“I should never have agreed to this, Marta,” Fontaine sighed, burying her face in her hands. “It can only make matters worse and…” Her speech ceased as Knight strode into the room, quite unexpectedly.
“Miss Fontaine,” Knight said in a whisper, “Quick!”
“Pardon?” Fontaine asked, startled into rising from her chair.
“Your aunt is on her way to the kitchen,” he explained. “The game is afoot!” The daring smile on his face, the brilliant fire in his eyes gave Fontaine no comfort, and as he took her hand, she withdrew it instantly.
“Oh, don’t forsake bravery now, peach,” he chuckled.
“Peach?” Fontaine exclaimed, her hand still tingling from his touch.
“Away with you now, Marta,” he ordered. “Let her find us this way alone.”
With a smile and a nod Marta slipped from the room by way of the servants’ door to the alley.
“Make be the proficient actress, miss,” Knight said, lowering his voice and taking hold of her hand once again. “You’ve got a splinter in this finger, just here,” he whispered separating her index finger from the rest, raising it closer to his face and scowling as if concentrating with great intention on the digit.
“I do?” Fontaine whispered.
“You do,” he ordered. Fontaine was not dull-brained, just caught unsuspecting for a moment. After all, these were her first moments drawn into the ruse. “Here she comes now,” he whispered. “Stay still.”
From the corner of her eye Fontaine could see her aunt pause at the kitchen doorway.
“It’s just there, miss,” Knight said, no longer whispering. His eyes narrowed for a moment, an alluring smile spreading across his lips as he said, “Indeed a nasty splinter you’ve got there, miss…but not to worry.” Fontaine gasped, her eyes widening with astonishment as Knight then drew her finger to his mouth placing the end of it on the tip of his tongue a moment before tenderly nibbling at it with his teeth. Her knees buckled, his conduct suddenly stirring her in a manner she’d never before experienced. She straightened her traitorous joints and managed not to collapse in rapture at his feet somehow. Knight’s eyes remained locked with her own, and Fontaine felt the crimson of titillation’s blush burning her cheeks as his nibbling the flesh of her finger slowly grew into two lingering kisses, administered in warm, moist succession.
“There you have it, miss,” Knight said, releasing her hand and pretending to pluck something from his tongue with his thumb and forefinger.
“Oh!” Fontaine breathed. “Thank…thank you very much, Knight,” she stammered, completely flustered by his intimate performance.
“I’m always glad to help, miss,” he said, smiling.
“Here you are, Knight!” Lady Wetherton sang, entering the room. “I’ve need of my coachman today. I’m off to luncheon at Lord Greenville’s estate.”
“Yes, milady,” Knight said with a nod. “I’ll ready your carriage at once.” Nodding in Fontaine’s direction he said, “Miss?”
“Yes. Thank you, Knight,” Fontaine managed. Wearing a mischievous grin, he left the kitchen.
“And here I find you in the kitchen once again, Fontaine,” Lady Wetherton sighed. “How many times have we spoken of this?”
“I…I had a splinter, Aunt…and…and was seeking Marta’s help,” Fontaine explained. “She seems to be out, however.”
Lady Wetherton smiled as if she owned some secret triumph. “And your splinter?”
“It…it is no more,” Fontaine answered. “Actually, Knight was able to retrieve it nicely.”
Lady Wetherton breathed a laugh. “I’m certain he was.” Then, taking her gloves from her reticule, she added, “Well, I’m off to luncheon with Lord Greenville. Pray occupy yourself with your needlework or in the library and leave the servants to the kitchen, Fontaine.”
“Yes, Aunt,” Fontaine said.
Once Lady Wetherton had left the kitchen, Fontaine exhaled with relief. She realized from the moment Knight had entered the kitchen, her manner of drawing breath had been rather shallow. Taking hold of the kitchen table, she promptly sat down and attempted to settle her nerves.
“What a display indeed!” Marta exclaimed in a hushed voice as she stepped through the servants’ entrance door, radiating delight. Clapping her hands together with excitement she added, “That will put her to thinkin’ all is as she’s ordered, it will.” Sighing understandingly then, she covered one of Fontaine’s trembling hands with one of her own soft, plump ones. “And ya were thinkin’ it would be hard to seem as if ya were enjoyin’ his affections. Why, ya’re red as a rosy radish, lass!”
