A fifteenth-century romance by Olivier de la Marche, titled Chevalier Delibere, piqued her interest. Leafing through the French text, she came upon an engraving that showed the chevalier outside a castle. The ramparts were lined with women, while on the ground a sad-faced young man held the reins of the knight's horse. Beneath the miniature a caption read: "How the Actor lost his way, and arrived in front of the Palace of Love, into which Desire bade him enter, while Remembrance held him back."
Micheline smiled. Less than a fortnight ago she had been faced with the same dilemma as the Chevalier Delibere. Thank God she had made the right choice!
Pleasantly drowsy, she closed her eyes for a moment, only to open them a half hour later when Sandhurst knelt next to her chair and leaned forward to kiss the pulse at the base of her neck.
Micheline's heart leaped. "I—I must have dozed off!"
He gave her an irresistible smile. "You are beautiful when you sleep. Vulnerable... soft..." His agile fingers caressed the line of her cheek, then her neck. "Warm... and fragrant."
"You must be finished with your work!" she managed to tease as his mouth strayed downward toward her breasts.
"For tonight."
Andrew's warm, practiced lips were sending currents of fire through her body. She yearned to bury her face in his hair, to touch him, to surrender completely, but that morning she had made a decision that she was determined to carry out.
"I'm awfully tired, Andrew. It's been a long, exciting day, and—"
"You're ready for bed," he supplied. "So am I. More than ready."
He helped Micheline up, looking slightly surprised when she brought the book from her lap along with them. Holding hands, they circled the library, extinguishing the candles, then emerged into the corridor. When Sandhurst stopped in front of a door down the hall from her own, Micheline feigned surprise.
"This is not my bedchamber!"
"I thought you might like to see where Lady Sandhurst will sleep," he told her softly.
"With Lord Sandhurst?"
Andrew chuckled and opened the door. "That is the general idea, fondling."
Micheline beheld a chamber even more spacious and splendid than hers. Beautiful arched windows nearly covered the south wall which overlooked the Thames, with a grouping of chairs in front of them. The walls were paneled in golden oak, broken only by a brick and stone fireplace. Tapestry rugs covered the floors, and there were magnificently carved dressers and chests, but the focal point of the room was a huge bed hung with dove-gray draperies hand-embroidered in blue. The covers were carefully folded back to reveal plump, inviting pillows and a down-filled tick. Micheline's eyes strayed to the table beside the bed, which held a candle, a small vase of crocuses, a decanter of wine, and two Venetian glass goblets.
"Wouldn't you be more comfortable inside? This corridor is rather drafty," Sandhurst murmured.
Micheline swallowed and summoned her resolve. "I'll be happy to go inside, and happy to spend days on end with you in that wonderful bed... when I am Lady Sandhurst." Reaching for his hand, which was warm and strong, she looked up at him. "I've been thinking about what you said to me two nights ago at the auberge, and I've decided you were right. Our next act of love will be on our wedding night."
"But when I said that, it was because you didn't know yet who I was. I felt dishonest enough as it was, without—"
"The fact remains that you were right, Andrew," she said steadfastly.
"I'm a fool!" He closed his eyes as if he were in pain and muttered, "One day I'll learn to keep my mouth shut."
"Don't pout!" Micheline scolded fondly. "You're a strong man; you can wait a few weeks."
Remembering the tempestuous nature of their lovemaking, Sandhurst groaned. "Yes, I am a man... which is precisely the problem!"
"Will you walk me to my door and kiss me good night?" she coaxed.
"Oh, I see! You plan to torture me during this enforced celibacy."
Micheline laughed and led him down the corridor. Outside her door she turned and reached up to twine her arms around his neck. It was torture for her, too, when he caught her up against his hard body and their mouths came together. The pressure of his lips, the taste and sensation of his tongue fencing with hers, and the evidence of his arousal, plainly felt even through the layers of her gown and petticoat, combined to make her tremble in his embrace. They kissed for what seemed an eternity until Micheline's