by Anne Stuart
“I wouldn’t waste my time if I were you,” the fool murmured. “Neither of them would thank you for it.”
“What are you doing here? Get out of my room!” Julianna said in a scandalized whisper.
“Why do you bother whispering? There’s no one around. Are you trying to save my spotless reputation?”
She could see him now, reflected against the flickering fire. He seemed larger than she remembered, broader. Dangerous.
“It’s my reputation I’m worried about,” she said sharply, ignoring the faint quiver in her voice.
“Oh, your reputation would survive quite handily. After all, you’re a virtuous widow who’s made her dislike of men in general, and me in particular, quite obvious. On the other hand, I wouldn’t fare so well. They might simply geld me if they were inclined to be merciful. Or your stepfather might hack me up in little pieces and deliver me in a box to King Henry.”
“What a lovely thought,” Julianna said faintly. “I’m not sure which appeals to me more.”
“You’d rather have me gelded, my lady,” Nicholas said cheerfully, coming up to the side of the bed. “You’d rather have every man in the place gelded. Wouldn’t you?”
She wasn’t going to back down. “It would make life a great deal more orderly and peaceful.”
“More peaceful without children. You don’t care for children, my lady?”
The pain was sharp and swift, straight to the heart. He couldn’t see through to her soul; there was no way he could know how the thought wounded her. She kept her own counsel, and the room was too dark to reveal any betraying flicker of expression if she somehow failed to hide it.
“Don’t pretend you don’t know the gossip. I am unable to have children. I’m a useless woman.”
“I wouldn’t go that far,” Nicholas said, sitting at the end of her bed and swinging his long legs up beside her. “I can think of any number of things you could be quite good at, with the proper encouragement.”
“Get off my bed!”
“It’s big enough for both of us with your mother gone,” he said lazily. He stretched out at one end, and his feet barely came to her waist. He was wearing a soft leather boot on one foot, a slipper on the other, and in the darkness the firelight flickered over his face, illuminating and then hiding his expression.
“If you don’t go away I will scream. There are women in the adjoining rooms, and I imagine they’ll come quite quickly. And you’ve already assured me you’d be the one to suffer for it, not me. What’s to stop me?”
“Curiosity.”
“Curiosity is a sin.”
“And you’re above sin, aren’t you, my lady? Except that I don’t believe it. I think you’re capable of sinning quite deliciously.”
“Go away. My mother can sin for both of us.”
“I doubt that she will. She’ll probably have as chaste a night in her lord’s bed as the rest of us will outside it, more’s the pity.”
“Then why are you here, if not for sinning?”
He leaned forward then, his silky hair brushing his face, and Julianna’s breath caught in her throat. In the firelight he was quite disarmingly handsome. He’d lost his maddening bells, he wasn’t annoying her with rhymes, and she let her errant gaze stray to his mouth before she could stop herself.
He had a beautiful mouth, wide, wry, with warm lips and white teeth. It was a mouth worth kissing, if one had to kiss.
“That’s right, my lady,” he said softly. “We haven’t finished what we started.”
“I’m not finishing anything.”
“I’m not going to hurt you. I’m just going to kiss you.”
“Why? You already kissed me in the chapel, sinful as it was, and—”
“I didn’t kiss you in the chapel. You kissed me. I still bear the bruises.”
She glanced at his mouth, shocked. “You don’t!”
It was even more appealing when it curved into a teasing smile. “No, I don’t. My mouth can stand up to a fair amount of abuse.”
“Go away.”
“After I kiss you.”
He meant it, she knew it, and she had two choices. She could scream, and someone would come to her aid, and at the very least he’d be beaten.
Or she could let him kiss her. She could sit perfectly still and analyze what he was doing, see if she could figure out why people seemed to put such great store by it. If that was all he planned to do, and she believed his promises, then there was no danger.
“All right,” she said in a challenging tone. “Kiss me, and then go away.” And she folded her arms across her chest, waiting.
Chapter Eleven
HE HAD TO admit it—the Lady Julianna was utterly, completely beguiling. Dangerously so. He couldn’t remember when he’d been so drawn to a woman. It had to have happened before—he refused to allow the possibility that this was a unique experience, but it was undeniably unsettling. This woman, this girl, called to him. She was in the full bloom of youth, past innocence, and yet there was an oddly childlike aura about her that made him think of untouched maidens. She had a virginal soul.
He’d never cared much for deflowering virgins—he found the task vastly overrated. There were no diseases to be had from virgins, but very little pleasure either. They wept, they were clumsy, awkward, unskilled at giving or receiving pleasure. No, give him a woman of experience any day, a bawdy, hearty soul who knew how to please a man and herself.
And yet here he was, sitting on the bed of a young woman who knew as little about pleasure as the Abbot of Saint Hugelina. She offered nothing but danger and distraction—so why was he here, looking at her, instead of going after the chalice?
And where the hell was Bogo when he needed him?
He’d been so certain his problems were solved this afternoon. He’d found the chalice with almost no difficulty at all, and even if he had a witness, Julianna had no idea how important the relic was. He’d had every intention of going back as soon as night fell and removing the chalice.
