Velvet Angel

by Jude Deveraux

  As if reading her thoughts, Miles lifted Elizabeth’s hand, placed it on his cheek. She let it rest there for a moment, her heart pounding. It was as if she were doing something forbidden. After a very long moment, she moved her hand to touch his hair. It was soft and clean and she wondered how it smelled.

  Her eyes went back to Miles’s and she sensed that he was going to kiss her. Pull away, she thought, but she didn’t move.

  Slowly, his eyes telling her she could refuse him, he drew near her and when his lips touched hers, she kept her eyes open. What a pleasant feeling, she thought.

  He just touched her lips with his and held them there, not forcing her mouth open, not grabbing her and throwing his weight onto her as other men had done, but just the light, highly pleasant kiss.

  He was the first to pull away and there was a light of such warmth in his eyes that she began to stiffen. Now would come the pouncing.

  “Hush,” he soothed, his hand on her cheek. “No one is going to hurt you ever again, my Elizabeth.”

  “Papa!” Kit yelled and the spell was broken.

  “No doubt he’s spotted a unicorn this time,” Miles said under his breath as he reluctantly rose. His jest was rewarded by the hint of a smile from Elizabeth.

  Rising, Elizabeth winced at an ache in her shoulder. She wasn’t used to sleeping on the ground.

  Acting as if it were the most natural thing in the world, Miles began to knead Elizabeth’s shoulders. “What have you found now, Kit?” he called above her head.

  “A path,” Kit yelled back. “Can I follow it?”

  “Not until we get there. Better?” he asked Elizabeth, and when she nodded he kissed her neck and quickly began to gather their few belongings.

  “Are you always so free with women?” she asked and there was curiosity in her voice. “When you visit someone’s house do you freely kiss all the women?”

  Miles didn’t pause in burying the dead coals of last night’s fire. “I can be civilized, I assure you, and usually I limit my kissing to hands—at least in public.” He looked back at her, smiling, eyes sparkling. “But with you, my lovely Elizabeth, from our first…ah, meeting, nothing has been done in the usual manner. I can’t help but feel that you were a gift to me, a very precious gift, but, nonetheless, something that is mine to keep.”

  Before she could answer—and, in truth, she was too stunned to answer—he caught her hand and began pulling her to where Kit glared at them impatiently. “Let’s go and see where this path takes us.”

  Miles held her hand as Kit led them down the narrow, long-disused path. “What do you think of my son?”

  Elizabeth smiled at the boy who was poking at a mushroom on the ground. As she watched, he straightened and began running ahead of them. “He’s very independent, intelligent and quite adult for his age. You must be very proud of him.”

  Miles’s chest swelled visibly. “I have two more at home. Philip Stephen is as exotic-looking as his mother, with a temper that sets his nurse trembling, and he’s only a year old.”

  “And your other boy? Bridget’s son?”

  “James Raine is exactly opposite of Philip and the two of them are together constantly. I have a feeling it may always be that way. James gives Philip his toys when Philip demands them.” He chuckled. “The only thing James will share with no one is his nurse. He screams even if I touch her.”

  “He must do a great deal of screaming,” Elizabeth said sarcastically.

  “James is silent practically always,” Miles said, laughing. He leaned closer to her. “But then he does go to bed quite early.”

  She pushed him away playfully.

  “Papa,” Kit yelled, running to them. “Come and look. It’s part of a house but it burned down.”

  Around the bend was what was left of a burned crofter’s cottage, most of the roof collapsed, only one corner standing.

  “No, Kit,” Miles said when his son started to enter the ruin. Heavy, charred beams slanted from the one standing wall to the ground. “Let me test it first.”

  Elizabeth and Kit stood together while Miles grabbed one beam after another and swung his weight on it. A few bits of dirt came falling down but the beams held.

  “It seems safe enough,” Miles said as Kit ran inside the structure and began looking into crevices.

  Miles took Elizabeth’s arm. “Let’s walk up the hill because, if I’m not mistaken, I think those are apple trees.”

