He was never in residence at Vernay, which held such bitter memories for him. Indeed, he had returned to Normandy only once, for a short while, and then only to oversee his lands and to give Payn FitzOsbern the castellanship of Vernay for his years of devoted service—a prize any knight would covet. Ariane had embraced the plan with as much fervor as Ranulf. She had stood by him with the courage and loyalty of a warrior’s woman, executing her duties as lady with grace and gentleness, making no complaint when he was called away for feudal service. With reluctance, Ranulf had participated in the king’s campaigns in Wales, but he had returned home eagerly, barely in time for his daughter’s birth.
His features softened as he gazed down at his nursing daughter, a fierce love swelling in his chest. She was tiny and perfect and beautiful, so beautiful he did not even wish to consider the countless hearts she would break when she was older.
Aye, he had mellowed, Ranulf thought contentedly. Payn would tease him unmercifully could his vassal see how thoroughly he was ruled by the women in his life—although by all reports, Payn had recently found a lady of his own who was leading him on a merry chase.
When Blanche had finished nursing and fallen into a doze, Ranulf returned his daughter to her cradle and called for her nurse, who changed the babe’s napkin and dressed her in a fresh tunic. Even after the woman had gone, though, he loitered, tucking Blanche warmly beneath the coverlets and watching her sleep.
“Ranulf,” Ariane called finally, “do you mean to return to bed before the fall harvest? I am cold.”
She could not possibly be complaining about the temperature of the chamber, he knew; not with the fire in the hearth and the mildness of the fine spring weather.
His eyes were warm and teasing when he joined her in the bed and gathered her naked body in his arms. “You command, beloved, and I obey. I am but a humble knight wishing to please his lady.”
Ariane muffled a spurt of laughter against the heated skin of his furred chest. “You are theleast humble knight I know, my arrogant lord.”
With feigned pain, Ranulf clutched at his heart and sighed heavily. “I am sorely afflicted.”
“Are you indeed?”
He bent to kiss her lips, her throat, her bare breast. “Aye, afflicted with desire and love. Every part of you is so dear to me. . . .”
Those were the last words he spoke for a long while. With eagerness and joy, Ariane closed her eyes and lay back, giving herself over to the lazy worship of his lovemaking.
Her cup of happiness was filled to overflowing. Within the week, her parents would arrive at Marsden to pay their first visit to their grandchildren. Lady Constance, though somewhat scarred and no longer in possession of her former beauty, had been cured of her terrible disease, a feat for which Layla had been lavishly rewarded with her freedom. Ariane would always be grateful to Ranulf for the service he had done both her mother and father.
Indeed, she would always love him, deeply and irrevocably. She could not have chosen a better lord and husband had she searched the whole of England and Normandy. Ranulf had gentled under her touch, becoming as tender, as passionate, as any woman could wish.
Breathlessly arching against him in response to his erotic caresses, Ariane smiled up at Ranulf through a shimmering haze of pleasure and pure joy. She had tamed her fiery, golden-eyed dragon, turning him into the lover of her dreams.
By Nicole Jordan
Published by Ballantine Books
Paradise Series:
MASTER OF TEMPTATION
LORD OF SEDUCTION
WICKED FANTASY
Notorious Series:
THE SEDUCTION
THE PASSION
DESIRE
ECSTACY
THE PRINCE OF PLEASURE
Other Novels:
THE LOVER
THE WARRIOR