Lincolnshire, March 1546

Her mother was nervous.

Bridget Newbury considered her mother with curiosity. Lady Connolly was normally the perfect model of poise.

“Good morrow, Mother.”

Jane turned in a flurry of wool skirts. She was wearing one of her very modest Sabbath dresses. There was no lace upon it, the only trim formed by contrasting persimmon wool cut into thin strips and used to border the brown wool that made up the garment. She even wore an over-partlet that covered every inch of her chest, all the way to her neck.

“Good, you are here.”

“I came straight after receiving your summons, Mother.”

Jane smiled. A gentle curving of her lips that was genuine. She held out her hands, and Bridget moved forward to clasp them. Even through their gloves, the embrace of fingers and palms was warm.

“Of course you did. You have ever been an obedient child. God blessed me with your sweet heart.” Her mother’s smile faded. The hands grasping Bridget’s tightened momentarily before releasing their hold. Jane clasped her fingers together in a practiced pose, one she used as mistress of the house. With the maids always observing them, appearances were important. Bridget held her chin steady and waited for her mother to speak.

“I have word from your father.”

Her mother’s voice hardened. Bridget knew the tone. It was one that often showed itself when letters from her father arrived. Lord Connolly resided at the court of Henry the Eighth. Her sire often sent home detailed instructions on how the family was to conduct themselves. In the quickly changing climate of the aging king’s court, her mother was always sure to instill a deep respect for each sentence her husband penned. It was the wisest course of action given the king’s history of beheading those nobles who displeased him.

“A marriage has been arranged for you.”

Bridget was startled. “Do you mean that Sir Curan has returned from France?”

Her mother’s face drew into an expression that Bridget knew too well. It was the look her mother always wore when circumstances were not to her liking but unavoidable.

“Your father has negotiated a new arrangement for you with Lord Oswald. The wedding is to be celebrated within a fortnight.”

Her mother’s voice was full of impending duty. It lacked joy and even mild liking. Bridget felt dread chill her heart.

“I gave my word to Sir Curan.” She had sworn to wait for him. “With Father’s blessing I swore, Mother.”

Her mother nodded and fingered her skirt. Bridget understood the nervousness now. Yet she might wish that she was still ignorant. Curan Ramsden was not a man you broke promises to. He was one of England’s border lords. Unlike many who swarmed around the aged King Henry Tudor, Curan was a man of action. He’d earned his spurs of knighthood on the field in France alongside the king on one of Henry’s campaigns to regain soil in Europe.

“You were young and obedient to your father.”

“It was only three years ago.”

Her mother’s fingers gripped her skirt. “Yes. However things change quickly these days. You shall wed Lord Oswald. We are to leave for London three days hence. Lord Oswald is one of the king’s advisors and resides at Whitehall Palace.”

“Lord Oswald.” Bridget searched her memory. Her father went to great lengths to keep her away from court. Maidens did not maintain their virtue very long once in attendance. At twenty-two years of age she was in awe of her sire for being able to keep her in the country. Having her betrothed to Sir Curan Ramsden had kept the gossips from her.

“His daughter passed a night here a few years ago.”

Bridget felt her face drain of color. The lady in question was older than her mother. She tried to cover her dislike. It was unseemly. Many a nobleman’s daughter found herself married to a man well past her in age. Even Queen Catherine Parr was many years Henry Tudor’s junior.

“He is widowed?”

Her mother’s lips pressed into a hard line. “No. Lord Oswald has divorced his newest wife for failing to conceive. The poor girl has been sent back to her father.”

Bridget lost a bit more of her color. She pressed her lips together tightly, resisting the urge to make some sound of protest. Her mother’s face was just as stark. When their father sent a letter, it was to be obeyed. There was no questioning the wishes of the lord of the house. According to the will of the king, her sire was master of the family. Especially over the female members. To argue was to question her place and offer greedy men the opportunity to name her a heretic so that her father’s lands might be forfeit. There were plenty of men who would make use of any reason to depose another noble peer, even if it was so low as to use the women in the family to accomplish that goal. Now that all the monasteries were claimed and their land and riches divided, the hungry looked to new sources to gain quick wealth.

