The Rogue Knight

by Marcia Lynn McClure

  Fontaine swallowed the large lump in her throat. Hope in her was mingling quickly with fear.

  “Where…where would I go?” she asked.

  “It is being arranged,” Mr. Dennis answered. “And your father’s will goes before you. It is your choice to have it secured by whomever you wish. This way Lady Wetherton will have no access to it, no chance of destroying it, for there is no article in the will allowing her access to it without your presence. That has not changed since first I interpreted it,” he explained. “I’ve contacted a close acquaintance, a fellow solicitor practicing in the same town where Knight will be taking you. Your father’s will should be in his care promptly…once you’ve signed the papers authorizing my transfer of it, of course.”

  Fontaine’s mind was whirling, stretching to comprehend all that was before her. “Mr. Dennis,” she began, “You have been in correspondence with Knight these past days.”

  “Yes, miss,” Mr. Dennis confirmed.

  “And…and Knight has already proven his loyalty to me,” she mumbled, more to herself than to anyone else. Both men were silent, no doubt understanding the great decisions before her.

  “I want nothing more than to escape the influence, the very presence of my aunt,” Fontaine said. “Still, to trust so completely…to place my welfare in…in…”

  “In the hands of a near stranger,” Knight finished for her.

  “Yes,” she admitted. “Where am I to go? How will I survive?”

  “There is the amount you have put in trust with me, Miss Pratina,” Mr. Dennis reminded.

  “Oh, yes,” Fontaine breathed. She’d forgotten about the rather generous, but likewise limited, sum she’d nestled away over the past few years. Many times she’d taken the clothing allowances or gifts of tender on her birthday and holidays her aunt provided and placed the greater part of it in trust with Mr. Dennis.

  “It is enough to see you through a modest existence, until you inherit,” he explained.

  “And I’ve arranged for your sanctuary…in the home of an elderly woman desirous of a young companion to keep her company,” Knight explained. “She is the kindest of women,” he added, “and will, no doubt, love you like a daughter.”

  “I see,” Fontaine whispered, her hands wringing in her lap. It sounded so simple, the way they put it to her, but trepidation had gripped her, and she feared her courage might fail. “And…and when is this…when am I to leave?”

  “There are still many arrangements to be made,” Mr. Dennis said. “It may be some time yet, Miss Fontaine.”

  “Some time, you say. Are you meaning a month, two months?” Fontaine asked.

  “Within four weeks, I would hope,” Knight answered.

  “Four?” Fontaine breathed.

  “I must return to the gathering within, Miss Pratina,” Mr. Dennis said. “One or the other of us might not be missed by your aunt. But both of us will. Please, linger here for a few minutes so we may return apart.”

  “Very well,” Fontaine said.

  Mr. Dennis took one of her trembling hands in his own and said, “It has always been one of my greatest wishes…to help you, Miss Pratina. I am glad your…your friend Knight is as wise as he is to involve me.” Handing her the folded parchments he’d produced from his coat pocket, he said, “Sign these as soon as you are able, and Knight will have them delivered to me. They are legal tender allowing me to award possession of your father’s will to Mr. Price Stantish, the solicitor I mentioned before.” Mr. Dennis raised Fontaine’s hand to his lips, kissing the back of it lightly. “Good luck to you, Miss Pratina. And should you ever need help, know I am willing to assist in whatever manner I am able,” he said before leaving her alone in the coach with Knight.

  Fontaine looked at the parchments in her hands. The entire plot seemed surreal! Insane! To run away with Knight to a strange residence, a life of hiding and secrecy? She glanced up to Knight. And what of Knight? Would he stay with her in her hiding? Or would he resume his traveling and leave her to her own, feeling his obligation to her met?

  “I see you are wildly unsettled, miss,” Knight said, his voice low and soothing in tone. “So much to absorb and contemplate. Still, I see no other way to remove you from the clutches of despair.”

  Fontaine drew in a deep breath and bravely straightened her posture. “I know you are correct, and your wisdom, your knowledge is apparent in your actions. Your boldness, your ambition in plotting this all out should not surprise me, and I am thankful for your strength…yet I feel somehow helpless and ignorant.”

