Free Hellion by Bertrice Small Page B

are innocent, ma Belle,” he told her gently. “In time I will show you how the skilled application of kissing can bring about a useful conclusion. Besides, it is permitted that a married couple kiss whenever and as often as they like.”
    “We are not married,” she said, her tone dark. Then she somehow lost her breath as he pulled her hard against him.
    “We are going to be married, and very soon, ma Belle,” he replied. His free hand cupped the back of her head firmly. “Close your eyes,” he said. “It is better when you close your eyes, chérie .”
    Why am I complying with such a silly request? Isabelle wondered, even as her dark lashes brushed her pale cheeks. His mouth closed warmly over hers, pressing firmly, and then a frisson of enjoyment raced down her spine. She was astounded, and pulled away from him, puzzled.
    “What is it?” he asked.
    “I felt …” She thought a moment. “Pleasure,” she finally decided. “Aye. Your kiss gave me pleasure, my lord.”
    “Then I have succeeded in my purpose, ma Belle. A kiss should be pleasurable,” he explained.
    “What follows kissing?” she demanded of him.
    “There is more to kissing than you have just experienced,” he said softly, gently running his forefinger down her elegant, long nose. “In time we will explore everything together, but for now I think you should find your bed, ma Belle. Your mother will wonder where you have gotten to, and I would not fret her.” He released his hold on her.
    For a moment Isabelle wasn’t certain her legs would function as they should, but then she curtsied politely to him, and turning about, walked across the hall, through the door into her chamber.
    The room was dark. Carefully, she wended her way around the pallet and the trundle where her servant, Agneatha, and her mother’s, Ida, were snoring in deep sleep. Since her mother had moved from the solar, Isabelle had been forced to share her bed with her. She had had absolutely no privacy. It might be almost worth marrying Hugh Fauconier to obtain her portion of the lord’s chamber, which was certainly much larger, and far less crowded than this room was now. Reaching the unoccupied side of the bed, she sat down a moment to draw off the soft shoes she wore in the house. Standing again, she undid her belt, laying it aside on a stool by the bed. Next she removed her tunic and her skirt, placing them atop the belt, then climbed into bed next to her parent.
    “I will marry him,” she said low to her mother, whom she sensed was not yet asleep.
    “Why?” Alette asked, curious. “Did he beat you in chess, and thereby win your respect, Isabelle?”
    “I won the first game, he the second. We talked. He will not be like Father, madame. He has agreed to sign a paper. He wants me to learn to read and to write. The priest will see to it,” the girl told her. “There is, after all, as you have said, no choice. The king has commanded, and Hugh Fauconier is the king’s man. Can I show less loyalty?”
    Alette could feel the tension draining from her body. “When?” she asked her daughter. “Did he say when we will celebrate the marriage?”
    Isabelle shrugged in the darkness. “Let him decide, madame. It makes no difference to me.” She rolled onto her side, indicating to her mother that their conversation was over.
    Relief poured over the older woman. She wondered exactly what it was that had caused Isabelle to cease her opposition to the king’s command. He has agreed to sign a paper . What on earth had Isabelle meant by that? Alette wondered. What could a paper have to do with convincing her unruly daughter to cooperate? Blessed Mother! She was going to have to speak to Isabelle about … about …  it . Could she let the girl go to her marriage without some knowledge of what was to come? Of what was expected of her?
    Alette thought back to her own wedding night, and she shuddered. Robert de Manneville had been a virtual stranger; a neighbor of her