In the Baron's Bed

By JoMarie DeGioia

Baron Clay Beverley’s heart cannot be touched. He comes to King Henry II’s decadent court to make his accounting, not to dally with the pretty women adorning the castle. But when two gorgeous ladies come to his bed, he’s sorely tempted. Only one of the twins draws him. There is something more to her than the promise of fleeting pleasure.

Lady Liana Lichfield pretends to be a sensual plaything to keep her sister safe from their uncle’s abuse. Sweetly naïve, her sister believes that sex equals love. Liana accompanies her on her nightly quests and comforts her through her inevitable disappointment. But when Lord Clay takes her—the first man to make love to her—she thinks that her sister might not be daft after all.

Can she trust her heart to Clay? What of her and her sister’s safety? Can Clay convince her that more than pleasure can be found in the baron's bed?

• Language: English
• Publisher: JoMarie DeGioia
• Release date: Jun 1, 2019
• ISBN: 9781944181253

JoMarie DeGioia

JoMarie DeGioia is a bestselling author of Historical and Contemporary Romance. She's known Mickey Mouse from the "inside," has been a copyeditor for her tiny town's newspaper, and a bookseller. She is the author of 50 Romances, and writes Young Adult Fantasy/Adventure stories and Paranormal Romance too. She gets lost in DIY projects around the house and works out plot ideas during long runs. She divides her time between Central Florida and New England, and you may contact her at [e-mail]

Book preview

In the Baron’s Bed

by

JoMarie DeGioia

PUBLISHED BY:

Bailey Park Publishing

Copyright © JoMarie DeGioia 2015

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without the written permission of the publisher, except where permitted by law.

ISBN: 978-1-944181-25-3

London, 1168

Chapter 1

Baron Clayton Beverley halted his destrier as the London residence of Henry II stood tall before him. The mighty horse snorted, a sound that spoke of Clay’s own relief and fatigue. He’d come a long way from his family’s holding in Pontefract to make his accounting to the king. Perhaps then he could finally let go of the guilt that had driven him here.

A traitor in the holding had put them all in danger, Lady Sara especially. That whoreson Glen had been foolish enough to threaten the woman Clay loved. He snorted. The jest had been on the bastard in the end, a fact Clay had shared before ending Glen’s life with one stroke of his sword. Clay never loved Sara. It proved a galling end to a man he’d counted as a friend for all of his twenty-six summers.

Devil’s spawn, he muttered.

What’s that, milord? his squire Ulric called from behind him.

Clay waved a hand and adjusted his helm. Nothing, Ulric.

Upon his arrival at court, Clay dismounted and removed his helmet. He left the horse to Ulric’s care, spying a finely-garbed attendant. He would waste no more time.

You there. I humbly request an audience with His Majesty, he said.

The courtier shook his head. Nay, Baron Beverley. His Royal Highness is set on celebrating this eve and will entertain no such audiences until the morrow.

Clay cursed under his breath. Aye. As the king wishes.

I’ll show you and your squire to the chamber we shall set aside for your use, milord. The man leaned closer. Perhaps the baron desires a bath be drawn?

Clay took in his own appearance. His mail was dull and dusty, his aketon soaking wet. The thick undershirt stuck to his chest with sweat. No doubt his black hair stuck up in sodden clumps. Zounds, he was grateful Sara had insisted Ulric see to packing Clay’s finer clothes before he’d left.

Thank you, Clay said with a small smile. A bath would be most welcome.

The servant nodded vigorously and waved for Ulric to bring Clay’s pack to a chamber set above the cavernous great hall of Henry’s domain.

That evening, washed clean and garbed in fine tunic and hose of slate blue, Clay stood in the hall drinking the king’s wine from a goblet of polished gold as he listened with little interest to the faint music wafting through the room. He looked about the space decorated with banners depicting the Anjou royal family crest. Their bold colors reminded Clay of the monarch himself, a vibrant man with wise gray eyes rumored to be aware of all that went on in and out of his court.

Pretty people decorated the space as well. Woman in ornate gowns