One Knight Only Page 7

  She licked her lips, and he didn’t like how easily his body responded. There was always an unwanted thread of desire between them, hovering, waiting for the right moment.

  “Helping each other do what?” she demanded. “Commit a sin because we were not married? Using each other to forget that life wasn’t the way we wanted it to be?”

  “I am so sorry for hurting you.”

  Without responding, she swept past him, as regal and remote as a queen, and he had no choice but to dutifully follow. How many times must he apologize to her? And why did it matter so much to him?

  He followed her down to her bedchamber. When she tried to enter alone, he pulled her behind him and went in first. Though Lord Milforth might be innocent, that didn’t mean that someone might not come in through the window, as had been done before. He examined each shadowy corner, searching behind the changing screen and the coffers set against the wall. The shutters were barred securely from the inside.

  When he turned around, he found her with her back to him, standing before the fire. She hugged herself, as if she were frightened—or sad. Was today the first time she’d ever been in a life or death situation? Suddenly, it was more important to touch her than to keep his distance, and he came up behind her, so close that their garments brushed. Her skirts swayed about his feet. When he whispered her name, she stiffened, but did not try to escape. He slid one arm about her waist and whispered, “You became too cold up there. You’ll catch your death.”

  He gave her the warmth of his body, turning just enough so that she did not feel his erection as damning evidence of his base interest. His front to her back, he willed the warmth that jumped between them. He could smell the faint scent of some type of flower in her hair, and he nuzzled against it. She was still shivering, but he no longer believed it was from the cold. Gently, he pressed a kiss to her neck, and her trembling grew more intense as he licked a tiny path up the delicate shell of her ear.

  She whispered his name and leaned back fully against him, turning her face up to his. Her eyes were heavy, almost closed, her lips parted, inviting him to lean over her shoulder and take the kiss she offered. Her lips, so long forbidden to him, tasted even sweeter than he remembered. He ached to let his hand sweep up her rib cage, to feel the soft fullness of her breast. When he was with Anne, pressing delicate kisses to her lips, he remembered nothing of himself or what he wanted in life. There was only her, and the desire for her that never went away.

  When he opened his mouth over hers, intent on taking more, she broke away, whirling to face him.

  Instead of tears, this time her eyes flashed fire.

  He reached for her, but she stepped back. “Anne—”

  “Nay, this was such a mistake.”

  “And it was mine,” he insisted.

  “I should have pushed you away,” she said bitterly.

  “You have far more control than I have. Pushing away is what you should do to any man who tries to touch you so familiarly.”

  “You think I have no experience at that?” she demanded angrily. She lowered her voice. “I am a maid, used to men believing that they can make free with my body.”

  He swallowed, feeling uneasy. “You believe that of me?”

  “What would you call how you behaved not two months ago?” Before he could apologize again, she held up a hand. “Aye, fine, I accept that you feel guilty and sorry about it—and that it meant nothing to you. But you would never treat the Lady Rosamonds of the world the way you allow yourself to treat me.”

  “You believe I think less of you just because I’ve kissed you?”

  “That is how you made me feel.” She waved a hand and turned away. “Believe what you will. Just stop using me whenever you don’t want to face something in your own life.”

  He frowned at her, feeling anger begin to overtake his guilt. “And what do you mean by that?”

  Over her shoulder, she said, “Exactly what I said.”

  Aye, he’d used her when his life had seemed bleak at Castle Alderley. He’d thought they’d used each other, but she didn’t seem to see it that way. But what did kissing her now have to do with facing something in his life?

  “You may leave now,” she said. “Then there will be nothing in this chamber for me to fear.”

  Chapter 6

  W hen Anne awoke the next morning, she lay still amidst the softness of the goose-feather mattress, absorbed the feeling of the clean sheets, and smelled the sweet fragrance that was a part of the cushions. Lord Milforth was treating her well. It would be so easy to become used to such luxury.

