What the Duchess Wants Read online

  ‘Make the arrangements. I will plead my own case to your duchess.’

  Godfroi left the duke with his advisors and returned to Eleanor with the arrangements for his visit. He wondered as he told her of them whether this was a good idea or not.

  He’d watched the previous marriage, one that had been questioned as to validity from its start, begin, flare and then crumble. His lady now had the opportunity that most women only dreamt of—to choose her husband—and he wanted to counsel her well. After meeting Henry, Duke of Normandy and Count of Anjou, Godfroi knew they would make a spectacular match.

  Together they would claim huge areas and wealth and control more of France than their liege, King Louis. Once Henry made good on his efforts to claim England as his, and Godfroi did not doubt that he could and would, they would be a force to be reckoned with in all the world.

  Godfroi smiled then, thinking of the woman Eleanor, and he knew that Henry would be a better match for the highly educated, intelligent, shrewd, worldly, passionate woman she was than Louis could ever hope to be. Oh, there would be problems—most likely loud and raucous problems—but there could be great passion…and love between these two.

  He had no doubt that their names and the story of their lives together would carry down through generations and history; he just prayed he would survive it all.

  Chapter Two

  Eleanor sat in a simple chair and watched him enter the solar. A room decorated for comfort and pleasure to her own tastes, it did not have a dais or high throne as the great hall did. The women attending her embroidered or worked on tapestries and gave her command to ignore him a valiant if unsuccessful effort.

  Accompanied only by Godfroi, he strode into this nest of women and walked about as though he already owned it. Arrogance filled every step, but at the same time, he wooed and won every woman there. He greeted each of them, bowing gallantly before them, asking their names and inquiring about their positions in her court. Only when he’d spoken to each of them did he turn his attentions to her.

  She lost her breath at the intensity of his gaze on her!

  Their last encounter had been in the midst of a formal court event and Louis had been at her side. Although she never missed the opportunity to appreciate male beauty, her behaviour that day had been the most circumspect of her life for the end of her marriage was under consideration and she’d do nothing to interfere with that. So, she’d watched him from beneath her lashes, noticing his strong warrior’s body and close-cropped curly reddish hair and shrewd grey eyes. More than that, he exuded a love of life like the one she kept hidden these past years.

  His gown, though of expensive fabric, was plain and unadorned and he wore a short cloak over it as was his habit. Henry did not wear expensive jewels nor try to impress others with such accoutrements; he used the force of his will and his drive to take all that was his to capture others.

  ‘Your Grace,’ he said as he approached her. ‘It is kind of you to receive me.’

  She wanted to laugh, for Godfroi had given her a rather colourful report about Henry’s actual response to her demands for this meeting. That he tried to be gracious, even if only in public, made her smile. Rising, she offered her hand to him. They would meet as equals, for other than her sex, they were equal in status…for now.

  ‘And you are gracious in attending me here, Your Grace,’ she said as he took her hand and kissed it. It would have been just like any other respectful gesture had he not paused and kissed not only the top of her hand but also the inside of her wrist.

  She shivered, though his mouth heated that sensitive spot and Eleanor knew she let a soft gasp escape.

  He looked at her without moving his mouth and the deliberate touch of his tongue on her skin made her body heat from within. No stranger to bed-play, Eleanor understood and felt this as the foreplay he meant it to be.

  Bold. Sensual. Male. Challenging her to accept him.

  Without breaking their gaze, she nodded and her women and Godfroi left quickly and quietly. And then they were truly alone.

  Henry still held her hand in his and decided not to release it. He liked the way she’d gasped when he’d kissed her wrist. He liked the frank appraisal of her eyes as he’d entered the chamber, all the while appearing as though she ignored his presence. He especially liked the way her body blossomed beneath his mouth.

  Since she was nigh on thirty, he thought to find a woman long-tired of the marriage bed, especially after spending the last score of years in the bed of a man who preferred praying to sexual play with his wife. But instead it pleased him immensely to find a woman whose appetite for life and all it offered equalled his own. Her beauty, sung about by troubadours and spoken about by bards across the land, was not an exaggeration. She retained the glow of youth, the one that drew men to her like bees to honey. When she pitched her voice lower and softer, his body reacted as though she slid her hand over his naked skin.

  ‘I thought to meet with you before negotiations proceeded any further, Your Grace,’ she murmured, allowing him to continue his intimate caress of her hand. He smiled then, inhaling the scent of roses she wore.

  ‘You wanted to inspect me to see if I was acceptable to the Duchess of Aquitaine.’ He dropped her hand and stepped away. ‘So, Your Grace, what say you? Do I meet your requirements?’

  If he thought she would blush or act the demur maiden, he was mistaken. The bold caress of her gaze heated his blood; she looked on him as if he were some sweet prepared by the cook for only her pleasure. He wanted to peel off the carefully arranged garments she wore, loosen the floor-length braid of her golden hair and taste the sweetness she offered over and over until they could not move or breathe.

  But what she did next surprised him, for it was a boldness he hoped for yet dared not dream could happen. It also confirmed that not all the stories he’d heard of the errant queen of the Franks were falsehoods. Eleanor crossed the distance between them, took hold of his shoulders and kissed him.

