His purpose after all was to repay the debt he owed her and then move on to life’s other experiences. He could little afford to be distracted, to let his heart become too attached to the girl…no matter how lovely she looked, her golden tresses cascaded about her shoulders…no matter how beautifully her long, dark lashes shaded her mesmerizing brown eyes. His mouth watered at the thought of her sweet, red lips suddenly, and he frowned.
“The fixed mark is…to help the girl. That is all,” he muttered to himself before turning over and attempting to drown out Big William’s snores by crushing his pillow over his head.
CHAPTER SIX
Winter had given way to spring. Pratina Manor’s lawns were dotted with robins in the early hours of morning, and hopeful hyacinth and daffodil bulbs had begun pushing young but sturdy sprouts up through the flowerbed soil. Fontaine fancied even her wicked, winter-tempered aunt was touched with a bit of spring fever, for she’d sent Daniel ahead to The Graces almost a month earlier. All residents of Pratina were to make for The Graces in a mere week, and Lady Wetherton wanted the gardens at the country estate to be well on their way…weeded, pruned, planted before she arrived.
The prospect of leaving Pratina for the freedom and fresh air of The Graces had given Fontaine new reason to delight. The prospect of The Graces and the attentions she’d been receiving from Knight over the past few weeks. Oh, he’d done nothing quite so shocking as to enter her bedroom, trick Fontaine into abandoning modesty only to leave her for want of his kiss. Nothing so shocking as all that. Still, the smiles and winks he bestowed on her, the way he’d catch her arm when passing her in the hallway, letting his hand caress the length of it as she walked by…all this had caused Fontaine to find herself rather giddy.
She’d made up her mind the very morning after he’d intruded in her bedchamber…she’d made up her mind to enjoy the farce. After days of agonizing, admitting she would never be rid of his memory, Fontaine had decided to take hope in the old adage “better to have loved and lost.” Her aunt had succeeded in corrupting her niece, for Fontaine knew she would never feel toward another man the way she felt toward Knight. The whole affair was too unique and wonderful to be matched. Yet Fontaine had consciously decided if her aunt was to succeed then so she would have her memories of Knight. Heartache be hanged!
Further, with each quiet and secret conversation Fontaine had with her secret lover, she began to harbor a greater hope in his ability to help her. He was wise, not just with common sense but with academic intellect. Over and over again he questioned her knowledge of her father’s will, gleaning from Fontaine every shred of possibility in interpreting it.
“Is your aunt able to visit Mr. Dennis and view the will, have it interpreted without your presence?” Knight had asked, leaning back in the bench under the big oak of Pratina’s back courtyard.
“No,” Fontaine told him. “I must always be present.” Knight had nodded, a triumphant smile spreading across his handsome face. Spring was still cold, and Fontaine fought the need to shiver in the cool of morning’s mist. She would not let Knight know of her discomfort, for he would no doubt lead them inside and away from privacy.
“Are you able to meet with him, view the document without her present?” he asked.
“Yes. Yes, but why?”
“Then Mr. Dennis is beholden to you, first. He is your solicitor first, your aunt’s only involvement being she is your guardian,” he said. Fontaine had confirmed that Mr. Dennis was loyal to her above her aunt.
“Does he merit your trust? Is he loyal to you?” Knight asked next.
“I believe so,” Fontaine told him, unable to hide her chilled state any longer. Much to her surprise and delight, Knight did not suggest they return to the manor but rather slid closer to her where she sat next to him on the bench, placing one strong arm about her shoulders to warm her.
“She’ll see you,” Fontaine warned. Her aunt was still in her chambers, her morning habit of gazing out the window as she dressed already active, no doubt.
Knight chuckled. “You always forget, miss…that is the idea.”
He sighed then, frowned, and seemed to be talking to himself more than to Fontaine as he mused aloud, “Mr. Dennis…keeper and interpreter of your father’s will, loyal and sympathetic to your plight. For eight months still, your aunt can give your hand in marriage, and you will not inherit. If she marries you off, she receives a sizable sum of her own…your parents’ assurance that she would take care of you. Further, if you marry before the age of nineteen, whatever brute takes you to his…”
“I beg your pardon?” Fontaine exclaimed, mortified by his inference.
