Yet even with all that cold, calculated thinking, she couldn’t stop that small dart of hope that had struck her heart.

Dagmar leaned in close and focused on the face beside her. He looked so innocent while he slept. Very misleading. She also marveled at how much heat he gave off. She kicked off the furs covering her and stared up at the ceiling.

It was late and she should go back to sleep, but that snoring made it near-impossible.

Rolling onto her side, she rested her arm around his waist and snuggled in close. She kissed a line across his shoulders to his neck, smiling when he groaned in his sleep. Dagmar teased his ear with the tip of her tongue and draped her legs around his thighs. Still he slept on. So she slid her body directly over his, her knees resting on either side of his hips. Sitting up straight, she rested her rear against his groin and smiled down at him.

He certainly is handsome, she thought, moments before slamming the pillow down over his face.

Instantly his arms reached up wildly and Dagmar leaned in, putting her weight into the attack.

She snickered madly, even as he grabbed her arms and flipped her to her back.

“You barbarian! What did you think you were doing?” he demanded.

“I couldn’t stand the snoring anymore!”

Gwenvael gasped in outrage. “I do not snore!”

“You sound like a hoofed animal in rutting season.”

Dagmar wasn’t exactly surprised when he became merciless, tickling the sensitive flesh on her sides while she tried to fight him off. His weight kept her pinned down as she’d been unable to do to him, and her slaps against his arms and chest did nothing but make him laugh.

Her squeals, however, did get them a sound banging against the wall from one of their neighbors.

They froze, both looking horribly guilty, she was sure.

“This is your fault,” he whispered.

“My fault? I can’t believe no one’s complained before about that horrid noise. You could destroy whole armies with that noise alone!”

His hands gripped her sides again and she resumed her kicking and squealing, but his mouth silenced hers, his body pinning her in place. Her fists, which had been hitting his chest and shoulders while he tickled her, unfurled and her fingers dived into his hair, her arms tugging him closer.

He slid inside her, the length and width of him stretching her, demanding more.

Dagmar’s body arched up and her hands loosened from his hair, her arms flailing back, trying to find purchase. Her fingers touched the wall and she braced her hands against it as Gwenvael’s strong, hard strokes pounded into her. Short of breath, she pulled out of their kiss and turned her face away, panting and moaning, feeling that climax building within her.

When it came, it ripped through her, leaving her gasping and sweating, her body shaking from the release. Gwenvael pulled back, but only to flip her over. Lifting her hips up, he entered her from behind. Dagmar moaned decadently at the ruthlessness of it while her body raced toward another climax.

His hand slipped between her thighs, his fingers toying with her clitoris until Dagmar had to bury her face into the bedding so she could scream without the worry of terrifying their neighbors.

Now both of Gwenvael’s hands viciously gripped her hips again, holding her up and steady as he pounded into her. When he came, he shouted, cutting off the sound by clenching his teeth. He released inside her again and again, keeping her tight against him, her rear pressing into his abdomen.

As the last shudder passed through her, Dagmar dropped listlessly to the bed. Gwenvael managed to pull out of her, his hands releasing their grip. She felt him move away from her, but he didn’t get far before he fell forward, his head against her ass, his snoring filling the room.

But now Dagmar was simply too tired to care.

Gwenvael felt the cold hand of death slap against his shoulder and he sat up in bed, screaming, “I only touched her once!”

The smirk that greeted him wasn’t unkind, but it didn’t seem convinced of his statement either.

He blinked, trying to wake up. “Fannie?”

The servant gave a small bow. “My Lord Gwenvael.”

Fannie was one of those servants a body could rely on in almost any situation. Always calm, dignified, and smart, she seemed to know exactly when to appear and when to leave. He liked that about her.

“Good morn, Fannie.” He frowned. “But why are you in my room?”

“Her ladyship has asked that you leave her room as soon as possible while the rest of the royal house is downstairs having first meal.”

He rubbed his eyes. “She’s throwing me out? What did I say to Annwyl this time?”

“Not Lady Annwyl, who gets very angry should we call her ‘ladyship,’ but Lady Dagmar, who I am currently tending until she returns to the north. She seems to have no concerns with the correct usage of proper titles.” While her hands stayed primly laced together, her eyes swept the room. “And this is not your room, but Lady Dagmar’s.”

As Fannie had done, he looked around the room. “It certainly is.” He focused back on the servant. “And why is she throwing me out?”

“She’d prefer that the turn in your relationship be kept quiet, and since the bulk of your family is all downstairs for breakfast, she feels it is the best time for you to return to your own room.”

That was a first. Most females begged for him to stay, but Dagmar Reinholdt was tossing him out. Even worse, she was having her servant do it. He should be insulted, but he realized he was more disappointed.