  As she dozed, her mind went to Philip as it often did, betraying her. Oh God, she’d kissed him again, let him seduce her better sense away. She remembered being in his bed, amidst sheets that smelled like him, sharing the heat of his body. Sadly, her anger had faded, and it was only the intimacy that snared her, the memory of heated flesh touching in ways she hadn’t imagined. Sometimes she wondered if her fevered imagination would leave her alone if she’d actually gone through with the act, made love with Philip as her body had demanded.

  Her knights were waiting for her below, and it was difficult to be at mass with him, when her mind would not leave its sinful meandering. She avoided Philip’s gaze, telling herself that she didn’t want Sir Walter to suspect anything. But really, she felt like a coward.

  After breaking her fast with Lord Milforth, Anne gladly left him to business with his tenants, politely dissuaded the maidservants who wanted to show her the weaving room, and went out to walk the inner ward. Her four knights were with her, the ever-present guard, and she thought they looked a little fatigued this morn. But of course she had slept while they’d guarded her door. She led them to the tiltyard and found a bench where she could sit and watch the soldiers and knights train.

  “Ah, the famed discipline of which I’ve heard so much about.”

  There was an edge of sarcasm to Philip’s voice that Anne found curious.

  “How have you heard so much about us?” Sir David asked. “Before I was approached, I thought this…association was a legend.”

  “As did I,” Sir Joseph offered.

  Anne glanced over her should and said quietly, “And I’d never even heard of it.”

  Sir Walter studiously ignored the conversation and watched Charles Milforth sword fight.

  “My grandmother was saved by a Bladesman,” Philip said.

  This was the first Anne had heard him mention his family. She was afraid to move, for fear he would be distracted.

  “She was a lady of the court?” Sir David asked.

  “Nay.”

  “Then where was she from?”

  Philip suddenly stepped from behind her and walked toward the tiltyard, saying over his shoulder, “I had best show Charles Milforth the error of his ways.”

  Sir Walter’s hand was clenched on the bench beside her shoulder. In a low voice, he said, “He had better know what he is doing.”

  “He befriended Charles last night,” Anne offered, hoping to reassure the captain.

  Charles smiled grimly when Philip approached, and then found him a blunted sword. In the ensuing match, Anne could not take her eyes from Philip. She could see the muscles in his arms bunch with each slash with the sword, as perspiration made his shirt cling to him. There was an intensity in his gaze that seemed far too familiar to her—he’d looked at her the same way when he’d been pursuing her. What he wanted, he tended to get, she thought, but not where she was concerned. She had turned him away, taught him a lesson. She should have learned her own lesson, but here she was, staring at him hungrily. She told herself to be objective, to examine his knightly skills. Strangely, the two men seemed almost evenly matched. Perhaps Philip was having the same trouble concentrating as she was.

  “Sir Philip is not challenging him,” Sir David said softly. “It is obvious he is holding back.”

  Anne narrowed her eyes as she stared at the combatants. Charles thrust forward and Philip jumped aside,
and then swung his own sword, which Charles neatly parried. She could see nothing unusual in their maneuvers, but apparently the Bladesmen did. They recognized Philip’s skill, perhaps the first step in realizing he could be a valuable member. Maybe Philip’s dream of the League wasn’t as dead as he’d thought. She hoped she wasn’t competing with him for it.

  “My lady,” Sir Walter suddenly said in a quiet voice. “I want you to know that it seems whoever has been watching you, is no longer in the vicinity.”

  She clasped her hands together, pretending to watch the combatants, when all of her attention was focused on the knights behind her. “And how do you know that? Two of our attackers escaped, did they not?”

  “Because last night, although we left you well guarded, we went out into the countryside and searched.”

  Her eyes went wide. “How did you leave the castle in the middle of the night?”

  “We have our ways.”

  Teach me, she thought. I want to know every skill you possess. I can do it all! Aloud, she said, “I tried to persuade Lord Milforth to reveal anything he might know, but I believe him to be innocent.”