  She gasped when he leaned forward suddenly, taking her face in his hands. “You are neither helpless nor ignorant, miss,” he said, the emerald of his eyes burning even for the darkness of the coach. “You are, however, ensnared in a web…a web of your aunt’s manipulation and cruel intentions. Thus, you are vulnerable and may fall victim to great disappointment, unhappiness, and harm. As a fish in the fisherman’s net, you simply need help breaking your bonds. And I intend to help you, peach.”

  Fontaine sighed, a grand relief washing over her as she felt the warmth of his touch. Knight would keep her safe, her soul promised it. Taking the parchments from her and tucking them safely into his inside coat pocket, he covered his hands with her own, and she smiled up at him.

  “I’ll keep these with me until we are back at the manor and you are able to sign them,” he said, patting his pocket. Fontaine sighed, further confident in his ability to protect her.

  “What you’ve done, what you plan to do for me, sir,” she began, “goes far and beyond fulfilling any obligation.”

  He smiled, and her heart began to beat wildly as his arms began to enfold her, pulling her closer to him. He moistened his lips, and his head descended toward hers. He meant to kiss her! She could see the intention in his expression, and her arms broke into gooseflesh at the anticipation of it.

  “She…she cannot see us in here, Knight,” Fontaine whispered, silently begging that he should kiss her just the same. “You are under no requirement to her to pay me such attention now.”

  Knight chuckled and kissed her lips lightly, whispering, “She could not see us in the greenhouse three days past, when I captured you, tasting of your sweet mouth then either, Fontaine.”

  Fontaine’s jaw went loose, her mouth slightly agape in astonishment at his revelation. Her heart pounded madly with the knowledge he had kissed her, nay made love to her, of his own volition…not for the sake of her aunt’s watchful eye.

  “And now,” he mumbled. “A second delicious helping.” His mouth found hers, moist, warm, refreshing. The passion Knight evoked in her burned over her flesh, caused her mind to be lost in the enjoyment of it, and she melted against him, accepting, returning his kiss fervently. The scent of him filled her senses, his touch causing her to tremble.

  But he put her away from him all too soon. She glanced away shyly, afraid she had disappointed him in her eager acceptance and reply to his affections.

  “Yet I must be measured in taking my pleasure, for I cannot send you back to Lord Greenville with your pretty mouth still moist and crimson from my attentions,” he whispered smiling. “Off you go,” he said, opening the coach door, stepping out and assisting her in her exit of it. “Before we are discovered.”

  Knight watched Fontaine hurry toward the manor house. She is a sweet pastry, he thought. He was unsettled by the pinching anxiety and distress in his chest as he thought of leaving her off with old Lady Lightender. In truth, his emotions where the Miss Fontaine Pratina was concerned were passionately unfamiliar to him. He thought again of Annastice, of what he’d known of matters of the heart with and through her. His feelings, his desires toward Fontaine were shamefully different, and he wondered how he could have reached such an age of twenty and four years ignorant of it all.

  Again, the thought of leaving her once he’d secured her safety caused his stomach to churn, his head to ache, and his heart to pinch. For in fact, he wanted to keep her! It was only in that moment he
let himself admit it. He wanted the Miss of Pratina Manor for himself. Visions of introducing her to his mother rattled around in his brain. Visions of little golden-haired daughters of his own, bred of a union between himself and his pretty peach, had winked at him of late through his dreams.

  Perhaps he should simply tell her the truth, confess to his true origins. But he knew what distain she would feel for the truth of it, and he would rather set her on a path to her own happiness than taint her any further with the truth that was in him.

  

  “Are you indeed overheated, Fontaine?” Lady Wetherton asked as Fontaine stepped anew into Lord Greenville’s ballroom. “Your cheeks are scarlet with a blush.”

  Fontaine shook her head and vanquished the smile from her face. “Yes. Indeed I was a bit warm. However, a quick breath of night air at the window has cooled me.”

