Maid Until Midnight

by Joanne Rock

  “I fear your idea of a game will be too worldly for me.”

  “Very astute of you. But I think I’ve got something that we will both find amusing.”

  Lifting a hand, she tucked her fingers under her hair and combed through the long strands, smoothing it back behind her shoulder the way he’d wanted to do. Her breasts pressed against the bodice of her gown and he had to close his eyes for just a moment to stifle some of the heat that shot to his groin.

  “All right. I’m ready.” Her chin tipped up as if she prepared for battle.

  For a sheltered maid, she was far wiser than he would have imagined. But then, perhaps her years of fending off suitors had given her a certain level of shrewdness. She must have learned the bawdy song somewhere.

  “The game is this.” He crossed his ankles and leaned back on the tick, settling in to watch her. “Tell me why you have rejected each of your suitors and I will tell you—honestly—if I would have made the same mistakes.”

  “How do we determine a victor?” She arched a brow, studying him with wily eye of a battle tactician. “It is no game if there is not a winner.”

  “If I am as wretched as the rest of the men who have courted you, I withdraw my suit.”

  Her grin revealed more white teeth than he had seen from her yet. “Very well—”

  “Not so fast.” He would not have her crying foul after the fact. “If you cannot resist me, Lady Matilda, you must admit it.”

  “Of course.” She nodded, agreeing far too readily, her eye already on the prize she thought she wanted.

  And therein lay her first mistake.

  “I will know if you’re lying,” he warned, perhaps savoring his victory as much as she looked forward to hers.

  “Good luck, my lord.” Still smiling, she offered him her hand. “Let us begin.”

  Chapter Three

  Matilda felt strangely alive in his company.

  Wary too, yes. She should not trust a man who waylaid her in the woods and dragged her off to a private hideaway with no chaperone.

  After all, she had been groped in her own keep by fortune-seeking warriors. Simon of Longford, on the other hand, had more claim to her than those men. Yet he had shown remarkable care with her person.

  While he may have dallied with her a bit too long on the hillside outside of Glen Rising’s walls, he had purposely not frightened her. Had not demeaned her.

  Perhaps she was a fool for allowing him to lull her in this wicked game of his. But she was not one to retreat from a battle of wits. And truly? She was surprised to discover that this warrior knight possessed a keen mind in addition to a sword arm as hard as a tree trunk. She looked forward to his game, for she had every intention of winning.

  “I will start with an easy one.” She went through the list of men her father had thrown in her path since she was sixteen summers. “I rejected a wealthy earl who had found much favor with the king—because he was forty-two.”

  “And you were probably still clutching a doll in your delicate arms at the time.” Simon grinned. “I will be forty one day, but for now, I have not even reached my thirtieth year. Fate smiles on me to have been birthed but a few years after you.”

  “How old are you?” she asked, curious about him.

  He had the cut of a man and no boyishness about his face. But he had a mischievous quality that seemed youthful.

  “Twenty-five.” He shifted his arm in front of his chest, calling forth a swell of muscle visible even through his white lawn tunic. “Would you care to assess my virility for yourself?”

  “No.” She shook her head quickly, denying herself the chance to touch him when, if she was completely honest, she would have liked to do so. “I can see that you are a man in your prime.”

  A slow smile curved his lips as he relaxed his arm at his side.

  “That is not to say I find you irresistible,” she hastened to add, remembering their terms for this game. “Only that you are safe from the mistakes of that particular suitor.”

  “Of course.” He tugged over a cloth satchel that appeared to be stuffed with straw and propped it between his head and his elbow.

  He looked supremely at ease there. Deceptively so? His eyes glittered alertly, as if he enjoyed their game. Well, there was no harm in that. She was enjoying it as well. Especially since she was going to win.

  “There was another man who slurped his wine with the finesse of a pig at the slops.” She shuddered at the memory, the noise setting her teeth on edge. “His soup went in his beard and on his tunic.”

