Twice Seduced by the Rogue (The Blood Brothers Trilogy Book 1)

Book summary

"Twice Seduced by the Rogue" is the first installment in Virginie Marconato's 'The Blood Brothers Trilogy.' This medieval romance follows Florie and Jocelin, who fell in love as youngsters but were separated by fate. Now, as Florie faces an arranged marriage, her world is thrown into chaos when two men claim to be her groom. Can she find the courage to embrace her true feelings, and will Jocelin's newfound identity help him win her heart? This tale weaves lively dialogue and sizzling chemistry between a dashing hero and a spirited heroine..

Excerpt from Twice Seduced by the Rogue (The Blood Brothers Trilogy Book 1)

Earlier that evening

“This 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.