Knight smiled at her and continued, “Whatever brute takes you to his…bosom…will inherit your entire fortune.”
“What?” Fontaine gasped.
“It is the law of our country, Fontaine,” he explained, frowning, obviously astounded by her naiveté. “Unfair perhaps, but the law all the same. What is yours becomes his, peach. How could you be in ignorance of the fact?”
Fontaine sat stunned. “I…I…was only fifteen when mother and father died. I…I was so astonished by it all…Aunt Wetherton as my guardian, the stipulations of marriage…I never stopped to think about…” She put her hand to her throat for a moment, feeling as if she might be sick. “But you are right. I do know that. I’ve just never had cause to consider on it where my own welfare is concerned.”
“This being because you are always so concerned with the welfare of others, miss,” he told her.
But she didn’t hear him, her thoughts already in a whirl of panic. Rising from the bench, Fontaine began to pace to and fro in front of it. “I…I’ve been so desperate to hide from all of it for so long, burying my head in the sand, so to speak. Oh, Knight!” she exclaimed in a frightened whisper. “If my inheritance is not my own…what will become of Marta and Big William? What of Daniel? What of The Graces? Any husband I am bound to can do whatever a whim takes him to do!”
“She’ll find a titled man, no doubt a great deal older than you. One she can manipulate.” Knight paused as Fontaine stared at him in revulsion. “It…it has been my suspicion all along, miss…Lord Greenville. She doesn’t mean him for herself,” he told her.
Fontaine’s heart slipped to her stomach in a sickening lump. “Lord…Lord Greenville?” she breathed. “He is full sixty and three! And mean as a wet cat!” Fontaine began wringing her hands, panic heavy in her body. “He…he has the breath of a fortnight-fasting Father!”
Knight rose to his feet, taking her shoulders in hand. “You must remain composed, Fontaine. There is always hope,” he told her.
“What hope is there?” she cried. “Lord Greenville! My stomach sickens at the thought of it! To marry me to such a man…I…I…”
Knight’s eyes narrowed, his grip on her shoulders tightening as he lowered his voice and calmly said, “She cannot force you to marry…if she cannot find you.”
“What?” Fontaine breathed, trying to keep hope at bay.
“You must visit your solicitor. There are some questions I must have answers to before I proceed further,” he said releasing her.
“How…how am I to visit him without her knowing?” Fontaine asked, her brain still whirling from his previous inference.
“That should be easy enough,” Knight said, dropping his hands from her shoulders.
“But, Knight!” Fontaine cried, panic rising in her once more. “Lord Greenville! I should rather die than…the stench of his breath alone would drop me dead!” She scowled at her lover when he chuckled. “There is nothing whatsoever amusing about this, Knight!” she scolded.
“I am sorry, miss,” he said, though still smiling. Taking one of her hands in his he squeezed it reassuringly. “I’m certain the thought of enduring his kiss is unpalatable to you.”
“Unpalatable?” she exclaimed. “Unpalatable, you say?”
Oh, she was in a temper now! Knight tried to contain the laughter rising in his throat provoked b
y her hysterics. He felt nothing but compassion for her plight, yet she had such a way of amusing him. Even at the most serious of circumstance.
He was fascinated by the way her golden curls bobbed back and forth at the nape of her neck, the deep brown of her eyes aflame with emotion. In truth, he admired her bravery, her commitment to better the lives of the servants at Pratina. It had sincerely been her first concern…at the realization she might not gain control of her inheritance, her first thoughts were for the well-being of Marta and the others. She was a sweet, compassionate, lovely angel, and he would not let her worry any longer on the stench of Lord Greenville’s breath.
“Ha!” Fontaine exclaimed, knowing full well she should attempt to compose herself. “Unpalatable? Have you ever tasted of rancid meat, Knight? Drunk the bitter curds of sour milk?”
