitable. She forged ahead. “I almost married Corin Sinclair.” She braced herself for his wrath, but when it did not come, she pulled her head away from his to look upon his face and assess his feelings.

  “It would not have happened,” he replied, dismissing the subject with a wave of his hand.

  “What? How—”

  “I would never have allowed it to.”

  Melisande searched his eyes, looking for the truth, and hers filled once again with tears, for his integrity shone like fire.

  “What, no contradictory words? No cheeky comebacks?”

  Melisande considered that she was rather shrewish sometimes. “I do that often, do I not?”

  He smiled. “Aye. However, ’tis most charming.”

  From the moment they’d met, he’d been able to steal the breath from her with just one look. Not knowing exactly how to voice her sentiment, she fumbled with words, which rarely happened. “I wish—I want you to know that everything I am—everything I have, is yours. My heart, my home—”

  “Your heart I’ll gladly accept, but your home is your own.”

  Does he not want Dupree? Is it not as grand as Willowbrook? “Would I be imposing upon you were you to be my lord, then?”

  He chuckled, leaned toward her and gave her a nudge with his forehead. “Do you have any idea how much I love you?”

  Melisande’s heart melted at his tender words, and at the same time her entire body surged to life. She reached up, entwining her arms around his neck.

  “May I show you how much?”

  Melisande nodded vigorously.

  Devin carried her down the narrow stairway and she directed him to her room. He laid her upon the bed then kicked the door shut.

  “Wait, let me fetch bindings for your arm,” she offered, starting to rise from the bed.

  “Nay, ’tis but a scratch.” He deftly unstrapped and tossed aside his metal greaves then pulled off his boots. He presented his back to her. “Would you mind helping me out of this thing?” he asked regarding his chain mail.

  After unlacing his coif, Melisande laboriously tried to remove the blackened metal shirt. “I cannot seem to lift… This…is heavy…”

  Devin chuckled as he assisted her by bending at his waist. She tried to be mindful of his injury, but Devin merely shrugged out of the intricately linked metal rings as the mail shirt dropped to the floor.

  “Am I to be your new squire then?” She grinned mischievously.

  “Nay, never that, love. But you may undress me when we retire after we are married this very night,” Devin said, shedding the rest of his overclothes. “If it is your wish as well, of course. And damn the banns,” he added. “We’ve been through too much of late to wait. I’ll bribe the friar with three barrels of mead—that should appease him.”

  She giggled her agreement then sobered. “I have always been yours, you know.”

  A low, sensual growl came from Devin’s throat as he looked at Melisande from beneath hooded eyelids. “Come hither, wench.”

  Melisande dove under the coverlet, trying to dodge his already approaching hands. She did so love it when Devin chased her. She knew her reward would come when he caught her—and she planned on being caught each and every time he gave chase for the rest of her life.

  “Ho there, woman. Where do you think you are going?” He caught her by the ankle and she squealed with delight. He positioned her on the mattress next to where he stood.

  “Your wound! You’ll bleed to death.” She tried to sound serious, but she was too delighted to do so.

  He plucked at the ties of his trews and in seconds his hose slid down his legs. He kicked them away and discarded the rest of his garments. “I appreciate your concern, but more than worry about my death, I need to be inside you. This very moment. Or my death will have nothing to do with loss of blood.”

  She wiggled out of her chemise. While she did so, she took in the vision before her. God’s teeth, but he was splendid. His thick cock stood at the ready and a hot wetness seeped from between her thighs at the sight of it.

  At once he turned her so that her feet dangled off the side of the bed. His hands slid beneath her knees and he tugged. She thought she might fall from the bed as her bottom hung precariously close to the edge. She closed her eyes and waited for his invasion.

  “My love?” His voice sounded with such tenderness that it made her breath catch. She peered up at him.

  “Aye?”

  “They didn’t…hurt you, did they?”

  “Nay.” She shook her head. “I am unspoilt.”

  “That is not what I meant.” He reached down and caressed her cheek. “No matter what, I will always want you.” Then he added, “I only wanted to know because… Well, I’m not sure how gentle I should be right now.”

  She couldn’t keep from smiling. “Don’t you dare be gentle.”

  He returned her grin. “You wicked girl.”

  “If you don’t hurry, I’ll turn into a wicked old crone right before your eyes.”

  A sound tore from his throat that sounded like pained laughter and he drove his cock into her.

  Melisande’s body reacted, her hips cradling his with each blow and grind her lover delivered. Pleasure radiated from where they were joined, sending lightning bolts to her every limb as she clung to him. He’d saved her from a fate she wouldn’t have been able to escape from on her own and now here he was, delivering her body from loneliness and despair in such a hedonistic way she thought she’d die any moment. If hell awaited her, she vowed, lost in his intimate embrace would indeed be worth the eternal exchange.

