Lords of Desire by Virginia Henley, Victoria Dahl, Sally Mackenzie, Kristi Astor

mounted on ancient oxcart wheels. Barrels of ale were stacked against the walls and the air was redolent of smoke, cooking smells, hops, and malt.
    “An honor, yer lordship, how can I serve ye?”
    “A dozen oysters and a pint of ale. M’sister will have the same, and a pint for your good self, Harry.”
    When the food arrived, Tory looked askance at the raw oysters sitting on their shells.
    “What’s the matter, love? Don’t you like them?”
    “Only men eat oysters raw. Ladies like their crustaceans decently fried, but I’ll try anything once,” she said gamely.
    Falcon picked up a shell. “Swallow the oyster and wash it down with a swig of ale…like so.”
    Victoria mimicked what he did, including wiping her mouth with the back of her hand.
    The first few went down easily, but at the sixth she couldn’t suppress a shudder.
    Falcon laughed and finished them off. “What are friends for?”
    Harry came to replenish Falcon’s ale. “Bring us some winkles.”
    “Winkles?” Tory was disconcerted. “My mother would never approve of anything so vulgar and low class as eating winkles.”
    “She wouldn’t approve of your strutting about in your drawers either, but it proved to be great fun. Eating winkles is a pleasure not to be denied.”
    When the miniscule shellfish arrived, Tory took the pin, stabbed the winkle, pulled it from its tiny case, and popped it into her mouth. She rolled her eyes with pleasure.
    “Delicious!”
    Falcon gave her a suggestive wink. “Youare delicious.”
    “Stop that, I’m supposed to be your sister,” she said laughing.
    They finished off their meal with bowls of mutton and barley stew and bread fresh from the oven, then they rode into the village of Hawkhurst, which was three miles from Bodiam.
    Tory gazed about avidly. “Neither the priory nor the parish church have been built yet, though there is a cemetery.”
    “Graveyard,” Falcon corrected. “Bodiam Church is on the hill.”
    “The village is much smaller than the Hawkhurst I know, but it is endearingly rustic and surrounded by the same lovely rolling hills that I’ve walked all my life. Thank you for bringing me.”
    On the ride back to the castle, Victoria was busy planning her strategy to keep Falcon at Bodiam for the night. “You are such a good tutor. How would you like to teach me the dice game of hazard?”
    “I’ll teach you games, all of them hazardous,” he promised. Falcon helped her dismount and told her he was taking Bess to the smithy to get her reshod. “I enjoyed your company today. I’ll see you tonight, sweetheart. We’ll find out if oysters really are an aphrodisiac.”
    Hawkhurst usually ate the evening meal with his men and seldom sought his chamber before nine, so Victoria planned accordingly. At the appointed time, she made sure she was reclining in her slipper bath with her hair spilling over the edge and cascading to the carpet in a dark waterfall. Her back was facing the door, which she had purposely left open. When she heard his step she lifted a slim leg and let the sponge trickle water down it. The bath drew him like a lodestone.
    “Let me do that.” His deep voice sent shivers up her spine. Without turning to look at him, she said, “I’ll give you the sponge if you teach me to play hazard.”
    He knelt down beside the tub and took the dice from his pocket. “The sponge is the stake. I throw the dice to establish amain point.” He rolled the dice. “Themain point is seven. Now I throw again to establish achance point. I’m out if I roll a two, three, or twelve.” He cast again. “I rolled anick, so I win!”
    He reached for the sponge.
    She hung onto it. “Anick is when you roll eleven?”
    “Only if themain point is a seven.”
    She gave him the sponge. “I surrender. I warrant you make your own rules, Falcon Hawkhurst.”
    “I reckon I do, Mistress Cocktease.” He held the sponge up high so that water trickled onto her breasts and formed droplets that clung to