“You are all mad,” she said and Amaury grinned at her.
He touched a fingertip to her cheek. “And yet our goal is accomplished, for the bride laughs. There can be no greater triumph than that.”
Isabella’s heart caught. She did not believe him. She dared not believe him. He was too beguiling, and she knew well the wiles and whims of handsome men. Her father would do or say anything to win his way, then once his goal was achieved, he could be cruel beyond measure. But she wanted to believe Amaury.
She wanted this night to never end.
She wanted to make a choice that changed her future.
And so Isabella boldly closed the step between them, reached up to frame Amaury’s face in her hands, and kissed him full on the lips, just as he had earlier kissed her.
Surely, a bride could willingly kiss her husband before the company.
Surely, she could choose to embrace happiness and goodwill, and perhaps thus chart a different course for the remaining days of her life. Isabella felt bold and a little wild in this decision. She felt Amaury’s surprise, for he froze at her touch for the barest moment.
But she had no chance to reconsider the merit of her impulse, much less to retreat, for Amaury’s mouth slanted over hers and his arms closed around her waist. He lifted her from her feet and deepened their kiss with a purpose that stole her breath away. Aye, he accepted her invitation with gusto and offered a temptation of his own.
Isabella could not resist him. She could only surrender to his touch. Amaury would own her heart and soul before a month was out, but in this moment, while his kiss enchanted her, she could not find it within herself to care.
Isabella kissedhim of her own volition – and with a measure of enthusiasm. Thatwasa merry start.
Amaury hoped it was not one that made him hasty, for he was aroused beyond expectation. Isabella’s uncertainty made him feel protective of her. Her cool regard made him yearn to stir the embers that he had already glimpsed.
She was the daughter of his father’s enemy, a man who might well be responsible for his father’s demise, but she spoke with such conviction that he believed whatsoever she told him. While Denis was clearly at ease with untruths, Isabella’s words had a welcome resonance.
Truth. He was certain she knew more than he had been told about events in his absence. He fully expected that if he treated her with dignity and honor, as befit a treasured wife, that shewould come to confide in him. He could only encourage that, for he had desperate need of details. He already sensed that she could become his lodestone in navigating the situation he found at Montvieux.
It would begin with this union.
He broke their kiss with reluctance, ignoring how his companions whistled and hooted. There was only the wary satisfaction in Isabella’s dark eyes. “Shall we retire, my lady?” he murmured and her cheeks flooded with color.
But she nodded, trusting him with a surety that encouraged him beyond all else. He swung her into his arms and strode for the tent, Philip hurrying ahead of him. The boy opened the flap, and when Amaury stood with his lady held fast against his chest, Philip struck the tinder and lit a trio of candles. There were holders for them that kept them away from the silk, holders tall enough that no telling silhouettes would be visible from outside the tent. The carpets were spread on the floor of the tent, a mattress covered with clean linen and piled with pillows in the middle of the space.
“Oh,” Isabella said softly, her surprise complete.
Philip bowed and ducked out of the tent, returning with the chair that folded so tidily, and positioning it for Isabella. At Amaury’s glance, he vanished again, and Amaury knew he would return with warm water. Isabella was looking about herself with wonder. “It is magical,” she whispered, then turned shining eyes upon Amaury. “Does everyone sleep thus in Outremer?”
“Nay, our friend had the good fortune to win this tent from a local potentate fond of luxuries. I confess I have thought of it mostly as shelter.”
“But it is beautiful. Look how the moonlight shines through the silk, showing the pattern woven into the cloth.”
Amaury looked as instructed, though truly, he wished to watch Isabella. “I apologize that there are fewer comforts this night than you might expect.”
“Do not apologize,” she said with sudden heat and looked about herself again. “I feel as if I have stepped into a tale of some exotic land.”
Amaury smiled. “You may not feel thus when you see the size of our bath.” She eyed him, not comprehending. “It is a bowl, no more and no less, for we have learned to be frugal with water in the east.”
Philip returned then with said bowl, the steam rising from the water that sloshed against the rim. He also carried some clean linens, which he set out for Isabella with a bow. Amaury kissed her hand and retreated to the door. “I will leave you in privacy.”
“Please do not,” Isabella said hastily. “I would rather that you stayed.” She swallowed. “I would look upon you and know better what to expect.”
Ah.
So few words, yet they sent fire through him, straight to his toes.
Amaury inclined his head, dismissing Philip with a gesture. He secured the portal, then reached for the buckle on his belt.
“If we do not consummate the match, you can put me aside at will,” she said quickly.