Ysmaine finally straightened and tugged up the hem of Gaston’s chemise, intent upon the task she had assigned herself. He feared that all would be undone in this moment, for she was a noblewoman and undoubtedly had been gently reared. He was a warrior and his body revealed the truth of it.
She eyed his hip, the scar from the mail being pounded into the skin still visible, but did not recoil.
Indeed, she considered it without flinching. “Your mail broke the skin,” she guessed.
“Indeed.”
She pushed up the chemise, baring more of him to her view, and he forced himself to remain still, to let her look. Her gaze roved over him and she flushed. She straightened and he feared her rejection, but then her smile suddenly turned impish. “You are well wrought, husband,” she whispered and brushed h