Marriage was one of the favorite methods for amassing funds. Divorce was more common than anyone dared say. Many young wives suffered the same fate as Catherine of Aragon; Henry the Eighth’s first wife was shuffled off into the country to live out the remainder of her days in near poverty once her child-bearing days came to an end. Things had only become worse since that time. Now new brides were often discarded only months after their wedding nights and sent home without their dowries for failing to conceive quickly. Such was a grim fate. Years could go by before lawyers agreed on what parts of their wedding agreement might be recovered. The discarded bride could not remarry until such was done. Even after legal negotiations were finished, not many men wanted a girl who had failed in her primary duty as wife.

Jane clasped her hands together. She was still agitated, and her leather gloves made a smacking sound when they met.

“We must do all in our power to ensure that your union is a solid one.”

The look in her mother’s eyes was one Bridget had not seen before—a sort of determination that almost looked desperate. Jane looked at Bridget in a way she had never done previously. It was an assessment from one woman to another. Her mother settled on some firm decision.

“Come with me, Daughter. I have someone for you to meet.”

Bridget stared at the woman her mother took her to. Hidden behind the thick oak door of her mother’s solar was someone she had never thought to actually converse with.

“This is Marie. She is a courtesan. We shall refrain from mentioning her family name. The staff does not know she is here. That is best for us all.”

“I’ve heard of such women before.”

Jane looked displeased. Bridget merely stared back at her mother.

“What is the point in behaving as though I have not heard of courtesans when you have brought me to meet one?”

Courtesans were women who captivated men. They were not common prostitutes. Most of them serviced only one rich client at a time. Such women were well educated, schooled in dance, and versed in several languages. More than one nobleman’s illegitimate daughter was a member of their ranks. Most important, they were demure and silent, keeping their exploits hidden behind closed doors. Men flocked to them, often waiting for long periods before being able to sponsor one of the elite women and thereby gain her personal attention.

Her mother sighed. “I suppose you are being more practical than I.” She drew a deep breath and gestured at Marie. “In light of the perilous times, I have purchased some of Marie’s time in order to have you instructed. She has graciously agreed that you should not remain ignorant.”

“In what subject?” The question slipped out because Bridget was too busy looking at Marie. Yes, she had heard of courtesans, but the reality was far more intriguing than the whispers. The woman was gowned in wool as fine as Bridget and her mother wore. The courtesan’s gloves were leather and lacked no tailoring detail. Her face was smooth and lightly accented with powder. Her lips were stained the color of ruby, and not some garish shade of red that was too bright. Marie looked for all the world as if she might be a woman of noble birth on her way to court. The only difference was the lack of jewelry. She wore no pearls or gems. Such things were only for the blue-blooded nobility. But Jane’s tone also reminded Bridget that Marie did not have to answer her summons like a servant. The courtesan was there of her own free will.

“The subject of seduction.”

Bridget turned a curious look on her mother. “You have already taught me what to expect in my marriage bed.” Jane had seen to that task the night that she and Curan had knelt in the family chapel to swear to one another. She was practically a wife after such; the only detail lacking was a bedding. Curan had said that he would not claim her until his last duty to the king was served. It was not an uncommon arrangement. Negotiations for a wedding between noble families often took many years, often difficult to time exactly. A “pledge to marry” ceremony often took place when the families reached agreement but the knight still owed service. Moreover, such a ceremony was expected to be honored by both families, drawing its strength from the codes of chivalry. But it was a truth that legally her father could wed her to another. She had simply never considered that her sire might break with the knightly code of conduct.

“What you have not been taught is how to please a man.” Bridget’s mother flushed slightly, but she didn’t appear uncomfortable. The stain on her cheeks was paired with a flicker of enjoyment in her eyes. “Since the men of this country have become so greedy, taking numerous wives whenever the whim consumes them, I believe it is time we women employ a few tactics of our own to ensure our futures.”

Jane looked at Marie. “I will trust you to teach my daughter everything she needs to know about stealing a man’s wits in bed. I shall be in the outer chamber making sure you are not disturbed.”

Or discovered. Bridget added the little comment inside her head. Her mother cast a look at her before leaving the room. Bridget returned her attention to Marie, curious to discover just what seduction entailed. Certainly she had heard the word, but in truth she knew little of the details.

