Twice Seduced by the Rogue

By Virginie Marconato

As a young orphaned girl, Florie fell in love with Jocelin.
As a poor squire, Jocelin fell in love with Florie.
But fate has kept them apart.

Ten years later, Florie has become a lady, and Jocelin has been made a knight for his services in King Edward's army. But they are not together; Florie is about to be married to a stranger chosen by her adoptive uncle. When two men claim to be the groom she married by proxy, her life is turned upside down.

Will Florie have the courage to accept her feelings for the mysterious usurper, and betray the memory of the man she has never stopped loving? Will Jocelin's new identity allow him to win the heart of the woman he never managed to forget?

The first book in Virginie Marconato's 'The Blood Brothers Trilogy', TWICE SEDUCED BY THE ROGUE is a medieval romance that will appeal to readers who enjoy lively dialogue and sexual chemistry between a dashing hero and a spirited heroine.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Next Chapter
• Release date: Oct 19, 2023
• ISBN: 9798890085559

Book preview

Prologue

England,

July 1377

W ill you allow me a kiss before our union is properly sanctioned tomorrow, my lady?

Do I have a right to refuse?

Florie hesitated. Could she dare give the honest answer, namely that she would rather he did not touch her at all tonight—or indeed ever? Her whole body rebelled at the idea of allowing a man who was, ultimately, a stranger, to kiss her but could she really be so bold as to refuse her husband? The answer was simple.

No, she could not.

And at least he had asked the question instead of simply pouncing on her … She supposed she would have to be content with that.

In the end, she left it too long. Lord Astell took her silence for agreement and placed his lips on hers before she had time to utter a word. Surprised, Florie opened her mouth with a gasp. A dreadful mistake. Her husband immediately took advantage of it and deepened the kiss. She whimpered when a wet tongue slid over hers. She had expected a mere brush of a kiss, a chaste apposition of lips. She had not expected … this! An invasion, nothing less, both crude and frightening. Was the man trying to eat her? To hurt her? To punish her for not showing more enthusiasm?

Despite the knowledge that she should not try to do anything to stop him, she could not stop herself from pushing at his chest and, in her desperation, actually succeeded in breaking the kiss.

Please, she said hurriedly before he could claim her mouth again. This is not what I want!

For a moment, she feared she had overstepped the mark. They were married, even if it was only by proxy; she could not be telling him she did not want him. A wife was supposed to obey her husband under every circumstance. Was he not going to lash out in fury, remind her where her duty lay?

But, far from being outraged, the wretched man pretended not to understand her protest. I know, it was just a kiss. I too wish I could give you more, he growled, pressing his body against hers.

No, this was not a kiss, Florie thought fiercely. She knew all too well what a real, soul-shattering, desire-fuelled kiss felt like and it was nothing like this clumsy assault. A kiss was supposed to make you melt, not make your flesh crawl.

Please, she breathed, now utterly terrified. A man who kissed like that would be a calamitous lover.

Oh, you do want more … Very well. I was going to wait until tomorrow to make you mine, but if you cannot wait then I will not deny you.

Oh, Lord. If he was wilfully going to pretend she was begging for more, there would be no making him see reason, no escaping him. They were alone in the darkness of the lists, and everyone knew they were as good as married. Even if she cried out, no one would come to her aid, no one would take the side of a wife against her husband, least of all where marital duty was concerned.

Florie whimpered in fright. How was she going to get out of this? I don’t … she started frantically when he grabbed the hem of her dress to lift it up her thigh. Please, my lord, not here, not like this! Her only hope was to make him think it was the circumstances she objected to, not the man. She screwed her eyes shut. I am untouched, I am afraid, please, I beg of you …

What the hell is this?

Florie was released so suddenly that she almost fell to the floor. One moment Lord Astell was pressing her flat against the wall, the next he was nowhere to be seen. Panting, she restored order to her skirts, trying to make sense of the unexpected reprieve. What had happened to make Lord Astell decide to let her go? And why had he cursed at her so? His voice had sounded different, and oddly distant.

When she opened her eyes she saw they were not alone any longer.