  There was a small orchard on top of the hill and most of the trees were dead, but there were about a dozen scrawny, nearly ripe apples hanging from some of the branches. As Elizabeth reached for one of them, Miles’s arm slid about her waist and lifted her. She caught the apple and he slowly lowered her, the front of her body sliding down his. His lips had just reached hers when Kit called out.

  “Look what I found, Papa.”

  Elizabeth turned away to smile at Kit. “What is it?”

  With a dramatic sigh, Miles set Elizabeth down.

  “It’s a swing!” Kit yelled.

  “So it is,” Miles said, holding Elizabeth’s hand. He grabbed the ropes of the swing and gave them a couple of sharp jerks. “Let me see how high you can go,” he said to his son.

  Elizabeth and Miles stood back as Kit took over the swing, using it in an aggressive way to propel himself upward until his feet touched a tree branch.

  “He’ll hurt himself,” Elizabeth said, but Miles caught her arm.

  “Now show Elizabeth what you can do.”

  She gasped as Kit, still swinging very high, pulled his legs up and stood in the swing.

  “Now!” Miles commanded, his arms open wide.

  To Elizabeth’s disbelief, Kit sent his small body flying through the air and into Miles’s arms. As Kit screamed with delight, Elizabeth felt her knees weaken.

  Miles put his son down and caught her arm. “Elizabeth, what’s wrong? It was only a child’s game. When I was Kit’s age, I used to jump into my father’s arms in just the same way.”

  “But if you stepped away…” she began.

  “Stepped away!” He was aghast. “And let Kit fall?” He pulled her into his arms, soothing her. “Did no one play with you as a child?” he asked quietly.

  “My parents died soon after I was born. Edmund was my guardian.”

  That simple statement said a great deal to Miles. He pulled her away to look at her. “Now we shall make up for your lack of a childhood. Get in the swing and I’ll push you.”

  She was glad to put away her memories of Edmund and she went readily to the swing.

  “I will, Papa,” Kit said, pushing the wooden bottom of the swing and not making much progress. “She’s too heavy,” Kit whispered loudly.

  “Not for me.” Miles laughed, kissed Elizabeth’s ear and took the ropes. “Wipe it away, Elizabeth,” he said as he pulled her far back off the ground.

  “I can’t now, but I will,” she tossed over her shoulder.

  Miles released her and she went flying. Every time she returned, he gave her a push on her bottom instead of the swing’s and all Elizabeth did was laugh. Her skirt went up to her knees, she kicked off her shoes and stretched her legs out.

  “Jump, Elizabeth!” Kit commanded.

  “I’m too heavy, remember?” she teased, laughing.

  Miles stood to the side of her. The more time he spent with her, the more beautiful she grew. Her head was back and she was laughing as he’d never seen her laugh before.

  “Papa can catch you,” Kit persisted.

  “Yes, Papa is more than willing to catch the Lady Elizabeth.” Miles grinned, standing before her. He saw a look of doubt cross her face. “Trust me, Elizabeth.” He was smiling but was deadly earnest at the same time. “I won’t step aside; I’ll catch you no matter how hard you fall.”

  Elizabeth didn’t play Kit’s trick of standing in the swing, but she did release the ropes and go flying headlong into Miles’s arms. When she hit him, the breath was almost knocked from her.

 
Miles clasped her tightly, then with a look of horror he said, “You are too heavy, Elizabeth.”

  His fall was the most ostentatious fake she’d ever encountered, and as he went down with great loud groans she giggled, clinging to him. With a loud, heartfelt, “Uh oh,” from Miles, they began rolling down the steep hill. It was a terribly insincere roll. When Miles was on the bottom, he clutched at Elizabeth, his hands running down the length of her and when she was on the bottom, his arms and knees kept her off the ground so that not even a rock jabbed at her.

  Elizabeth’s giggle turned into a laugh which made her very weak and her hands were quite ineffectual at pushing him away. He’d pause with her on top just long enough for her to push at his arms, then he’d turn and she’d hang on for dear life.

  At the bottom of the hill, he stopped, flung his arms outward, closed his eyes. “I’m crushed, Elizabeth,” he said in a wounded tone.