  “As do we, but I appreciate your dedication.”

  Besides portraying Lady Rosamond, she could be of even more help, she realized. She had access to every nobleman on her husband-hunting list, in a way that the knights never could. She would look for clues in their speech and mannerisms that might betray nervousness, talk that might hint at allegiance to others than the king. She would prove her worth to the League.

  And then she glanced at Philip, perspiration dampening his dark hair, his body taut as he crossed swords with Charles above his head and held him there. Oh God, he was too much of a distraction.

  That evening, Lord Milforth grew bolder. There was much drinking and dancing, and Anne found herself in his arms for far too long. He held her close and whirled her around with a young man’s energy, and she finally had to tease him by pulling away and flirting with her eyes. Then she moved on to the next man, joining hands and allowing him to swing her about the floor.

  She was passed from man to man, and when one lifted her into the air to turn her about, she caught her breath, feeling a bit frightened. If he was too drunk, he could drop her. When he staggered, she gave a cry—

  And there was Philip, catching her against his chest, taking her from the arms of the knight who’d imbibed too much. For a moment, she was held against his warm body, feeling the hardness of muscle and bone, the very solidity and strength that was Philip. She looked up into his face, and he wasn’t smiling. His green eyes glittered and she found her breath was far too shallow. When he swung her to her feet, she was almost disappointed. He caught her arm, whirled her about, and then passed her to the next man.

  “No lifting her,” Philip growled at her newest partner.

  The man gulped and nodded.

  An hour later, as the merriment continued, Anne slipped away from her table, hoping to escape Lord Milforth’s notice. Guests and servants suddenly came between her and her knights, and she felt fear begin as a twinge between her shoulder blades.

  Someone slung an arm about her waist and she stiffened.

  “You cannot be leaving,” Lord Milforth said into her ear.

  His voice sounded slurred and slow, and she knew he’d had too much to drink. Her unease prickled to life.

  “It has been such a long, tiring day, my lord,” she said, striving to sound happy. “You have shown me how much I could enjoy living here.”

  “You could enjoy other things as well.”

  His arm tightened, and she had no choice but to follow where he led, praying that his son was not watching. She wasn’t yet ready to scream for help—but would anyone even hear her over the sounds of the minstrels, and the laughter of the people? And Lady Rosamond wouldn’t scream; she would be enjoying herself.

  He pulled her into an alcove just off the hall. A window inside showed the cloudy night sky obscuring the moon. He tugged a cord, and a fall of curtains separated them from the hall, muffling the sound of merriment.

  “A lovely view,” he murmured.

  She kept her gaze on the countryside and tried to smile politely. She guessed he was not referring to the scenery when his lips touched her throat.

  “My lord, you cannot take what has not yet been offered,” she said, teasing him to lighten the moment.

  His mouth was warm behind her ear, and she tried to duck away. He allowed her room in the span of his embrace, but did not release her. Yet she was able to face him and put a hand on his chest.

  He smiled. “I have heard that you are a woman who needs to know the truth of a man.”

  She cocked her head. “And I am discovering that by being with you.” Especially right this moment, she thought grimly. Where were her knights? Philip had barely taken his eyes off her all day, and now she could have used his aid.

  “Nay, truth in other ways,” he murmured, pulling her closer.

  Anne resisted, both hands flat against his chest, but the distance between them slowly closed. She felt his body against hers first, and then he cupped her head and held her still for his kiss. She kept her lips firmly shut, hoping he would realize that she would not give in to such poor tactics. His open mouth was wet, and when he licked across her lips, it took all she had not to shudder.

  A sly voice deep inside whispered that Philip’s kiss had been masterful, pleasurable.

  When Lord Milforth finally lifted his head, he looked down on her with curiosity, then satisfaction. “It is obvious that your first husband did not kiss you well—I shall look forward to teaching you better skills.”

  She was Lady Rosamond, who would only laugh throatily as she said, “I like to be in charge of a first kiss—and you missed that experience.”