A slow smile curved Marie’s lips as Bridget watched. Something very intriguing swept over the courtesan; a confidence seemed to radiate from her.

“We shall begin with how to disrobe.” Marie strode into the center of the chamber. Her eyes took on a slightly slanted appearance. “Men can be slaves to their lust. They are greedy like children looking for sweets. Learn to control that appetite and you shall master the man.”

She turned in a graceful flare of skirts. “Always make him watch you. Do not give in to his demands to rush. Once he is spent between your thighs, your power over him recedes.”

Marie paused with her back to Bridget. She peeked over her shoulder in a gesture that was both teasing and naughty. Her eyes were half closed, the lashes veiling her deepest thoughts. Bridget heard the popping sounds of the hooks opening on the front of Marie’s bodice. That sound sent a little heat racing into Bridget’s cheeks. Hearing it, yet being prevented from seeing the opening of the garment, sent her mind racing with ideas. Marie laughed. Low and sultry, the sound floated over her shoulder.

“You understand, don’t you, Bridget? The idea of what I am doing is more powerful than the act itself. Tease him with it. Make him wait for you to reveal yourself to his eyes.”

Marie rolled her shoulders, and her dress slid over them. It was a slow motion. The dark wool slipping inch by inch to reveal the creamy fabric of her chemise.

“Disrobing in front of the fire is pleasing. The flames illuminate your body beneath the fabric of your undergarments. It tantalizes men.”

Marie turned and stepped out of her dress in a smooth and graceful motion. Her chemise was held against her body by a set of stays that did not match the somber color of her dress. Peacock-blue silk shimmered in the afternoon light. Such a rich fabric spoke of a lover who did indeed keep her very well.

“Now you try.”

Bridget felt her throat constrict. “Me? Do you mean to say that you want me to disrobe?”

Marie walked across the solar on little steps that looked lazy. She was completely at ease in her lack of clothing, almost content.

“I’m pleased to hear you say it plainly. At least we shall not have the chore of washing puritan teaching out of you.”

“Puritan habits are wise considering how Queens Catherine Howard and Anne Boleyn both met their ends.”

Marie lifted a hand and began slowly pulling her glove off, one fingertip at a time. “To court a crown is a dangerous game. Resist the urge to be too greedy when it comes to the power men like to believe should be theirs. Politics has always been deadly. With greater gain always comes higher risk. Remember to stroke the ego of the man who thinks he owns you.”

“Thinks he owns me?” According to the law, a husband did own his spouse. Even if Bridget wished it otherwise. Why did her gender make her less in the eyes of the world? She was every bit as keen witted as any of her brothers.

Marie pulled the glove free. Her hand was clean and smooth. She trailed her fingertips up her own neck before answering. In spite of the fact that she was another woman, Bridget found herself watching that touch. A faint tingle crossed her own neck in response.

“If you are wise, you will never forget that your heart is yours alone. It can be the greatest gift, but never can it be commanded.” Marie aimed a firm look at her. “You cannot entrance a man unless you are comfortable with your own body. Turn and disrobe.”

Bridget found that her hands shook. She fumbled the hooks that normally she opened with ease. A shaky breath rattled past her teeth as she tried to force herself to relax. It was only another woman, after all. What shame was there in showing her body to someone who had one exactly the same?

Her hands still trembled. But she finished and rolled her shoulders to send her dress down her arms. A least that worked well. Her dress slumped to the floor in a pile.

“Tomorrow I shall have you watch me while I entertain a man.”

“What?” Bridget’s arms crossed over her body in defense. Marie had no pity for her, though. She reached across the space between them and flicked Bridget’s quivering chin back up with one firm finger.

“You heard me correctly. I will arrange a place for you to view me giving pleasure to a man. You must gain confidence or you shall be doomed to be taken on your back like countless other brides. With nothing to do but endure being used to relieve your groom’s lust.”

“You mean there are other … positions?” It was a bold question, one she normally wouldn’t have voiced. Maybe sin was intoxicating such as they said in church. Now that she was on the path, each step was easier to take. She craved knowing more.

“Oh, yes. There are many positions for a man and woman to make love in and several other things that will keep your husband eager to join you after sunset.”