Unfortunately, everyone else had decided to get in his way. The courtyard had been filled with people, and despite his best efforts to make himself totally unbearable, his presence had still been demanded by Lord Hugh. He didn’t dare disobey and raise suspicion.
And he couldn’t find Bogo anywhere. His servant could have been filching the chalice and planning their escape while Nicholas distracted the earl, but the man was nowhere to be seen. Someone mentioned he’d been talking with Brother Barth, but since Bogo had the spirituality of a fox, that seemed unlikely.
Unless Bogo turned up swiftly, stealing the chalice would be up to Nicholas. And he was a fool to be here now, a fool to be tempted by her, when it would be such a simple matter to solve his problems.
But then, he prided himself on not being practical. The chalice could wait—this was where he wanted to be. At the moment he wanted her more than he wanted a priceless relic and the king’s favor. It was that simple.
She wore a loose white shift, the drawstring neckline pulled up tight, and for the first time he could see her hair in the shifting firelight, even if it was still braided. Pale gold, not unlike his own.
He reached out and caught one fat braid in his fingers. It was heavy, silken in his hand. “Our children would have yellow hair,” he said absently, staring at it.
Her swift intake of breath sounded almost painful. “Do you never think before you speak?” she demanded in a harsh whisper. “I cannot bear children, and you shouldn’t. You might pass your affliction down to them.”
He reached the end of her braid and began unfastening the leather thong that held it plaited, his head bent to hide his smile. “I’m hoping my particular affliction isn’t hereditary. ’Twould be a cruel thing for a child, wouldn’t it? To caper about in rags and always say what pops int
o his mind.” He began unwinding the braid, letting the silken hair brush against his fingers. She smelled like cinnamon, an uncommonly erotic scent, cinnamon and roses.
“Is that what you were like as a child?”
“Nay, my lady. Had you seen me as a child, you would never have known me.”
“You’re hard to mistake, Master Nicholas. Few people have spun-gold hair and cat’s eyes.”
“You wouldn’t have looked at me, my lady. As a child I was covered in rags and dirt. Ladies do not look at ragamuffin children.”
She paused, and he wondered if she was feeling a spark of compassion. He was hoping she would. His plan was very simple and basic at the moment—to exercise her sympathy and the tender heart she kept sternly hidden. She was a woman who needed a child. If she could open to him on a maternal level, it wouldn’t be long before he’d manage to get into her bed.
“Ladies quite often look at ragamuffin children,” she corrected him. “Had you no mother? No one to look after you? Even peasant children have parents.”
He considered lying to her. Which would she find more acceptable, a peasant or a poor fool? The one braid was free, and he dropped the strands, reaching for the other one as it lay against the thick blanket, meeting her gaze.
“Did you look after the peasants in your holdings, my lady? Would you have looked after me?”
“You aren’t a peasant,” she said flatly.
“And how do you know that?” She didn’t even realize he’d loosened her thick, beautiful hair so that it covered her shoulders like a golden shawl.
“I’m not sure. I just do.”
“Or maybe you just wish it. It would be wrong to kiss a peasant, wouldn’t it, my lady? Very, very wrong to want the touch of a peasant’s rough hands against your soft, pale skin.”
“I don’t want any man’s hands touching my skin,” she said. “And I expect your hands are as soft as mine.” Like a fool she caught one of his hands in hers, and then froze. “Your skin is rough,” she said in surprise.
“Yes,” he said. Her hands were much smaller than his, capturing his between them. His skin was darker from the sun, darker than her pale flesh, and his hand was callused, hard, strong.
She tried to release him, but it was a simple enough matter to twist his hand around to capture one of hers, holding it. She tugged, but he refused to release her. It was a small enough imposition, one she’d hardly scream over.
“You must have worked hard at some point in your life,” she said. “You weren’t always a fool.”
“They say a blow on the head can make a wise man mad,” he murmured. “Perhaps I was a knight in training who made the mistake of getting in the way of someone bigger and stronger, and it’s left me the way I am, a poor, pitiful hulk of what I could have been.”
He couldn’t read the expression in her warm brown eyes, couldn’t decide whether he’d convinced her with his string of lies or not.
“I expect you were probably kicked by a horse,” she said. “Which would explain your dislike of them.”
“A great tragedy,” he said solemnly. “There I was, one of King Henry’s favorites, and my poor brain was completely scrambled. I was lucky the good sovereign took pity on me, giving me cast-off garments and allowing me to amuse him.”
“A touching story, Master Nicholas.”
“Indeed.” He sighed.
“But Henry is noted neither for his goodness nor his pity. And if your brains are addled, then I’m the castle whore.”
“Splendid!” he said, and moved toward her.
She slapped him, not a soft blow but something hard enough to jar him. Lady Julianna was certainly not a tease, he thought, rubbing his face as he pulled away from her.
“Very well,” he said. “You’re not the castle whore, more’s the pity. One could hope.”
“Why are you doing this?”
“Doing what?”
