TwicetheNovice, page 1
Twice the Novice
Debra Glass
Shamed by secrets, Anne Meredith will do anything to fulfill her marriage contract to a mysterious Bavarian count. Even if it means submitting to Axel von Sommerhalder, the handsome stranger the count has enlisted to train her. She thinks the intimate punishments her trainer metes out will be a humiliating ordeal. Instead, as she finds herself surrendering to the dominant desires of a man forbidden to claim her, she discovers even more about herself than she ever dreamed possible.
Axel demands that his novice abandon every inhibition. But in doing so, they both embark on a dangerous journey, tempting each other’s flesh, relishing every forbidden touch—and breaking every rule.
An Ellora’s Cave Romantica Publication
www.ellorascave.com
Twice the Novice
ISBN 9781419931390
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
Twice the Novice Copyright © 2010 Debra Glass
Edited by Kelli Collins
Cover art by Dar Albert
Electronic book publication October 2010
The terms Romantica® and Quickies® are registered trademarks of Ellora’s Cave Publishing.
With the exception of quotes used in reviews, this book may not be reproduced or used in whole or in part by any means existing without written permission from the publisher, Ellora’s Cave Publishing, Inc.® 1056 Home Avenue, Akron OH 44310-3502.
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This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events or locales is purely coincidental. The characters are productions of the author’s imagination and used fictitiously.
Twice the Novice
Debra Glass
Chapter One
The Bavarian Principality of Sommerhald, 1780
Anne Meredith flung open the coach window and breathed in the cold mountain air. In this part of the world, everything seemed fresh and crisp. Having grown up in England, she’d always assumed the Germanic people lived a harsh existence in their wild and barbaric landscape. Knowing so little of these people, she’d been pleasantly surprised to discover how continentally fashionable Bavaria’s aristocracy could be. Most spoke eloquent French and English with an impeccable fluency that astonished Anne. And while untamed, the loveliest fairy-book castles she’d ever seen nestled amongst the Alpen crags.
Even though this new land intrigued her, melancholy coiled around her heart and squeezed. Doubt surged that she’d ever see her London home or English family again.
Anne had given all that up to come here.
Her spine flattened against the back of the seat as the coach climbed yet another steep and winding mountain road. Here, she would be a countess—the Bavarian equivalent of princess. She inhaled deeply, smiling at the thought of it. Countess Anne.
Princess Anne.
The only problem was that she’d entered into an engagement with a man she’d never met. All she knew about him was his rank, his name, that he was several years older than she—and that he was indecently wealthy.
Count Georg von Sommerhalder.
Anne shivered with delight at the prospect of such a lofty title. In her dreams, she’d envisioned Count von Sommerhalder as a tall, rugged blond. She knew, however, better than to hope. At fifty-two, he was likely bent, bald and decrepit. She sighed. Few women had the luxury of marrying for love and with her being the last of the Meredith line, Anne literally had no choice in the matter at all.
A distant cousin waited to inherit the family estate, and after her older sister had scandalized them all by eloping with a low sort, Anne’s chances of making a good match in England dwindled somewhere between slim and none. Most women in her predicament would become a governess with the hope of ensnaring a wealthy widower but Anne had always had a devil of a time trying to read. The words looked all jumbled up to her. Even backward at times. And no matter how determined she was, she could not grasp reading.
The carriage climbed and climbed. Digging her nails into the plush seat, Anne closed her eyes and resisted the urge to look out the window, knowing the wheels clung precariously to the edge of the narrow mountain road. One misstep from the horses, and the coach, horses and everything would go plunging down the impossibly steep grade. The unmistakable sounds of rocks slipping and bounding downward filled Anne’s ears. She held her breath and prayed they would arrive at the castle soon.
She didn’t open her eyes until she felt the carriage lurch to a halt. Her lips parted at the sight. It was as if she’d entered an enchanted fairyland.
A footman raced to attach the steps and open the carriage door. Anne took the uniformed servant’s hand but her gaze drank in the towering castle. “It’s breathtaking!” she exclaimed.
“Welcome to Sommerhald, Miss Meredith,” he greeted in English.
Anne couldn’t tear her gaze from the sight of the castle spires soaring into the clouds or the dark lake winding through the valley far below. She had never imagined anything this astounding and could scarcely believe she was to be the mistress of all this grandeur.
A shiver compelled her to pull her fur cloak closer. When a cloud passed in front of the sun and shadowed the courtyard, Anne darkly recalled one mysterious clause in her marriage contract, which stated that in order to marry the count, she must submit to—and pass—training.
Submit to training…
What sort of training? Her German was passable. Her French, better. Deportment had been her forte. What more could there possibly be for her to learn? She hoped it wouldn’t be anything that required her to read because if it were, she would certainly fail.
All her musings fled when the massive doors opened and the count, followed by his vast entourage, rushed down the steps to greet her.