Enjoyment flickered in Marie’s eyes again. Bridget smiled without thinking. She wanted to know whatever it was that made Marie look that way. It was some secret that promised to bring pleasure when she at last discovered what it was.

“First we shall refine your entrance and disrobing. You must grasp your partner’s attention the moment you enter the room.”

Marie proved a tough taskmaster. Bridget redressed and unhooked her bodice countless more times.

“Better. Now we must proceed, for our time is limited. Once your dress is removed, take your shoes off, and always wear lace stockings. Change into them before supper.”

“They are so expensive.” Or time consuming to produce. The only two pairs Bridget owned were ones she had made under the watchful eye of the estate tailor. She had labored until her shoulders ached to knit them.

“But they draw a man’s eyes to your legs.” Marie sat down. But she didn’t use one of the chairs the solar offered. Instead she lowered her body onto a padded footstool. She parted her knees so that the point of her corset dipped down to cover her mons. With one hand on top of either thigh she slowly drew her chemise up to display her lace-stocking-clad legs.

“I see what you mean.” It was captivating. Naughty. But ever so clever. The subtle demonstration played on the submissive role that a wife was expected to embody while wielding a measure of control that Bridget had never considered she might. The last traces of her childhood felt as if they were evaporating, and she was happy to allow it. Here was the thing that she had felt the need to discover ever since accepting that she would wed Curan. Deep inside her, she had felt a surprising rush of heat, unsure what its purpose was.

“Good. Now you try it.”

Sleep eluded Bridget that night. She heard the fire crackling beyond the bed curtains, but her mind was still engrossed with her lessons. She was caught between the things she had practiced and the unknown lessons that were to come. How was it possible to spend so many years being tutored only to discover an entire subject untouched? Since she had been allowed out of the nursery, she had been groomed to be a well-educated companion and an expert accountant for her husband’s holdings. At the center of it all had always been her marriage. It was what a nobleman’s daughter did—wed well and manage her husband’s estate.

And produce heirs.

That was the part in which she found her education lacking. Her cheeks heated in spite of the night’s chill. Well, in all truth it wasn’t nearly so lacking now. Yet she was not arrogant enough to believe that learning how to disrobe with some skill was all there was to enticing a man. If that were so, no man would be paying for peacock-blue silk corsets for a courtesan.

She knew it was more. It had surrounded Marie like a mist. Some would label such a thing witchcraft. The king had accused Anne Boleyn of using unnatural skills to enchant him away from his wife. But was that the same thing she had witnessed in Marie today? That subtle motion of her body and the slanting of her eyes. Was it a ploy of the devil or merely a clever use of what God had given her?

She liked the latter idea. There was no mistake about it. Bridget felt her lips curve up with enjoyment. She had never been very fond of the lectures given in church to wives. Strict instructions drilled into her every morning on the merits of obedience and submissive traits.

Why? Did not boldness breed strength? Whoever heard of choosing a docile mare to be covered by the strongest stallion? No. Never. When her father was home, he would go out and watch the mares to see which ones had fire in them. Only the ones that displayed courage and life would be allowed to breed with his prize stallions. The same held true across the estate, from prize-hunting hounds to the falcons. Strength was sought, not meekness.

Maybe that was the difference between men and women. The solid truth was that the two genders were very contrary to one other.

Curan’s face rose to the front of Bridget’s thoughts. It wasn’t the first time he’d invaded her bed. There was something about his features she liked to dwell on. He was a hard man with a body thick with muscle. Such was to be expected since he still rode alongside the Earl of Pemshire and then with the king. That was no place for soft courtiers. Each man was expected to wield his sword with a skilled hand and a strong arm. To do any less was a sure way to end up dead … Curan did not disappoint.

She suspected it was the reason her father had contracted with him. The border lords were men who took estates along Scotland’s border. It was an uncertain place. Many of England’s nobles had failed to keep their land secure against the clans that lay on the other side of that border. Curan was earning his land and title by holding an estate for England. When he had ridden into sight for their swearing ceremony, she had shivered. Every man following him was hardened, all in firm command of their warhorses.

