embarrassment. Neither it nor what was done with it was ever really acknowledged by either Micheline or Bernard. With Andrew, all was new and different. They shared everything, every feeling and delight. In the bath the day before, Micheline had found herself teasing him outrageously, until Sandhurst called her bluff and lifted her through the water, impaling her on the length of his hardness. To her surprise, she'd felt no embarrassment, only overwhelming pleasure and satisfaction as they moved rhythmically in the water, her hands in his damp hair, his mouth at her breasts.
Now she stared down past Andrew's hard belly, thinking that his manhood was as beautifully made as his hands. When she touched it lightly, it awoke.
"Good morrow," Sandhurst whispered huskily into her ear, then nibbled on the lobe. "My lady wife. What sweet words."
Although they'd loved twice the night before, Micheline found that her hunger for him could not be appeased. She turned on her side just as he did, her breasts and hips pressing against the lean lines of his body.
"I'm so pleased to be here," she whispered, smiling. "So pleased to be your wife."
His kisses scorched the curve of her throat while his agile fingers wandered down her spine to explore the satiny curves of her derriere.
"Mmm" was the only verbal response he could manage.
* * *
Later that morning Andrew took Micheline out to the stables. Already it was a glorious day. The sun shone brightly, wildflowers lent their fragrance to the breeze, and even Percy pranced hither and yon in high spirits.
The stables were built of honey-colored stone and handsomely maintained. Grooms busied themselves exercising or grooming the horses outside, while a tall, raw-boned man with wind-blown white hair walked forward to greet the Marquess and Marchioness of Sandhurst.
"Welcome home, my lord," he said soberly, though his tone was belied by warm gray eyes. " 'Tis good to have you back."
"It's good to be back." Andrew extended his hand, smiling. "I'd like you to meet Lady Sandhurst. Sweetheart, this is Trymme, the marshal here at Sandhurst Manor—and also Betsy's husband. Trymme is in charge of the stables, the grooms, and all the horses."
"I'm happy to know you, sir," Micheline said sincerely.
"Likewise, my lady. I hope you are pleased with your new home."
Her iris-blue eyes shone with pleasure. "I love it!"
"My wife has a fondness for horses," Andrew confided. "I thought I'd let her choose one for her own—and I ought to say hello to Hampstead. He's well, I trust?"
"Quite! He serviced Willow, that young mare you approved of, and that went very well. He's just been groomed and is waiting to see you, my lord. I thought you might be along to exercise him."
"Thanks, Trymme. How fares little Stroller? Has she foaled yet?"
"No, my lord. Any day now."
Micheline listened with only half an ear as the two men continued to talk. They all walked along the stable boxes, where Andrew petted each muzzle and smiled into each pair of large, hopeful eyes.
"I've never seen such beautiful horses!" Micheline finally exclaimed. "Is this a breed you've developed yourself?"
Sandhurst couldn't repress a chuckle. "On the contrary, fondling. These are all Arabian horses. There's no finer horse on earth, in my opinion, and for the most part, I'm keeping the bloodlines pure. We have done a small amount of experimenting—crossbreeding between the Arabs and some Welsh Mountain ponies, which, though similar in looks and temperament, are naturally smaller. The king keeps threatening to decree that all stock under fourteen hands high must be eliminated, so we've been working to make these pretty ponies larger. We've also bred a few of the Arabians with Chapman horses from Yorkshire, to see what improvements might be made on some of the native breeds." He smiled ironically. "Make no mistake; I'm very fond of British and European horses, but once one becomes used to Arabians..."
"One is spoiled?" Micheline supplied, beginning to understand. Each of these horses possessed a lovely head, with large eyes and a small muzzle, carried on an elegant neck. Their bodies were compact, their legs long, slender, and strong. Although colors varied, the silky texture of each horse's coat, mane, and high-set tail was constant.
Sandhurst nodded. "There's much more than beauty involved, though, as you'll discover. Arabs are intelligent, gay-spirited, and gentle. They're also extraordinarily fast, with great stamina and an ability to carry weight. Most endearing to me, however, is the love of these horses for human companionship. That's the real reason I breed them. I love