  Lazily, Simon reached for a satchel he had tossed on the hearth beside her. Unrolling the leather, he removed a small flagon. He tugged out the stopper and brought the container to his lips with a flourish, but stopped before he reached his mouth.

  “Perhaps this is a test,” he mused. Handing her the flagon, he asked, “Would you like some ale, my lady? Much as I am anxious to demonstrate my drinking prowess, I would always offer you refreshment first.”

  She laughed, charmed in spite of herself.

  “Thank you.” Raising the flagon to him in a quick toast, she drank the honeyed mead it contained. “It’s delicious.”

  She passed the container back and noticed his smile had vanished.

  “I’m glad it pleases you.” His voice scratched along a raw note that made her shiver in response.

  She watched him as he turned the flask halfway around, placing his mouth exactly where hers had been a moment ago. His eyes went to hers as he drank, and the heat she found there made her breathless. Her lips warmed to the point she wanted to lick over the surface to cool them, but that seemed almost like an admission of her wayward thoughts.

  “You drink admirably,” she said finally, her throat dry. “I can see you would not have made the mistake of that man.”

  “What else?” Simon prodded, placing the mead on a smooth river stone near her. “Tell me another trait you found unappealing.”

  The drink she’d taken must have hit her veins at that moment for she felt a sweet languidness in her limbs, a pleasant warmth in her blood.

  “There was the gangly young knight who kissed me in the garden,” she mused, remembering the awkward encounter beneath the pear trees.

  “You found him too forward?” Simon asked, remaining utterly still across from her, his voice soft and compelling.

  “I found him clumsy,” she confessed, thinking about how they’d bumped noses and clanged teeth.

  “I wonder how I can prove that I would not make the same mistake.”

  Simon’s simple query made her realize she had not thought through this game well enough. She had gotten caught up in feeling comfortable with him and had lost sight of how they were to decide a winner.

  “There is no need. I will grant you this round.” A moment of panic combined with a moment of anticipation and her heartbeat fluttered wildly. “I’m sure you would not make that mistake.”

  “But if I win our game after such a boon, you could say that I did not win fairly.” He pulled himself to a sitting position, his elbow draped over his knees as he faced her. “I do not want a tainted win. The stakes are too high.”

  Cursing herself and her addled wits, Matilda told herself she would not have even one more sip of mead. That wretched drink must have accounted for her lapse in judgment. But she could hardly back down. Especially not when she knew she could win this game in the end. It would be easy.

  No other man had tempted her to wed, not even a little. Why would Simon of Longford be any different?

  “Very well.” She was not some silly maid to turn cow-eyed over the attention of a handsome man. “One kiss. No more.”

  “It would be for the best,” he assured her, his expression betraying none of the lust she’d seen on other men’s faces when they had sought her lips behind her father’s back. “To assure a fair victory no matter who wins.”

  He seemed so rational, in fact, she almost resented that his heart did not race as hers did. Why should
she feel this keen awareness of him when he approached her so coolly?

  She studied him intently so that he did not catch her unaware. Behind her, the fire crackled, the flame warming her back. Yet it was nothing compared to the warmth simmering in front of her. Simon’s long legs brushed hers as he leaned closer, his strength calling to her despite her long-held belief that she did not want a warrior. Maybe it was the way his fingers brushed her cheek.

  So very gentle.

  Her skin trembled beneath that touch and her eyelids felt heavy. She fought the urge to give herself to the moment, knowing she should not let her guard down. And yet, she was suddenly certain this kiss would be nothing like those she had known. Simon’s kiss was going to be...

  Perfect.

  His lips found hers unerringly, his mouth brushing hers with unbearable softness. All of her skin seemed to awaken, and she became keenly aware of her whole body even though he did no more than stroke her lips with his. Cup her cheek in his broad, strong hand.

