Much later, before break of day, before even the castle servants were up and about, Lord Thayer slipped from his bed where the delectable Maurienne still slept, stretched out on her back at the foot of it, one arm arched over her head, throwing her breasts into prominent relief. Thayer smiled to himself, remembering the delightful romp she'd given him the previous night. Donning his robe, he splashed wine into his goblet, carrying it to the large casement window where he stood to greet the rising of the sun when it decided to make its appearance over the treetops of his vast estate. On a hilltop, far in the distance, stood the dark outline of Lord Radegund's turreted castle.

Thayer sipped his wine, his thoughts already moving ahead to the work which needed to be done that day with the comely Arabella. He was anxious to continue with her training and quite pleased with her progress thus far. He was also past due for a visit to his private stables to see how his lovely coterie was faring. And then there was Xaviera. He had promised to take her riding today. The delicate, petite features of his wife rose in his mind's eye. . . . . The first time he had lain eyes on that porcelain, heart-shaped face, Xaviera had been but a mere pre-pubescent girl, and he, a randy thirty-two, eager for the hunt. His shrewd eyes were always on the look out for a fetching young filly to add to his bevy mares. Even then, Belsoie was already famous, far and wide, for its prime collection of mares.

That summer of his thirty-second year, he and his men had traveled particularly far outside his borders, visiting the towns and villages of small fiefdoms with an eye to procuring beautiful females to add to his increasing stock.

Late one evening, as night was falling fast, they happened upon a small manor surrounded on all sides by a low stone wall. Their arrival, heralded by shouts of welcome from the guards as they recognized Thayer's colors, made it apparent that his reputation had preceded him, even to this remote place.

Shelter was requested for the night and was readily given by the master of the house. Their horses were seen to, his men led to the guard's quarters for supper and a pint or two of ale, followed by a comfortable bed. Thayer, himself, was escorted into the Great Hall of the manor and introduced to its elderly lord and mistress, Lord Malcolm and the Lady Gwendolyn, who invited him to stay and sup with them.

Afterwards, Lady Gwendolyn retired for the evening, and ushering the young Lord Thayer to a seat before the immense stone hearth, Lord Malcolm poured each of them several goblets of fine port, as they toasted one another's health. Lord Malcolm was well aware of his honored guest's reputation and was delighted to have this chance to visit with him.

Sometime later, both men were surprised to be suddenly interrupted by a small, blonde child who, in a flurry of white silk, ran lightly on slippered feet across the spacious room to Lord Malcolm's side. A smile of pure pleasure and delight split the bearded face of the old gentleman as he reached for the child, settling her on his lap, where she peeked shyly out at the stranger between her long, white-blonde tresses.

Lord Malcolm smiled apologetically in Lord Thayer's direction over the top of the child's head. "Forgive my daughter her rudeness, m'lord." He placed a finger beneath her chin and lifting it, chided gently, "Now, apologize to our guest for your ill manners, child."

Obediently, she slid from his lap and with downcast eyes, gave a timid curtsy before Lord Thayer. "I apologize for my interruption, m'lord." Her voice sounded to him as soft as an angel's whisper.

Smiling warmly at the enchanting waif before him, Thayer replied, "All is forgiven, fair princess."

"M'lord, may I present my daughter, Xaviera?" Lord Malcolm introduced the fair creature, then added by way of explanation to Lord Thayer's speculative look, "She is a child of my old age, Lord Thayer. The daughter of my favored mistress, Jacqueline, the Lady Chantelle, who died during childbirth. Xaviera is a bit precocious, mayhap, but a good child."

The little girl peered at him through thickly lashed eyes and Thayer found himself caught and captured by huge violet blue eyes that seemed almost too large for her small, heart-shaped face. Her skin looked as delicate and transparent as porcelain and her hair was a silken, shimmering, gossamer veil that flowed unchecked around her.

Thayer leaned forward in his chair, taking her small, slim hand in his larger one. Lightly, he kissed her fingertips. "Enchante', mademoiselle." He responded in his deep, rich voice.

The fairy-child returned an engaging smile that seemed to light her face and eyes from somewhere deep within her. And in that moment, though he did but know it, John Thayer's heart was forever her prisoner.

Lord Malcolm sat across from them, quietly observing the little tableau. The young lord's kind and patient attention to his daughter gave him pause to consider an idea that was slowly taking form in the back of his mind.

Xaviera retreated to her father's lap just as a harried, but relieved voice sounded from the doorway. "Xaviera! There you are! I have been searching for you everywhere, child!"

"Ah, Sylvia!" Lord Malcolm beckoned to the plain-looking woman. "I see our little Xaviera has escaped you again." He chuckled in wry amusement.