  Her lips were soft against his and he stood motionless for a moment, savouring the feel of it. Then he reached up to cup the back of her head, causing the bejewelled circlet holding a gauzy veil in place to fall onto the floor. Henry took control then and kissed her back, opening his mouth and tasting her deeply. She pulled away for a moment and studied him, the tip of her tongue skimming over her bottom lip in a most enticing manner. When he thought she would end it, instead she leaned back into him and lifted her mouth to his once more.

  His body reacted as he expected it would when faced with temptation such as this and he would have taken her there and then, save for the fact that it would most likely cause her to back out of negotiations completely. Capturing her and claiming her physically would only work as a strategy if he could do it outside her own city, as his brother and the others had so recently attempted. And even if they allowed this pleasurable interlude to seek its ultimate end with him planted deep within her warm flesh, it would not result in the marriage he wanted.

  And something deep inside him wanted her to want this marriage and him as much as he did.

  He could try to fool himself that it was only the lands and titles and power that made him want her, but watching her as queen and knowing how accomplished, learned and skilled she was and the personality she would bring to him as his wife, Henry knew he wanted her for much, much more. When their mouths touched and he felt her passion rising and her body soften against his hardness, he knew theirs could be a successful match and marriage.

  Eleanor the queen had been impressive. Eleanor the duchess was desirable. But Eleanor the woman was irresistible!

  Henry held her close and slid his hands around to her back, possessing her mouth and letting her taste of his desire for her. He wanted to touch more of her and began to caress the curve of her hip. Just when he would have moved his hand up, a loud knock came on the door and Eleanor jumped back, putting distance between them. A carefully planned move, he was certain, to allow her enough time but not allow
him too much.

  Well played, Eleanor!

  Godfroi opened the door at her word and was the first to enter. As her women filed in, he admired her strategy even as he noticed that her lips were now swollen from their kisses. Before turning to face the others, she reached up a trembling hand and touched her mouth. Desire ripped through his blood and he wanted to kiss all of her until she quaked with pleasure under him. Feeling smug at the reaction he was able to provoke, Henry strode to the door confident that she would be his. But, as he bid her farewell, it took only a moment for her to take the matter back into her control.

  As he leaned over to kiss her hand, determined this time for it to be the respectful gesture it should be, Henry heard her husky whispered words.

  ‘You will do, Your Grace.’

  Henry met her gaze and let out his laughter, not stopping as he walked from her chambers and not until he rode from Poitiers’s gates.

  As will you, my fair Eleanor. As will you.

  Chapter Three

  ‘Your Grace!’

  Both Godfroi and Henry’s counsellor, William, called out the words at the same time, sending it echoing through the large chamber where the negotiations were being held. Once she’d decided that Henry would be the man to see to her fortunes and to herself, the discussions had begun in earnest and in secret. Time was scant and they needed to move forward quickly before Louis learned of their intent and tried to stop it out of fear for what their alliance could mean to him and his rule.

  Henry had tried again to argue for control over Aquitaine to pass to him and Eleanor had let slip a rather rude epithet, one she’d heard many times while in the company of crusaders and one she thought explained her position on Henry’s demand exactly. Those of a gentler disposition assisting in the discussions apparently did not appreciate the candour of the word or her use of it.

  Henry…well, Henry seemed to laugh it off, accepting her foibles during these discussions, whether it was her use of this particular word or her ongoing refusal to acquiesce to his demands. He watched her in a way that took her breath away, but she was coming to know that he did everything with an intensity she’d never known in a man before. Though he never repeated, nor did she, the kisses or caresses of that first meeting, she could tell by the way his grey eyes darkened when he was thinking on matters of the flesh.

  At times, he seemed to undress her with that intense gaze, and she could swear she felt his fingers sliding over her clothing, loosening and untying laces, peeling away layers, until her very skin burned in anticipation. Though she had enjoyed the pleasure found in the marriage bed, Louis had looked on it as a chore and something he must do. He was never unkind in those matters, but did not like to linger or explore or spend more time than was necessary to accomplish his goal—spill his seed within her and then pray she would bear a son.

  Now though, every time Henry touched her, and he seemed to do so with increased frequency and ardour, her body readied itself for him, for more. From the look he gave her now and the way he slid his tongue along his lips as though preparing himself to taste something sweet, she hoped these discussions would finish quickly. For the shallow woman everyone seemed to think she was did indeed live within her and that woman was ready to invite him to her bed…now…outside the vows of marriage.

  Could he read her thoughts? Was she as transparent as her favourite silken veil? It must be so, for he watched her and then laughed to himself.

  ‘Forgive me, good sirs,’ she said, nodding to each of the counsellors. ‘I but forgot myself momentarily in my enthusiasm to bring these discussions to a pleasing conclusion.’

  Though certain that Godfroi and William were thinking of a successful marriage contract that benefited their own lord or lady the most, she was thinking of another conclusion, one that would have Henry in her bed.…

  ‘Your Grace?’ Godfroi said quietly, waiting for her to stir from the lustful reverie that seemed to overtake her when in the same room with the duke. ‘Mayhap if Your Graces take a walk around the garden, William and I could come up with the suitable wording?’