  She forgot the point of the kiss. No. More likely, she no longer cared about the point. The moment was a revelation and she would not allow it to pass her by unnoticed. Unappreciated.

  Scooting closer to him, she slid forward on her cloak. He smelled of hickory smoke and mead, his jaw rough under her fingertips when she lifted a hand to touch him there. Her skirts shifted around her bent legs, her thigh falling on his as she arched nearer.

  He nipped the fullness of her lower lip and it seemed only natural to grant him entrance. The stroke of his tongue tantalized, making her dizzy. The increased pressure of the kiss speared through her, heightening all her senses and sending a shock of pleasure through the heart of her.

  This was passion.

  She knew it by the way it stirred her womb, felt it in the new ache of her breasts. Twining her arms around his neck, she pressed her chest to his to soothe the sensation. But by saints, that only made the ache worse. The more she gave this clever knight, the more she wanted to offer.

  He broke the kiss but did not pull away.

  “Tilda,” he whispered against her mouth, the nickname feeling like an endearment. “I did not mean to take more than one kiss.”

  With a struggle, she recalled that she’d been the one to impose the limit. Now, with her heart beating like a battle drum, she could hardly hear her own thoughts over it.

  She should pull away. He’d certainly given her an opportunity to do so. But wasn’t that all the more reason she trusted him to treat her with care?

  “I declare you the winner,” she said softly, unable to let go of him. If anything, she wanted more.

  “Nay.” He eased back from her, inserting some space between them. “That is the kiss talking. I do not expect you to forfeit.”

  “I have known more than the clumsy knight’s kisses,” she asserted, feeling surer of herself. “I have been groped in the dark corners of the great hall and hauled behind tapestries for slobbering assaults by knaves who sought only my wealth.”

  “It sounds like they sought more than that.” Simon’s dark expression hinted at his warrior side and for the first time, she thought that sword prowess was a fortunate thing.

  This was a knight who would protect her far better than her sire, who’d been more concerned with a good bride-price than her safety.

  “Either way, I understand enough about kisses to recognize that something special just happened.” Perhaps the only thing that had happened was that she’d lost her wits, but she didn’t think so. “If one day I am to be married to a lecherous earl or a slurping old man with crumbs in his beard, wouldn’t it be a gift to remember a time that was special? A true man who treated me with tender care?”

  Simon tried to shake off the sensual fog in his brain to understand her words.

  She could not possibly mean that she would give herself to him. Such a gift was too staggering to be believed. Too dangerous for her to bestow without the protection of marriage.

  And yet the kiss they had just shared...the sensation was like a rogue lightning strike. A sizzling bolt from out of the blue, shocking him to his toes. An improbable reaction to an untried maid. But she trembled in his arms as if she had felt it too.

  “Simon.” She said his name in a way that bound them together. As if there was no one else in the world right now but the two of them.

  “It would be better to wait.” The words felt wooden, and heaven knew they were insincere. But his honor demanded that he speak them.

  “Tomorrow, I could be locked behind my father’s walls, never to see you again.” Her hands slid away from his shoulders and she lifted one wrist to unfasten the buttons of one long brocade sleeve.

  He watched, transfixed as the fabric loosened. The creamy skin on the inside of her arm came into view bit by bit.

  He’d known that she sought passion. Had told her as much when he’d felt assured of his victory in this cursed game. But he did not realize the depth of her ardor.

  Now, he was powerless to take his eyes from her bare skin.

  “Let me.” He took the sleeve from her and freed the last of the fastenings. “I will take care of you,” he vowed, needing to give her the words.

  “Yes, please,” she replied, placing one hand on his chest. “I should like you to take of...everything.”

  The blast of heat singed his brain, turning any good intentions to ash. He scooped her off the floor and into his arms, depositing her on the straw and heather tick. At last, she was near him again, the way they had been in the forest earlier. Only now, Matilda came alive, her body molding to his.