"Your pardon, m'lord." She approached, bobbing a quick curtsy to both gentlemen. "She has only just finished her bath." Sylvia explained. "I turned my back for only a moment to turn down the bedclothes. . . . .and when I went to tuck her in, she is nowhere to be seen!"

" 'Tis alright." Lord Malcolm assured the old woman. "I think she was merely curious about our unexpected guest." He smiled in Lord Thayer's direction as he put the little girl away from him, stroking her hair as he did so. "Off to bed with you now, chit. And do not be giving nurse fits, or I shall have to reconsider your birthday celebration in a fortnight."

"Oh, I shall be good, father." the little one promised solemnly. I only wanted to bid you good night."

She took the hand the nurse held out to her, but her father's gentle, reprimanding voice halted her.

"Xaviera, you forget his lordship." he reminded her.

She turned those luminous eyes on Thayer again, gave him her best ladylike curtsy. "Good night, m'lord." He strained to hear her low, mellifluous voice.

When the nurse excused herself with her young charge in tow, Lord Malcolm returned his attention to Thayer. "Do you possess a wife and family, Lord Thayer?" he asked.

"No, m'lord. I am yet a young man. I do not feel the need for a wife in my household." Thayer replied.

"Ah! Too many women to scratch the inevitable itch, eh, m'lord?" Lord Malcolm smiled the conspiratorial smile men share when discussing women. "I remember well speaking those same words myself when I was a young cock in the barnyard! But youth passes quickly," the older gentleman said soberly, "And a man needs an heir." He raised his goblet to his lips, contemplating the younger man before asking, "What think you of my little Xaviera?"

"She is a beautiful, beguiling child, m'lord." Thayer stated in all honesty as he sipped from his own goblet. "She will grow to be a beauty to break many a young swain's heart."

"Yes," Lord Malcolm agreed as he reached for the decanter at his elbow, refilling his goblet, "if I live to see it."

Thayer inclined his head, a frown marring his dark brow. "M'lord?"

"Forgive an old man's concerns, Lord Thayer, but as you can see I am well along in age. Xaviera is only now in her twelfth year. . . . .or will be in a fortnight. 'Twill be another five or six years before she is of marriageable age. I could be long dead before that time arrives. I must think of her future and find a husband who will care for her while I am still alive to do so."

Thayer leaned back in the plush chair, crossing one booted foot negligently over his knee, sipping thoughtfully at his wine. "Finding a husband for your daughter should not prove too difficult a task, Lord Malcolm. Have you no sons who could care for her until she reaches maturity?"

Lord Malcolm shook his head. "Alas, m'lady Gwendolyn was not blessed with babes in her womb during her youth. I have no sons. Xaviera is the only child of my loins."

Both men fell silent, each contemplating his own thoughts, until Lord Malcolm surprised him by asking, "Would you, mayhap, be interested in a marriage alliance, my Lord Thayer? With my daughter?"

Slowly, Thayer lowered his goblet from which he'd been about to drink, staring at the other gentleman with incredulity. Thayer was not a man who was occasioned to be struck speechless, but Lord Malcolm's unexpected suggestion had taken him aback.

"We meet only for the first time this eve, Lord Malcolm, and yet, you would ask such a thing? To give your only child in marriage to a complete stranger?" he asked in mild suspicion, wondering what trick or bribery might be imposed upon him.

" 'Tis true, m'lord, that I do not know you. But I know of you. Your reputation precedes you even here."

"If that is so, then you must know that my lifestyle is hardly conducive to a wife." Thayer stated bluntly.

"Come now, my young lord." Malcolm smiled. "We are both men of the world. I have known of your reputed stables for several years. The idea is intriguing and titillating to many a man." He paused. "A man has certain. . . . .needs and desires. . . . .that a wife may not understand, but that she will accept. . . . because it is her lot and her duty to her husband to do so."

"And you would approve of such for your only daughter?" Thayer narrowed his eyes upon the old lord.

Lord Malcolm shrugged. "I may be old by a younger man's standards, such as yourself, m'lord, but I still have young mistresses at my disposal when the need arises. This does not mean that my love for the Lady Gwendolyn is any the less."

Thayer stared into the dregs of his cup, then raising it to his lips, drained it in one swallow, silently ruminating over the man's proposal.

"Xaviera will make you a good wife. She is being well-tutored for a young lady of her station. She is taught to obey her elders, as she will obey her husband when the time comes. As my only heir, she will inherit all when I die. On the day she marries, her husband will take over that inheritance. There is also quite an extensive dowry attached that would tempt any man."