A man had burst onto the scene and flung Lord Astell up against the castle ramparts where he was holding him in place with what appeared to be an iron grip. He would have been the one cursing and removing her aggressor from her, she realised, plucking him out as easily as one would remove a bug from one’s clothing

Her first reaction was relief, for she couldn’t have borne to feel the man’s hands on her for a moment longer. Then she looked at the stranger pinning Lord Astell by the throat and her relief morphed into panic. Was he really going to strangle her husband before either of them had time to say anything? He looked not only able but determined to do just that.

Stop! she cried, rushing to his side. He was so tall that she actually had to raise her arms to grab his forearm. Under her fingers, she felt rock-hard muscles. Dear God, the man was a beast. No wonder he had found it so easy to prise Lord Astell off from her. Don’t kill him!

Why? he growled. Give me one good reason why I should spare the scoundrel.

Florie couldn’t think what to say. Certainly, she was glad to see Lord Astell brought to heel for his presumption, but the punishment for it was perhaps a bit extreme. They were married after all; the fact that they had only met in the flesh earlier that afternoon was neither here nor there, she was hardly the first bride to have to endure the attentions of a man she did not desire or even know. Legally, she was bound to allow him access to her body, regardless of her personal preferences.

But the blond man didn’t seem to care about that. Perhaps there was a simple explanation behind his intervention. They didn’t know each other. It was therefore possible he had no idea Lord Astell was actually her husband. He might well think he was defending a banquet guest who had been waylaid by a roguish knight.

Lord Astell’s eyes widened. Evidently, he had reached that same conclusion. If the man was under the impression he had interrupted an assault on an innocent woman, he would make him pay for it. His lordship tried to speak, explain who they were, but only managed a garbled sound. The grip on his throat prevented him from uttering anything in his defence. It was down to Florie to save his skin when she wanted nothing more than to see him disappear from her life. Still, as much as she disliked him, she simply could not let him be killed.

Could she?

For a wild, shameful moment she considered allowing the stranger to free her from a husband she had never wanted. She shook her head to ward off temptation. No. What was she thinking? She could not be an accomplice to a murder! Besides, if Lord Astell was killed tonight, it would hardly serve her purpose. Her uncle would only find her another, equally unsuitable groom. And if the stranger did not actually kill her husband, then she would be made to pay for not coming to his aid as she should.

It’s not what you think, she started desperately. She had to be seen to at least try to defend Lord Astell if she did not want to face his wrath later. He would never forgive her for not intervening. He didn’t mean—

Oh, he most certainly did, and well you know it, the man interjected ruthlessly, pinning her with a fierce look. In the moonlight, his eyes appeared almost transparent, but she couldn’t decide if they were blue or green. Not that it mattered of course, she told herself. And I won’t have anyone presuming to handle what’s mine.

Yours? Florie exclaimed, taken aback. This was the last thing she had expected him to say. They had never even met … how could he have any claim to her? What on earth do you mean?

Never releasing his hold on Lord Astell for one moment, the stranger allowed his gaze to wander up and down the length of her body. When their eyes met again, she did indeed feel as if she belonged to him. It was the oddest thing.

You are Lady Wentworth, are you not? he asked, his voice gruff.

I am. So, he had recognised her as the bride at least. Who are you?

The man stiffened, as if her question displeased him. But what else could she have said? She truly had no idea who he might be.

There was a long, tense silence then he relaxed and took a step back, even going as far as releasing Lord Astell, who doubled over and started to cough.

The stranger smiled and came to stand in front of her, tall, formidable—and utterly compelling.

Let me introduce myself, my lady, he said with an elegant bow. I am Lord Astell, your husband.

1

Earlier that evening

T his is Lord Astell, your husband.

Ludicrous.

In the three weeks since she had been forced to sign the marriage by proxy, Florie had often wondered how she would feel when the moment came for her to be introduced to a stranger and be told she was married to him. Finally, she had her answer.

It felt ludicrous.