“Settle yourself, miss.” He took hold of her hand and pulled her with him. “Your aunt is about, and we don’t want her thinking you find me as unpalatable as Lord Greenville.”
“Where is she?” Fontaine whispered as she followed Knight toward the outbuilding, which served as both a greenhouse and protection for Daniel’s gardening supplies.
“Closer than either of us would prefer,” he answered. “Quickly, now…in here.”
Fontaine easily followed Knight into the small building. “Like a lamb to the slaughter,” he thought to himself. A slight wave of guilt washed over him. But it vanished swiftly enough, and he closed the door behind his prey.
It was only in winter and spring Fontaine enjoyed the greenhouse, for in the summer and autumn it proved too warmly moist for comfort. Yet the scent of soil, bulbs, seed, and blooms were fragrant and pleasing to her at that moment.
“You are such a short thing,” Knight mumbled as he swept aside the gardener’s tools cluttering the surface of a nearby table.
Fontaine frowned at him. “I am not short,” she said, smoothing her skirt proudly. “It is you who is overly tall.” Then, before she had a chance to avoid his advance, assuming she had wanted to…Knight took hold of her at the waist, effortlessly lifting her up and seating her soundly on the table’s top.
“What are you about, Knight?” she asked, startled at his unexpected action.
“Hush, peach. You talk too much,” he mumbled as he stripped off his vest, tossing it to the floor at his feet.
“I…I do not talk too much,” Fontaine stammered, unnerved by his having quit his vest. Further, he now stood before her pulling the bottom of his shirt from the hold of the waist of his breeches. “What…whatever are you about, Knight?” she asked.
“She wants me to earn my money,” Knight explained. “So she told me just last evening. The time has come for me to demonstrate to her I well intend to deserve it.”
“Surely you’ve given sufficient attention to me. I did not know she had reprimanded you.” Fontaine felt ashamed at putting Knight in such a situation as to displease her aunt. She well knew the effects of causing her aunt disappointment. But why hadn’t he mentioned this to her sooner?
Oh, I am a wretched liar, indeed, Knight thought to himself. Still he was determined to chase any thoughts of Lord Greenville’s stenching kiss from his young friend’s mind. Likewise, he’d waited long enough to taste his pretty victim. His impatience was growing, and the rogue in him would be unleashed.
“Follow my lead,” Knight commanded. His eyes flamed emerald, with the determination of a man to be reckoned with.
“Follow your lead?” Fontaine asked. She imagined she knew his intention but could not believe her imagination was in earnest. Her seat on the table gave her position to be staring into Knight’s marvelously handsome face, as it was now even with her own. Instantly she was unable to think rationally, hardly able to breathe in being so close to him.
“She’s nearly upon us,” he mumbled as he struggled to untie the collar of his shirt. “Damned ridiculous clothing…” he growled a moment before stripping off his shirt and tossing it to lie with his vest.
“Knight,” Fontaine gasped. “You…you go too far.”
“Shhh,” he whispered as his hand encircled her neck, his thumbs caressing the length of her neck from the hollow of her throat to the tip of her chin.
His emerald gaze was hypnotic, and Fontaine was lost in it as one of his hands moved to her cheek, caressing it tenderly before letting his fingers travel lightly over her lips. He meant to kiss her! She knew it, read the message in his eyes, and whether for her aunt’s benefit or not, Fontaine meant to have his kiss.
Knight’s left hand continued to support her neck as his other wound itself in her hair at the back of her head. Gently he tugged at her hair, causing her head to fall backward as he lightly kissed the hollow of her throat. Instinctively, lest she should lose consciousness from the euphoria of his lips on her flesh, she reached out clutching his forearms. The warm, lingering kisses Knight began trailing over Fontaine’s neck and throat caused her entire body to break into gooseflesh, and it frightened her.
As she felt her heart swelling with love for him, desire that he should continue in applying his affections, Fontaine whispered, “Knight? Knight, surely she is convinced.”