"And why would you choose me? A man you've only been acquainted with a few hours."

"Because I look at you and I see myself at your age." Lord Malcolm replied with sincerity. "You are the son I would have had, had I been blessed with sons. I know your soul is dark with appetites as yet undiscovered. You differ not from other men in that regard. You seek out beautiful women. You possess their bodies and their souls, and they are slaves to your every whim and desire." he paused, before continuing. "And why should this not be so? Women grace this earth for the sole purpose of our pleasure. It has always been so. You need have no fear that I would demand you relinquish a lifestyle you deem as your own. All I ask, in return, is care and protection for my only daughter through a proper marriage, so that I might rest on my deathbed in relative peace."

"You ask much of a man, your lordship." Thayer replied. "I must think on this."

Lord Malcolm set aside his goblet and made to rise from his chair. "I regret I must retire for the night. My rest is more important to me now, than it was in my youth, I am afraid. There is wine at your disposal, if you desire. However, I would ask your favor, m'lord?"

"Yes?"

"Take what hours remain of this night to think through my offer. I would have a decision from you on the 'morrow." he paused to offer the younger man a tired smile. "At my age, one never knows if the next sunrise he sees will be his last."

"I will think on it, m'lord." Thayer informed him. "And you will have your answer after we break the fast. However, I must caution you, it may not be the answer you seek. I did not happen upon your hospitality seeking a wife."

With a nod of acquiescence, the old gentleman left Thayer alone to brood over his unexpected proposal. He rose from his chair and reaching for the decanter, splashed more wine into his goblet. He walked slowly toward the tall windows, staring out over the moonlit grounds.

Thayer had never felt a desire to marry, although he knew it was someday expected of him. Each year, the rounds of balls and parties became more tedious and tiresome as the women flocked 'round him, in the hopes of gaining his attentions, if not his affections. Those of his acquaintance held their breath in anticipation, waiting for him to announce his impending marriage. The curiosity among them was strong as to who the bride of the great Lord Thayer would be. But the urge to take a wife was not yet upon him.

He had women available to him simply by word of command. The women of his stables provided pleasure and release beyond compare, 'though he did not limit his sights on his stables alone. There was many a lady among the aristocracy he had enticed into an assignation or a single night's tryst in a bedchamber. He had always known, that wife or no, this was the way it would always be for him. He had inherited his father's insatiable desire for beautiful women. A wife, however useful she might prove to be in running his household, however she might enrich his coffers through a generous dowry, would prove a hindrance he did not want in his life.

But the old man was right in one respect, he admitted now, as he took a healthy swallow from his goblet, someday he would need an heir. And for that he would require a wife. Sighing heavily, he turned from the window and sauntered across the room to stand before the great stone fireplace, resting an arm on the mantle as he stared down into the black maw of the hearth.

He thought of the little sprite who had bounded into the room earlier this eve. He had told Lord Malcolm the truth. Xaviera was an exceptionally beautiful child and he could easily envision the woman she would become, 'though it would be several years yet before she reached her maturity. Any man would consider such an alliance which Lord Malcolm proposed and be proud to call the young beauty, wife. Would he? He considered thoughtfully. Xaviera was young yet. She would still be young when. . .if. . . . he consented to marry her. Lord Malcolm had not many years left and he could well offer the girl his protection through his name. He was wealthy enough in his own right so that taking a bride would certainly make him none the poorer even without the promise of a large dowry or Lord Malcolm's inheritance.

If it t'were his lot to marry, Thayer thought now, he wanted a wife who would accept his desires without question, and embrace with him the decadent lifestyle he had chosen for himself, without complaint or fits of jealousy.

Thayer was not a cruel man. He never struck one of his mares in a fit of rage or abuse. Indeed, he had rescued many a female from the clutches of an ill-tempered nobleman who was ignorant of the skill to train a mare properly. Only when it was required, through discipline and training, did a mare experience pain at his hand, with a riding crop or the flat of his palm, on a lovely, delectable backside. It helped to keep their bodies sensually and sexually stimulated throughout the required term of service within the gates of Belsoie. Most of his little coterie learned to enjoy his riding crop and to anticipate it with relish.

Thayer knew he would never raise a hand to a wife. He was known to be a kind, even generous lord among those of his station. His wife. . . . .should he take one. . . . . would lack for nothing. Yet, he had never experienced anything resembling love for a woman. He did not expect to with a bride. Desire, yes. . . . need. . . . .want. . . . .mayhap, affection, all of which he had felt at one time or another with members of his private coterie. But love had never once entered into it.