  In other words, pray thee leave and let those less involved handle these personal matters.

  ‘Your Grace?’ she said, looking at Henry. ‘What say you to Godfroi’s suggestion?’

  Henry nodded. He never remained still for long and being closed up in this room for these hours must grate on him. The suggestion made him smile and he held out his hand to her.

  ‘An excellent one, Your Grace,’ he said, leading her to the door. ‘The sun is most agreeable this day and a brief respite would do us all good.’ It sounded so polite, like any other courtier’s expected reply, until he whispered under his to her. ‘They wish to be rid of us both, Eleanor. Let us away before they decide otherwise!’

  He took her hand firmly in his, entwining their fingers, and then he ran down the corridor, forcing her to keep pace with him. Their maids and menservants were caught by surprise and were dozens of paces behind them—Henry’s clear intention—when they arrived at the gate of the garden. Laughing and out of breath, she could only allow him to pull her into the garden and then watch as he locked the gates against the rest of them.

  Her guards called out to her, always mindful of the dangers that yet existed for her, but she answered them, and soon it was just Henry and her…alone.

  ‘Walk with me, Eleanor,’ he asked prettily.

  How could she refuse such a request when done nicely? She held out the hand he’d released and they walked, though briskly, around the perimeter of the manicured gardens. She loved this one best and would miss it when she went to live in…

  ‘Where will we live?’ she asked.

  ‘So you think these matters will be worked out, then?’ he asked, stopping for a moment and then walking again.

  ‘I have never been to Rouen,’ she said, ignoring his question and continuing as though everything were settled. Because it would be. ‘Is it warm there?’

  ‘Rouen is a beautiful city, but there are others in Normandy if you do not like it,’ he offered. Now it was her turn to be surprised by such an offer.

  ‘But it is the seat of your duchy. Surely the duke and duchess should reside there.’

  He pulled to a stop and faced her. ‘My mother maintains a household in Rouen.’

  ‘Is that a warning or an invitation?’

  Since the Plantagenets, as Henry’s father called themselves, and the Capets tended to be enemies, Eleanor had had no opportunity to meet the extraordinary woman who had nearly claimed England as her own and now sought it for her son.

  ‘I think you would find her interesting,’ he explained, the respect for his mother evident in his voice and tone. ‘She has had many interesting experiences similar to yours and you might find her helpful in establishing yourself as the Duchess of Normandy.’

  His mother had been the Empress of Germany during her first marriage and from a very young age, much as Eleanor had married and become Queen of France.

  ‘I would like to meet her,’ she admitted.

  Strong women in power were so few in these times when inheritances were more and more going only through male heirs. Eleanor knew that she was in fact only a placeholder for the titles of Aquitaine and Poitou and would relinquish them to a son, if she had any. Though Henry pushed for it, she would not, however, relinquish her rights to those if they married. She had held them through her marriage to Louis and as that relationship ended.

  ‘There is another similarity between the two of you, Eleanor.’ His voice was lighter, teasing her, and she tried to think of another thing she could have in common with the empress. ‘After marrying older men in your first marriage, you have both taken on the challenge of marrying someone much younger in your second.’

  Eleanor laughed then, for Henry leaned in closer and teased, ‘I hope you hold up as well as she did.’

  He failed to mention how much his mother hated his father and she hoped that was not something that would also happen between
them. The conversation continued with neither of them even questioning that a match between them would not occur.

  ‘We may spend much of our time moving between our holdings, especially when I am finally successful in claiming my birthright in England. Have you ever travelled there?’ he asked, guiding her to a bench while he stood, or rather paced, nearby.

  ‘Nay. Many other places but not across the Channel.’

  And she had travelled far and well during her lifetime—as far as the Holy Land and through many countries and territories as they returned. Eleanor had seen many wonders, peoples and lands from the very exotic to the familiar. But she’d never gone north to England. As Henry’s wife, she would be expected to visit there and rule with him, once he attained the throne.

  ‘What is your favourite place in England?’ she asked, trying to learn more about this man she would marry. ‘Other than the battles, of which I have heard a little, when did you spend time there?’

  She did something then that she did well—Eleanor listened. Her teachers had taught her that there was much to be learned in both the words chosen and the words left unspoken and now she watched as he became very excited, telling her about his time in England with his uncle, becoming a knight just two years past. He spoke of his teachers and his time in England as a child, spent with his mother’s half-brother, the Earl of Gloucester.

  The Duke of Normandy was a passionate man—his plans to claim his birthright, his refusal to bow to the whims of Louis, indeed his willingness to take a path that many could and would call treason, and even just his interests in fighting and hunting and hawking, all spoke of his enthusiastic approach to everything in life. And the manner in which he constantly found ways and opportunities to touch her spoke of his passion of another sort.

  When an hour or more had passed, Eleanor sat on a bench in a secluded alcove of the garden. Henry lay with his head on her lap, entwining his fingers with hers as they spoke. She laughed, more than once, at his impertinence and arrogance and she could not remember the last time she’d felt so very light-hearted or was filled with such anticipation about any event in her life.