  Lady Wetherton’s eyes narrowed, her suspicious expression all too discernable. But Fontaine could not be made unhappy at that moment…not with the knowledge, the hope of escape. And certainly not with the sense of Knight’s ardent kiss still clinging to her lips.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  As the carriage approached The Graces, Fontaine felt her very soul sigh with happiness. In the two weeks since Lord Greenville’s ball, since her meeting with Knight and Mr. Dennis in the coach, great hope had become mingled with great heartache. As she had further learned of Knight’s preparations for her safety, so had she come to know her heart would break when the conspiracy was set in motion. She would well be safe from her aunt’s selfish manipulations…but she would face her heart’s death in losing Knight. Oh, he hadn’t told her, hadn’t verbally confirmed the fact he would be leaving her off with this Lady Lightender, then finding his own way, but she knew it to be true. It was in the way he never involved himself in the talk of the future once she’d arrived at her destination, in the way he looked at her rather guiltily at times.

  Fontaine was nearly certain Knight cared for her deeply—whether as a sweet friend, a personal pet, or in any manner otherwise, she knew he cared for her. For their conversations of late had been filled with deep substance. His laughter and smile were gifted to her sincerely and easily enough, letting her know he at least liked her. And his affections! Oh, how blessedly she’d been lost in his affections! Her flesh prickled with delight at the memory of their most recent interlude.

  Only the day before, as Fontaine had been on her way to the library, Knight had passed her in the hall, nodding and donning a mischievous grin. However, instead of passing her by, he’d reached out, taking hold of her arm and staying her. He’d glanced quickly about, ensuring their privacy, before pulling her into the linen closet with him. Oh, how the scent of fresh linens, the flavor of sunlit wind still clinging to them…how that scent would ever remind her now of warm moments in Knight’s arms, of the feel of his body against hers, of the sweet spice of his kisses.

  Fontaine smiled at the memory, her body aching to be in Knight’s arms, and misunderstanding her delighted smile, Lady Wetherton said, “Yes, niece. It is always preferable to dwell at The Graces, is it not?”

  Fontaine couldn’t stop the giggle, which escaped her throat at her aunt’s assumption that it was the sight of The Graces finding her smiling. And yet, she did so love The Graces.

  “Quite preferable, Aunt,” Fontaine answered. “And look how lovely the lawns and hedges are already.”

  “Yes,” Lady Wetherton said. “Daniel may not be the brightest of men…but his skill with the gardens is unmatched. I’m so glad I thought of sending him ahead early this year.”

  Perhaps it was because it had always been during the warmer seasons that Fontaine’s family had dwelt at The Graces. Perhaps it was the sense of freedom and privacy country life afforded. Or perhaps it was simply because her parents had died at Pratina Manor. Whatever the reason, Fontaine always loved staying at The Graces. Had she had her way, she would never return to Pratina. Simply spend all the year in the warm, safe loveliness of her father’s country estate.

  Knight helped Lady Wetherton and Fontaine alight from the coach. This country manor was far grander than the city one had been. All light and color against a clear blue sky, Knight understood why Fontaine’s face seemed to pink up instantly, understood why her smile did not fade. And he was glad to see it, encouraged, for perhaps she would not feel so alone at Lady Lightender’s estate. Though a great deal smaller, it held a similar charm and loveliness.

  Knight had begun to worry in the days since first telling Fontaine of his plans to spirit her away. He’d begun to worry for her happiness. Yet he knew Lady Lightender was an amusing, pleasant old girl. Not to mention her gardens were the things of dreams. Still, to abandon Fontaine, to leave her off with a stranger, it weighed on him. Further weight he carried with worrying for himself. Could he leave her? He’d begun to wonder if indeed he could release her from his heart, mind, and body wanting her so. However, each time he contemplated keeping her for his own, he was reminded that she would then know the truth. And he could not face the loathing that would no doubt fill her eyes at the sight of him then. Such lies he lived! Oh, the reasons for concocting them seemed justified at first meeting Fontaine, even somewhat necessary for her safety. Or so he’d thought at the time. But now, to tell her the truth, risk becoming the object of her scorn and resentment instead of the object of her affections…he’d rather lose her to happiness than lose her to hating him.