Women of the nobility admired him. On occasion, when the lady was attractive and willing enough to be led inside an unoccupied bedchamber or down a moonlit garden path, they would both enjoy a meaningless dalliance. But each time, there always arose the insinuating question of marriage. He had trifled with the lady's honor, deflowered her, put her in a compromising position. The list of their grievances was endless and he was soon bored. With a wife, he could alleviate that particular annoyance.

Xaviera, he considered, would come to him still young, fresh, virginal. He could teach her how he expected a wife of his to comport herself, to live obediently within his lifestyle without question or interference. He would have her to understand that he would not accept anything less from her.

Then, another thought occurred to him. If he agreed to Lord Malcolm's alliance with his daughter, new hunting grounds would be open to him. The elder gentleman's properties would ultimately belong to him after he died. But he could insist, nay, would insist, he decided now, that as part of the marriage arrangement, those lands would be open to him upon his signature to the contract, and he would have unlimited access to all of the surrounding countryside and to the villages within Lord Malcolm's borders for he and his men to hunt and sport at will.

That thought pleased him immensely.

Therefore, Thayer concluded, he would take Xaviera's hand in marriage, when she reached her majority, of course. Marrying her would be to his advantage in more ways than one. Somehow, he suspicioned that Lord Malcolm had known this all along. His mind made up at last, Thayer tossed back the dregs of wine, and setting his goblet on the hearth, he left to retire for what remained of this night.

The next morning, Lord Malcolm invited Thayer to stroll the grounds with him. Hands clasped behind his back, he glanced at the young lord out of the corner of his eye. "May I ask if you have reached a decision, m'lord Thayer, concerning my daughter, Xaviera?"

"I have." Thayer replied seriously. "I will accept your terms and take your daughter to wife when she reaches her maturity."

An audible sigh of relief escaped the older man. "I thought, mayhap, you might. Yet, I was unsure. I promise you, you will not regret your decision, m'lord."

"I have a condition which must be settled between us before I sign the marriage contract." Lord Thayer stopped to face him.

"Yes, m'lord?" the old man cocked his head in Thayer's direction.

"I request free rein for myself and my men to hunt within your borders. I want access to all the hamlets inside your boundaries." He eyed Lord Malcolm with speculation. "You take my meaning, m'lord?"

The elder man hesitated for only a brief second before answering. His daughter's future was at stake, there was only one answer he could give. "I do."

"I will not tolerate acts of vengeance from your men or from the people who swear fealty to you."

"You have my word, Lord Thayer. On my honor as a gentleman, my properties and people will give their allegiance to you as they do me. My lands will be open to you from this moment forward."

With an arrogant nod of his head, Thayer accepted Lord Malcolm's word as his bond.

"We have a bargain then, Lord Thayer?"

The younger man inclined his head in agreement. "We have a bargain, m'lord."

Lord Malcolm crooked his arm at the elbow, his hand extended upwards. Lord Thayer grasped his hand firmly in his own, in the way of the knights of old.

And the deal was struck.

It was decided that over the course of the next years, Lord Thayer would visit Lord Malcolm regularly so that he and Xaviera could come to know each other. The marriage contract would be signed and the banns announced on the occasion of Xaviera's twelfth birthday celebration. Messengers were already spreading the word throughout the countryside that their allegiance to Lord Malcolm now also included duty and service to Lord Thayer as well. In the event that Lord Malcolm died before the marriage could take place, Lord Thayer would waive the remaining years of the contract and wed Xaviera so that she would be under his protection.

To the peasants, he would become their sole lord and master, and as such, could expect as his due their willing subservience and undying obedience.

Both men were pleased with this arrangement and Lord Malcolm opened his home to the young lord as if he were already a beloved son-in-law.

The following days were pleasant ones as preparations for the birthday celebration and the announcement of the banns were underway. From a distance, Thayer quietly watched and observed the fairy-sprite who had so enthralled him upon their first meeting. He was unused to children and their antics and he found himself amused by the chit's precociousness. Xaviera was cosseted and coddled by members of the household, well-loved by her father, but being the child of a once-favored mistress, the girl's presence was merely tolerated by the barren and childless, Lady Gwendolyn. Satisfied that he had made a pertinent and correct decision for his own future plans, Thayer began to relax and to take advantage of his host's hospitality.

The ball a fortnight later, was filled with lords and ladies of the nobility dressed in colorful plumage who were especially eager to make Lord Thayer's acquaintance, indeed his decadent reputation was not unknown to them or unwelcome in their midst.

