Wed by Proxy (Brides of Karadok, #1)

by Alice Coldbreath

She was so fucking useless that Guy was starting to think she must be a lady born and bred.

This bitch.

“Men. So easily distracted by the female of the species,” said Helga with a wry chuckle.

“Ah, but I’ll expect you to do more than just accept me this time, sweeting,” he said in a deep voice, brushing his thumb against her pearl and making her jump and gasp. “Such as what?” she panted, her eyes drifting shut as she tried to withstand the stimulation. “I’ll want you to fuck me back.”

don’t suppose I can convince you to come back to bed for a while?” She gave a gurgle of laughter at that. “I’m wide awake, and raring to go.” “So am I,” he growled,

“The road has forked,” Helga continued in the same heavy tone. “And you have a chance to deviate from the path that was laid out before you by another man’s hand.”

It always seemed surprising to her, that people purported gossip was a woman’s realm. Men seemed to be allowed to speak much more freely about such things, where women were forced to whisper and then judged ferociously for it.

“Unlike his unwanted southern bride,” Helga agreed. “Who he stashes in the woods like a guilty secret, while he woos his former love.”

“Well, well,” he heard Tristan Kerslake drawl into the stunned silence. “No one told me that Lady Martindale had finally come home.”

She had run away. To him. His mouth was dry. And he had not believed her.

Her listless reception of this disturbed him more than he could say. She seemed to have passed the distressed stage and reached some place he could not touch her. And he did not like it. Not one bit.

“I don’t love anyone but you!” he bellowed. No doubt the whole damned household had heard that, but he was past caring.

“For presently I shall return to court and request the king finds me a fourth husband who may be more suited to me.”

“How about four years?” Mathilde heard herself ask in a clear concise voice. “How does that sound? The amount of time I waited in vain for you to send for me.”

“I want the ruby brooch that is mine by right,” she announced defiantly. “The one that belongs to the Marchionesses of Martindale, for that is who I am!” She struck her fist against the mattress as she yelled the last few words and it felt good. “And I will no longer be denied, in my own house!”

“She has put you through the mill, this one, I think, no?” The queen had speculated, her eyes gleaming. “And brought this proud warrior to his knees?” “Once proud, your majesty,” Guy had corrected her heavily. “She has all but destroyed me. My pride lies in tatters.”