  She swept the curtains aside and found Sir Walter not a foot away, obviously waiting for her. She felt relieved, yet disturbed that he had not come to her rescue. But would Lady Rosamond have wanted to be rescued from an amorous embrace?

  “Lady Rosamond?” He said the name as a question.

  She smiled and looked back at a befuddled Lord Milforth. “I am fine, Sir Walter. But I think ’tis time for bed.”

  Lord Milforth hastened after her. “Lady Rosamond, I realize that I was in the wrong. Please do return.”

  She simply waved her fingers good-bye, and allowed Sir Walter to lead her through the dancers toward the main staircase. Her other knights fell in line, and she led them all to her bedchamber like a mother duck.

  At the door, she turned and gave them a tired smile. “Your work was diligent tonight, gentlemen. My thanks.”

  Sir Walter stepped toward her. “Lady Rosamond—”

  She put up a hand. “Nay, I am too tired to discuss anything tonight. Tomorrow. We are leaving after mass?”

  He nodded.

  Philip was looking between them with suspicion, but she didn’t want to tell him anything. With her luck, he would forget his vow to obey the Bladesmen and go after Lord Milforth.

  Philip found himself with the first watch again, and he began to pace after the other knights retreated to their chamber. He still could not forget the hollow feeling of fear when he couldn’t find Anne in the great hall. He and the three Bladesmen had separated to look for her, and although it was only minutes until Sir Walter escorted her back, it had seemed like a lifetime. Where had she been?

  Young pages brought up buckets of water for Anne, and Philip remembered the last time he’d seen her in her bath. He felt dismayed that he could not banish the sultry image from his mind, even when he knew how dangerous their situation was. Every time the door opened, he stood right across the corridor, as if guarding against someone else instead of himself. He saw glimpses of Anne, wearing that same clingy dressing gown. The last time the door opened, steam was rising around her as she bent over the tub. She looked up and saw him, and the moment hung between them, fraught with a tension that burned in his blood, raised to even higher levels by the kiss t
hey’d shared. He was aroused and frustrated and angry with himself all at the same time. No woman had ever made him feel so desperate, or made him forget every other female even when they threw themselves in his lap.

  Then Margaret closed the door behind her as she left Anne’s room, smiling at him with absent satisfaction when she found her own door.

  Philip was left to stare at Anne’s closed door and imagine her inside. Thoughts of her in the tub were haunting him, and he could not even put them aside for this mission he’d vowed to complete. Was she, too, distracted by the knowledge that he was just outside, so close?

  He paced the corridor and forced his mind to consider ways to help the king. Success would bring him the attention of the female members of the court. A good marriage should be his only goal, his obligation to the memory of his family.

  But there was Anne, so close, a woman he’d pushed away. A woman who had found something else to focus on instead of regret.

  At the morning meal, when Anne next saw Philip, her regrets and her anger mingled. There had been nothing between them but “helpfulness,” according to him. And kisses they couldn’t seem to stop. She wanted to groan aloud. At least she knew where she stood with him. She’d been a dalliance, a maidservant near at hand. She would not forget.

  But oh, her body wanted more.

  Sir Walter was his usual impassive self, and she kept glancing at him, wondering if he’d overheard exactly what had happened with Lord Milforth.

  An hour later, when it was time for them to depart Birkin Castle, she thanked the baron for his hospitality, ignoring his look of embarrassment. He’d had too much to drink, he assured her, and she forced herself to smile stiffly. To her dismay, she saw that Philip had overheard, and now he’d be curious.

  At last they were on the road again, and the open sky and rolling countryside, once so peaceful, now seemed too vast. The castle with its shouts of farewell faded into the distance behind them. Though she was relieved that her masquerade had remained successful, those feelings didn’t last long. The road harbored danger, and she slipped the gauze veil down, covering her whole face. If they were seen, she did not want another man realizing she wasn’t Lady Rosamond.