Bride Behind the Mask

Chapter 11: Hot and Cold (Part 1 of 2)

Chapter 11: Hot and Cold (Part 1 of 2)

Despite her offer to help him back to the bed, she ran, again.

And he laughed, hard. All he did was extend his hand out to her! Well, he'll admit, he did sweep his eyes over her figure and smile appreciatively in the process. But was that not what a man was supposed to do when his own wife comes to him in the most... alluring form he'd ever seen her in?

Thinking back to how she blushed all shades of red at the closeness between them, he chuckled again, not minding even one little bit that he was now left on his own on a stool in his bath chamber.

So the woman was un-tameable by his kindness, un-appeasable by his politeness, un-intimidate-able even by his anger, but absolutely un-immune to the mildest flirtatious teasing. Well, he could work with that. Whilst he'd never judge a woman by her bosom, he shamelessly enjoyed the view she repeatedly shoved into his face as she bandaged him, and above that, the way her eyes flared... Oh, he could hardly wait for their next meeting.

Amelia was an enigma. Though he was curious, there was no use contemplating why the girl who used to dress as a clown came to him today a seductress. He'd had enough encounters with women to know there was little point trying to decipher one. That, and all he could think about in her presence was how much he wanted to taste those lips again—and more. So much that he was beginning to think another slap to the face could be worth it... maybe.

At some point, she had morphed herself from a responsibility to a challenge; a sweet sort of challenge he was all too glad to accept.

For the first time since he'd learnt of their betrothal, he humbly conceded—Mother knows best.

"You did what?" Marge screeched.

Amelia winced. Marge rarely screeched. She looked down at her own twiddling fingers with an abashed pout. "It wasn't my fault! He—"

Marge burst into laughter—a surprisingly girlish giggle that bubbled from her throat and came with fighting tears. 'Twas an even rarer sight than the screech and Amelia could only gape.

"And how... h-how... did my lord... he respond?" Marge managed to ask at last, her words weaving between remnant giggles.

"Um," Amelia started hesitantly, still stunned by her maid's reaction. "He... he looked at me like he was... like he was..." She flushed warmly as she recalled his heated gaze and the best description she could think of was... "Hungry."

Marge's eyes widened, then she grinned in a way that said she knew things Amelia did not. Nevertheless she asked, "Hungry for...?"

"Well, m-mayhap because I, uh, dropped the food?" That was the only logical explanation, right?

"Oh I'm sure it was because you dropped the food." Marge chuckled again despite Amelia's irritated glare.

Amelia flung her arms in the air in exasperation. "I can't do this... this buttery thing, Marge!"

"Remember, if you want to leave, you must please him."

"Pray tell," Amelia demanded, crossing her arms over her chest. "Why must I please him by wearing these ridiculous dresses?"

"Really? If you call that ridiculous, what is it that you have been wearing all summer?" Well, at least the young lady had the decency to look somewhat embarrassed at that. Marge continued, "It's because they make you look... nice. It's much easier to please a man if you please his eyes first."

"You said the way to a man's heart was through his stomach!"

"Pleasing looks and a satiated belly are not mutually exclusive, my dear."