Knight of Love

by Catherine LaRoche

  Ravensworth, she noted, said little and deflected all questions. She had no way to interrogate him during the elaborate dinner, but she excused herself as soon as possible after the meal with a significant look his way.

  When he knocked at her door a short time later, she quickly dismissed the lady’s maid helping her disrobe.

  “What are you doing here?” she said, pulling the man into her bedchamber. “How did you find me? And I refuse to go back with you!”

  He tapped her on the nose, smiling. “You hiss and spit just like a kitten when you’re angry. It’s quite adorable, Lenora. Did you have any difficulties on the road getting here?”

  She swatted away his hand. “No, I did not. Now answer me!”

  “I am here to send you home to England.” He ticked her questions off on his fingers. “Becker had you followed. And I have no intention of trying to keep you in Germany.” He strolled over to the warmth of her fireplace, where the lady’s maid had set out a decanter of apricot brandy on a low table between two chairs. “Will you join me in a nightcap?”

  She dropped into the chair beside him, frowning. “Why this sudden change of attitude?”

  “The situation in Germany has become too volatile too quickly.” He poured for them both and handed her a glass. “There are dangers in seeking passage to England, but the count and I have worked out a route home for you through the Kingdom of the Netherlands.”

  She took a restorative swallow and contemplated him suspiciously. “Why are you doing this? It’s quite unnecessary.”

  “You are my wife. My sworn duty is to see to your safety.”

  “I am not your wife!” she said. “We’ve discussed this before. That sham ceremony meant nothing.”

  “Perhaps not to you.” He sipped and stroked her cheek. “I meant every vow I spoke, before God and witnesses, and before you. In my heart, you are my lady wife and I, your foresworn husband.”

  His eyes were mesmerizing. So blue. So clear. So ridiculously sincere. What man could be so open, swear such devotion, in an age such as this? He fancied himself the people’s knight, questing the country, fighting lost causes for justice and chivalry. But their age was no longer one for such foolishness. He would only get himself hurt.

  Somehow the thought disturbed her, riled her to anger. She set down her glass. “Surely you’re not such an idiot as all that,” she said.

  His jaw clenched. It was low, she admitted, but the man tried her so with that steady, foolish gaze.

  She couldn’t trust him. She mustn’t. “You are here to kidnap me again, aren’t you? You’ve hatched some new plan to lock me up somewhere!”

  And then she saw it, the shadow in his eyes the second before he looked away. “You are planning something!”

  He shook his head. “Count von Dremen will set you on your way to safety tomorrow. You should be back in London within a fortnight. No imprisonment, no tricks, I swear.”

  “But you’re planning something else, then—I can see it! Tell me!”

  “I am yours to command, Liebling, but not in that way.” His lips curled. “You’ll be on your way home in the morning, after months of virtual imprisonment at Rotenburg and a very trying last few weeks on the road and with us. Don’t you have any other commands for your husband foresworn?”

  He leaned toward her, filling her vision. Boldly, he unknotted her sash and spread open wide the front of the silk dressing gown that the maid had left her in. “You are very beautiful this evening,” he murmured. His gaze roamed over her, taking in the countess’s borrowed undergarments. “Your boy’s clothing had its charm, but a corset is much more interesting attire.”

  His fingertips grazed the tops of her breasts.

  “Wolfram!” She batted at his hand before realizing he’d startled her into using his Christian name.

  And noticing that she didn’t pull back from him.

  Or refasten the front of her gown.

  “I am at your command, Lenora,” he remarked, eyes shining.

  The notion shot an odd thrill to the pit of her stomach. If he told the truth about his plans, she might never see him again. The confused feelings—the guilty and fearful pleasures of last night and of their first night together—rushed back. A flush rolled across her body. She felt suddenly hot.

  He smiled, a knowing smile, as his eyes traced her parted mouth, the quickened rise of her breast, the flush at her cleavage. Not a smile of triumph, but of pure male pleasure, and of wicked promise.

