by Alexa Aston
A plan began forming in her mind. In case anyone came looking for her, it would be good to have an alibi. It didn’t hurt that Seraphina was a romantic.
Furtively, she looked over her shoulder and then leaned in and confided, “I am on my way to meet with Lord Ferand, Seraphina. But if anyone wonders where I am, you’re to say nothing. Understand? Not even to Lady Rose.”
A dreamy look crossed her friend’s face. “Oh, I will keep your secret, Elia. But you must tell me all about your encounter.”
“I shall,” Elia promised. She would think of ways to embellish a second meeting with Ferand de Montfort, giving Seraphina enough details to make it believable.
“Go,” her friend urged. “I will see you later.”
Elia made her way to the queen’s rooms, her heart beating rapidly. What she did now would be considered treason, stealing a missive meant for the queen’s eyes. If she could find the message and remove it so the queen never saw it, then Elia could tell Isabella that she had received word from home. She might even explain that her father had arranged a marriage for her and she must return as soon as possible for the nuptial mass to take place.
That would mean finding someone to escort her the hundreds of miles north, though. She might possess a few fighting skills, thanks to Kenneth’s tutelage, but Elia was smart enough to realize she would never make it that far on her own. She would need protection. ’Twould be better to find someone up to the task here in the Palace of Westminster because the queen was scheduled to go to the Tower sometime in the next week for her confinement. Her fourth child was due in early July and Isabella had decided it was time to birth one of her children in London. The confinement would isolate not only the queen but all of the ladies-in-waiting who accompanied her. Escape would be impossible until well after the royal birth occurred.
Elia greeted the royal guardsmen outside the queen’s rooms and slipped inside. They had known her for years and wouldn’t question her presence, even at this hour. As late as it was, Isabella should have retired for the night. She’d begun to tire easily in the last month as her pregnancy progressed. She went to bed earlier and rose later than usual and even had begun to take afternoon naps, as she had during the other times she was with child.
Keeping her footsteps light, Elia went through the doors into the next chamber, breathing a sigh of relief when she found it empty. Only half a dozen candles flickered in the darkness. She made her way to a table where the queen composed her correspondence and read missives that had been delivered, collecting a candle as she did in order to have some light.
Seating herself, Elia searched among the rolled up parchments, seeking the seal that depicted the head of a wolf, the insignia of the de Wolfe family. Spying it, she slipped it inside her kirtle, in the valley between her breasts. As she stood, her shoe caught in the hem of her gown and she stumbled. The candle flew from her hands and fell against the wall, igniting the fringe that hung from the edge of a tapestry. Elia beat her palm against it, putting out the sparks before further damage could be done. Her palm throbbed but she didn’t think she’d done any harm to herself. She would bathe it in cool water and put a salve on when she returned to her chamber.
But now, the faint scent of smoke filled the air. What should she do? She retrieved another candle and held it next to the tapestry. Up close, it was obvious that some of the threads along the bottom were shorter than others. Elia stepped away and looked from a distance. It wasn’t noticeable from several feet away. She hoped no one discovered the damage anytime soon. Mayhap she could encourage the queen to retreat to the Tower a few days earlier. By the time she returned from birthing the new prince or princess, a servant would have seen the slight harm done to the tapestry and had it repaired, with no one the wiser.
Hoping for the best, Elia decided to leave. At night, the next room always had one or two ladies-in-waiting on duty and sometimes a servant, as well, in case the queen awoke during the night and wanted something. On her way out, Elia picked up a small book. She could say this was the reason she’d returned to the queen’s rooms for the night. No one would think anything of it since she often read to the queen and during her free time sat in the gardens alone as she read.
More aware of her aching palm now, she switched the book to her other hand and went through the previous room before opening the heavy door to the corridor. Elia nodded at the guards and continued, passing Lord Ger along the way. She picked up her pace, wanting to return to the safety of her room. Turning a corner, she heard a commotion behind her and heard someone call, “Stop!”
Elia began to run.
Chapter Four
Ferand left the palace and roamed the streets of London for an hour, needing to stretch his legs and clear his mind. Sir Francis had been right about the foul smells. Everywhere Ferand turned, he found rubbish heaped upon waste, both human and animal. He wondered why anyone would wish to live in such surroundings as he returned to the Palace of Westminster.
Lady Rose had been kind enough to arrange a chamber for him indefinitely. She mentioned that she would see to it once they parted and where he should go as they observed the many females. But only one woman had truly caught his attention.
Elia de Wolfe.
Her beauty was undeniable but Ferand knew much lay below the surface. The fact that Lady Rose chose to introduce the two of them let him know Lady Elia’s worth. He longed to spend hours with her, finding out exactly who she was and what interested her—and even more, exploring her sweet curves and lush mouth. He’d coupled with women over the years but none had fascinated him as much as the brief time he’d spent in her company.
He wondered why she wasn’t betrothed. Did the de Wolfe name intimidate other courtiers? Even if it didn’t, he imagined her quick tongue might put a man in his place.