Not merely odd, frightening or demeaning. It was all those things of course, but that came as no surprise. How else was anyone supposed to feel in such a situation? No, she had been fully prepared for despair when meeting Lord Astell. What she hadn’t expected was the urge to burst out laughing when someone had to point out which of the men in front of her was the one she was going to spend the rest of her life with.

Then she turned around to look in the direction her uncle was indicating, and the laughter died in her throat. The man in question, her husband, was eyeing her up and down in the same way a merchant would assess an animal he was about to purchase, and when their gazes finally met, his lips curled into a smile that sent a chill down her spine.

Of course she had not dared to hope that the man chosen for her by her uncle would actually please her, but neither had she expected such immediate dislike. It was hard to explain what troubled her so about the man, but the mere sight of him curdled her insides.

Then he tilted his head, and she understood the source of her unease. He now effectively owned her, and he behaved as if that notion pleased him beyond measure.

By her side, her uncle gave a grunt.

He seems satisfied, he commented with ill-concealed relief. Thank God.

Of course he was pleased! Why would he not be, Florie thought savagely. She was not a conceited woman, but she knew Lord Astell would not fail to be impressed when presented with a comely young woman who had been preened to within an inch of her life for the upcoming meeting.

Jubilant at the idea that this was the last time he would have to do anything for his despised niece, her uncle had ordered a new gown to be made for the occasion, not wasting the opportunity to showcase both his wealth and supposed generosity towards his brother’s adopted child. No one present here today would suspect that in the six months since Lord Wentworth’s death, she had been treated as little more than a servant at Maskin Castle.

The dress of shimmering brocade with embroidered sleeves and the exquisite gold necklace at her throat ensured that Lord Astell and the whole assembly knew just how wealthy his new bride was. Yes, all in all, it was no wonder that the Cornish knight should look so satisfied with his new … acquisition.

That was the only word that came to mind. Florie almost retched.

Now that I have done my duty by you, I shall take my leave, her uncle informed her levelly. Either he had not seen her anguish, or he did not let it worry him. Lord Astell will take you to his domains sometime tomorrow, I imagine, but tonight we will celebrate this union with a banquet in your honour, dear niece.

Her honour! Florie nearly scoffed. He was celebrating being rid of her, nothing more. She knew he did not feel anything other than the most intense irritation for this child his late brother had adopted when he had married her mother nine years ago. Lord Wentworth, a generous soul, had had no idea that his brother had only feigned acceptance, but Florie knew the truth. Her uncle had thought this marriage beneath them. He hated her just as he had hated her French mother. In his mind, marrying someone from a nation with which England was at war was tantamount to treason, and he deeply resented having been forced to look after her by his brother’s last will.

Am I to preside over the banquet alone? she asked, daunted by the prospect.

The great hall had been prepared for a lavish feast, the walls adorned with greenery, the tableware polished until it gleamed in the candlelight. A hundred people, most of which she had never even set eyes upon, had gathered from domains around.

It promised to be a magnificent evening—for everyone but her.

Her uncle shrugged, uninterested by her protests. It will be good practice for you. Lord Astell no doubt expects his wife to be able to act as mistress of the castle, but I know for a fact you are incapable of anything of the sort at the moment. God knows you are old enough to have been groomed into a suitable wife, but my brother deemed it acceptable to let you live your life as you wanted. Well, I say it is time we went back to reality.

Reality. The word created a bitter taste in Florie’s mouth. Being married to a man she didn’t like, attending to guests she didn’t know with a smile on her face and keeping her opinion to herself, that would be her reality from now on.

Of course. She gritted her teeth.

The drumming of the fingers on the hilt of his sword told enough of her uncle’s impatience to be gone. Florie did not have the courage to ask him to remain a while longer or to tell her all he knew about her new husband. She was suddenly eager to be rid of him. As to Lord Astell, she would have a lifetime to discover just how unsuitable he was for her.

I bid you farewell, niece.

After one last look in her direction, her uncle strode to the stables.

"You are Lord Astell!" Florie reeled with the shock of the stranger’s announcement. Her eyes darted to the man coughing and spluttering by the wall, the man she had thought was her husband, the man who had acted as if he had every right to jump on her.