“Anne!” the count welcomed.
She knew her expression betrayed her but she could not quell her relief that the count was far from the ogre she’d feared he would be. A wealth of white hair gleamed in the sunlight. His sumptuous fur cloak swirled around broad shoulders. Long strides brought him to her quickly.
“Anne,” he said again, softly this time. With a curt bow, he grasped and kissed the back of her hand. His ice-colored eyes twinkled as he straightened and smiled.
“Count von Sommerhalder,” she greeted as she dipped into a curtsy.
“I trust your journey was an easy one,” he said in flawless English.
“Yes. Very enjoyable. Thank you.”
Another man approached and by the way the count’s courtiers separated to allow him through, Anne knew he was of some import. Staring seemed unladylike but Anne could not tear her gaze from him.
Every bit as tall as the count, he looked to be a much younger version of Anne’s betrothed. Untethered, his black hair wisped around his firm jawline. Dark eyes flashed from underneath brooding eyebrows as he pinned her with an icy stare. His lips, though full and sensuous, stretched into a taut, cross line.
Anne shivered.
“Ah, Anne, this is my nephew,” the count introduced.
“Axel von Sommerhalder,” the younger man ground out and then bowed low.
Anne curtsied once more, and this time she was not greeted with a continental kiss on the hand but instead an even colder glare. She could only guess about the count’s nephew’s apparent disdain for her. Doubtless, he did not look forward to his uncle siring more heirs who would push him further from the seat of power. It didn’t matter, Anne reminded herself. She was not here to please this man. Still, his obvious scorn left her unsettled and on edge.
“Come inside,” the count encouraged, arresting her attention away from his nephew. “After you rest, you will begin your training.”
Anne bit her bottom lip. “I would like to ask you about that,” she began but he quickly interrupted.
“I’m certain you will find everything here to your liking,” he said, patting her hand and escorting her toward the castle.
They walked past Axel but Anne’s back bristled with the sense of him behind her. A shiver crawled up her spine. She fought the impulse to glance back at him and, despite the warm welcome from her betrothed, a pang of foreboding nagged her to retreat back into the coach and return posthaste to England.
* * * * *
“It is too much to ask,” Axel told his uncle.
“It is the way,” the old count said as he sank into his chair. “It is our way.”
Axel inhaled sharply at the memory of Anne’s wide brown eyes and the errant curls escaping her untidy chignon. Upon first sight of her, he’d longed to smooth those wayward locks back into place. He’d bitten his lip to keep from blurting that she should get right back in her coach and return to England.
This was no place for an innocent like her. The others had possessed coquettish natures. Even on first sight, he’d seen the mischievous looks and sensed their willingness to do anything to be mistress of Sommerhald.
He realized he’d clenched his fist and forced himself to re
Axel wanted to add, “When will my life begin?” But he refrained from uttering the words. Upon becoming a man, he’d been instructed in the art of training potential wives, a custom that reached as far back in the principality of Sommerhald as anyone could remember.
Axel’s own life had been put on hold. At one time, he’d dreamed of marrying and having a family of his own. But after training the candidates for his uncle, he’d lost his respect for the fairer sex. Most sought wealth and acclaim and titles. Some had even indicated a willingness to commit adultery with Axel afterward, in the event they married his uncle.
Axel drew in a deep breath. He’d found fault with them all and had sent them away.
Innately, he realized Anne possessed something unique. He’d detected uncertainty and trepidation in her eyes. Beneath that lurked something altogether different. Determination perhaps? But for what? She didn’t know what to expect. None of them had upon arrival.
But oh, how quickly their expectations changed once they found themselves naked and bound.
How would Anne change?
His stomach turned at the thought the innocence he’d detected in her eyes might evolve into greed, ambition. Worse. Lust.
He shuddered. “Uncle, I’ve grown weary of training them.”
The count gave him an indulgent smile. “I have every confidence in you.”
Before today, Axel had also possessed every confidence in himself. The thought of innocent Anne becoming like the others was abhorrent to him. The idea she might be completely different than the others terrified him to the core. He shook his head. “Uncle, I admit to you that I hope this one fails.”
Georg waved his hand in dismissal.
“After my blunt declaration, you would still trust me to do this thing?” Axel asked.
Georg leaned back in his chair and leveled his gaze on him. “As I’ve said, I have every confidence in you,” he repeated.
Dismay and anger swirled and vied for prominence. Axel blew out a breath and stalked from the room.
* * * * *
Anne literally gasped when she saw her suite of rooms. Gleaming, honey-colored paneling, replete with intricate molding and carvings, lined the walls. Ancient tapestries trailed downward from the vaulted ceiling. Lavish rugs in hues of burgundy and gold stretched across the stone floor. She’d never entered an English estate so luxurious.
She wanted to ask the diminutive blonde maid who’d shown her to these rooms if she was certain this was the right place, but Anne didn’t dare. She did not want to give off the appearance of a poor country cousin.
