Lady Alyse de Courcy has fallen in love with Lord Braeton, a nobleman in King
Edward III’s court and a man to whom she has barely spoken. Fate, however, has
decreed her betrothal to his best friend, Sir Geoffrey Longford—a handsome and
imposing knight, yet hardly the man she wants to wed.
 

Excerpt:
Mere seconds before she learned her fate. She could scarce affect an
indifferent pose before the court when inside every inch of her quivered with
anticipation of the name. His name, pray God, on the king’s lips.

Thomas.

In her mind, she heard the word.

The king straightened, glanced at her then at the man by her side.

“What say you then, Sir Geoffrey? Does the lady not speak fair? I vow she will
make you a proper wife and a dutiful one as well.”

Alyse turned, until that moment unaware that Geoffrey Longford stood beside
her. Chills coursed down her body as the king’s words echoed in her mind. The
sensation of falling backward assailed her, as though she rushed away from the
tall man at her side even as his figure loomed larger and larger in her sight.

Not Lord Braeton.

Her numbed brain repeated the phrase, trying to comprehend that instead he
would be her husband. Geoffrey Longford.
God have mercy on me, for by the look of him, this man will not.

Fearful, she cringed as her gaze climbed higher, over his chest, over his chin,
finally resting on the dark blue eyes turned toward her.

Geoffrey returned her appraisal, his gaze sweeping her figure as a smile crept
over his face. “Your Majesty.” He spoke to the king but his attention remained
fixed on Alyse. “When my father told me of the betrothal contract before I left
his home, I resolved to play the dutiful son. Now, however, I find I do not
wish to act that role after all.” His eyes held hers as he paused.

Dear God, does he mean to renounce me here before the entire court?

Alyse stared at the man beside her, willing herself to remain upright, despite
the waves of ice and fire alternating through her body.

“Now I find I would rather play the ardent lover.”

An amused murmur ran through the Hall at his words. Sir Geoffrey grinned, his
eyes sparkling with humor and something more. Despite the uneven light, Alyse
saw an unfathomable promise in their dark depths. She took a shaky breath and
looked away.

“I affirm Lady Alyse to be all that could be hoped for in a wife. Please you
and God, we shall make the match and with all good haste.”

His self-satisfied tone and the thought of his outrageous teasing touched a
contrary nerve in Alyse. She pulled her wits together and beamed brilliantly at
her newly-betrothed lord. “Take care, my lord, for the wise women say, ‘Marry
in haste, repent at leisure.’”

Sir Geoffrey raised a dark eyebrow while those around the banquet hall laughed.
Heart pounding at her audacity, Alyse watched helplessly as he reached over and
lifted her hand. “Such repentance could never be suffered too slowly, my lady,
if ’twere your gentle hand that held mine through it.”

Laughter and applause washed over Alyse, who was struck absolutely dumb at the
touch of his lips to her skin. Her heart pounded, and a strange roaring sounded
in her ears; she wondered vaguely if she were about to faint.

Spellbound, she watched him, head bent over her now-smoldering hand, kissing it
with an unhurried thoroughness that seemed to stop time. His lips scorched
where they lingered, spreading a fire that consumed her body and mind. Had she
the strength, she would have snatched her hand from his grasp to save herself
from immolation. Other men had danced with her, held her hand, kissed it. They
had never made her feel thus.

In a daze, she watched Geoffrey wrench his lips from her hand and stand, eyes
widened as if amazed. His brows furrowed a moment then he spoke to the king.
“May I ask, Your Majesty, when the banns will be read? I am sorely pressed to
begin my repentance.”

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