A Knight's Persuasion (Knight's Series Book 4)

by Catherine Kean

  Nara squealed and clapped her hands to her cheeks.

  Heat swept across Juliana’s face. Fighting the odd trembling deep within her, she dropped into an elegant curtsey fit for the highest courts, just as she’d been taught from girlhood.

  She sensed the men’s stares upon her, traveling over her in lazy assessment. Were they deciding if she was worthy of a great lord’s son? Especially after overhearing her words to Nara?

  Oh, Mother of God, they were probably ogling her cleavage, displayed to shocking advantage by the low-cut gown her father and Nara had insisted she wear. The fitted bodice made her breasts look enormous. Face burning, she pressed a hand to her bosom and rose as swiftly as etiquette allowed.

  “Lord de Lanceau,” Nara said with breathless delight. “Lord Northwood. What a pleasure to meet both of you.”

  When Juliana straightened, her gaze came level with Edouard’s tanned throat. Even that bit of him looked enticing. Torchlight caught the embroidery along the neckline of his blue tunic. Magnificent work. But of course, ’twould be; his sire owned the largest and most profitable cloth empire in England. Some said Geoffrey de Lanceau was richer even than King John.

  The weight of Edouard’s stare forced her to look up. Their gazes met. His eyes were a bright, piercing blue and shadowed by thick lashes. The glint in his eyes . . . A jolt of unfamiliar sensation ran through her, and that wicked sense of danger stirred again. Her lungs suddenly felt impossibly tight, and she could scarcely draw a breath. She prayed she wasn’t going to gasp like a landed trout.

  As though attuned to her discomfort, his smile broadened, accenting his strong cheekbones. He looked even more the handsome rogue who only compromised when he knew ’twas to his benefit to do so. The careless tilt of his wide, full lips—a beautiful mouth—suggested he didn’t have to compromise very often, because he knew just how to coax a woman to do exactly as he wanted—

  Juliana blinked. God above, she must get control of her thoughts.

  “Oh, Lord de Lanceau.” Nara shoved past Juliana in a rustle of silk. “We are very honored to meet you. When Father told us you would be visiting our humble keep, Juliana and I were so thrilled. We could not stop talking about it, for we have admired your sire’s many accomplishments in these lands. That you are visiting us today is, well,” she giggled, “almost too exciting to believe.”

  “Indeed.”

  Juliana bit her lip. Even Edouard’s voice was beautiful. Smooth and rich like a sumptuous confection.

  She clasped her sweaty hands together and wondered how to excuse herself and slip away. Quite apart from being mortified, she had matters to attend—such as tasting the sauce to be served with the roasted quail, since the cook sometimes made it too spicy.

  “—and we worked many long, tiring hours on this magnificent celebration planned for you today,” Nara was saying. “A delicious feast, some fine musicians.” Her voice raised on a flirtatious laugh. “There will be dancing later.”

  “I love to dance,” Edouard said with a lop-sided smile. “And you, Lady Juliana?”

  Struggling to quell her rising anger—how could Nara claim credit for the work without a glimmer of guilt?—Juliana glanced at Edouard and, somehow, roused a smile. “I enjoy dancing.”

  “May I request a dance with you?”

  An invitation to dance. Was it a prelude to a betrothal? If so, how did she graciously decline?

  Before Juliana could reply, Nara said, “She would be delighted to dance with you.”

  Edouard’s eyes narrowed a fraction. “I am pleased to hear such. Lady Juliana?”

  After a sharp glance at Nara, who was beaming like a giddy fool, Juliana met his gaze again. She tried to formulate an appropriate reply that wouldn’t encourage his courtship. “I would—”

  “Milady.” A petite maidservant curtsied at Juliana’s side. With a twinge of alarm, she recognized the young woman she’d assigned to care for her mother that day.

  Juliana faced the maidservant. “What is wrong?”

  “Yer mama is suffering pains. I have summoned the healer, but I thought ye should know.”

  Juliana touched the woman’s arm. “Thank you.”

  With a hesitant smile and curtsey, the maidservant hurried away.

  A frown creased Nara’s brow. “Of all moments for Mama to be unwell.”

