No… that definitely wasn’t a hammock poking my hip. It was a lot smaller, and harder.
“You knave!” I giggled, stretching luxuriously on the down comforter. “You’re feeding me your—”A larger glob of something foul-smelling landed on my lips, and I sat up on my pallet. “Get it off!”
To which the owner of the wet, sticky something replied, “Woof!”
I wiped the smear of dog slobber off my face and shuddered. “Fark it, Bernard, you woke me from a really good dream. Not hammock and hot chocolate good, but it had possibilities.”
Ignoring me when the doorknob turned, the enormous Bernese Mountain Dog leaped over my cot to greet his owner at the door, Charles de Soissy, the “golden prince.”
The golden and gay prince. He loved gold, and fêtes, men with beards and big hands, and his dog, Bernard, above all else. So, a good man, even if he was cheap.
I hadn’t wanted to be a female valet, but he’d decreed I had to work off the fees for the doctor who’d treated my wounds five weeks before. “You don’t get rich from being generous,” he’d said more than once. “Or at least you don’t stay that way.” He usually winked at me after that, or batted his ridiculously long eyelashes, which made any annoyance melt away. He was very good at avoiding fights or arguments, or even having to pay his bar tabs.
There was just something sweet about him that made me want to kiss him, though he’d never once looked at me like he would welcome that. He flirted with everyone, but only kissed men. Ones who were at least three inches taller than him, and burly, at that.
He was a good-natured nobleman, though, and not a complete dingleberry as a boss. I had a pallet on the floor of his room, two meals a day most of the time, and something to think about besides how many lashes I would earn. He never hit me, though he lost his temper from time to time, mostly when I screwed up as his valet.
I was almost as bad at being a valet as I had been as a baker’s assistant. But my boss this time was decent. And as far as I could tell, it was all because of the dog.
I peeked at Charles’s soul, like I did every day, fascinated at how balanced he was. The shadows he’d earned from being a miser and a self-centered noble were almost entirely balanced by the absolute love he had for his dog.
Bernard really was amazing, though. Well fed, well groomed, and deeply loved. He could do all kinds of tricks and reportedly had fought off a pair of robbers armed with swords, though Geoffrey, Charles’s coachman, had privately told me they were two street urchins armed with rusty knives.
The way Bernard loved Charles was every bit as exceptional; anyone could see that. But only I could see what was the most mind-boggling thing: Bernard’s love for his owner was a part of the reason Charles’s soul was as bright as it was.
Every morning and evening, the dog would lean against his owner’s leg while Charles petted him. And the longer Charles stroked the dog, the lighter his soul became. Any spiritual crud the man had accumulated during the day slowly lifted until both of them shone. Their love was exceptional.
Which is why I was deeply alarmed when Charles entered the room and didn’t even lean down to pat Bernard.
Instead, my new boss cursed under his breath as he crossed the floor and lifted me from my cot. Before I knew what was happening, he was pawing at my shift, stripping me down.
I wasn’t alarmed. I was confused. “Sir?” I whispered as he struggled with the laces, his normally smiling face bright red and brooding. “You’ve forgotten something. I don’t have a beard.” I wiggled my fingers at him. “Or big hands.” I didn’t think I needed to point out what else I was missing, but I did a couple of pelvic thrusts to remind him of that.
His eyebrows shot up. “What the hell are you doing? Get your gown off, Fou Fou, and be quick about it. I need you in my bed.”
What the fudge?He didn’t smell like he’d been drinking, at least not enough for this sort of request. “Did someone hit you on the head?”
“What?”
“Ah, I’m pretty sure you’ve forgotten you’re not interested in women. You don’t need to pretend.” My boss had an on-again, off-again boyfriend named Francoise, who was currently very much on. They’d danced at the new year ball, and Francoise had made their relationship very public when he’d dropped to the floor at the dinner on the final night and given the little prince that lived in Charles’s trousers a very long, very French kiss.
Everyone had seemed very accepting, though I’d wondered if there might be some repercussions. The monthly fêtes the Dauphine’s cousin threw were wild, but that event had set a lot of tongues wagging, in more ways than one.
Charles snarled, his perfectly straight nose wrinkling ever so slightly. “I do have to pretend. My father is coming for the fête of Saint Valentine. He’s arriving at the chateau even as we speak, and Geoffrey warned me he’d heard rumors of my… predilections. So I must have a woman?—”
“Ah, got it!” I said with a smile. I ripped my shift the rest of the way off, and climbed up into the tall bed, sinking into the down mattress. “Hop on, my lord!”
He stripped his own clothing away, then climbed in next to me, lying stiffly, and very obviously trying not to look at my naked body.
“So, what’s the plan?” I asked, turning onto my side and striking what I thought might be a sexy pose.
“When my father comes in, I need to be…” He swallowed hard, like the words were choking him.
“Storming the pink chateau? Hiding the sausage in my hairy croissant? Having aménage à moi?” I fluttered my eyelashes. I’d had a very short, unmemorable experience with the fishmonger’s nephew three months before. I’d learned a lot from him. Mostly euphemisms for sex, but also how to comfort a man who was crying about his defective dick… while it was still inside me.
“You’re ridiculous.”
“Thank you. I try.” I mentally booped his perfect nose, knowing better than to do it in real life. He was my boss, after all.