  Kit, wanting to join the fun, came tearing down the hill and jumped into the middle of his father’s stomach, catching him unaware.

  The groan Miles gave this time was genuine, and Elizabeth broke into new gales of laughter.

  With great show, Miles set his son off his stomach and turned to Elizabeth. “Like to see me in pain, do you?” His voice was serious but his eyes were alive with teasing. “Come on, Kit, let’s show Lady Elizabeth she can’t laugh at two knights of the realm.”

  Eyes wide, Elizabeth stood and backed away, but Miles and Kit were too fast for her. Miles caught her shoulders while Kit threw his body weight onto her legs. Elizabeth tripped over her skirt, Miles tripped over his son and Kit just kept pushing. The three of them went down in a laughing heap as Miles began to tickle Elizabeth’s ribs and Kit joined his father.

  “Enough?” Miles asked, close to Elizabeth’s face which was streaming with tears. “Are you willing to admit to our being the best of knights?”

  “I…never said you weren’t,” she gasped.

  Miles’s tickling became more severe. “Tell us what we are.”

  “The bravest, handsomest knights in all of England—in all the world.”

  His hands stilled, slipping about her waist, his thumbs just under her breasts. “And what is my name?” he whispered, completely sober.

  “Miles,” she whispered back, her eyes on his. “Miles Montgomery.” Her arms were on his shoulders and now they slipped about his neck, lightly.

  Miles bent and kissed her, softly, but there was for the first time a tiny spark between them.

  Kit jumped on his father’s back and Miles’s face slid from Elizabeth’s, and he just missed slamming into the dirt.

  “Let’s swing again, Papa.”

  “To think that I used to love my son,” Miles whispered in Elizabeth’s ear before he rose, his son attached to his back.

  None of them had noticed that the sky had darkened in the last few minutes, and they each gasped when the first cold drops hit them. The sky opened up and nearly drowned them.

  “To the cottage,” Miles said, pulling Elizabeth up, his arm about her shoulders, and together they ran for shelter.

  “Did you get wet?” he asked as he lowered Kit from his back.

  “No, not much.” She smiled up at him for just a moment before turning toward Kit.

  Miles casually put his hand on Elizabeth’s shoulder. “Why don’t the two of you build a fire while I find us something to eat?”

  Kit agreed enthusiastically while Elizabeth gave a dubious look to the torrential rain outside. “Perhaps you should wait until it slackens.”

  Miles gave her a smile of delight. “I’ll be safe enough. Now, the two of you stay in here and I’ll not be far away.” With that, he slipped between the charred beams and was gone.

  Elizabeth went to the edge of the shelter and looked after him. She was certain Miles Montgomery had no idea how unusual today had been to her. She’d spent an entire morning with a man and not once had any violence occurred. And the laughter! She’d always loved to laugh but her brothers were so solemn—anyone living in the same house with Edmund Chatworth soon grew to be solemn. But today she’d laughed with a man and he’d not tried to tear her clothes off. Always before, if she even smiled at a man, he’d grabbed her, hurt her.

  It wasn’t that Elizabeth was so beautiful that she drove men to uncontrollable passion. She knew she was pretty, yes, but if she’d heard correctly she was no match for the Revedoune heiress. What had always made Elizabeth the victim of men’s aggressions was her brother Edmund. His distorted sense of humor ran to wagering with his guests as to who could get Elizabeth in bed with him. Edmund hated that Elizabeth wasn’t terrified of him. When she was a child he used to bring her home from the convent where she lived most of the time and he’d often hit her, knock her down stairs. But somehow Elizabeth had escaped uninjured.

  When she was twelve, she began to stand up for herself. She’d successfully held off Edmund with a lighted torch. After that Edmund’s game grew more serious, and Elizabeth grew more wary, more skillful at fending off her attackers. She’d learned how to hurt men who were trying to use her. She’d persuaded Roger to show her how to use an ax, a sword, a dagger. She knew how to defend herself with a razor-sharp tongue.

  After weeks with Edmund and the men he surrounded himself with, Elizabeth would escape back to her convent, usually with Roger’s help, and she’d be able to rest for a few weeks—until Edmund came for her again.