She had felt that strength in the light touch of his fingers against her skin, a faint brushing of his fingertips across her cheek as he cupped her face for a kiss. She had trembled and studied his face in an attempt to discover if he was moved by her. Curan never complimented her hair or her eyes. Others had. Her hair was the lightest brown that turned copper in the sunlight, but he didn’t seem interested in it. He made no comment on her smooth, freckle-free complexion, either. The only thing that drew his dark eyes to her with interest had been the way she stared straight into his eyes as he bent to kiss her. She saw clearly a flicker of admiration before his lips made contact with hers, the hand on her cheek tightening ever so slightly while his mouth pressed against hers. Time had frozen—as still as the lake did in winter. She had been suspended in that moment, with his body looming over hers and his lips impossibly hot against her own. Even now she recalled it vividly.

Maybe too much so.

For certain she felt lust for him. Hidden behind her bed curtains, Bridget refused to be dishonest with herself. Out among the staff, tending to her father’s estate, was another matter. There were appearances to maintain. Here, she felt the heat over her cheekbones and the way it spread down her throat and across her chest. Wearing only a chemise beneath the bedcovers, she was aware of her nipples drawing into hard pebbles as though she were cold. Yet she knew that was not the cause. A flush of warmth spread along her skin, not startling any longer because she had become accustomed to it. Whenever she allowed her thoughts to dwell on Curan, her body responded.

For certain, it was a pity that she was not to wed him.

Marie kept her word.

Jane was not as composed when facing the prospect of leaving Bridget in the company of the woman when her intention was to take her away. Her mother stared at the courtesan, but Marie returned the look without wavering.

“There are things that words simply do not convey. Men take advantage of that in maidens. I only agreed to these lessons because I thought you wanted your daughter to avoid being led to her marriage like a blind child, as you most likely were.”

Jane scoffed. “That is a fact.”

Resentment edged Jane’s words. A little crack in the polished exterior she normally presented. But there was also a shimmer of victory in her eyes. The look she aimed at Bridget was full of achievement.

“Do not judge me too harshly, Bridget, but I would see you standing on firm feet when you meet this man who discards young wives. I cannot stop this marriage, but I can make sure you are not helpless. Learn to arouse your husband, and you shall conceive.”

Jane watched them as they walked down the steps to where two horses were held ready.

“You are very fortunate to have a mother who is so cunning,” Marie said.

“Cunning?”

Marie arched one slim eyebrow. “Oh, yes, Bridget. Your mother is cunning. I suspect your father has promised your groom a sheltered, country-raised virgin.”

“Will these lessons displease my husband?”

“Not if you are wise enough to give him the innocent looks he expects. It really is no deception; you are a maiden.” Marie offered her a smile. “Listen to me and you shall never regret losing your innocence.”

She kicked her horse, and the two rode away from the house. The countryside was still bright this morning, and their horses covered the distance quickly. Yet not so fast that Bridget didn’t have time to think herself almost to death. Anticipation held her in an iron grip, the idea of what was to come both teasing and tormenting her. Marie led her toward a smaller house that Bridget had seen before. Her father owned it, but no one had lived in it for some time. The dwelling was kept in good repair and cleaned in case someone important might come to visit. Marie lifted one gloved hand to her lips. The woman dismounted and tied her horse up a good hundred yards from the house.

“My client is inside. You will watch us but remain perfectly silent.”

Bridget bit her lip to avoid having her jaw drop once more. She was shocked, but she was also insanely curious about what exactly coupling looked like. From her mother’s description, the act was difficult to picture. Marie gripped Bridget’s hand and pulled her toward the house. They did not approach the main doorway but went toward the kitchen entrance. Marie led her up the back stairs and into the small doorway that was intended for a manservant. The opening led to a tiny room that was big enough only for a narrow bed on one side and a single chair and space for clothing on the other. A noble would expect his manservant to be able to hear him at any time. Such rooms were discreetly built alongside the master. There was no door but a carved wooden screen that formed a sight block, which was intended for the master, not the servant.

“Stay here and be silent.”

Marie entered the room next door and looked it over. Nothing escaped her notice, and she walked over to the bed to inspect it as well. The covers were turned down and violets sprinkled across the sheets.

She reached up and gave the cord that was attached to a bell in the kitchen a pull.