  Yet he thought of her smile, her wit, her intelligence mingled with sweet innocence, and he wondered if he could leave her. The thought of her kisses, the softness of her skin further unsettled him. She had become as an intoxicator, an addiction to him, and he knew the only way he could leave her would be to return to his previous life…the life he was meant to lead, the life he hadn’t known for near to two years. And perhaps now that life would look different to his more experienced eyes. Perhaps now he would learn to live it, swallow that it was his lot and unavoidable. Perhaps with as beautiful a memory as Miss Fontaine Pratina to keep his dreams company, perhaps he would even find joy in it…someday. Still, he doubted. For the set of circumstances was altered. Fontaine Pratina had altered them.

  “Isn’t it lovely, Knight?” Fontaine asked, smiling at him over her shoulder as she lifted her skirts and rather skipped up the front steps to The Graces. He smiled, touched by the sheer joy of her expression.

  “Yes, miss,” he said.

  “Knight,” Lady Wetherton said, returning to where he stood near the carriage. “May I see you in the library after dinner this evening?” Knight felt every muscle in his body tense as she looked at him, again studying him from brow to boot.

  “Of course, milady,” he answered, nodding. She nodded in return and he knew…the time had come and far earlier than he had hoped. Lady Wetherton had seen the joy on her niece’s face, her resplendence at being brought back to her beloved Graces, and the witch meant to destroy any and every happiness the girl had. Having returned to The Graces, an attentive lover in draw, Fontaine’s joy must appear to her aunt as complete. And well Knight knew how unacceptable Fontaine owning any delight was to Lady Wetherton. And since she couldn’t simply strip away the existence of The Graces, she meant to strip away the only other thing the girl had…him. And so Knight knew…knew that this would be his last evening with sweet Fontaine. His very last. And he must make it extraordinary, a beloved, passionate memory, which would serve them both in years to come. Serve them both in joy and heartache, perhaps…but serve them it would. He would make certain of it.

  

  “Why she didn’t send me to prepare the kitchens I’ll never know, I won’t,” Marta grumbled as she hastened about the kitchens of The Graces, foraging for supplies with which to prepare dinner. “It goes to show where her priorities be, it does,” she mumbled. “Oh! Send Daniel ahead so the gardens be the talk of the countryside. But ho hum to the kitchen of The Graces! Let the neighbors gossip about how badly my kitchen is run.”

  Fontaine s
miled, amused by Marta’s dramatics. “Did you notice the pink hyacinth in bloom already, Marta?” Fontaine asked. “I could pick a basket of them and arrange a lovely centerpiece for the breakfast table tomorrow. Or perhaps Aunt Wetherton would allow us to bring out the pink rose china for dinner tonight and I could…”

  “Ya well know yar aunt won’t hear of pink anythin’ at dinner before April, ya do, lass,” Marta reminded her.

  “I do know it,” Fontaine sighed. “But you wait and see, Marta,” she continued, “When I am mistress of The Graces, we’ll have pink rose china whenever we’ve a mind to.”

  “Blessed be the day The Graces has ya as its mistress, lassy,” Marta sighed. “But who’ll be the lord of it, miss? Tell me that.” Fontaine was thoughtful for a moment. Rather depressingly so.

  “Perhaps there won’t be a lord of The Graces, Marta,” Fontaine said. “Perhaps my father was the last. Perhaps…perhaps I’ll never marry…simply live out my days at The Graces, dreaming dreams of…of…”

  “Of Knight,” Marta finished. “Daydreams of Knight. That’s a rather humorous way to think of it, it is. Daydreams of Knight.”

  “Hush, Marta!” Fontaine warned. “He’ll hear you!”

  “Don’t ya mean to be sayin, ‘she’ll’ hear me, lass?” Marta’s eyes danced with amusement.

  “Of…of course that’s what I meant, Marta,” Fontaine stammered.

  Marta sighed and sat down at the table across from Fontaine. “Why don’t ya just confess it to him, lass? Tell the boy ya love him…ask him to whisk ya away and to stay with ya forever.”