Returning to the palatial building which would temporarily serve as his quarters, Ferand located a servant who brought him to his assigned chamber. He lay on the bed for a few minutes, his thoughts swirling. Knowing sleep wouldn’t come for some time, he decided to wander the palace and familiarize himself with its layout. Though he passed a few people in the long series of corridors, most must have bedded down for the night.
Turning a corner, he continued down a long passageway. Just as he reached where it intersected with another hallway, a figure rounded the corner at blazing speed and crashed into him. Instinctively, Ferand grabbed on to someone’s elbows and looked down.
His gaze met the deep, green eyes of Elia de Wolfe.
“Come back!” a voice called from a distance.
Lady Elia cursed under her breath. She removed a scroll hidden inside her kirtle and slammed it against his chest.
“Take it!” she hissed.
Ferand released one of her elbows and accepted the small scroll. The seal remained affixed. On it was a head of a wolf. He assumed it was a missive to her from a family member, most likely her father.
“Hide it,” she commanded as the footsteps grew louder.
She pulled on him, leading him around the corner.
“Promise me you will not read it.”
He saw the panic welling in her face and how she fought against it.
“I won’t.” Ferand slid it inside his tunic, feeling it scratch against his chest.
“Lady Elia!” The voice came closer.
“God’s Bones,” she murmured.
Looking around, she pulled Ferand toward a nearby alcove and pushed him partially in it. He heard something fall to the ground.
“Kiss me,” she ordered. “And make it look like the kiss of your life.”
Ferand needed no further invitation.
He took both her elbows again and yanked her to him. A quick gasp escaped her lips as he wrapped his left arm around her waist, fitting her snug against him. His right hand latched on to the back of her neck and held her steady as his mouth crashed down on hers. She opened her mouth, mayhap to protest, but she’d given him a task and Ferand knew he was up to it.
His tongue swept into her mouth, past the lips that he planned to explore more leisurely at a later date. For now, he took her at her word and possessed her. The scent of violets, which he’d noticed when he kissed her hand earlier, wafted around him as her skin heated against his. Her full breasts pressed against his chest and he felt her nipples pebbling in need through her clothes. He wanted his hands on them. His mouth on them.
But he would make do with what she’d given him for now.
As he kissed her, her tongue began to war with his, matching him stroke for stroke. His arm tightened around her waist. His fingers slid from her neck, dragging to her face. He cupped her cheek as he continued to breathe her in. The kiss became deeper. More frantic. More possessive.
Then someone cleared his throat. Ferand realized they had an audience and reluctantly tore his mouth from hers. Their gazes met and he saw the dazed look in her eyes.
Turning to the man who’d interrupted them, he ground out, “What?”
He was thin, with sandy hair and a nervous air about him. He hesitated, as if unsure what to do. Two royal guardsmen stood behind him. One looked at Lady Elia with undisguised lust. The other grinned and dropped his eyes to the ground.
“What?” Ferand asked again, allowing his impatience to be evident even as he continued to hold the warm woman against him.
“Uh, I need to speak with Lady Elia,” the man said.
“Quickly then,” he said. “The lady and I have our own business at hand.”
“I can see that,” the man croaked out. He glanced to the noblewoman. “My lady. Forgive me but . . . I . . . I need to see if you might have a missive on you.”
Ferand felt her tense slightly but her face gave nothing away.
“What would I be doing with a missive, Lord Ger? Those are delivered to my bedchamber and I read them in private. I keep each one I receive in a small cask and look over them again from time to time, especially when I am missing home.” She sniffed. “Besides, ’tis none of your business what my father or brother write to me and they are the only ones who do so.”
The man she’d called Lord Ger shifted uncomfortably. “It’s just that . . . well, one of the guards thought he saw a missive tucked inside your kirtle when you left the queen’s rooms. One that he hadn’t noticed when you entered earlier. Not that you would—”
“You think I would steal from the queen? After all my years in service to her? Why, she has been as an older sister to me. Taught me much about life. I would die for my queen, Lord Ger. Can you swear the same?” she demanded haughtily.
Lady Elia pushed Ferand from her. “I cannot believe you would accuse me of behavior so vile.” She spread her arms wide and backed against the wall, looking as if she were about to be crucified upon it.
“Go ahead. Search me,” she commanded.
When he hesitated, fire shot from her eyes. “Do it!” she barked. “I will not have you sully my name with some false accusation. Go ahead. I have nothing to hide.”
Reluctantly, Lord Ger stepped up and did as she asked. Ferand watched Lady Elia raise her eyes to the ceiling, a bored look on her face. Admiration for her filled him. He didn’t know what she’d been about but she was controlling the situation magnificently.
“Enough.” Ferand stepped up. “Obviously, the lady doesn’t have any concealed missive on her. Leave her be.”
Lord Ger stepped back. Lady Elia dropped her arms to her sides as she continued to glare.
“Then why were you in the queen’s rooms?” the nobleman asked.
“For that.”
All the men looked to where she pointed. Ferand reached for the small book lying on the floor and brought it up, handing it to Lord Ger.
“Love poems?” he asked, his brow creasing.
Lady Elia snatched it from his hands. “I had left it in the queen’s rooms earlier.” She took a calming breath. “I had planned to have Lord Ferand read me one or two but . . .” Her voice trailed off.