  He offered her power, hers to use and explore. It was, she saw, to be a parting gift. She sensed the recompense he intended for the choices he’d taken from her, the virginity he’d taken. The harness he’d forced her into may have been a velvet one. She knew he could have taken far more from her and she would have been powerless to stop him. Yet bonds were bonds. Here was the offer of a turning of the tables.

  She was tired of fear and shame and cruelty between a man and a woman. She knew more was possible. Could she have it, at least this once, with this strange knight errant of hers?

  “Are you well?” she suddenly thought to ask. “You were feverish only yesterday. When I left you this morning, you were barely recovered from a nasty shoulder wound. And the cuts on your arm and scalp haven’t finished healing yet either.”

  “Stop fussing, I’m fine.”

  “You shouldn’t be out of bed.”

  His wicked smile deepened. “I am delighted to return to bed, lady—if you will come with me.”

  That smile was impossible to resist. She felt herself pulled in by its promise and her hesitations melted away. “You are mine to command, you say?”

  “Aye, lady.” His eyes shone brighter.

  What chivalric courtesy . . . she decided to test its limits. She rose to stand in the middle of the room. “Come to me, then.” She pointed to the floor in front of her. “Here, on your knees.”

  He stalked toward her, his eyes gleaming in the firelight with their own fierce blue flame. The game was a dangerous one, but suddenly so delicious she dared take it on.

  Dared take him on.

  She drew in a shaky breath as he sank to both knees in front of her.

  “Don’t stop now, my lady wife. I am here to serve your pleasure. My sword is yours to command.”

  Her lips twitched. “None of your naughtiness, knight.” But his wordplay gave her courage. She dropped the silk dressing gown into a pool at her feet and watched his eyes go dark. He was right about the corset: it did such interesting things for one’s cleavage.

  His hands clenched. She could tell that he wanted to touch her. It seemed an excellent idea. On his knees in front of her, his mouth—that amazing, lush mouth of his—lined up perfectly with her breasts. And she found she liked having the advantage of height over him for once.

  She trailed her own fingertips across the tops of her breasts, exposed by the low-cut corset almost to her dark-pink areoles. “You may touch me”—she slipped a finger into the tight cups to hitch up her breasts enough to pull the nipples free of the boned and embroidered silk—“with your lips.”

  With a growl, he set hands to her cinched waist and pulled her toward him. Fire splashed across her flesh as his mouth brushed her skin. She caught hold of his shoulders and gasped.

  What was this game they played? The rules of it were quite beyond her, and she knew herself to be dangerously out of her depth. But she trusted this man—there was the rub. Despite the revolution consuming the countryside and the threats at every turn, she felt safe—here, in this room, with this man, in his arms.

  Although he’d forced her into marriage and bedded her against her protests, she knew his blasted honor would keep her safe.

  It made no sense; indeed, it made her question her better judgment. But she could tell that his vows, unlike the ones Kurt had stood ready to make, formed a sacred bond to him—pledging his life to hers.

  And now he knelt in front of her, laving hot pleasure across her bosom. Along with her absurd sense of trust
bloomed growing sparks of desire for this man. She could take him to her bed. It could be her choice this time, on her terms, here in this room of hers. She could control the play.

  To be sure, she asked a question. “And if I say stop?”

  He seemed to have no trouble following the train of her thought. He lifted his mouth off her puckered nipple. “I would stop. What I did before was for your safety, to give me the right to protect you, when danger rode all around you. I would not have otherwise taken away your choice as I did, and I will not do so again.”

  “If we proceed very far, and I only say stop at the end?” It was a test, and maybe a bluff. She wasn’t ready to forgive him for what he’d done, nor absolve him for his actions. Nor was she ready to act quite as boldly as she wished on the feelings stirring within.

  “I am at your command, lady. I am no boy, prey to my lust. You can trust me to control my passion—although you are, by far, the most splendid and glorious vision of womanhood I’ve ever beheld in my life.” He blew gently on her nipple before giving it another lick. “But are you sure you’ll want me to stop?”

