My Lady's Favor

Elysia watched his breathing slow, and he seemed to collect himself. Opening the chamber door, he smiled with some of the mocking self-deprecation she had seen in his nephew. “After you, beautiful one.”

Stepping hesitantly into the opulent chamber, she gasped when he wasted no time pulling her backward against him.

“After tonight, you will never again suggest your husband is some kind of invalid who needs to rest.” When he ran his hands possessively over her hips and down the fronts of her thighs, Elysia fought the urge to shove them away.

How would she get through the night? She was accustomed to being her own mistress, to managing her own life. How would she lie submissively beneath this drunken cad when she longed to run from him?

“There will be so much delight for you tonight, innocent one. I will be very gentle with you, I promise.” His words slurred together as he swayed on his feet and leaned against his wife, mashing her with his bulk.

Unable to support him for long, she stepped toward the room’s one chair, hoping to convince the count to sit down.

“Please, my lord.” She strained under his weight as she maneuvered him around the huge bed to the high-backed seat next to it.

Not in all her years as a starry-eyed girl did she envision this debacle for a wedding night. When she dared to dream of it, she imagined a man gazing upon her with adoring eyes as he initiated her into womanhood. An incredibly handsome man.

Like Conon.

Tripping over a protruding claw foot of the monstrous bed, Elysia lost her balance. The count fell into the linens, his arms still wrapped about her midsection, dragging her down with him.

The oaf.

“Please my lord, I—” Wriggling away from him, she stiffened when he seemed to regain control of himself.

“This is very nice, Lady Elysia.”

Pinning her body against his own, he rolled with her until he lay atop her. Her back bent at an awkward angle as her feet remained on the floor.

The count kissed her and ran groping fingers over her breasts. Elysia squeezed her eyes shut, wishing she could close down all her other senses.

Muttering incoherent words in her ear, he pulled at her clothing in all directions—yanking her gown from one shoulder, tearing the fabric at her neck, hoisting up her skirt.

Elysia froze. The count grinned down at her, eyes glazed and unseeing. His hands fumbled with his clothing, pawing between their bodies to loosen his braies.

And then the pain came.

Sharp and heart-stopping it felt like a dagger, jabbing into her with considerable force. Her mother had said it would hurt but a moment….

“Damn!” The count looked down between their bodies in dismay. “I forgot to sheathe my eating knife, love.” With a tipsy lack of grace, he slid the blade clumsily from her thigh. “Does it hurt overmuch?”

Blood poured from the wound, staining her dress and the bedclothes.

“I will be fine.” Grateful for the reprieve despite the pain, Elysia pressed her kirtle to the wound. “I need some wine to bathe it, however, my lord.”

“I am so sorry.” Like a chastened young squire, Count Vannes hurried across the room to retrieve the flagon.

“Damn clumsy of me.”

After cleaning and bandaging the small gash, Elysia helped Vannes remove his eating knife from its place at his waist.

“Perhaps I have gone about this all wrong, my dear.” Grinning sheepishly, he tugged her torn tunic sleeve back over her shoulder. “I think instead, you should disrobe for me.”

He cannot be serious.

“A sweet young girl like you is unused to the careless hands of a man. It will go easier for you if you do it.”

I pray he is not this careless all the time. His conquests must be fortunate to survive the night in one piece.

He settled himself upon the bed, glassy eyes looking close to sleep. Perhaps if she took her time about it, he would pass out before she finished.

Heartened by her new plan, Elysia pulled her slippers from her feet, then slowly ungartered her hose and slid them from her legs.

Still awake.

Unwinding the ties from each sleeve was a painstaking job, but it did not take long enough to lull the count into unconsciousness. In fact, his eyes widened in anticipation.

Elysia slipped the gown from her shoulders and it pooled at her feet, leaving her clad in only her sheer linen tunic.

The count’s eyes grew huge. Elysia thought it peculiar she would engender such a response. The man surely had vast experience with women. Did he find her so terribly different? Fear and embarrassment gripped her, but it was now or never.

Lifting the hem, she pulled the slim-fitting tunic over her head, baring her body to a man for the first time.

Shyly, she glanced up to see his face…convulsed in agony.

Chapter Three

“M y lord?” Panicked, Elysia rushed to the count’s side where he sat, his body twisted to one side and frozen in place. “Are you all right?”

His glazed eyes were unseeing. He did not breathe.

Her heart dropped in her chest.

“Please, my lord, you must lie down. Catch your breath.” She eased him back to recline on the bed. “I will get help.” Yanking the linen duvet from the bed, she clutched it to her breast and ran to the door.

“Help!” she shouted the plea, but she need not have yelled. Conon St. Simeon strolled down the corridor, the voluptuous widow from dinner still clinging to his arm.

Elysia reached for him, needing him far more than the widow did. “Your uncle is unwell, sir. Please—”

Conon shoved past her into the bedroom without hesitation. “Wait for me down the hall, Marguerite,” he called over his shoulder.

For good measure, Elysia shut the door to the young woman, not wanting anyone else to witness the shambles of her wedding night.

“Unwell?” Conon turned accusing eyes to her from the count’s bedside, where he clutched his uncle’s wrist. “He is dead.”

“My God.” The room swirled, and for a moment she thought she would faint. She gripped the blanket to her like a lifeline.

“What happened?” His harsh tone forced her to think clearly.

“I do not know.” Still reeling, she sank into the chair beside the bed, recalling how she had struggled an hour ago to help the count into that very seat. “He seemed out of breath all evening, but I assumed it was because of the wine. He drank so much at dinner—”