Anne crossed the floor, gazing as if she were in a museum instead of her own chamber. She trailed her fingers reverently along the carved gilt footboard of her canopied bed.
Two fires blazed in twin hearths, dispelling the mountain spring chill.
“If you would follow me, I will undress you for your bath,” the maid told her.
Bath? Anne almost sighed out loud. After the long journey, a bath was exactly what she needed.
“Shouldn’t we wait for my things to be brought up?” Anne asked.
A smile played on the maid’s thin lips. “Mademoiselle, everything is provided for you here.”
“You have all been too kind,” Anne said. “Might I ask your name?”
She dipped into a slight curtsy. “I am Greta.”
“Thank you, Greta.”
Greta’s smile broadened. “This way.”
Anne followed her into an adjoining chamber, breathing in the fragrant bath salts. Greta guided her behind a screen and began unlacing and unhooking and undoing until Anne stood naked.
Back in England, she’d bathed while still wearing a thin gown for the purposes of modesty but, Anne reminded herself, this was Bavaria. Their customs and mores were sure to be different. Perhaps familiarizing herself with local tradition was what her training would entail. She certainly did not want to appear ignorant.
Greta gathered Anne’s discarded clothes. “I will leave you to soak for a few moments before I return to wash your hair.”
“Thank you,” Anne said, modestly hugging her arms over her chest.
She sighed as she slipped into the effervescent, warm water. She’d heard of the mineral springs that flourished in this part of the world but she had never imagined the soothing qualities of such water. After the long trip, this pleasure seemed almost hedonistic.
Certainly the count was far older than she but Anne found him reasonably attractive and, thus far, kind. The only obligation remaining that perturbed her was the mysterious training. The entire marriage hinged on it and if she did not excel, the count would not marry her. In spite of her fatigue and the relaxing bath, nervous energy coursed through her veins. She only wished she knew more about the fate awaiting her.
As promised, Greta returned and rolled up her sleeves before she lathered Anne’s hair. Anne’s fears ebbed as Greta’s expert fingers massaged her scalp and then rinsed her hair.
“Now, mademoiselle, if you will stand, I can begin removing your bodily hair.”
Anne’s eyes snapped open. She gaped at the maid. “Removing… I don’t understand.”
“Shaving,” she said simply and gestured to a pair of shears, a razor and mug of shaving lather.
Anne’s lips parted. “Shaving what, pray tell?”
Greta blinked her luminous blue eyes. “Your armpits, your legs and your pubis.”
Bavarian tradition or not, Anne balked. “I am not accustomed to…shaving…those parts.”
“It is required for your training,” Greta said, unperturbed. She picked up the lather. “I can do it for you, mademoiselle. I assure you, I am quite adept.”
“I’m sure you are but I prefer to keep my…my hair.”
“It is required,” Greta said as she began stirring the lather.
“Certainly this is up for some discussion,” Anne argued. She couldn’t fathom the idea of having her pubis shaved.
Greta’s gaze met hers briefly. “No, mademoiselle. It is not up for any discussion and—I risk impertinence—but the last bride-elect refused this as well.”
“The last?”
“She was sent packing back to her homeland,” Greta informed. Her gaze dropped to Anne’s crotch. “It is hardly unpleasant. You will see.”
Anne swallowed thickly. Apparently she had two choices. Being shaved of hair that would eventually grow back or going home in disgrace. She sighed. “Very well, then.”
Having her arms and legs shaved did not prove too much of an ordeal. However, when Greta began trimming the thick, black curls from her crotch, panic surged in Anne. Not only did it seem indecent, Anne found the feelings that arose at another’s touch on that part of her body disturbing. A torrid blush heated her cheeks as Greta snipped and then shaved. The mere idea that someone’s gaze lingered on the hidden crevice only worsened Anne’s discomfort and heightened her trepidation.
“Exactly what sort of training am I to have?” she asked.
“Training in the art of being the wife of a von Sommerhalder.”
Anne swallowed. “What does that entail?”
Greta brushed back a strand of hair that had come loose from the braided coil on top her head. “You will be taught to please the count.”
“I don’t understand,” Anne said, not wanting to face the unnerving prospect niggling at her intuition.
“It is the way of all the von Sommerhalders—and if I may be so bold, the training promotes love.”
Anne let out a laugh that sounded nervous and a bit too loud. “Love?”
Aristocrats never married for love. What a silly notion.
Greta gave a curt nod and then began rinsing the shaving lather from Anne’s freshly shorn pubis. Anne looked down at her denuded mound and immediately regretted that she had done so. She felt terribly vulnerable and exposed.
“How will I be trained?” she asked, her voice tremulous.
“That will depend upon your trainer.”
“But I assumed the count would conduct this sort of instruction,” Anne said, alarmed.