She unhooked her dress and stepped out of it. She moved faster today, but her actions still had a grace to them that was slightly hypnotic.

“I was getting tired of waiting.” A man entered the room, his expression surly, but that changed when he looked at Marie.

“Some things are worth waiting just a little bit for, Tomas.” Marie made it her business to learn the man’s name beforehand.

Marie arched that eyebrow once again. She fingered the tie that held her stays closed. Her cleavage swelled just above it, and when she pulled on the ties, it tightened the stays just a small amount, making her breasts plump up even more. Whoever her client was, he appreciated her efforts. His attention was drawn to her breasts, and his lips took on a slight curve.

“I hope so, this was a long ride.”

He was a large man with wide shoulders and long legs. There was nothing boyish about him, even if his face was shaved smooth. He reached up and unbuttoned his doublet with steady fingers and shrugged free of the open garment a moment later to face Marie in his shirt and britches.

“I can see you are anticipating something that would make your long ride worth it.” She moved toward him and reached up to cup his face. Bridget leaned closer to the screen and watched the courtesan boldly kiss her partner. He kissed her back, a long moment of their mouths slipping and sliding against one another. Marie broke away from the kiss and rubbed her hands down the man’s chest and farther until she rubbed over the bulge that was pushing his britches out.

“Ah, I seem to have discovered your motivation for seeking me out.”

Marie backed away from him, gaining a frown, but she lifted her hands to the tie of her corset and regained his full attention. She pulled the tie and the knot popped. The weight of her breasts immediately pulled the loosened lace through the eyelets.

“Now that is a fine sight.” His voice was turning raspy, and Marie trailed one fingertip over her own breast. His eyes followed her motions.

Bridget felt her throat constrict again. Never had she thought to watch such a thing. She forced herself to swallow. It wasn’t as if the man was going to touch her. Her virginity must remain intact. She took a deep breath; she wasn’t a child any longer and could not afford to be shocked by something she would be expected to do within a fortnight. Far better to know what to expect.

“Confidence is the key to enchanting a man …”

Marie’s words suddenly became more than another lesson. True understanding dawned on Bridget. It was something that only the look in Tomas’s eyes could have taught her. He watched Marie with absolute devotion as she shrugged out of her corset and set it aside.

“Well done. I never thought I’d enjoying watching a woman undress so much.”

Marie turned, and her chemise flared out as she moved. She moved toward her partner and began to untie the laces at the collar of his shirt.

“Tossing skirts is only part of the fun.” She drew his shirt free and ran her hands along his bare skin.

Marie fingered the hem of her chemise. Tomas’s attention focused on her action. Bridget stared at his face, studying the way he watched the other woman. Something flickered in his eyes, and his lips parted slightly when Marie began to pull the ivory fabric up. She bared her thighs and showed a pair of pink garters holding up the tops of her knit stockings.

Hearing about it had not truly driven home what Marie meant by “enchant.” Bridget understood now. It was in the way Tomas watched her bare her body and the confidence with which the courtesan performed the act, truly showing that she had the upper hand. Yet there was a coldness to it—a callousness that sent a tiny shaft of disappointment through her. Perhaps it was due to her night dwellings on Curan, but Bridget looked at the couple in front of her and noticed how little affection there was. Even horses played more before mating.

She could not expect anything else from Lord Oswald. Must not, for her own sake.

Bridget banished her thoughts of Curan. That was in the past now, although her conscience tormented her over the vow she was expected to break. Yet in order to keep it, she would have to disobey her father’s will that she wed at his newest command. Being a daughter was difficult at times.

“You’re a good sight in nothing but skin.”

Marie stood in only her stockings and shoes. Her breasts hung free, the coral nipples flat.

“You think so?”

Her tone was sultry, and she smoothed her hands up her body until she cupped her own breasts. Slipping her fingers all the way around each globe, she smiled while touching herself.

“I came to touch, not watch.”

Tomas didn’t wait for anything else. He moved forward and took over the duty of cupping Marie’s breasts. His eyes were focused on her flesh, his hands cupping each globe gently. He brushed his fingers over the nipples, and they beaded into hard points. A moment later he leaned down and sucked one of them into his mouth.

Bridget gasped and pressed one hand over her mouth to remain silent.