  Barely holding back the fiery words filling her mouth, Juliana clenched her hands. How could Nara be so insensitive? Would her sister ever think of aught but herself?

  Blinking away the sting of angry tears, Juliana dropped into a curtsey before Edouard. “Please excuse me, milord. I must see to my mother.”

  As she rose, he caught her right hand.

  “Oh!” Nara gasped, and then giggled.

  Juliana swallowed. Edouard’s warm, callused fingers held hers so gently. Did he clasp every woman’s hand with such tenderness?

  Of course he did. He was a rogue. He’d mastered the nuances of that gallant gesture and knew how to use it to get his way.

  Juliana sensed the stares of several esteemed guests nearby. Unease rushed through her. She didn’t want to offend Edouard, but she also didn’t want to imply interest in a relationship between them. Yet before she could discreetly draw her hand back, he pressed a light kiss to the backs of her fingers. How deliciously warm his lips felt against her skin.

  A shiver rippled through her. Beware this rogue, Juliana.

  “Until our dance, then,” he murmured.

  Chapter Two

  Edouard stood at the edge of the raised dais, sipping a goblet of red wine. Bracing his hip against the lord’s table, already cleared of the meal’s leftovers, he looked over the merry folk in the hall who waited for the last few tables to be moved away to make room for dancing.

  “Do you see Juliana?” He glanced at Kaine, also leaning against the table and watching the crowd, no doubt deciding which young woman to ask to dance first.

  Kaine shook his head. “I see many lovely ladies, but she is not among them.”

  The image of Juliana bloomed again in Edouard’s thoughts: fair, dewy skin; a willowy figure; wide eyes that assessed all around her with both intelligence and sensitivity. And her breasts . . . A silent growl tickled his throat. He’d never been so tempted by a luscious, well-displayed bosom. The fact she’d been so shy about her feminine beauty made her all the more intriguing, for if he guessed correctly, she’d had little experience with men. He’d be the first to kiss her on the lips.

  Near the hearth, the musicians tuned their instruments, playing a few strains of a familiar song that wove through the chatter and laughter. Welcoming the resolve burning in his gut, Edouard took another sip of the fine Bordeaux. His chance to kiss Juliana would soon be upon him. If he didn’t seize his opportunity, he’d lose the bet.

  Losing wasn’t in Edouard’s nature—or, he vowed, in the heart of any de Lanceau.

  Where was Juliana? Had she run off, anxious about his request for a dance?

  When the maidservant had brought word of her mother’s discomfort, Edouard had wondered if Juliana’s responsibilities would keep her from the celebrations. She’d returned to the hall, however, just before the meal started, to take her assigned chair on the right side of the lord’s table beside her father and Nara—to Lord de Greyne’s obvious relief.

  Edouard and his father had sat on Lord de Greyne’s left side. The formal seating arrangement had made it impossible to converse with Juliana, but Edouard had caught glimpses of her during the meal, putting bread into her mouth, nibbling pieces of venison from her eating dagger, and drinking her wine. Several times, he’d had to remind himself not to stare.

  Glancing over the hall again, he downed more wine. Whatever Juliana’s reasons for vanishing, he wouldn’t be denied so easily. He’d find her and woo her into a meeting with him where, with Kaine as witness, Edouard would bestow upon her a kiss she’d never forget.

  Kaine tsked. “What a shame Juliana is not here. I think you will lose our bet, my f
riend.”

  “The day is not done yet.”

  Edouard spied Nara a short distance from the musicians, talking to two other ladies who looked of similar age. They glanced his way, gasped, and their faces turned red.

  Who better to ask about Juliana than her sister, even if speaking to Nara made him want to rip out his own hair?

  He smiled warmly at Nara, brushed past Kaine to step down from the dais, and strode to Nara’s side. Ignoring the young ladies’ breathless squeals, he said, “I am sorry to interrupt, but have you seen Juliana?”

  Nara’s pretty face clouded with a frown before she looked to the servants clearing away the last table. “She is not here in the hall?”

  “Nay.”

  “She may be with Mother.” A hard glint touched Nara’s eyes. “She had best not be outside sketching in that wretched book of hers. Father will be furious.”

  Aware of Kaine’s keen stare, Edouard said, “Where, outside, might I find her?”

