The Consolation Prize (Brides of Karadok #3) - Alice Coldbreath Page 0,70

carrying on?” he shuddered. “Only Henry would put up with her. She’s a face like a withered apple too.”

“Armand!”

“It’s true!”

“I’m sure she has many admirable qualities,” she said, and Armand laughed again, this time with a derisive edge.

“No, you’re not,” he retorted.

Una was silent a moment. “Very well, I confess she did not look to advantage under that cumbersome wimple, but I know myself how such trappings can make you look your worst.” She hesitated. “When I was at court you know, they called me several names due to my own appearance. It was hurtful.”

“Names,” he asked. “What names?”

“Not to my face,” she said quickly. “Except for that court jester. He can insult even the King to his face without fear. As for what names, they were mostly equine in nature.”

Armand felt like he was really floundering now. He had vague recollections of the jester from May Day, but nothing certain. “Equine?”

“Such as … the Northern mare, that sort of thing.”

That did ring a vague bell. “It was doubtless just a foolish way to disparage you,” Armand said dismissively. “You don’t look anything like a horse. If you want,” he offered casually, “I’ll knock that jester down, next time I see him.”

“That won’t be necessary,” she answered, and he could hear the quiver of amusement in her voice.

“Shuffle closer,” he told her. “And put your arm around my waist. I’m cold.”

“Anything else?” she asked, with a hint of wryness as she looped her arm about his waist.

“Yes, throw your leg over mine.”

She hesitated a moment before doing that. “Is this truly comfortable for you?” she asked doubtfully.

“Yes,” he answered, folding his arms behind his head. “Now stay close until I fall asleep.” He closed his eyes, secure in the knowledge that only he would ever know he wasn’t actually cold at this point at all.

*

Armand woke early the next morning, feeling overly warm. Finding Una still lying half atop him, he flung back the covers and dispensed with them instead. If given a choice, he’d take a nice, warm woman over a blanket any day. He palmed her delightfully rounded backside and debated rolling her onto her back and waking her with his cock, which was already perking up with interest. That enticingly close-fitting shift of hers had ridden up in the night and he could feel her soft inner thigh laying against his own. It was extremely stimulating.

After a moment’s consideration, he regretfully decided against it. She had not had the easiest of evenings, thanks to his gods-awful family dropping in on them. Instead, she’d been reduced to hollow-eyed panic and nausea. Only the most inconsiderate of husbands would now insist on a round between the sheets when she might still be feeling the aftereffects.

Besides, he needed to find a way to coax her out of her reservations when it came to the bedchamber. Armand was as lusty and playful there as he was in every other area of his life. He liked a bit of spice and plenty of sauce when it came to bed sport. A straightforward coupling was all very well when nothing else was on offer, but he favored a bit of slap and tickle where he could get it.

Was one supposed to get it from one’s wife though, he wondered vaguely? He’d never really considered the matter previously, but the fact remained, Una was a royal princess and hardly raised to romping in the sheets with the likes of him. He thought about those grave eyes and how they regarded him so seriously when he said something flippant or offhand.

She’d practically ticked him off for pointing out his sister-in-law looked like a windfall last night, he thought ruefully. Still, it was small wonder she was sensitive about such things, after the horse shit she’d had to put up with at court. Spiteful bastards, courtiers could be sometimes, he reflected with a frown.

Flirting with her at the moment seemed entirely a lost cause. She either colored up and refused to rise to the bait or else gave him a hard stare and took whatever he’d said quite literally. It had been as arousing as a bucket of cold water when she’d spoken of his rights and entitlements, he thought with a wry twist of his lips. He liked a wench to be keen and fully participant in the pursuit of pleasure. Not enduring his touch stoically like some kind of martyr.

Then again, Una was not a statue precisely. She’d been willing alright after he’d spent