The sight of them sent a little ripple of pleasure down her back. It should have repulsed her to witness two people engaged in such actions, but Bridget admitted it did not. She craved an understanding of intimate matters that went beyond lying on her back and being taken. The idea of having her thighs spread and her body penetrated sounded so cold. But the thought of having Curan kiss her nipples was quite exciting.

Lord Oswald. She would have to begin thinking of him in relation to her lessons.

Enjoyment sparkled in Marie’s eyes. Bridget felt her cheeks burning with a blush, but she was far more intrigued by the moment to care about what was proper.

Tomas pulled his lips away from Marie’s nipple. “I want to feel how talented your lips are.”

There was arrogance in his tone and a smirk on his lips. With another quick motion of his fingers he unlaced his pants. Bridget felt her cheeks burn hotter as he bared his male flesh.

Her breath froze in her throat, but she truly did not notice. Everything was suspended while her gaze studied the one thing she had heard about yet never seen. It was not so different from a stallion’s penis. Long and thick. It stood up through the opening in his pants. The head had a ridge of flesh circling it and a slit directly on top. It appeared hard and firm.

“You will not be disappointed.” Maire’s voice was sultry but brimming with confidence.

“I’ll be the judge of that.”

He sat down and leaned against the padded back of a chair. The position allowed his cock to stand straight up.

“Come over here and show me the French fashion. That’s why I agreed to your price. I ain’t ever paid for a fuck before, but I want to be Frenched. I hear the king gets it every day.”

“His majesty does indeed enjoy having a pair of lips suckling his cock.”

Marie took command of Tomas with one delicate stroke of her fingers. So gently she stroked that hard pole from base to slit. Tomas shuddered, his face drawing into a harsh mask. Yet when Bridget took a longer moment to study Tomas’s face she noticed more. A deep enjoyment of what Marie was doing was etched into his features. Bridget felt her cheeks flame, but she didn’t take her attention off the lesson in front of her.

Marie traced his cock with gentle fingers for long moments. She did not rush nor did she hesitate. Sure and steady, her hand stroked and finally closed all the way around that cock. Bridget could hear Tomas breathing roughly. He was leaning farther back against the chair, his hands gripping the arms. Marie was truly in control. It wasn’t so complete that the man couldn’t rise and escape her touch. It was more a matter of him choosing to remain right where the courtesan might continue to touch him.

Marie shifted her attention to Bridget. A bright look from beneath hooded eyes. There was a wealth of knowledge in that look. Bridget stared at the confidence Marie displayed and felt envy burn inside her. She was jealous of the poise and knowledge, but more important, Bridget envied Marie’s lack of fear. There wasn’t a single trace in her eyes. Coupling did not concern her, not at all. In fact, the courtesan looked as though she was anticipating something enjoyable.

Bridget lifted her chin. She banished the quiver inside her that was causing her face to burn with a blush.

Marie sank to her knees in a graceful motion. She maintained her grasp on Tomas’s cock, slipping her closed hands down to the middle of it. Leaning forward, she opened her mouth and licked the head of his cock.

The blush returned to Bridget’s face. Nonetheless her eyes stayed focused on the tip of Marie’s tongue. She circled the crown in a slow lap before teasing the small slit that topped his length.

She looked back at the hard flesh in her hands. Leaning down over him, she opened her mouth and demonstrated exactly what the man had meant by Frenching. The sight was as shocking as it was fascinating. Marie took the entire head of his cock inside her mouth. Her lips closed around it while her hand began working up and down on the portion that did not fit into her mouth.

Tomas drew in a hard breath and reached for her head, his hands threading into her hair. His hips actually began to move, thrusting in quick little motions. The action drove his cock deeper into Marie’s mouth, but she didn’t resist. She maintained her position, moving her head up and down in unison with his thrusting. A soft growl filled the chamber and then several more. Tomas’s hands gripped her head tighter, and his thrusting became faster. It looked as if something was building in him, something he was struggling to maintain control over. His breathing was rapid and harsh now, hunger drawing his face tight.

Marie suddenly pulled her mouth away from his cock. He snarled at her, his face becoming a mask of rage.

“Bitch.”

