Amaury was puzzled. “Why would I do as much?”
“There must be an heiress or a beauty you wish to take to wife,” she said, her words falling in a rush. “You must have had other schemes for your marriage.”
“I meant to wed upon my return home, and to wed the woman chosen for me by my father. It appears that you are the lady in question, for he would never have allowed me to cede Montvieux willingly to anyone.”
“But the match does not have to be a genuine one…”
“How else shall we produce a son, my lady?” Amaury asked gently. “Have you another scheme to conceive a child, beyond welcoming your lord husband?”
He watched her swallow and wondered what she feared. “Nay! Not I!” she protested. “I thought only of your reticence, which is not unjustified, and of your own ambitions…” She fell silent when he rested his thumb across her lips.
Her mouth was so soft, and her eyes were wide with a welcome awareness. Amaury’s blood stirred as she caught her breath. He found himself gathering her closer, unable to resist the allure of her mouth. Her heart was fluttering, for he could see her pulse at her throat, and he hoped she did not fear him.
“I might not bear a son,” she whispered, retreating slightly from his touch. “My mother never did and she was one of four daughters…”
“And I am one of three sons,” Amaury said with quiet heat. “There is but one way to find out, my lady.”
Again, she blushed, the color rising from her breasts to her brow like a tide of flame. Who could ever have called her plain? She was glorious and the heat between them was undeniable.
He moved his thumb across her lips gently and her eyes widened with awareness. She seemed to hold her breath, and then, wonder of wonders, she grazed his thumb with her teeth, her gaze locked with his. Desire rose hot and furious within Amaury.
“I have no ambition for any other bride, my lady,” he murmured then dared to smile. “I propose we make an enviable match of this one.”
Isabella caught her breath, but her gaze did not waver. “Aye. We should.”
But still there was wariness in her manner. Amaury pulled back, letting his fingertip trail down her cheek. He did notretreat and she did not flee. He was not certain she breathed. She watched him, though with wariness or interest he could not be certain.
Could he be blunt? He chose to be so.
“How much do you know of what we will do?” he asked.
Her gaze flicked away, then back to his. “I have seen the horses mate.”
“And what did you think of that?”
“The mares do not flee when it is done. They seemed to enjoy it, against expectation.”
“Why against expectation?”
She met his gaze sternly. “The stallions are most…large. Have you not seen one aroused?”
Amaury smiled. “I have indeed.”
Her gaze dropped and he wondered what she would say. “Are men the same?”
“There are similarities, but perhaps not the same magnitude of response.” He let his fingertip trail across her lips and she caught her breath. Again, she glanced quickly toward him, then her lashes swept down and she nipped the tip of his finger with her teeth. “There is a mare’s response,” he teased, for many of the mares he had seen with stallions had been inclined to nip before they surrendered.
She laughed. He watched, startled, as her eyes lit and her lips curved. “Aye, ’tis,” she agreed. “And what think you of such a response?”
“That it is natural, even playful.”
“And this?” She slid her teeth across his fingertip, her gaze locked with his, and Amaury felt the heat grow within him. His body was taut, his arousal unmistakable, and his new bride watched him closely. Did she guess? She could not know, not as an innocent.
He swallowed. “Also natural and good,” he managed to say.
“We had a serving woman once, one who my step-mother said was over-inclined to talk,” she confided. “And she said every man wants a woman who will suckle him, like a new babe at the teat.”
Amaury blinked. “I would not argue with such knowledge of my kind, but must perhaps make myself an exception.”