“His manner was far too…too flirtatious, Marta. Far too flirtatious!” Fontaine said, trying to still the mad hammering in her bosom.
“His manner was perfect, it was! Just what the old hag wanted,” Marta assured her. “He did a fine job of it. Quick on his feet, he is.” Marta tenderly took Fontaine’s chin in hand, smiling. “But ya’ll need to learn to be far quicker on yars, me girl.”
“I know it,” Fontaine admitted. “Still, I doubt this façade entirely, Marta. No good can possibly come of such deceit.”
Marta laughed. “Oh, ya’re not doubtin’ it entirely, me love…else ya wouldn’t have agreed to it in the first place.”
Fontaine closed her eyes, gently massaging one temple. “He gave me such hope last evening, Marta. For a few brief moments, I began to believe he might actually deliver me somehow.”
“And he might yet do it, me love,” Marta whispered, smiling lovingly at the girl. “He might yet do it.”
Knight was glad of the fact the winter rain was not pouring down upon him that afternoon as he sat with Lady Wetherton’s carriage outside Lord Greenville’s manor. Winter was waning; he could sense spring around the corner, and he was glad for it. He sat down on a nearby bench, pulled one of Marta’s nutmeg muffins from his pocket, and ate it entirely in only four bites.
A smile captured his lips as he reflected on the expression arresting Fontaine’s face when he’d put her finger to his mouth during those moments in the kitchen earlier. For an instant he feared she might faint away from the shock of it, but with a flutter of her lovely eyelashes, she had managed to recover quickly. The situation was lacking insight on his part, for he should’ve guessed she was wholly untouched by any such flirtation. Still he chuckled at the memory of her gasp, the way her cheeks blushed vermilion.
“Poor little kitten,” he muttered aloud to himself. She definitely needed schooling in the art of making love and in the skill of deceiving. His smile left him, for he was reminded just what a master of deceit he had become during his stay at Pratina Manor. Drawing in a deep breath, he tightened his jaw, however, reminding himself it was the only way to help her. The only way she would accept, in any case. He would not reveal himself now and lose all her trust he’d worked so hard to gain. He would see the charade through…every bend in it…until the poor girl was in better circumstance. Still guilt gathered thick in his throat as he thought of her innocence where his true character was concerned. He sighed and stood when he saw Lady Wetherton descending the steps of Lord Greenville’s manor house.
One thing he knew—he must not let Fontaine be caught so unaware again. He must tutor her before next her aunt found them together. At first, Fontaine’s astonishment at his attentions would be anticipated. But Lady Wetherton would expect that to change, expect her niece to be more at ease with him eventually.
Yes, Knight thought, as he helped Lady Wetherton into her carriage. The peach must not be found so unripe next time.
Fontaine could not push from her mind the memory of Knight’s attentions to her in the kitchen. All day she had tried, keeping as busy as she possibly could. However, each time she turned to another task, the feel of his lips on her finger burned anew, and she could think of nothing, save the fire in his eyes as he’d kissed it. And the more she contemplated the episode, the more she knew how wholly unprepa
red she was to employ her part in such a role.
And thus, she found herself pacing the floor of her bedchamber as night fell, struggling with exactly how she was to extract herself from the situation.
“I simply cannot continue with this,” she said aloud. “She’ll see through my deceit at once!” she told herself. But what of Knight? What of the two years’ wages her aunt had promised as payment for wooing her niece? No doubt he was in desperate need of such a sum. And what of his desire to repay the obligation he felt he owed her?
“Oh, dear! Oh, dear!” Fontaine mumbled, her hands nervously fidgeting as she paced back and forth.
A soft knock on the bedchamber door startled her, and she put her hand to her bosom to calm herself. Whatever could someone be about at such an hour?