He growled the single word at her, but she didn’t take it as an insult. Instead a look of sultry confidence covered her face. She pumped her hand up and down on the length of his cock, and he suddenly stiffened. A sharp cry came from his lips while his cock erupted with a squirt of fluid. Marie kept her hand moving, drawing several more streams from him. Her client gasped and shuddered, his face a mask of strain, but he collapsed back into the chair with a satisfied smile.

“Holy Christ, the king is one lucky man.”

His words were labored as though he’d been running. Marie reached behind him and plucked a small linen from the table. She cleaned away the fluid before licking the underside of his cock once more.

He groaned but smiled brighter, like a child who was going to get a second treat from the cook. Greed shimmered in his eyes, and his cock remained rigid as Marie licked and teased it.

“I always send my customers away satisfied. Very satisfied.”

She rose to her feet and lifted one foot up, then placed her knee on the chair next to his left hip. His attention was instantly snared by the opening of her thighs.

Marie lifted both of her eyebrows in a sultry motion while she reached out and stroked Tomas’s cock once again.

“Stop teasing me.” His voice was strained, but the courtesan took it as a compliment, her lips rising into a smile full of achievement.

“You enjoy the teasing as much as the riding. Possibly more.”

Tomas chuckled, but it wasn’t a happy sound; it was deep and full of male enjoyment. “I do indeed. But I’m ready for some fucking from you, woman.”

He seemed to have no difficulty with speaking bluntly, but Marie didn’t appear shocked. Raising her other knee up, she grasped Tomas’s shoulders and crawled up onto his lap. His hands landed on her hips and reached around to grip both sides of her bottom. She was poised above his rigid cock for a moment before lowering her body down onto it. There was a soft sound of wet flesh against flesh before she took the entire length inside herself.

A soft gasp passed her lips. A little sound of pleasure that lent evidence to the fact that she did indeed enjoy what she was doing.

“Fuck me.” Tomas sounded impatient.

He didn’t wait for his words to gain action, either; he lifted Marie up off his cock but not all the way. He released her before the head was free and let her body weight push her back down to the base. He groaned, and she did, too. Her hands gripped his shoulders, and she began to lift herself up exactly as he had. They moved in unison. When Marie lowered her body, Tomas thrust up toward her. Their breathing became harsh, their movements harder and faster. The chamber was filled with their harsh breathing and cries of delight. The chair shook under their combined efforts. Tomas gripped her bottom, his fingers white. A moment later he snarled and surged up toward her, straining against her body as a growl of satisfaction ripped from his lips. Marie was not outdone. She ground herself down against his cock, her hips straining and moving in quick little motions. Her entire body shuddered when she cried out. It was a sound of extreme pleasure that bounced around the walls of the chamber. Marie collapsed against her companion, his arms closing around her and his hands gently stroking her bottom in the first sign of tenderness he had shown her. They remained still for a long moment, their breathing slowing.

Marie drew a stiff breath and lifted her head.

“You were worth the price. I’ll be back.” The man smiled and patted Marie on the bottom.

“I am glad to hear you say so.”

She sounded tired and distracted as though forming her thoughts into words was an effort she would rather not make. Both appeared satisfied in some manner. Bridget bit her lower lip, actually jealous for some reason. It felt as though she had missed out on some treat. Disappointment gnawed at her insides.

The man stiffened before setting Marie aside and reaching for his pants. He was gone quickly and without any further conversation. Marie walked toward the window and watched to make sure he had left the house.

“You may come out now.”

Bridget felt awkward emerging from behind the screen, which was foolish considering that Marie knew full well that she had been there the entire time.

“You must take your husband’s seed inside your belly and keep it. If he has you ride him like I just did, roll onto your back once he is spent.”

Marie began dressing, but she paused and cast a look toward Bridget that was full of frustration. “Men are greedy creatures, the ones at court more so than any you have met. That is why I showed you the art of Frenching on Tomas. It is almost assured that any man in a position of power at court will expect such service. Be the one to give it to your husband; that will keep him from wondering and thinking of divorce. It is unfair the way men expect so much of women, but you must make the best of it. Make sure he sinks his member into you before his seed erupts.” She shuddered but drew herself up.

“I will return tomorrow for your final lesson.”