The marriage contract had been signed only that morning, followed by the birthday celebration for Xaviera in the nursery. The banns were announced at the banquet just hours ago and Xaviera presented to the guests in the dining hall as they were read, and then was quickly returned above stairs, accompanied by her nurse, the woman, Sylvia.

During the ball, which lasted well into the early morning hours, many a lady's eye tried to capture and hold Thayer's attention. But he had become bored quickly with all, except one. The Lady Rosamunde Chamois had sat next to him in the banquet hall, along with her elderly husband, Lord Gerard. She was a svelte, sloe-eyed beauty, flirting with him outrageously with her husband by her side. She had amused him by her daring, had sensed her attraction to him from the moment they were introduced. Now, he casually roamed the edge of the dance floor, seeking the lady out, spying her on the other side of the room, laughing and batting her eyes at an eager young swain who appeared to be desperately trying to convince the promiscuous lady to either dance with him or to retreat to some secluded spot so that they might enjoy each other's company in private. Thayer noticed the young man's eyes rarely reached above the low cut of her gown, where only the delectable nipples remained covered, but clearly delineated, through the sheer fabric of her dress. At that instant Rosamunde glanced his way, and Thayer smiled, bowing mockingly in her direction, one sardonic eyebrow arched at her discomposed expression, when she realized that her flirtations at banquet had at last come to fruition. Then, as he knew she would, Rosamunde summarily dismissed the over-eager young buck, turning a coy shoulder toward Thayer at the same time.

The corner of his mouth lifted in a deprecating smile. He would let the lady sweat it out a few moments longer before he made his move. He retreated behind the crowd of guests as he slowly made his way around the room toward his lovely quarry all the while watching as her pretense at cool effrontery gave way to a tiny frown knitting her brow as she covertly searched the crowd for him. Refusing to make his appearance quite yet, he saw her frown turn into an expression of indignation, then one of haughty irritability at his seemingly casual treatment of her. A low, mocking chuckle escaped from him as he approached her from behind, speaking in an amused undertone over one, bared shoulder. "Careful, m'lady, your poor breeding is showing."

She gave a small gasp of surprise and indignation as she felt his warm breath caress the nape of her neck. "Poor breeding, m'lord?" She refused to turn around and look at him, holding her fan to conceal the lower half of her face as she spoke in an equally low voice to keep from being overheard. "I would, perchance, say that you are the one with poor breeding, sir, to give a lady attention and then to ignore her, trifling with her affections."

"Would the lady desire to trifle with. . . . .other things?" he murmured suggestively, his breath stirring the tendrils of hair on the side of her neck.

"You are quite provoking, sir! I am a married woman! Yet, you ignore the young maidens who have been trying to catch your eye this eve."

"Ah! So you noticed!" His mouth turned up in a knowing smile. "But you see, only one prime mare in this bevy of inexperienced fillies has attracted the stallion and heated his blood." Arabella k. a. halle 154.

"M'lord, you are obscene!" Rosamunde's breath caught sharply, her ample cleavage threatening to spill over the lace of her low-cut bodice. Despite her professed outrage, he sensed she was more intrigued than offended by him.

"Am I?" he teased. "Mayhap, m'lady would enjoy finding out how provocative and obscene I can be?" he paused, his sharp eyes glancing about the room. "And where, fair Rosamunde, is your husband, this eve?"

"My husband has retired with Lord Malcolm and his cronies. I'll not see him til on the 'morrow, m'lord."

"Then, mayhap, you would join me in the gazebo out in the gardens? 'Tis my understanding the gardens are quite beautiful by moonlight, as would be the lovely woman who graces them with her presence."

Her bold, calculating eyes slowly swept the room over the edge of her fan to determine if anyone might be watching the unfolding assignation with Lord Thayer and report back to Gerard of his wife's licentious behavior. But the other guests were busy with the food and drink and the dancing. . . . .or with flirtations of their own, caring not a whit what intrigues were taking place on the opposite side of the room.

"When?" she breathed the word out on a shallow breath, fluttering her fan to cool her heated cheeks.

"Leave now." His lips brushed the soft shell of her ear. "I'll follow in due course, m'lady."

Rosamunde gave a brief inclination of her head and then his presence was gone from behind her as quickly as he'd appeared.

Moments later, Rosamunde slipped out into the gardens on the pretext of taking the night air alone. The gazebo, standing in the shadowed recesses of the garden, was in actuality a bath-house, which Lord Malcolm had had constructed for his own personal use after his return some years ago from the east, its primary purpose being a trysting place with his mistresses. A sunken marble tub was the main feature of the interior. It was large enough to hold at least a dozen persons and required ten servants to fill with water. Near the back of the small, glassed-in structure, a thin, gauze curtain fluttered lightly, barely concealing a comfortable bed made up of large, overstuffed cushions. It was a decadent setting for decadent and pleasurable activities.

