Prisoner of My Desire by Johanna Lindsey

mother.”
    “Aye, I doubt not that he meant it. He is the devil’s own son, that one. ’Tis fortunate he does not want to stand there and watch. Your husband would have, if he gave you to his own man, that John.” Mildred sighed. “I suppose you must see it done, then.”
    Rowena wrung her hands. “I know, but—how?”
    Mildred’s eyes flared, closed briefly, then opened again, clearly filled with self-disgust. “I am that stupid, I am. How can you know how? Your husband would have taken what hewanted, with your having to do naught but lie there. But now you have to do it all on your own, and that lad in there not able to even direct you, with a gag in his mouth. And he is on his back, you say?”
    “Flat on his back, and I doubt he can move at all, the chains are so tight.”
    Mildred sighed again. “I am trying to see it in my mind—I have never ridden a man, you understand. ’Tis not natural.”
    “Gilbert must think ’twill not be difficult, for he has left him bound so.”
    “I did not say it could not be done,” Mildred said disagreeably.
    This was a subject for kitchen wenches, not for her lady. Her cheeks were now as pink as Rowena’s were pale. But that wretched d’Ambray would no doubt be back with the dawn to see for himself that the deed was done, so there was no help for it.
    “Aye, all right, I have it now,” she continued. “And I will speak plainly to get the telling over with quickly. You must straddle his hips, get his rod inside you, and then you ride it. There will be pain until your maidenhead breaks, but then it should not hurt so much. Just imagine yourself astride your palfrey at a canter. You bounce—nay, do not blush—you will likely adjust to this method as soon as you are seated. Just remember, that rod of his needs the movement to give up its seed, and you must provide that movement if he cannot. Just sitting on him once he is fully sheathed in you will not do it. Think youcan do it now? Is there aught more that needs explaining?”
    “Nay, I—nay.”
    Mildred hugged her then. “Treat this as any other chore, my sweet one. I would have other advice for you, easier to stomach, were he not a stranger and to remain a stranger. But remember that is all he is, that you will never have to see him again once the babe is well planted, so he does not merit your embarrassment.”
    But he had it, Rowena thought as she returned to the small room across the way, and the heat did not leave her cheeks again. His eyes were on her the second she opened the door, and he watched her approach the bed. Mere interest was all he showed this time, and she revealed nothing of her own turbulent thoughts.
    A chore, like any other? Very well, she told herself. Just get it done.
    She dropped her gaze to the bed, loath to watch him while she explained the horrid facts to him. “I must have a child, and it must be conceived immediately. You were chosen to aid me because your hair and eyes are the same as my husband’s, for the child needs have the look of him. So we must copulate this night, and the next, and the next, until your seed bears fruit. I like this no better than you, but I have no choice—and neither do you.”
    His chains rattled, but she would not look toward those expressive eyes of his. Briskly, she took hold of the thick sheet covering him andflipped it to the end of the bed, where it slithered to the floor. She did not watch it fall. With a will of their own, her eyes were drawn to his manroot, and widened to their full roundness. There, truly, was the monstrous weapon she had heard tales of. It lay soft and still in a bed of golden curls.
    A growl came out of his throat, making her start, her eyes flying up to his face. Expressive eyes he had, so expressive, and now they promised grim retribution if she did not desist. She took a step back, suddenly afraid. So much fury in an expression.
    She had not bargained on this. Most men would not mind what she had to do. They spread their