  She reached up and drove her fingers into the hair at the nape of his neck, scratching his scalp with her nails.

  He paused and looked down at her, inhaling a long, hissing breath through his teeth. “My sweet wench.” He grinned. “Getting rough, are we?”

  “I thought you might need some encouragement in that department.”

  “Encouragement?”

  “Or, mayhaps, assistance?”

  He ground into her then. “Oh, my lady, I assure you, I need no assistance whatsoever.”

  Devin increased his cadence and Melisande felt reality slip away. Each stroke hurled her h
igher and higher, her voice resonating with ecstasy.

  In her euphoria she cried out. “Aye, Devin.”

  “You are mine.” He pumped hard into her. “Ever mine, love.”

  The crescendo shattered her, her insides milking his cock, drawing on his seed.

  “Melisande—” He groaned and his body trembled against hers as he climaxed.

  After a few moments passed, he settled with her in the center of the bed and pulled the coverlet over them both. He pulled her close and sighed. And a joyful sound it was. She couldn’t have agreed more.

  Just then, Maggie and Tilly burst into the room.

  “Oh, my lady! We were sore afraid you’d—” Tilly’s words stalled in her throat.

  Maggie’s eyes widened. “But that’s not the one—” Tilly’s elbow connected with Maggie’s side, abruptly stopping her verbal observation.

  “Nay, Maggie,” Melisande murmured, “but it is the right one.”

  Devin cleared his throat and the girls, after one more glance at him, lowered their gazes. “Send for the friar at once.”

  “Aye, my lord.” They both curtsied and rushed from the room, closing the door behind them.

  Grinning, Melisande rolled onto her side and Devin followed, snuggling against her backside.

  “I love you,” he whispered.

  “I love you, too.”

  With her body sated, and her soon-to-be husband—of her own choosing—clasped to her as if he’d never let go, she felt, for the very first time in her life, genuinely overwhelmed with joy.

  Utterly. Blissfully. Happy.

  Also available from Totally Bound Publishing:

  Unmasked

  Genella DeGrey

  Excerpt

  Chapter One

  Venice, Italy, 1795

  They call it ‘carnal knowledge’. The tension melted from Weston’s shoulders. It was nothing short of divine the way certain women just knew how to fulfill a man’s desires, such as the one now sucking his cock. Somehow, she’d known every sweet spot, every pressure point on his torso and below that triggered the ultimate bliss in which he was now entrenched. It had taken little effort to lay down his money and body without so much as a few words.

  “I wish a room with a bath and a proficient female companion, please,” he’d respectfully requested in Italian and slipped a purse-full of silver ducato into the madam’s palm. It was likely an overly generous sum, but he was on holiday. And wasn’t the whole purpose of saving a hefty portion of one’s income all winter long to indulge one’s self in pleasures untold in lands far away?

  He’d garnered the directions to this recommended establishment from a couple of his well-traveled peers back in London. And oh, how right they’d been to suggest this particular house.

  The woman between his legs fondled his balls as her jaw went slack. She grazed the head of his penis against the roof of her mouth and down her throat.

  His orgasm was building, but he was in no hurry. He needed this. He’d gone without for the longest time since he’d discovered the magic of being buried hilt-deep between a woman’s lips—either the top or the bottom set. Either way, didn’t matter to him just as long as she was accomplished in the baser arts. So he’d allow her free rein of his body for now. He drew a deep breath and exhaled a moan, sinking further into relaxation.

  His sister and her entourage would arrive within mere hours, and he’d be obliged to spend at least one meal per day with them. While he loved his twin sister, he’d much rather spend his time in the luxurious brothels of Venice. Discretion was not foremost in his mind here as it was back at home. No one knew of him in this beautiful city, which would equate to no wagging tongues—save the one licking a circle around his anus at this very moment.

  And with a companion who knew the lay of his land, why would he want to be anywhere else?

  The woman stopped for a moment to enquire of him in Italian, “Can I do it differently for you?” In her eyes hung what could only be self-doubt.

  “No, no. You are doing just fine, love. I’m taking my time not because of your skills—which are exquisite—but for reasons that have to do with my travels. I came directly to this room off the boat from England, you see, and it was an uncomfortable if not awkward crossing, to say the least. So, please continue.”

  “Si,” she replied with a grateful grin and licked the head of his cock, drawing it into her mouth once again.

  * * * *

  Smelling of French-milled soap, Weston waited at the end of the jetty, waving back at his sister as she stood upon the bow of the approaching Royal Navy ship. Slow was the going, but now that he’d been properly gratified by that achingly competent Venetian woman, he’d found a heavenly new patience.