“We found ourselves busy with other matters,” Ferand quickly supplied. He reached for her hand and entwined his fingers with hers then lifted their joined hands to his lips. Softly, he brushed a kiss against her knuckles and lowered their hands.
He added, “Hopefully, you have your answers, my lord, for I am loath to tolerate any more interruptions.” His arm slid possessively around her waist.
“Nay, my lord. My lady. Excuse us.” Lord Ger beat a quick retreat, followed by the two knights close on his heels.
Waiting until they retreated, Lady Elia turned to him, gratitude in her eyes.
“Thank you, my lord. I am sorry to have involved you in this matter.” Her teeth bit into her lower lip and all Ferand could think of was wishing he could do the same.
She released her lip and then said, “I promise you that I am not committing treason. If you noticed, the seal on the missive noted it was from my father. I know what he writes of and—”
“You don’t wish the queen to see it,” Ferand finished.
“Aye,” she said softly. She sighed and raised her chin a notch, not wishing to show defeat. “I am in your debt, my lord.”
It was exactly what Ferand wanted to hear. He smiled. “Then if you’re willing, I’d like to collect my payment. Now.”
Without giving her a chance to reply, Ferand’s hands captured her waist and drew her to him again. He backed her into the alcove, all the way this time, so that no one could see them.
He wasn’t in the mood for anymore interruptions.
Chapter Five
Elia’s back touched the wall at the same moment Lord Ferand’s lips pressed against hers. This time his kiss started gently, unlike the first one of instant heat. Yet, this second time proved just as devastating as the first as he explored her mouth slowly, softly, taking small nips and then outlining her mouth with the tip of his tongue. A frisson of pleasure shot down her spine. She clutched his tunic for support as her knees weakened.
His warm lips left hers, grazing her cheek, moving languidly to her ear. His teeth teased the lobe, causing another shiver of pleasure to sizzle within her. Then he nibbled his way back the way he’d come and found her mouth again, his tongue gliding along its seam. Elia opened willingly to him, something she’d never done before. Several courtiers had caught her in an embrace over the years, stealing kisses on the sly. Some even pushed their tongues into her mouth, which she’d only tolerated.
But this?
This was heaven.
Lord Ferand continued sampling her. Elia tasted a faint trace of wine and his scent proved intoxicating, a mix of something utterly male, causing the blood to pound in her ears. His hands had remained cinched to her waist, his fingers kneading her. But now they dropped to the curve of her hips. A low growl came from deep within his chest. She smiled against his mouth, the first time she’d felt her feminine power exercised over a male.
He broke the kiss and planted his palms on either side of her face. Their bodies almost touched but not quite. Heat radiated from him. His eyes locked on hers. Her whole body trembled as she saw the desire in them.
“I would tell you how beautiful you are but I am sure many men have done so before me,” he rasped.
“A few,” she admitted coyly.
“And that your kiss is one I could never get enough of. Have others told you that?” he asked, his lips moving along her throat and lightly grazing against it.
“Nay,” she said softly. “I have kissed a few men during my time at the royal court. Not many. Not often.” Elia paused. “And never like this.”
Ferand stopped. His lips left her throat. Raising his head, he asked, “You speak the truth?”
She could only nod. The fierce, tender look in his gaze almost undid her.
Strong hands cupped her cheeks. “I have also kissed my fair share of women. But none have tasted as you do. Full of light and sweetness.”
He brought his mouth to hers again and kissed her deeply, his fingers pushing into her hair. Elia’s scalp tingled. He
r heart raced. Her blood sang. And where her legs joined together at her most private place, a throbbing had taken hold, pulsing with insistence, wanting something that she understood only he could give.
Elia knew nothing about this man—and yet craved his touch.
She blinked several times, trying to break the spell between them as she turned her head, breaking their kiss. She couldn’t afford any distractions and Ferand de Montfort was a huge one. Making her way home must be her priority, no matter how stirring his kisses were.
“I must leave, my lord.”
“Ferand. Please. Call me Ferand.” His callused thumbs stroked her cheeks.
Reluctantly, her eyes met his. “Ferand,” she echoed.
This man was more than a distraction. He was dangerous. Elia had to leave. Now. Before she did something she might regret.
“May I have my missive?” she asked, her voice low.
“What if Lord Ger—or someone else—stops you again? He left at my insistence but he still may not trust you.”
He was right. It would be just like the nobleman to be waiting at her bedchamber, trying to catch her with a missive addressed to the queen which should never be in her possession.
“Then burn it.”
He nodded. “I will when I reach my bedchamber. May I escort you to yours?”
Elia’s head told her to deny him that privilege but her heart spoke for her. “Aye.”
Ferand dropped his hands from her face, sliding them to her shoulders and down the length of her arms until he reached her hands. He pulled her from the alcove. No one remained in the corridor.
She led him through a maze of hallways until they reached her chamber. When they arrived, Elia knew she wasn’t ready to part from him. She made an impulsive decision.
“Lord Ferand, I am in great need. I must return to my home in Northumberland at once and need an escort.”
He studied her a long moment. “And you wish me to take you?” he finally asked. “Even if that might place you more in my debt?”