  His wicked grin was far too arrogant, but the man had a point. Stopping him would prove her control but end her pleasure. No one could foretell the future, especially now, with Europe in flames. Her reputation was unlikely to survive this fiasco. A quiet spinster’s life in the household of one of her brothers seemed her most likely fate.

  But here, now, was her very own knight, sworn to her cause, devoting himself to her pleasure. He might even be her husband, in the eyes of God and state. Why not take pleasure in and with him?

  She made her decision. “You may proceed, my knight errant.”

  “Nay, not errant, lady. I wander no more. I am bound to your side, to your fate, come what may. No matter what happens after tomorrow, Lenora, know that I meant every vow I made to you. The marriage contract will hold. The rights it gives you are yours. I am your knight of love, lady.”

  Later, she realized that the strange urgency of his tone should have warned her. But he was rubbing his roughened thumb pads across the tips of her breasts as he spoke. She had no room left for thought, doubt, plotting, or intrigue. She was done with politics and misery. She wanted to feel.

  “Love me well, then, my Black Knight.” And she pulled him to her.

  He feasted upon her, alternating his attentions from breast to breast. His large hands cupped her buttocks and kneaded in time to the pull of his mouth on her nipples. As he pressed kisses across her breasts, he tugged free her corset laces.

  God bless a clever man.

  She dropped her head back and moaned. His bulk anchored her, warmed her to the core.

  “More.” The word slipped from her, entreaty or command.

  “As you wish, lady.” With a growl, he surged to his feet, shed her corset and shift, and picked her up in his arms.

  The sheets cooled her flushed skin as he laid her down on the bed. A real bed—imagine!

  Most of his own clothing followed, willy-nilly. And when he lay down beside her, she was cool no more. Heat radiated from him. He was so big, twice the bulk of her own form. When he reached for her, the memory of fear prickled at her. The feel of his power made her stop him.

  “Wait.” Another command. She found she liked the sound of it on her tongue. “No, my knight,” she said, sitting up. “It is I who am taking the fences tonight. You jump at my command.”

  He grinned, clearly amused. “You may hold the reins as tight as you wish, lady. You will find me a well-behaved and responsive mount. Most smooth in the saddle, I assure you.”

  “I believe I would like to inspect my mount further.” She plucked at the band of his trousers, his last remaining clothing. “Remove these, if you please.”

  The breeches—and his smalls with them—hit the floor with most gratifying alacrity.

  “Now lie down, here.” She pointed to the middle of the huge be-pillowed bed, shifting back on her heels.

  He lay flat on his back, one arm tucked akimbo behind his head and legs splayed open. His other arm sported a fresh bandage wrapping the shoulder, but the skin looked healthy and he moved the arm with relative ease. A quick healer, this Black Knight of hers. The bedchamber candles flickered across his nude form: long limbs, thick corded muscle, a dusting of dark hair over gold-lit flesh.

  “Shameless man”—she slapped lightly at his thigh—“have you no modesty?”

  He gave her a roguish smile. “Our flesh has become one. I have nothing to hide from you. This body is yours now, lady, to do with as you please.”

  This thought was a new one. She turned it over in her head. “Mine?”

  “Yes, lady.” Those blue eyes shined. “Quite entirely all yours.”

  She trailed a hand lightly down the center of his chest. She could take her time. Satisfy her curiosity. About that part of him, for example.

  It rose up from his groin, thick, throbbing with a little pulse as it lay on his belly. He grinned at the direction of her gaze. “It points toward my heart.”

  Despite herself, she laughed. Did all men spout such nonsense? “Do you think me the village milkmaid, to be taken in by such drivel?”

  “I speak the truth, lady. My passion is for you, my love, my wife.”

  She stroked across his unwounded shoulder and down his arm. Such muscles! She remembered him fencing, bare chested, one day last week in the camp’s makeshift practice yard. She hadn’t realized a man could be so graceful and so quick-footed when his frame carried such rock-hard musculature. So different from a woman’s soft smoothness. But that skin on the throbbing part of him lower down—it looked soft, even silky. She glanced at it through downcast eyes.