  “Weston!” She waved. “You look like you belong here,” she shouted above the din of the sailors, scuttling hither and yon.

  He smiled at her observation. Had he no other obligations for the rest of his life, he’d surely consider living here. But as it was…

  He strode over to the gangplank and, once Gwen reached the bottom, he greeted his twin sister with a tight hug. “Is the Admiral’s daughter properly wed, then?”

  “Quite. The ceremony at sea was rather impressive. She is now on her honeymoon to her new husband’s familial holdings in Austria. We are the last civilians to disembark after the wedding. Admiral Forbes was so accommodating. He lent us his cabin once all the other passengers had gone.”

  She seemed overly chatty at the moment—even for Gwen—but he ignored the girlish inclination. “And where is Miss Ellie?” His gaze landed at the top of the gangplank. Wherever his sister ventured, her best friend wasn’t far behind. He quickly scanned the fore and aft of the portside deck but she was nowhere to be found.

  A few sailors swept passed them. “Gwen, where is Ellie?”

  Gwen made an unnecessary study of her gloved fingers.

  The men who’d just disembarked laughed, drawing Weston’s attention. There, just ahead of them, he spotted a young woman, scurrying toward the palazzo of Signore Bernardo, the host for their holiday, a leather valise in each hand. He took in the sight of the unmistakable bounce of her lush, chocolate brown curls from below her bonnet and the tiny waist set atop her fashionable, blue silk brocade-draped panniers. It was, without a doubt, Ellie Appleton.

  He released his sister. “Gwen?” He’d be the first to admit that his tone was accusatory, but Gwendolyn Rawleigh wasn’t exactly the type of girl whom anyone with a brain trusted implicitly.

  “Well…”

  He waited for her explanation, but when he realized that none was forthcoming, he began to feel the familiar tension creep up his neck.

  “Sister, dear, would you be so kind as to enlighten me with the truth?”

  Her gaze flickered to Ellie’s retreating form and back. “Ellie went to enquire with Signore Bernardo about the rooms. Wasn’t it kind of him, being an old friend of Father’s, to have offered us a stay at his palazzo?”

  Ah. She’s chatty because she’s done something. Good God, what now? “Don’t lie to me, Gwen. Ellie wouldn’t have gone ten steps without a chaperone.” His gaze once again scanned the immediate area. “By the way, where is said faithful dog?” Weston had expected one, if not two elderly companions to disembark from the ship at any moment.

  Apparently, Gwen’s gloves required yet another inspection.

  “You didn’t.”

  At that moment, Gwen’s and Ellie’s trunks were brought down the gangplank.

  “Oh, good. Please take them to Castello 4196, on the Riva degli Schiavoni, and ask for Signore Bernardo.” She pointed in the general direction of where Ellie had, in her haste, disappeared to. “Come along, Weston.”

  She made to step around him but he wouldn’t permit it. “I want answers, Gwen.”

  With an irritated huff, she stomped her foot. “Look, I didn’t want Ellie’s old Aunt Arabella tagging along on my first trip abroad.”

  “What about your maid, Dashy?”


  “I told Dashy and Mama that Aunt Arabella was going to accompany us.”

  My God. “And you told Ellie’s mama and Aunt Arabella that Dashy would be the designated companion.”

  “Something to that effect.”

  Whatever tension that Venetian woman had sucked from him was back—with a vengeance. “Are you mad?”

  “Shh, Weston. Keep your voice down.”

  “Don’t shush me, Gwen! Have you any idea the level of decorum you’ve tossed out of the window like a pail-full of rubbish?”

  “You’ve never so much as uttered a peep before—”

  “That’s because your antics have never tempted fate so that your reputation might be ruined beyond repair!”

  “Oh, pish-tosh. There will be nothing to repair, here.”

  “But society—”

  “I don’t give a fig about society, the marriage mart or any of it. And besides, who’s to know?”

  “What of Mama’s feelings? I think she’ll lock you in your room until your twenty-ninth year when she finds out what you’ve done.”

  “She won’t find out.”

  “Yes she will.”

  “Truly? How?”

  Wes opened his mouth but closed it just as quickly. He was well aware that Gwen already knew that he was the type of brother whose adoration went above and beyond to let her get away with anything. It always had been thus, and probably ever would be, much to his chagrin.

  Perhaps that’s why she felt she could pull this charade off—perhaps he’d spoiled her far too much her entire life.

  Yes, it was his fault, for the most part.

  “You see? If you don’t bring it up, ever, no one will be the wiser.”

  She had him there. “And who will assist you and Ellie with dressing and other necessities?”