  She was soft against the hard length of him. Her breasts flattened against his chest, swelling high above the neckline. He tugged the sleeves down, pulling the bodice along with it until he freed the full mounds. He palmed one in his hand and bent to claim the other with his mouth, teasing the taut crest with a flick of his tongue.

  Matilda arched, her fingers sifting through his hair to hold him close. The small, helpless sounds she made built a fever inside him, spiking higher and hotter. He clamped her narrow waist in one arm and rolled her to her back. With clumsy fingers, he untied the laces at her side so he could slip off the heavy surcoat. Her thin linen kirtle was hardly a barrier, but by now he didn’t want anything between them. He reached to the hem and raked it up her body until he’d pulled it over her head.

  “You are magnificent,” he murmured, struck dumb beyond that one observation. Flawless skin turned golden in the firelight, the pink tips of her breasts swollen from his touch. Her narrow waist flared into womanly hips. The juncture of her thighs was crowned with pale blond down that hid her sex from view.

  She was too perfect to despoil in an abandoned cottage. Too tender to lose her virginity here when they had not even wed.

  Maybe if he reminded himself a hundred more times, he would remember.

  “You have me at a terrible disadvantage.” She bent one knee, covering a little more of herself with a twist of her thigh. “I cannot see you, but you can see me.”

  She was a treasure. An absolute, God-given treasure. And he was ruining this by thinking about what he wanted to do instead of making it perfect for her.

  Reaching for the hem of his tunic, he dragged it up and off.

  “My apologies.” His breath squeezed his lungs in a vise. “The sight of you overwhelmed me.”

  Her gray eyes lingered on his chest before drifting lower. His body throbbed in response right when he thought he couldn’t possibly have needed her more. Her fingers landed on his abdomen, dancing lightly over his skin. He captured them and squeezed. Held.

  “I walk a knife’s edge with you,” he gritted out between clenched teeth. “I do not want to ruin you, but I will need your cooperation.”

  She bit her lip and for one godforsaken moment, he feared she was going to touch him again and all would be lost.

  Instead, she gave a little nod. Her trust humbled him.

  He only prayed he would not shatter it when he brought her home t
o Longford to be his wife. To be the mother of a little girl some would say was afflicted with madness.

  For now, he lowered his lips to Matilda’s hip, and lost himself to the moment.

  Chapter Four

  Matilda saw stars.

  They burst behind her eyelids when Simon kissed her intimately.

  He seemed ready for her yelp of surprise and unwilling pleasure, for he caught the cry in his hand. She pressed a kiss to his fingers and held them there, against her lips, while his mouth plundered...oh. Such an unexpected place.

  His shoulders pinned her thighs, but his mouth was excruciatingly gentle. Thorough. He kissed her there with as much attention as he’d first taken with her mouth. She was adrift in decadent sensations, a sweet tension tightening inside her with each stroke of his tongue.

  The kisses took her higher. Higher.

  Then spun her off into oblivion on a wave of pure bliss. Her whole body spasmed in lush fulfillment, her hips twisting against him while he held her down and called forth more and more pleasure. The sensations left her panting and writhing, wanting more and yet knowing that he’d given her everything he could.

  Everything except himself.

  She should feel ashamed, perhaps. An unwed, untried maid who should save her body and her innocence for marriage. Yet she was willing to give all to Simon of Longford for the sake of the passion she’d always dreamed about. The passion the troubadours sang of.

  “I’ve always wondered why the ladies in the minstrels’ songs pine for their lovers.” She pulled a corner of a rough wool blanket to cover herself while Simon kissed his way up her belly and over her breasts.

  Even now, in the aftermath of such thorough fulfillment, her body sang with need for him. For the completion that lovers sought.

  “If I had more time and your blessing, I would reveal all those mysteries to you.” He turned her toward him, his rough, sword-callused hand rasping along the smooth curve of her hip.

  “I thought I gave you ample blessing,” she murmured, realizing too late that she’d spoken aloud.