  Nara smoothed her hand over her fitted bodice that looked a fraction too tight. “The fish pond. But milord, mayhap you would prefer to stay with us? Juliana might return to the hall later. We can dance. Talk. Become better acquainted.” Her lashes fluttered. “Please, will you not stay?”

  “I will return soon.” He winked. “Will you ladies reserve a dance for me?”

  Nara’s friends sighed with delight.

  Her gaze shone with pleasure. “Of course, milord. We anxiously await your return.”

  Leaving the ladies’ excited chattering behind, he wove through the crowd, hurried into the torch-lit forebuilding, and pounded down the stairs to the sun-washed bailey. Servants of the noble guests, most of them drunk, were lounging on parked wagons and empty barrels, drinking and talking; some were swaying to the music drifting from the hall. Only a couple of the commoners looked his way.

  No sooner had he started toward the pond glinting a short distance past the slate-roofed kitchens, than Juliana stepped out of the kitchen doorway, carrying a wooden tray laden with food and an earthenware mug. Held tight under the silken drape of her left arm was a leather-bound book. Her face taut with concentration, she started toward the keep, seemingly oblivious to the other people in the bailey. Including him.

  As she approached the large well, situated between the kitchens at the keep, he cleared his throat.

  Her gaze flew up. She blinked, then tried to drop into a curtsey. “Milor—”

  The tray tilted. The mug slid sideways, threatening to pitch its contents onto the ground. She squawked, scrambling to right the tray. He rushed forward and snatched up the vessel.

  She blushed. “Thank you. I am glad it did not spill.”

  Her sweet lavender fragrance, distinct from the well’s earthy odor, teased him. He savored her scent before looking at the green liquid in the mug. ’Twas an unappetizing-looking brew. “What is it?”

  “An herbal infusion for Mother.”

  So her responsibilities, not a fit of nerves, had kept her away from the dancing. Triumph began to simmer inside him, even as he strategized how to garner her trust and arrange the meeting for the kiss. “Is your mother still in pain?” He hoped he sounded concerned.

  Juliana nodded and looked down at the tray. He followed her gaze to the wheat bread, sliced fowl, and jam tart. A meager repast, compared to the feast. He tried to tamp down inconvenient remorse.

  “I did not expect you to be in the bailey, milord.” While flawlessly polite, her tone conveyed her suspicions as to how he happened to be nearby at just the right moment to save her mother’s healing drink.

  “I became concerned when I could not find you in the hall.” Unable to resist, he added, “I thought you were avoiding me and the dance you promised me.”

  A hint of defiance sparked in Juliana’s eyes. “Mother refused the meal the maidservant brought her. I hope she will feel well enough now to eat a little of this for me.”

  Edouard set the mug back on the tray. “’Tis kind of you.”

  “She is my mother.”

  The protectiveness in Juliana’s voice made him smile. He admired such loyalty to one’s family; he was very close to his parents and younger sister. If and when he married, he’d like that quality in a wife.

  He suddenly became aware of footsteps a short distance away, accompanied by an astonished chuckle. Kaine.

  Go on, fool! Kiss her right here, in Kaine’s view, coaxed a mischievous voice inside his head. Press your lips to hers and win the bet.

  A tempting thought. The drunken servants were farther down the bailey and caught up in their revelry; they wouldn’t notice the kiss. The kitchen door was open, but the folk inside would be dealing with the leftover food, not watching the well. His sire would never know . . .

  What are you thinking? a more rational voice intruded. Have you, the firstborn son of a famous knight, forgotten how to be chivalrous? Stand down from your bet, out of respect for her.

  At that moment, Juliana looked past him and dipped her head in a gracious nod to Kaine. Edouard sensed her preparing to say “goodbye” to go and see her mother. Sunlight swept her profile, turning her skin to the hue of virgin snow. Her lips were the color of the trellised roses growing in Branton Keep’s gardens.

  He swallowed, stunned by the realization forming in his mind. He wanted Lady Juliana de Greyne’s kiss. Not merely to win the bet, but because he wished to kiss her.

  She started to turn away. Purely on instinct, he touched her right arm; his fingers rubbed over her silk sleeve, noting the warmth of the skin beneath.

