All About Passion (Cynster 7)

There were always whispers, rumors. “To the best of my ability, I am always discreet.”

“But I-you expect me to always succeed in being discreet.” Before he could answer, she continued, “Tell me, my lord, when would this mutual discretion of ours start?”

He frowned. “Once you’ve given me the heirs I require-”

“I do not think that is a viable option. Who knows how many girls you may sire? I may never get a chance to exercise my discretion, although I’m quite sure you will be exercising yours.”

He wasn’t about to discuss that point, and he was getting very tired of talking to her back.

“I do not think that is fair. What I propose is that we both agree to remain faithful until such time as we are satisfied I’m carrying your child. From that agreed date, we go our separate ways, until I’m delivered of the child. Then, once again, we return to faithfulness, and so on, until you have your heirs. Once that point is reached, we will both henceforth be free to pursue whatever liaisons and discreet connections we please.”

He stopped walking.

He hadn’t realized the barbarian was so close to his surface. He was suddenly very glad she was facing the other way. Hands clenched at his sides, he struggled to contain his reaction. It took him a good minute to suppress the reactive rage, the instinctive urge to roar “No!”

It took another thirty seconds before he could say, “If that’s what you wish.”

She heard the change, the undercurrent of violence in his voice. She halted, stiffened; her head rose. Then she spoke in a tone he had not before heard from her. “I have desires, needs, and requirements of my own that you have chosen not to fulfill within our marriage. I’m merely ensuring that while fulfilling your requirements, I’ll be able to pursue my own goals.”

Abruptly, she swung to face him, head high, her expression reflecting a determination as stubborn as his own. “That is my requirement of our marriage. I do not think it’s one you can refuse.”

Her eyes were brilliant but screened. The distance between them had grown to several yards; he was content that it was so. It took every ounce of control he possessed to remain still, to stop himself reaching for her, to stop himself…

When he could trust himself to move that much, he inclined his head. “Very well, madam. We have an agreement.”

If his clipped tones bothered her, she gave no sign. Coolly, she inclined her head back, then turned and strolled on to the second tower’s door. “I imagine breakfast will be served soon.”

He had to breathe deeply before he could say, “If you wish, you may remain in our apartments.” He started after her. “No one will be counting on seeing us this morning, or even today.”

Opening the door, she turned as he neared. Her gaze touched his, then shifted past him. One brow arched, her expression calmly considering. Then she shook her head, turned, and stepped into the tower. “I do not think hiding is a good idea. I believe I had best start out as I mean to go on.”

Holding the door, Gyles watched her cross the tower room and start down the stairs. Not once did she glance back. Stepping over the threshold, he closed the door, and followed her down the stairs.

She’d agreed to be everything he wished for in a wife. Within an hour, he’d been put on notice that she could, and would, deliver on her side of their agreement handsomely.

Why that left him so grumpy he couldn’t understand. Perhaps because it meant that, once she was pregnant, coping with the practicalities of being his countess was clearly not going to challenge her enough to distract her from pursuing her own, currently unstated goals.

Not that he needed to hear them stated-he could guess what they were.

While he sat at the head of the breakfast table, coffee cup in hand, and lent a deaf ear to one of his great-uncle Mortimer’s war stories, Gyles inwardly kicked himself for agreeing to anything. At the other end of the table, separated from him by sixteen interested elderly relatives, his wife serenely dispensed calm and gracious order along with cups of tea.

Francesca could feel his gaze on her, could sense his disaffection with the bargain they’d struck. It wasn’t the bargain she’d wished for, but it was a bargain she’d accept. She hadn’t been sure he would agree to her proposal, her alternate plan, but now he had, they both knew where they stood, and it was simply a matter of getting on with life.

And reconciling herself to second best.

“Well, my dear-or should I say ‘my lady’?”

Francesca looked up to see Charles smiling down at her as he drew out the chair beside her. The distant cousin who had filled it had just departed to oversee her packing.

“Uncle.” Impulsively, she stood and kissed Charles’s cheek.

He beamed and patted her hand. “So, all’s well with you?”

“Indeed.” With a quick smile, Franceca sat. As Charles took his seat, she glanced around. “Is Ester coming down?”

“Shortly.” Charles flicked out the napkin

a footman handed him. “Franni’s still asleep.”