“Shhh,” he said again, and she felt his breath on her face as he kissed her face just at the corner of her mouth. Slowly he kissed her cheek, her forehead, the lobe of one ear and Fontaine heard a quiet whimper escape her breath, for she knew she was lost to him.
All thoughts of her aunt, Lord Greenville, the inheritance that might never come to her…all thoughts other than those of Knight were driven from Fontaine’s mind as he left caressive kisses on her neck and face. Then letting his arms encircle her waist, he pulled her from her seat on the gardener’s table, let her feet drop to the floor, pulling her body taut against his own.
Fontaine let her hands go to his chest, trying to push him away, trying to escape before she was lost to him. Nevertheless, it was too late, and the warmth of his skin beneath her palms only further weakened her already fleeing want to resist him.
Letting her hands caress the breadth of Knight’s shoulders Fontaine swallowed the excess moisture in her mouth gathering for the want of having his kiss there. She desperately wanted him to kiss her lips but he stayed a breath away, intentionally or unintentionally teasing her somehow. She thought she might die for want of his kiss, full and thorough on her mouth, and she closed her eyes, searching for something in her mind to distract her from the want of it. But there was nothing, only the sense of his arms around her, his lips lingering at the corner of her mouth.
Charade! her mind screamed in silence. She forced her eyes open, pushed firmly against his chest.
“Enough, Knight,” she breathed. “Enough.”
His embrace slackened somewhat, and he looked at her, eyes narrowed as if trying to read her thoughts.
“No,” he breathed a moment before his head descended, his mouth claiming Fontaine’s in a deep, molten kiss, which left her senses dizzying, her arms and legs weakened to numbness.
Never had Fontaine experienced such elation, such rapture! The feel of his mouth to hers, the moist heat of it unlocked her inhibitions, and she felt the softness of his hair feathered between her fingers, having let her hands travel from his shoulders to be lost in it.
“Mmm,” Knight sighed as his kiss deepened, the sound resonating through Fontaine’s head and chest like a sweet, liquid ambrosia. She would not leave him, she decided. Never! She’d stay thus occupied forever, lost in the warm, sweet taste of his kiss, the power of his arms keeping her safe.
But as Fontaine resolved to remain rapt in Knight’s kiss eternally, Knight’s intentions seemed not so endless. For in the next moment, he separated his mouth from her own and set her back from him rather forcefully.
“You are the sweetest, most blameless of young women, Fontaine,” he growled. “But I fear you’ve the wrong sort of Knight protecting you.”
Fontaine cast timid eyes to the ground and with one trembling hand, wiping at the moisture still
clinging to her lips. She felt shy, discomfited. No doubt Knight was accustomed to women with far more experience and skill in matters of affection.
“I am…I am sorry my…my inexperience displeases you, Knight,” she whispered, tears gathering in her eyes. She gasped when she felt his hand none too tenderly take hold of her face, forcing her to look at him, the expression of frustration, of anger on his face awing her to silence.
“Displease me?” he growled. Capturing her mouth once more, he kissed her fiercely, a pleasing brutality emanating from the force of it. He pulled her tightly to him, bound her in the strength of his arms. As his unyielding kiss sustained, his hands traveled to her hair, wrapping the tender tresses in his fists. He clutched her waist, held her head between the power of his hands, all the while his kiss steady, dominant.
When next he released her, he stood scowling, his sculpted chest rising and falling heavily with scarcely controlled breathing.
“A word of warning, peach,” Knight growled. “Keep yourself from my company for a day…lest you find this circumstance of my being your lover far from being a farce!”
Fontaine held her breath until Knight had slammed the greenhouse door behind him. In his wake he’d left her confused, enchanted, trembling, and alone with not but his discarded shirt and vest at her feet. And she was done for, the victim of her aunt’s triumph. For now, more than ever before, she knew the rogue Knight, one moment sympathetic liberator, the next passionate lover…she knew he owned her heart. She knew he ever would.
The Rogue Knight Page 7