  Juliana jumped and then twisted free, her skirt rasping against the well’s stonework; the mortared side was level with her lower thigh. Wide-eyed, she said, “Milord, I . . . must be on my way.”

  How loudly his pulse was drumming. “When you have visited your mother, will you grant me our dance?”

  Her breathing quickened. He glanced at her luscious bosom outlined by the shimmering silk—he couldn’t help himself—then raised his gaze to meet hers.

  “I . . . Mayhap, milord.”

  The unguarded insolence in her tone should annoy him; he was, after all, the son of the most powerful man in Moydenshire. But he found himself even more captivated. He hadn’t yet met a woman who didn’t giggle and swoon when he wooed them. Juliana, however, still seemed immune to his attempts to charm her.

  He clearly hadn’t found the right means of persuasion.

  Aye, ’tis the right of it, the mischievous voice coaxed. You must lure her in, convince her she’s the only lady you’ve ever desired, and then claim your kiss.

  “Please, Juliana.” Edouard smiled as though he found her the most ravishing of women and dared to close the slight distance between them. “Surely you will not deny me one dance? I would be honored to have that memory of this day.”

  She gnawed her lip and glanced about the bailey, obviously unsure. Before she could move away, he closed his hands over hers, still holding the tray.

  “Milord!”

  She trembled in his grasp. How soft her skin felt against his. The yearning inside him strengthened.

  Hurry! Kiss her.

  He sensed Kaine edging nearer for a better view.

  “Juliana,” Edouard murmured, leaning forward, the tray pressing against his belly. He didn’t care. His mind shut out all but her, very close now. Instinct told him he had an excellent chance of succeeding in his kiss. And he craved it. How he craved it.

  “Milord.” Her gaze locked on his mouth. “What—?”

  “You are beautiful, Juliana.”

  A shivered sigh broke from her. “I . . . am?”

  “I want to kiss you,” he whispered.

  “Kiss?” Her gaze darted away, as though searching for Kaine.

  Did she fear him witnessing their kiss and then telling their sires? She might think he and Edouard were trying to trap her into a betrothal; she couldn’t possibly know about the bet.

  “Kaine will tell no one,” he said softly, trying to think pa
st the anticipation humming in his blood. “’Twill be our secret. I promise.”

  He lifted his hands from hers, readying to trail his fingers along her jaw and tilt her face up for his kiss. Juliana’s lavender scent flooded his senses. He could almost taste the sweetness of her lips.

  Just as he reached for her, stomped footfalls approached.

  “Juliana!” Nara shrieked.

  “Nara?” Kaine called. “What are you—?”

  Before Edouard could glance her way, Nara plowed into her sister. A deliberate attempt to thwart the kiss.

  Juliana gasped. Stumbled sideways.

  Forcing down a curse, Edouard caught the younger lady’s arm and hauled her away from Juliana. Giggling, Nara spun against him and slid her arm around his neck. “I am tired of waiting for our dance. Return to the hall with me.”

  Scowling, he pushed her toward a shocked-looking Kaine and turned back to Juliana. She’d almost regained balance of the tray, but it teetered. An object hit the rim of the well, then landed with a slap.

  “My sketchbook!” Juliana cried.

  Edouard looked at the tome, lying partway over the well’s opening. The parchment pages, secured to the cover by a strip of leather, had fallen open to reveal a rough sketch of a man’s face.

  His face.

  Surprise rippled through him, while with a low moan, Juliana scrambled to retrieve the book. Trying to help, he grabbed for it, and his elbow knocked the tray.

  As it crashed onto the rim, the mug shattered. The bread and fowl fell into the well, while the jam tart landed sticky side down near Juliana’s sketchbook.

  Edouard groaned. “I am sorry.”

  Moving in behind him, Nara tsked. “Now look what you have done, Juliana.” How horribly smug she sounded.

  “What Juliana has done?” Kaine snorted.

  Edouard glared at Nara. What a nasty, deceitful little—

  “Why, ’twas not your fault, milord.” With a blinding smile, the young woman blinked up at him and squeezed her way in between him and Juliana. “Let me get that sketchbook.”

  “Nay!” Juliana grabbed for the tome. Her shaking fingers tried to grasp hold of the sliding book, spattered with green droplets.