“Come in,” she called, but gasped, her eyes widening as Knight himself stepped into her bedchamber, bolting the door behind him. Quickly, Fontaine snatched the white velvet robe from the foot of her bed and held it up in front of her. To have him catch her in such a state, swathed only in her nightdress, her hair down about her shoulders and arms…it was scandalous!
“Knight?” she exclaimed, taking several steps backward. “You can’t be here!”
He seemed unconcerned as he looked at her for a moment, his eyes traveling the length of her and an amused grin capturing his face.
“But I’m your lover, remember?” he said.
“My pretended lover,” Fontaine corrected him.
His smile broadened, and he strode toward her saying, “Pretend or otherwise, you need instruction in the art of it all.”
Fontaine straightened her posture defiantly. “What do you mean?” she said. For, in truth, she was rather put off by his inference she was incapable of convincingly proceeding in their farce.
“Come now, miss,” he chuckled. “You nearly dropped dead at my feet this afternoon in the kitchen.” He stood directly before her now, and Fontaine felt her breathing quicken at his nearness. He was too handsome for his own good! It was unnatural for a man to be so magnificent to look upon.
“You…you surprised me so entirely…bounding into the room like that with only ‘you’ve a splinter in this finger’ as a clue to what you intended,” she defensively explained. “My aunt was quick on your heels! I had no time to prepare and…”
“My point, miss,” he interrupted. “I doubt there will ever be time to prepare, and you must be on the ready next time.”
Fontaine clutched her robe more tightly to her bosom. “I’m…I’m not certain there should, in fact, be a next time,” she began. “I’m afraid…”
“Of course you’re afraid,” he interrupted again, his smile fading to a scowl. “Your future possibly hinges on the success of this deception…or the failure of it.” The green blaze of his eyes was mesmerizing, and Fontaine was struck speechless for a moment.
“You must learn to accept my attentions more casually…as if you expect them…as if you enjoy them,” he said, lowering his voice and moving so close to her that the front of his shirt brushed against her robe for a moment. “I want to help you, Fontaine…Miss Fontaine.” He was a brazen one, she noted, to trip into using her familiar name without any formal title. Yet it delighted her somehow, caused her heart to flutter in her bosom.
He reached out, taking a long strand of her hair in hand and twisting it loosely about one finger. Instinctively she stepped back from him, shy of his attentions.
“And this, my peach…is why I’ve come to tutor you,” he chuckled, releasing the strand of hair.
Fontaine glanced away for a moment, self-conscious of her inexperience and anxiety. “I fully admit,” she began, “I’ve no depth of experience in the matter of taking a lover.”
“And that is as it should be, miss,” he confirmed. She looked back to him, somewhat encouraged. “It is exactly what your Lady Wetherton wants to change…your innocence, your purity.”
He turned from her then, changing his attention and his line of subject. “You may not think it to look at me, miss,” he began, “But I am an intelligent and capable man.”
Fontaine was puzzled. “Have I ever given you cause to think I thought otherwise?”
He turned to look at her once more. “No…I just want to assure you of my ability to assist you. You must allow me time…time to talk to you about your situation, the terms of your father’s will, the stipulations…so I may better understand how to proceed in helping you.”
“My father’s will?” Fontaine asked. Somehow she assumed he meant to help her by spiriting her away, softening her aunt’s heart. What would her father’s will have to do with anything? After all, it was ironclad. Mr. Dennis, her solicitor and executor of her father’s will, had long ago assured her of that. “What do you mean?”
Knight shook his head and waved his hand in a gesture of dismissing his own remarks. “We’ve no time for that just now,” he said. “First we must procure time…time to think, to plan, and to act. And in order to do so, miss,” he said, going to stand just before her again. “…in order to do so, you must play the better part of accepting me…accepting me into your life, into your arms…” He paused, lowering his voice and smiling beguilingly. “…into your bedchamber for midnight rendezvous.”
Fontaine was determined to remain only as flustered as she already was. She would play the part, better than she had earlier in the day, and so she said, “You’re here, in my chamber now, are you not?”
Knight smiled. “Excellent, Miss Fontaine,” he said. “But you must likewise accept my affections,” he added, “My touch.” Again he reached out, taking a strand of her golden hair between his fingers. Fontaine swallowed, tried to still the mad hammering of her heart, and did not pull away this time.
