The Deed by Lynsay Sands

Author:Lynsay Sands
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi, pdf
Publisher: HarperCollins

“Finalement!” Hands propped on his hips, de Lascey glared as he sashayed across the fitting room to confront her when she stepped through the door. “How do vous expect moi to get anyzing done when you are not available for zee measuring?”

For zee torturing, more like, Emma thought grimly, but pasted a penitent expression on her face and offered her apology. “My apologies, Monsieur de Lascey. I was delayed.”

“Hmm.” Pursing his lips, he eyed her doubtfully, then gave a dramatic sigh and turned to strut across the room. “Gytha, bring me zee gold cloth!”

Two hours later, Emma was standing on a stool in the center of the room, her gown discarded and her shift hidden beneath yards of a gold cloth that was draped and pinned about her body. Her back was to the door of the room. She did not see her husband enter, so when he called her name from behind, she nearly fell off the stool in her surprise.

Smiling gratefully at Gytha, the seamstress who had grabbed her arm quickly to steady her, Emma turned carefully on the stool to face her husband.

“I . . .” He paused, his eyes widening incredulously at the sight of her swathed in gold. It was the first time Amaury had seen his wife in anything other than black. Even when she’d been naked, it was in the bedroom with a backdrop of black linens on the bed. Damn, but she looked lovely, he thought admiringly. Like an angel. Beautiful . . . Ethereal . . . Glowing . . . Flat . . .

Flat? Blinking, he focused his gaze directly on her chest, or where her chest used to be. “God’s wounds, where be they?!”

Emma frowned in confusion. “Where be what, my lord?”

“Your . . . Your . . .” Lifting his hands, he held them before his own chest as if cupping two invisible melons to his plate mail.

“My lord!” Flushing deep red, Emma glanced askance at the others in the room. The women were rather wide-eyed, but the tailor looked as if he were about to burst out laughing. That expression was replaced by one of dismay when Amaury suddenly crossed the room and lifted him up by the front of his collar.

“What did you with my wife’s b—”

“Bound!” the man squawked at once.

Frowning, Amaury cocked his head. “Bound?”

“They are still there, my lord. I simply bound them up. Gytha did it,” he added quickly when Amaury’s expression darkened. His accent was noticeably absent. “I, of course, would ne’er lay a finger to her—”

“Well, have her unbind them!” Amaury roared, interrupting him.

“Of course, right away.”

“Nay, husband,” Emma protested. “They will simply have to bind them again after you leave.” Though she would have been grateful for the chance to be able to really breathe again, her breasts had just finally gone numb. It was painful to have your chest squished so flat. She did not wish to go through that again.

Still holding the tailor off the floor, Amaury turned to frown at her.

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