  “I have the fire going, Lady Elizabeth,” Kit said from behind her.

  She turned a warm smile on him. Children had always been her love. Children were what they seemed, never trying to take from her, always giving freely. “You’ve done all the work and I’ve just been standing here.” She went to him. “Perhaps you’d like me to tell you a story while we wait for your father.”

  She sat down, leaning against the wall, her feet toward the fire, her arm around Kit. Tossing Miles’s cloak over them, she began to tell Kit about Moses and his people of Israel. Before she was to the Red Sea opening, Kit was asleep, curled up against her.

  The rain beat down on the bit of roof over their heads, leaking in three places. While she watched the fire, Miles came in out of the mist, gave her a smile and fed the fire. He was silent as he skinned and dressed a young pig, cut the meat into chunks and set them to roast on sticks.

  As she watched, she couldn’t help but think what an odd man he was. Or were most men like him? Roger’d always said that Elizabeth only saw the dregs of mankind, and from the way some of the young women at the convent rhapsodized over their lovers, Elizabeth’d often thought that perhaps some men weren’t like the ones she fought off.

  Miles knelt by the fire, his hands quickly working with the meat. Within reach was his bow, his arrows over his back, his sword never leaving his side. Even as they’d been tumbling down the hill, Miles’s sword had been attached to his hip. What sort of man could laugh with a woman and at the same time be prepared for danger?

  “What are you thinking?” Miles asked quietly, his eyes intense.

  She recovered herself. “That you’re so wet you’re about to drown the fire.”

  He stood, stretched. “This is a cold country, isn’t it?” With that he slowly began to remove his wet clothes, spreading each piece by the fire.

  Elizabeth watched him with detached interest. Nude men weren’t unfamiliar to her, and often her brother’s men had trained wearing the small loincloths. But she doubted if she’d ever really looked at any of the men.

  Miles was lean but muscular and when he turned toward her, wearing only the loincloth, she saw he had a great amount of dark hair on his chest, a thick, V-shaped, curling abundance of it. His thighs were large, heavy from training in armor, and his calves were well developed.

  “Elizabeth,” Miles whispered. “You will have me blushing.”

  It was Elizabeth who blushed and could not meet his eyes when she heard him chuckle.

  “Papa,” Kit said, rousing. “I’m hungry.”

  Reluct
antly, Elizabeth released the child. As much as she loved children, there had been few of them in her life. There was nothing quite like a child in her arms, needing her, trusting her, touching her.

  “There’s pork and a few apples,” Miles told his son.

  “Are you cold, Papa?” Kit asked.

  Miles didn’t look at Elizabeth. “I have the warm glances of a lady to keep me warm. Come eat with us, Lady Elizabeth.”

  Still pink-cheeked, Elizabeth joined them and it wasn’t long before she got over her embarrassment. At Kit’s insistence, Miles told stories of when he and his brothers were growing up. In every story, he was the hero, saving his brothers, teaching them. Kit’s eyes shone like stars.

  “And when you took your vows,” Elizabeth said innocently, “didn’t you foreswear lying?”

  Miles’s eyes twinkled. “I don’t think they extended to impressing one’s son or one’s…” He seemed to search for a word.

  “Captive?” she supplied.

  “Ah, Elizabeth,” he said languidly. “What would a lady think of a man whose older brothers constantly tried to make his life miserable?”

  “Did they?”

  She was so earnest in her question that he knew she took him literally. “No, not really,” he reassured her. “We were left alone at an early age and I guess some of our pranks were a bit hazardous, but we all lived.”

  “Happily ever after,” she said heavily.

  “And what was it like living with Edmund Chatworth?” he asked casually.

  Elizabeth shifted her legs under her. “He also liked…pranks,” was all she’d say.

  “Did you have enough, Kit?” Miles asked, and as he reached for another piece of pork, she saw the long gash on the inside of his wrist. It had opened again and was bleeding.

  Miles never seemed to miss even a glance of hers. “The bow string hit it. You may doctor it if you wish,” he said so eagerly, with so much hope, that she laughed at him.