What was going on? Had her uncle been duped? When the retinue had arrived from Cornwall earlier, he had shown no surprise, and she was certain he had pointed at the black-haired man who had just assaulted her …

But of course, the man had come from hundreds of miles away, and was only the son of a friend. It would not surprise her in the least if her uncle had sold her to a man he did not actually know.

He could all too well have been tricked by an impostor.

But if you are Lord Astell, then, w-who is he? she stammered, nodding towards the man who had not yet stopped coughing. He had been so convincing in the role of her husband, arriving dusty as if from a long journey, accepting people’s congratulations with a satisfied air!

How the devil should I know? the blond man growled. Didn’t he take the time to introduce himself before he pounced on you like a dog on heat?

Though the harsh words were not aimed at her, Florie recoiled. Never had anyone sounded more lethal. But he did introduce himself, she answered, more confused than ever. He said he was Lord Astell, come from … The words died in her throat when she realised that this was not strictly true.

No, the man had never actually introduced himself. He had been welcomed as Lord Astell and acted as if he was, that was all. Not for a moment, had anyone thought to ask who he was or questioned his presence at Maskin Castle. But of course, he could have lied to her uncle, knowing that he had never so much as set eyes on him.

Her mind swam with this bewildering turn of events. Which of the two men was telling the truth? What was she supposed to do?

The blond man was looking at her as if he could read the conflicting emotions on her face, and she found that she could not look away. His transparent eyes held her in, made all the more striking by the darkness surrounding them. For a moment, she had the impression that they were alone, and that everything would be fine. It was as if she had awoken from a nightmare only to be comforted by the familiar environment of her bedchamber. There was something intensely reassuring about the man, and not just because he had removed the threat she had been powerless to fight.

Out of nowhere, she found herself wishing he was indeed the man she was married to. She opened her mouth, but before she could speak, Lord Astell—or at least the other man, for Florie now couldn’t be sure he truly was her husband—came to stand next to her. In his ire, he seemed even taller, even more forbidding than before. She willed herself not to recoil.

I am the lady’s husband, wed to her by proxy on the second of this month, he announced. His voice was considerably raspier than it had been a moment ago, but his words could not be mistaken. Neither could his intent. He was not going to back down so easily, either because he knew he had truth on his side or because he was determined not to abandon the place without a fight.

Florie stared at the two men in succession, utterly at a loss. How on earth was she supposed to know which one was telling the truth? They seemed equally determined to stake their claim on her and as far as she could tell, they could both be Lord Astell, a man she had never met before, whom no one had thought expedient to describe to her. All she knew about the man she had been forced to marry was that he was not yet thirty, and a warrior in his prime, not quite the old war hero she had feared her uncle would have chosen for her. The problem was that both the men in front of her fit the description. Their youthful bodies were equally strong.

Apart from that, they had little in common.

The one who had kissed her was as dark as the one who had defended her was fair. Their eyes could not have been any more different, either in colouring or the expression they betrayed. One pair was black as night, the other luminous as the moon; one was veiled with menace, the other sparkled with surprising liveliness.

They only thing they shared was their presumption.

Luring her into the dark lists, forcing her into kisses she did not want, attacking others on her behalf, claiming she belonged to them, one was as bad as the other.

Still, the fact remained, one of these men was married to her. As much as she would have preferred to be told otherwise, she did belong to one of them. They could not be both pretending to be Lord Astell. One of them had to be telling the truth. But which one?

Once this question was answered, there would be no more stalling, no more excuses. The dark-haired knight would be allowed to kiss her as fiercely as he pleased, to bed her anywhere he liked, and the blond giant would have every right to claim her as his and kill people who disrespected her. Either way, she would cease being Florie Wentworth to become Lady Astell; she would leave her home and follow a stranger to his castle.

Unexpectedly, she felt a smile touch her lips. This turn of events afforded her some unhoped for reprieve. With her uncle gone, no one had the authority to decide for her. She was free to handle this extraordinary situation as she saw fit. And what suited her was to make it as long and as hard as possible for the real Lord Astell to take her away to