In the dawning glow of morn, Adaira sat on the edge of the bed, watching Lord Renouf de Sinclaire, adjust his hauberk. Torrid memories of the previous night flooded her mind, causing her to squirm uncomfortably. As she recalled their lovemaking, his flesh against hers, she blushed profusely at all that had happened, all she had done, and her shame became almost too great to bear.
Seeming to sense her turmoil, her new husband glanced down at her. Noting her rosy face and timid stare, he grinned. “Wife, thy cheeks hath a most delightful glow.” Leaning forward, he brushed his lips to hers. “Where do your thoughts wander, this fine morn?” he taunted.
The simple act of his lips meeting hers made Adaira catch her breath and her shame grew greater. Why must her wicked heart race each time he came close? The happiness displayed on his tanned features was enough to make her grind her teeth in frustration. She hated that he could find pleasure from a night that brought little more than disgrace to her. Yet why should he not be the contented groom? Thanks to the weakness of her accursed flesh, his wedding night had been all that every man might desire.
Now that weakness of spirit would haunt her for the rest of her mortal days. Her virtue was gone and, to make matters worse, her traitorous body had found favor with the despicable Norman chevalier who lorded over her. Indeed, she had been fornicating with the marauding cur in less time than she thought possible and, God forgive her, loving it.
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