Philippa Gregory Author Novels & Stories

I sigh as I pick up a book to read. Beatrice walks into the parlor. "Hey Reginald, I'm going to the castle to see my brother. The maids will serve you when the food is ready," She strides to the door and goes out. "Alright," I reply to her receding footsteps. I see a shadow in the hallway. It is Phillipa walking towards me. She comes in almost immediately with a pout on her face. It's a signal that she wants something. "What is it Phillipa? Why are you sucking?" I ask with concern etched on my features as she sits on the chair beside me. She huffs and releases a pent up sigh.

I wanted the heat and the sweat and the passion of a man that I could love and trust. And I wanted to give myself to him: not for advantage, but for desire. Philippa Gregory I open the door to my house and drag myself inside, worn from wearing six-inch heels and a skinny gown that only looks modest when under the grey winter coat.

“I see no reason to object. I’m an open book.” “Hah,” Philippa scoffed. “If you say so.” “Well, I don’t have all night,” I prompted. “Get started already.” “I’d bend you over my knee before this night is over,” Philippa threatened. “Not in front of my salad, no you won’t,” Caleb objected shaking his head vehemently. “Anyways, I’ll go first. Philippa and I were born in France in 1700.” “Really? At the start of the century?” I was already intrigued.