But now, as Rosamunde stepped inside unnoticed, it was unoccupied. The Lady Rosamunde, never adopting patience as her virtue, paced back and forth across the marbled floor as she waited for Lord Thayer. A small shaft of moonlight reached down through the glass dome roof, fingering the shadows, highlighting the bed of plush cushions, and Rosamunde felt her nipples hardened instinctively at the thought of being taken there by his lordship.

She had been betrothed at a young age to a man older than her father. Lord Gerard was wealthy, lavishing upon his self-absorbed, young wife all the creature comforts she desired, showering her with gifts her greedy heart demanded. But, alas, he was hard-pressed to please her in bed. Her passions ran deep and unsatiated, while his had cooled considerably with age. Even from the early years of their marriage, he could not sustain himself in bed with her, and frustrated beyond measure, Rosamunde had taken on eager and handsome lovers for discreet assignations.

Lord Thayer, she thought to herself, was easily the finest specimen of hot-blooded male she had taken in a long while. The mere thought of him, naked, riding atop her like an arduous bull, made her own blood run hot and her pulse to quicken. And, oh yes! She knew Arabella who he was! She fanned herself briskly with her fan. She had heard all about his stables and the female coterie he kept there. She was intrigued. . . . .indeed titillated. What she wouldn't give to be part of his stable of mares. Think of it! To be spoiled and pampered, allowed to roam naked among men, preening before them, until one decided to purchase her for himself! Or mayhap, she would be shared among them! She would gladly give up her husband with his gnarled hands and wrinkled skin, his paunch of a belly and his soft cock which could not be made to rise with the lick of a breeze, to service Lord Thayer in his stables!

Where was he? She mused now with increasing irritation, even as her passions continued to rise. How dare he treat her like a common wench to make her wait at his beck and call? She wanted to be mounted and quickly, before anyone missed her and reported back to Lord Gerard of her absence.

Just when she had begun to despair that Lord Thayer might have changed his mind about meeting her, she heard him enter the gazebo, and spun around to face him.

"You are an uncouth, uncivilized. . . . .!" she started to harangue him, but before she could say more, he strode across the room and took her roughly in his arms, crushing her mouth beneath his, stopping her angry tirade. Her hands clutched at his upper arms, struggling half-heartedly to push him away, but he was far stronger than she, and as he continued to kiss her, her anger and indignation melted from the heat of his passion absorbing into her body.

Always before, Rosamunde had been the one to be in control of her many lovers, giving of herself only in small increments, forcing her suitors to beg for more and allowing them to touch her only as it pleased her. But Lord Thayer was wild and untamed, wasting no time to take what he already knew they both wanted, neither did he make excuses or apologies for his seemingly uncouth behavior. He did not wait for her permission before taking what she offered him. He bent her back over his arm, arching her body closer to his, pressing himself arrogantly against her, so that she was forced to feel how ready he was for their coupling. When he released her suddenly, she stumbled backwards a step, stunned, breathing hard from his assault on her senses, her hair disheveled and tumbling about her shoulders, the nipple of one tempting breast peeking slyly out at him above the lace of her low cut bodice.

"Take me, m'lord!" she pleaded breathlessly. "Take me as you would one of your mares in the stables, I beg you!"

His black eyes glittered ominously. "So, you would be one of my prime beauties? Careful, m'lady. . . . .or you just might get what you wish for.

"You. . . . .have made me want you, m'lord. Do you intend to stop before you've hardly begun?" she taunted half-heartedly.

"Oh, I intend to have you." He informed her in a dry undertone. " 'Tis why you are here. But I'm not one of your milksop lovers that you can control. Nor am I a fool, like your husband whom you cuckold each night and who pretends ignorance. Once I have you, you will crave more of what I give you. And mayhap, I will desire you again, mayhap, I will not."

"You dare to speak so to me? You are a cruel and heartless bastard!" she turned a cold shoulder to him.

He merely laughed at her insult and Rosamunde's cheeks flamed with indignation. "You are not the first wench to have said so."

Rosamunde turned, bristling at his words. "I am not one of your common wenches, m'lord!"

"You, my fine lady, with your grace and manners are more common than most. Beneath the silk of your gown beats the heart of a whore who itches to be skewered by any man who desires her."

"How dare you?" she whispered in mock outrage.

His smile was benign. "I dare, fair Rosamunde, but do not take it to heart. I still want you and I intend to have your delightful body writhing beneath mine and begging for more before I am finished. You promise a provocative and enticing dalliance that we are both going to enjoy."