“Teasing me. Annoying me. Why don’t you go away and leave me alone?”
“Dear lady, it’s what I do. I’m here to amuse and entertain.”
“I don’t find you amusing.”
He smiled at her, for once with no malice. “I know you don’t. I doubt there’s much you find amusing in this life, Lady Sobersides. I could make you laugh. I’ve done it before—doubtless I could do it again.”
“Not by annoying me.”
“To lure a maid and warm her heart
Is all I ask of my dear art
A mouthful kiss I needs must have
When all of her is what I crave.”
“Crave and have don’t rhyme,” she said severely.
“Close enough. Will you lie with me tonight, my lady? No one will ever know. You’ve assured me we don’t need to worry about bastards making an untoward appearance, and I carry no diseases. You’re wide awake and so am I, and the night is long. Take me into your bed, my lady, and let me love you.”
“I thought we’d agreed on a kiss, no more?”
“One can always hope for a boon from a bountiful lady.”
“A kiss is all you’re getting, and I’m beginning to rethink the wisdom of that as well.”
“Don’t think, my lady. It causes nothing but trouble, I assure you. I do my best to think no more than three times a week, if that.”
She tried to hide the beginnings of a smile and failed. “Go away, master fool,” she said. “I am weary, and I need my sleep. Kiss me and have done with it.”
She had no idea how infinitely luscious her mouth was, he thought. She had no notion of how her entire body could be made to sing with pleasure.
First things first. To run you must walk, to walk you must crawl, and Lady Julianna appeared a veritable infant.
“As you wish.” He dipped his head close to her, and she shut her eyes tightly, her lips bitten together as if expecting a cruel blow.
It would be very cruel indeed. It would undermine everything she held to be true. He waited, patiently, so close he could see the nervous flutter of her eyelashes. She was holding her breath, and sooner or later she’d have to let it out or faint. He didn’t care which—he’d enjoy reviving her.
Eventually her eyes flew open, and she released her pent-up breath. “What are you waiting for?” she demanded irritably.
“You. You look as if you’ve taken a taste of something nasty, and I haven’t even touched you yet. A kiss isn’t supposed to hurt, my lady. Even if the one you planted on me earlier was closer to a blow.”
“I don’t want you to kiss me.”
“Why? Are you afraid you’ll like it?”
“Of course not!”
“Then what are you worrying about? It will only take a short while . . .”
“A short while? A moment, no longer.”
He shook his head, laughing at her. “Kisses aren’t supposed to be rushed. For them to be effective, you have to linger, savor . . .”
“Kisses? When did this become plural?”
“Kisses are seldom singular, my lady.”
She looked at him suspiciously. “How many kisses were you planning on?”
“Oh, ten or so,” he said casually.
“Unacceptable. One.”
“Five,” he countered.
“Two,” she shot back.
“Make it three and we’ll have done with it.”
She frowned. She really had a delightful frown, her broad, serene brow wrinkling into a doubtful furrow. He would have liked to kiss her brow if he could get away with it, but if they were going to settle for three kisses, he wanted them all on her vulnerable mouth.
“Two,” she said. “And brief. Or none at all.”
He didn’t move, prepared to be utterly patient. It was one of his most annoying traits, and one he was entirely prepare
d to use.
The silence grew, broken only by the muted crackle of the fire, the occasional gusts of wind battering against the shutters, and the sound of her breathing. He could almost imagine he heard the rapid beat of her heart. If he could just unfasten the small knot that kept her shift tied so high against her chest, he might see the faint stirring on her pale skin as her heart pounded its nervous rhythm.
He waited. He was a good judge of character, knew just how far to push someone and when he’d lose all he’d gained by pushing too far. Julianna was on the very edge, and whether she’d acquiesce or let out a shriek that would bring all sorts of trouble down upon his head was not yet certain. But it was a worthy gamble.
“Three,” she said finally, expelling her breath in an angry sigh. “And then be gone.”
He moved before she could brace herself, touching her lips with his for only a brief, tantalizing moment before pulling away. A dry, chaste kiss full of unexpected promise.
She blinked, startled, and he wanted to kiss her eyelids. “That wasn’t too horrid,” she said after a moment. “At least it was brief.”
“I’m honored,” he muttered wryly.
“If they’re all like that they won’t be too—”
He stopped her mid-sentence, bracing his hands on the mattress by her hips and catching her mouth with his. He nibbled, just slightly, on her soft lips, slanting his mouth across hers, and then pulled away, leaving her slightly breathless.
“Well,” she said, panting slightly. “Well . . .”
“Well, indeed. Last one, my precious, and then I leave you in your maidenly bower.”
“I’m not a maiden.”
“Not in body, perhaps, but you’ve a virgin soul, my sweet. And sooner or later I’ll deflower your inviolate soul.”
“Never.”
“I cannot resist a challenge, sweeting.” He lifted his hands off the mattress and cradled her sweet face, his long fingers threading through her silken hair. She tensed, staring at him out of worried eyes, but there was fresh color in her cheeks, and she looked more alive than he’d ever seen her.