  Just how bold was she prepared to be?

  “Have you had many lovers?” she asked. The question seemed a good place to start. Besides, she knew so little about this man.

  “Not really. None as beautiful, as brave, or as special as you. Et mulierem ignoro, et virgo non sum.”

  She frowned, puzzling it out. “ ‘I have never known a woman, and yet I am no virgin’? Some early Church father, I presume?”

  He nodded. “Basil of Caesarea. Until you, Lenora—I have never known a woman until you.”

  “I’m not so beautiful.” She regretted the unguarded words as they slipped out. Fishing for compliments, Lenora? The man slipped under her guard somehow. What did she care what he thought of her? But somehow she found herself curious and caring, indeed. She liked him thinking her beautiful and special. As the eldest daughter of a wealthy duke, she’d been complimented from the moment of her coming out. The endless, empty flattery long ago convinced her that the opposite must be true.

  “You can’t see yourself as I do.” He reached for a strand of her hair. “Sable tresses, so lively with these curls; they reflect your energy. Such flashing green eyes”—he stroked fingertips along her brows—“like a forest dryad.” He matched caresses to his words: “This strong chin and high cheekbones—no wilting wallflower, you. Skin everywhere like the finest Chinese silk”—he stroked lower, to neck, shoulder, belly, and hip, before returning to trace shivers along the rim of her mouth—“and truly divine lips that haunt my dreams.”

  Blushing at his praise, she laid her head on his belly to better inspect this lower part of him. His smell was intoxicating. Clean, but musky, strong. And very compelling. She breathed deeply, then raised her head to look at him. “May I . . . ”

  His eyes darkened as he caught her intent. “Whatever you wish, lady. My body is yours. Whatever gives us pleasure is good between us.”

  But the shadow of Kurt cast its gloom into the chamber. “What if one of us insists on something that the other finds unacceptable?” She pushed back at the memories.

  “Then that would be wrong,” he answered, smoothing a big hand along her back. “You must tell me immediately if anything I ever do makes you uncomfortable. I will stop. You, however, may do to me as you wish.” His wide mouth crooked up at the corners. “I find
it hard to imagine any desire of yours would be unacceptable to me.”

  “What if I wanted to—”

  “Yes?” he prompted.

  “I don’t know . . . to order you about in some way.”

  His smile widened into a curve of lips and lift of an eyebrow. “It seems only fair, doesn’t it, given how men have been ordering you about? I hope you believe now that Kurt and I are of a very different sort, but fate has made your destiny subject to both our wills. I don’t blame you for wanting to be in control instead. I put myself in your hands, in any way you choose.”

  She thought about it, absently petting his furred chest. What, exactly, would she choose? Knowledge and pleasure and control all seemed fine choices. She wanted to know how a man’s body worked—a good man’s body. Males were so very intriguingly different from her own person. She wanted—she was willing to admit it to herself, cocooned in the velvet hangings of the bed—more of the pleasure she’d experienced with this particular man before, but without the fear and rage that had marred their so-called wedding night. And she wanted this time to be in control of it all, setting the stage and the pace.

  “Stay,” she said. She pushed down on his chest for leverage as she swung her legs to the floor. Where are those linen undergarments the countess sent this afternoon with the maid? She riffled through the garderobe in the flickering candlelight. There—two linen shifts, sturdy enough for the task she had in mind.

  She climbed back into the bed.

  He raised an eyebrow again. “Am I to dress in a lady’s clothing? I’m not sure they’ll fit.”

  He surprised a laugh from her. She hadn’t thought of laughter as part of lovemaking. Nor that this man would amuse her or provoke such . . . interesting ideas in her head.

  “I do mean to test this fine stitching against your blacksmith’s bulk, but not that way.” She scooted up to the mass of pillows and bolsters at the head of the bed and pulled one wrist from behind his head. The head groom at Sherbrooke had taught her about knots as well as throwing knives. “Do you mind?” she asked. She strived for a worldly tone, as if tying a man to the bedposts were an everyday task, although her heart beat a fast staccato in her ears.