She raised her chin in semi-defiance. "You are mistaken, m'lord. I do not appreciate your coarse words or blunt insults. Nor do I desire your attentions any longer."

"Rosamunde, Rosamunde." He shook his head, smiling a hard somewhat sinister smile as he moved slowly toward her. "You do want me, love. Do not play coy with me. Even my mares are trained better than that."

Reaching for her, he hauled her roughly into his arms, kissing her once again, forcing her soft mouth to open beneath his as he tunneled his hands through her hair. Thayer cradled the back of her head in his large palm, and deliberately, insultingly trailed his free hand down the length of her body, hearing, at last, the soft groans of surrender that escaped from her with his rough handling of her slim body. He cupped her breast, pinching the nipple that protruded from the lace of her gown between his fingers, thrusting his hips forcefully against her, forcing her to feel again the hardness of his cock throbbing between her thighs.

Her arms slid up to twine about his neck of their own volition and one corner of his mouth lifted in a knowing smile as he let her go, inclining his head to the cushions beyond the sheer curtains swaying gently in invitation. "After you, m'lady."

Taking an uncertain step backwards, away from him, Rosamunde thought of refusing to submit to him. But her longings ran deep and her flesh was set aflame where he'd touched her. She felt a delicious pulsing between her legs where he'd ground his cock against her. If she turned now and fled, no doubt, he would laugh aloud at her cowardice. . . . .but he would not come after her, knowing that was what she intended him to do. And the thought of the lonely bed awaiting her had her turning to precede him behind the curtain. . . . .as he had known. . . . . and she had known. . . all along that she would.

Thayer came to stand behind her, his strong hands clasping her waist. He planted soft kisses upon the side of her throat and she arched her neck to give him better access. His lips found the tiny, sensitive pulse which quickened beneath his lips, sending shivers of delight coursing down her spine. His hands slid around to the front of her and upwards, to cup her breasts, teasing the exposed nipple between thumb and forefinger, until all her reservations simply gave way to his own passions.

Thayer pressed his hard thighs against her silk-clad rump. "So you would play the mare for me?" he whispered against the soft skin of her throat.

Unable to answer for the tightness constricting her throat, Rosamunde closed her eyes and nodded.

Almost without realizing she had done so, she found herself lowered onto the cushions on all fours. Her body arched, thrusting her buttocks toward him, like a cat in heat, as he caressed the soft silk of her gown up over her thighs, exposing her delectable backside to his heated gaze.

His fingers probed and kneaded the flesh of her bottom, his hand cupping her moist cunt, worming a finger inside her, as she sighed, wriggling her hips in pleasure at his penetration. She was hot and tight and wet. . . . .and more than ready for him. With a single jerk, he released the ties of his braies, and his cock sprang out, hard and eager for the female positioned before him. She moaned, pushing her hips against him, impatient for his entry.

"Do not be so impatient, my over-eager one." he told her. "I will take you when I am ready and not before. Raise that lovely rear end of yours." he ordered. "Yes, that's it. Now, spread your legs. . . . .wide." He pushed a thick cushion between her knees so that she could not close her legs against him. Her arms embraced a soft pillow at her head, the slight strain it caused on the bodice of her dress causing both breasts to pop out, swinging freely beneath her.

Thayer gathered the long strands of her hair, placing the tresses over one bared shoulder. He patted her rump approvingly. "With the proper training and discipline, you might make a good mare. . . . .certainly not suitable for my private stock," he murmured insultingly, "but mayhap, a fine showpiece in my holding pen."

Rosamunde groaned in spite of herself, hating him for making her body crave him this way, yet unable to stop the hot need which clawed greedily between her legs with persistent fingers. She felt the hard, thick tip of him seeking, probing for entrance, then gaining entry. She gasped in shock at the largeness of him. She tried to squirm away, but he gave her buttocks a smart slap with the flat of his hand that stung her into surprised submission. No one had ever dared laid a hand on her before. She had always been the pampered, spoiled daughter of her parents, and now, the indulged wife of Lord Gerard. Her skin was massaged daily with fine oils and lotions, guarded against the coldest winter wind or the harshest summer sun. Not even her many lovers had dared to touch her or use her in such fashion.