“Very good,” he encouraged her. “Very good.” He placed one hand on her right shoulder and she flinched. “Not very good,” he chuckled. Ever so slightly squeezing her shoulder, his free hand took one of her own and raised it to his face. “Be calm, miss…for you are in no danger with me,” he whispered. Forcing her hand open, he raised her palm to his face, pressing it firmly against his cheek.
Fontaine had touched, actually rather caressed, Knight’s face many times during the period of his recovery in the sickroom. But this was far different, and her entire being began to tremble. His skin was warm, his whiskers rough, and the sensations thrilled her.
“See there, miss,” he mumbled. “You did not die for having to endure my touch.”
How little he understands, Fontaine thought. For, in truth, she had nearly fainted for holding her breath and from the mad pounding of her heart.
“And now,” he said, his eyes burning into her own, “A little more.” Fontaine gasped quietly as she felt his hands at her throat. Gently his hands held her, his thumbs pushing at her chin, tipping her head backward slightly, as his fingers rested at the back of her neck. Slowly, his head began to descend toward hers.
“Drop the robe, Fontaine,” he mumbled, his voice low and tempting like some baker’s sweet stuff. “You cannot stop my advance and retain your modesty,” he taunted. “You had better make your choice swiftly.”
Fontaine held her breath, for in truth, she had never wanted anything in her life the way she wanted Knight’s kiss! She imagined how heavenly it must be! How completely swept from reality and into a dream she would find herself, no doubt. But courage failed her, and she let go of her robe, placing her hands to his chest and pushing at him firmly. Still, she was bitterly disappointed when he chuckled and dropped his hands from around her neck. Secretly she’d hoped he’d command the moment, kiss her even for her nervous state.
“I press you too much for one day, indeed,” he said. He stepped back from her, shrugging his shoulders in a rather boyish gesture of defeat. “I feel rather cast off, actually,” he sighed. “To have my attentions so emphatically refused. It’s more humbling than I expected.”
Suddenly Fontaine felt badly for her actions. He was indeed a man whom any girl would desi
re a kiss from. “Oh, no, no, Knight,” she began, shaking her head and stepping forward toward him. “I…I did not mean…I’m just so…”
But he chuckled and turned to leave. “Not to worry, miss,” he said as he unbolted her door, making ready to leave. “Next time… I will not be put off so easily.” He smiled at her, nodded, and said, “Good night then, miss.” And he was gone, leaving Fontaine blushing, trembling, and yearning for his further attentions.
“This can come to no good end,” she said quietly to herself. She could not deny the truth any longer, could not push it to the back of her mind, trying to ignore it as she had been doing. Marta had been right, and Fontaine knew her soul had already been corrupted, for she would never be able to push Knight from her mind or her heart now. Her aunt would succeed, had already succeeded, in hurting her.
The warning in her mind was telling her to end the farce with Knight, end it before it was too late…before he pierced her heart and soul any further, leaving a wound that would never heal. Still, with every moment in his presence, every sense of his touch, she grew weaker, the ability in her to stop the charade melting away…melting just as winter’s cold cloak was giving way to spring’s bright and flowery window.
At last, she settled into her bed, but sleep did not come easily. For his touch was on her skin, his face in her mind’s visions. As had become habit, Knight fell all around Fontaine, and it was not until the early hours of morning that she slept.
Knight lay awake in his bed, hands tucked under his head, studying the shadows cast on the ceiling by the dying embers in the hearth, and enduring Big William’s continual snore. He smiled, thinking of the warm brown of Fontaine’s wide and frightened eyes. Oh, he full well knew she’d wanted him to kiss her earlier in her bedchamber, for she’d noticeably paused before dropping her robe and pushing him away. No doubt she was curious, having little experience as such a young woman of her state of things did. Still, he had been a bit unsettled himself at how sincerely he’d wanted to kiss her, how the moisture in his mouth had suddenly increased as he’d first contemplated doing so. Perhaps he would have to be more careful…careful to stay ever focused on his purpose.
The Rogue Knight Page 6