The Spitfire by Bertrice Small

sensual mouth expertly mastering him was almost more than he could bear. He wanted her. He would have her. He had waited long enough. The question of how to persuade Rowena to overcome her scruples was something he must ponder, and then the answer became crystal clear.
    Arabella! His little bride-to-be was the answer. He would threaten to debauch the girl, who was the apple of her mother’s eye, if Lady Rowena did not yield herself to him. The lady, already struggling against her own lustful nature, could surrender herself to him with a clear conscience and the belief that she was protecting her daughter. He almost laughed aloud at his own cleverness. He would accost her this very day, and tonight he would enter her bed, wipe away her few guilty tears, and she would be his for as long as it amused him.
    And suddenly, as if he had called her, she was at his side, smiling hesitantly. “Good morrow, my lord. Was the porridge more to your liking this morning?”
    “Aye,” he answered her. “Where is Arabella? I have not seen her yet today.”
    “She has taken a chill, and I have told her she must remain in her bed this day. It is rare she is ill.”
    “Come,” he said, standing up. “Let us go and see her. I’m certain our company will cheer her up.”
    “My lord, she is in her shift. I do not think it proper that you see her in her shift,” Rowena protested nervously.
    He took her by the shoulders and looked down into her face. He could feel her quivering beneath his fingers, and he smiled a slow smile. “Arabella is to be my wife, sweet Row. Soon enough I will see her both in and out of her shift. There is no lack of propriety here. Will you not be with me?” Then taking her hand, he practically dragged her off to Arabella’s chamber, which was located on the floor above the hall.
    FitzWalter’s young daughter, Lona, sat upon the bed, playing a game with pebbles with Arabella. Looking up at him, they both began to giggle, and Sir Jasper playfully threw himself on the bed between them. Lona shrieked a sound that was almost kittenish, and he reached out to tickle her ribs. Lona squirmed and wiggled, her laughter rising even as Arabella threw herself upon them.
    “No! No! Lona is the most ticklish girl in the world, my lord. Have mercy!” Arabella cried.
    For a moment he ceased his frolic, and then turning his gaze on her, he said, “And are you ticklish, Arabella, ma petite ?”
    “Nay!”
    “Liar!” he retorted, and before she might escape him, his fingers reached out to find her.
    “Ohhhhh!” Arabella gasped, laughing wildly, tears coming to her eyes. “Stop! Stop!” And she writhed desperately to escape, her shift riding up to display her naked legs and bottom.
    “Arabella!” Rowena’s voice was shocked, but her shock was more due to the fact that Sir Jasper’s hands seemed to be everyere upon her daughter’s body. They skimmed lightly over her barely-forming breasts, brushed casually over the girl’s belly and lower. “Arabella! Sir Jasper! Stop it this minute. Lona! Get off the bed this instant and pull down your skirts!” She dragged the little girl onto her feet and then reached out for Sir Jasper.
    At the touch of her hand upon his shoulder, he immediately ceased his frolic with Arabella and, turning, looked full into her face as he said, “If our life together is to be so happy, I regret the necessity of our waiting to celebrate this marriage.” He stood up, giving Arabella a pat upon her bottom even as he drew the negligent shift back down to a more respectable level.
    “My lord!” Rowena said angrily. “Arabella is ill and must stay quiet. I cannot allow this outrageous rollicking. Lona! Go to your mother and help her with the laundry.” With a sudden chastened look, Lona curtsied to her mistress and scampered from the room.
    Rowena took her daughter’s rosary beads from the girl’s bedside table, saying as she did so, “Say your beads, Arabella. It will calm you and hopefully