1705. Luck had never been on Eleanora Finley's side. After her father died in a tragic fire, she was left at the mercy of her domineering and abusive mother, being deprived of all love and affection.
Truly, who would have thought that the simple red...
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1710, The City of Lynchens, Dexereaux, Northern Ravaeryn
The room at the tavern inn was sparsely lit, only illuminated by a low fire on the hearth and one candle flickering by the window sill. The air smelled of stale beer and unwashed bodies, and even though the innkeeper had haphazardly strewn rose water all over the room to mask the smell, the stench still lingered.
The low table and armchairs were coated with a fine layer of dust, as if no one had bothered to clean it up. Only the bed was kept clean, with sheets that were washed every other day, and pillows that were changed every now and then. After all, that is what the guests came for.
That night, Nicholas found himself in that particular room, laying on that very bed with a woman naked beside him. He had never seen her prior to this night, and after this night had passed, he would never see her again. She laid her head on his chest, her pale flaxen hair strewn all over the tangled bedsheets.
"You are so warm, Your Grace," she murmured softly in a thick northern accent. "The fire has almost died, but when I am with you, I hardly feel the cold."
Her fingers gently brushed over his neck and shoulders, caressing his skin, causing goosebumps to erupt from beneath the silk of his shirt. They were soft, not hard or callused; her hands lacked the strength of a warrior's. But the touch seemed somehow to burn his flesh nonetheless, causing a shiver to run through him. Her fingers traced down his throat and then along his chest, until they stopped just above the waistband of his trousers.
"I have a question, Your Grace. This a question that many share, I am certain. Will you answer it for me?"
He stared down into her dark eyes, trying to read their depths. "What do you wish to know?"
"You are already twenty-four years of age, and yet, you are still unmarried. Could it be that there is a woman who occupies your heart, one that nobody knows of?" she whispered, her lips brushing against his ear. Her breath was hot and humid, sending a wave of tingles up and down his body.
"I mean, surely you have someone else waiting for you back home..." Her voice trailed off, becoming a whisper as she spoke, "Someone whom you are courting, perhaps. Someone who you love more than anybody dead or alive."
Nicholas let out a hearty chuckle, his arms wrapping around the young woman's waist as he pulled her closer. "No, there is no one," he whispered.
For a brief moment, the woman's eyes lit up with excitement, with hope, but his next words made her heart drop.
"And there will never be," Nicholas said grimly. Then, he leaned forward and kissed her, taking his time and savouring the sweet taste of her lips and the warmth of her body. Her hands ran through his hair as their kiss deepened, exploring every inch of his skin with greedy, fervent hands.