Thayer grasped her hips to hold her still. A deep groan of part-pleasure, part-pain escaped her as he pressed the length of his cock into her, filling her. His hand reached around and beneath her, finding the sensitive kernel swollen with desire between her nether lips. She cried out as he pinched the little nub between his fingers. His thrusts were long and deep as he rode her body hard. She felt his hips pushing against her slender buttocks. Her lithe body was stretched taut, ample breasts jiggling and swaying beneath her as he pounded himself into her. The flesh of her up-ended rear quivered at the touch of his hands. Never had a man taken her this way! Always, her lovers were genteel, appreciative to the point of apprehension, once she allowed them to touch her so intimately. They whispered endearments in her ear, and treated her with all the delicacy a woman of her station required. But Lord Thayer ignored such polite civilities. The rules of a gentleman did not apply to him. He concentrated on his own pleasure, driving himself into her with unadulterated male lust. As a consequence, Rosamunde felt her own body's arousal flame brighter with desire, with an unfamiliar lust of her own, which she had never experienced before. Her slender bottom butted up against him, meeting him thrust for thrust. She groaned her pleasure aloud with unladylike demeanor, uncaring who might pass by outside the darkened windows to hear her.

Thayer touched her between her legs again, his cunning fingers slick with her hot juices, teasing her swollen clitoris until she came, her orgasm spiraling out of her as she gave a harsh cry of release that pierced the shadow-shrouded night. Lord Thayer grasped her hips, his hard fingers bruising her tender flesh. With one last, fierce thrust, he spurted deep within her, his deep, guttural groan sounding to her ears as a primal male shout of triumph.

As he withdrew from her, Thayer ran a slow hand down the supple arch of her back, petting her as he would a sleek cat. "Very good, my sweet. Despite your sharp tongue, you can sheathe your claws long enough to give a man satisfaction with this delightful body of yours." He got to his feet, pulling his braies up, swiftly re-tying the laces. "But now, I regret, I must leave you."

"Leave, m'lord." Rosamunde purred, her body still feeling the touch of him on her and within her. She sat up on her knees, her hair falling in disarray about her shoulders, her dress rumpled from their tumble on the cushions. She did not attempt to cover her full, pink-tipped breasts. "But the night is young, m'lord. We have many hours yet to enjoy together." She smiled coyly.

For just a moment, he hesitated, tempted. He had to admit she made an enticing picture, but he smiled down at her in mock regret. "Alas, no. I have unfinished business to tend to with Lord Malcolm this eve."

"But. . . . . my body still hungers for you, m'lord Thayer!" she pouted.

"Aye." He tucked his shirt into the waistband of his braies, straightening the cuffs. "I told you so, did I not?"

Rosamunde frowned in consternation. She had never had a lover to leave her bed before she ordered him to. Lord Thayer could not really mean to leave her now! "But, m'lord, I am in dishabille! And the party. . . . .!"

"You must see to your own toilette." Thayer interrupted. "After I have bid a good eve to Lord Malcolm, I must see to my men and prepare to leave at dawn on the 'morrow. I have already been away from my estate too long."

"You are returning home?" Her disbelief evident in her tone. "But you can't! What about me?"

"Sweet, selfish, Rosamunde!" He looked down at her as he would a recalcitrant child. "I have obligations and responsibilities to tend to."

"After what we have just shared, m'lord, am I not now an obligation to you?" she asked plaintively.

Thayer threw back his head, issuing a short, sharp bark of laughter at her audacity. "My pet, you are nothing but a distraction! Albeit, a pleasant one, but a distraction nonetheless! Not an obligation I care to concern myself with."

A tiny, inborn fear began to grow that if she let him leave her now, she might never see him again.

"Take me with you!" she said suddenly, loudly, into the silence which had fallen between them.

He frowned down at her. "You, madam, have a husband, need I remind you? And I do not wish Lord Gerard's men to come after me with lances at the ready over nothing more than an unfaithful wife."

But Rosamunde gave not a whit for Lord Gerard! She was desperate to have Lord Thayer mount her again. . . . .and then again. . . . .as many times as he could take her in a single night! Her passions were over-ruling her head and there was a hint of desperation in her eyes. "You said yourself I would make a fine showpiece for your stables! You enjoyed me! I know you did! I want to be a part of your coterie! Do not leave me with an old man who cannot warm my bed! I need to be with you!"

"I despise dramatics in a woman, Rosamunde." He remained unmoved. "It takes more than what you are offering, my dear, before I would allow a woman into my prime stock of beautiful mares. And I have neither the time nor the inclination to tame a selfish, acid-tongued bitch such as your pretty self, especially one who shows such disloyalty to her husband. But I will promise you this," he said, "that on those occasions when I return to visit with Lord Malcolm and my betrothed, I will send you word." He provided her with a mock bow. "I bid you adieu, m'lady." And swiftly turning on his heel, he quit the gazebo, as Rosamunde threw a cushion at his head, missing her mark.