A Knight's Vengeance (33 page)

Confusion and embarrassment whooshed through her. She did not remember getting into bed without taking off her gown. She could not even recall leaving the great hall.

Where was Elena this morning?

Determined to stagger to the jug of water and wash her
face, Elizabeth pushed herself up to sitting. She groaned. Somehow, she would walk the five paces to the table.

As she sat with her calves dangling over the bed's edge, summoning the energy to step onto the cold floorboards, the door swung open. Geoffrey strode in. He looked refreshed and handsome in his black hose and knee-length russet wool tunic.

The rogue had come to take her to the gardens.

She shot him a mutinous glare, and he grinned. "Good morn."

"
Go away.
"

Geoffrey chuckled as he walked to the window and drew back the shutters, admitting light and gust of cool air. "Elena will be along soon. You slept late, but 'tis a fine morn. The sky is clear, the sun hovers over the distant hills.
A perfect day for weeding the garden."

"Must I?" she grumbled, too weary for a show of spirit.

"I gave you two days."

Her patience smarting as much as her strained muscles, she stood. "How long must we continue this wretched charade?"

"Charade?"
He raised his eyebrows.

"This . . .
this mockery of making me work
like one of your servants." She plowed her hand through her mussed hair. "You have made your point. Now leave me be."

His mouth tightened. "I cannot."

She rolled her eyes heavenward. "You could, if you wished."

"Nay, damsel.
I have not finished with you."

Her indrawn breath snagged in her lungs. He stared at her as he had last night in the hall, with a sinful hunger.

Fear, anticipation and sheer curiosity fought to govern her. Forcing her limbs into motion, she crossed to the table, aware of his gaze upon her.
Aware of the forbidden thrill snaking through her.
Aware of how alone they were in this chamber, whose walls seemed to squeeze closer together.

She fumbled with the water pitcher. "Where is Mildred?"

He stepped nearer. "Dominic is escorting her to the garden, where you will soon be."

Water splashed into the earthenware bowl.
"If I refuse?"

"You will serve me in my bed."

Her head jerked up. The jug banged down on the table.

"What?!"

Geoffrey reached out and caught one of her glossy curls. His gaze scorched her like flame. "I see I must speak plainer, since you are an innocent."

Heat seared her cheeks and throat. Gripping the edge of the table, she faced him. "I understand your coarse words, milord. I will never—"

"Never?"
With the barest touch, he trailed his fingers down her cheek toward her lips. Her skin throbbed.

She shoved his hand away. "Do not touch me."

Anger and remorse darkened his expression. "I am shocked by the notion too, yet 'tis the one way I will be free of you."

An icy tremor raked through her to the soles of her feet. "Let me go. When I am gone, you will forget—"

He shook his head. His eyes gleamed like oiled steel. "You claim
I
am the annoying hornet, yet
you
never give me a moment's peace. You are in my thoughts every moment of every day. You taunt me with the memory of your lips.
Your skin.
Your scent.
I do not want you there, yet you persist. I try to ignore you, but I cannot. When I fall asleep at night, you emerge in my dreams, teasing, challenging,
your
eyes as bright as the stars in the heavens."

His awkward words flew from his lips like a swarm of wasps. Elizabeth's belly tightened. He haunted her in the same way.

"Let me go," she
whispered,
her tone desperate.

"And forfeit Wode?
Never."

"You do not know what you say." Her fingers, locked onto the table, trembled with strain.

Geoffrey
laughed,
a sound of agony. "I rave like a mad man."

"You are my enemy."

Torment warred in his gaze, and the same emotion clashed within her. Elizabeth's mind flooded with memo- , ries of his kiss, touch, and taste. She fought the rush of illicit sensations, and willed her indignant fury to return. Like dry wood added to a dwindling fire, it would refuel her determination to fight him.

The rage did not come.

In its place, came hollowness.
Emptiness.

Yearning.

"I cannot change the past, Elizabeth," he rasped.

Her arms ached to curl around him. Her body cried out for his embrace and touch, but she forced a denial between her teeth. "I will not lie with you."

"You did not find the idea so repulsive the other eve."

She sighed. "I did not try to seduce you. Will you ever get that into your addled skull?"

His lips twisted into a knowing smile. "While you scorn me with your tongue, your body weeps for my touch."

"It does not!"

"I will prove it." Before she could dart away, Geoffrey captured her wrists and yanked her against him. Cursing, sobbing, she fought him, but his fingers pushed into her hair, cupped the back of her head, and held her still. His lips covered hers. She pummeled her fists against his chest, but he did not let her go, and he did not relent.

His rough kisses claimed her mouth, to prove him right and her wrong. Pleasure surged. Elizabeth
gasped,
the sound mufHed against his lips. He tasted of blackberries. As her arms slid around him, and her lips melded to his, she despaired of her own weakness.

As her resistance melted, his touch gentled. His fingers, splayed at the small of her back, slid down and cupped her bottom. With a low groan, a helpless sound torn from him, he pulled her flush against his thighs. She moaned at the intimate contact. Tongue to tongue.
Chest to chest.
Steel to softness.

His breathing ragged, he broke the kiss. With his thumbs, he touched her swollen mouth. "Why do you fight what we both want?" His words shimmered in the air between them, bound her thoughts and desires to his like a.silk ribbon.

She gazed up at him.
Spellbound.
Tempted.

A breeze cooled her arms. Voices floated up from the bailey. Cold reality snuffed the raging need inside her.

How could she desire the rogue who would destroy her father?

She moistened her lips and tasted blackberries. The sweetness soured in her mouth. Mildred was right. His revenge included taking her virginity, and returning her to her father ruined, with a de Lanceau bastard in her womb. Her willing deflowering would make his vengeance all the more insulting.

She squirmed in his hold. "Release me."

His hands remained firm on her buttocks. His breath fanned over her cheek and brushed her lips. "Lie with me, Elizabeth."

"I would rather . . ." She swallowed hard. "I would rather toil in the kitchens all day."

Drawing back a fraction, he squinted at her. "What?"

"Naught is as loathsome to me as working as a scullery maid"—she wriggled in his hold—"except lying with you."
When he began to chuckle, she snapped, "I do not lie."

He lifted one hand and trailed his finger along her jaw. His expression shadowed with suspicion. "Why would you make a point of telling me what you hate?"

Her pulse raced like a frantic bird's. If she did not convince him, she lost her and Mildred's chance at freedom.

She must not fail.

Pulling away from his touch, she forced a taunting laugh. "Why? You would not give me a duty so far beneath my station."

"Do not try and trick me, damsel. Do you scheme some kind of plot that requires use of the kitchens, or even plan escape?"

She fought a stunned gasp. Oh, God, she must not betray herself.

Casting him a frosty, resentful stare, she said, "Escape seems to be impossible." She paused for dramatic effect and smiled. "Yet your misplaced suspicion makes me wonder, milord, if you doubt your ability to keep me prisoner?"

He studied her face a long moment, before he grinned and released his hold upon her. "You will never escape me, and I fear you misjudged me. Tomorrow, you will toil in the kitchens. You and Mildred will prepare the midday and evening meals for the entire keep. I warn you, damsel. The food must be palatable, or you will be sorry."

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