Knight of Pleasure (15 page)

“I do not deserve you, Claudette.”

“You do not,” she agreed and began walking him out of the hall. Dropping her voice again, she said, “There is that dreadful
Marie de Lisieux, lying in wait for you near the door.”

“I suppose I should cast lustful glances her way,” he whispered back to tease her.

“I know how difficult that is for you, Stephen.”

He gave Marie a broad wink and swiveled his head as they passed.

Claudette gave him a hard pinch for his efforts. “I did not say you must stare at her bosom.”

He laughed with genuine amusement this time. “Marie would think something was amiss if I did not.”

“Just looking at her makes my back ache,” Claudette said, lifting one delicate eyebrow in disdain. “No matter what the fashion,
men will always like big breasts.”

“Not every woman can have your perfect proportions,” he told her, as he knew she expected him to. “But, in sooth, I do not
think I have ever seen a pair I did not like.”

“Men are so simple.” She heaved a sigh of feigned weariness that made him laugh again.

When they were safely out the door, she turned and wagged a finger in his face. “Now let us be serious. You must promise me
you will use that clever head of yours and not get into a cockfight over Lady Hume.”

He opened his mouth to object, but she held her hand up.

“You best remember,” she warned, “the king has bet upon the other cock.”

T
hank God for the girl. If Linnet were not annoying de Roche with ceaseless chatter, he might notice how Isobel’s hands shook.
Isobel tried to make herself listen to what Linnet was saying but could not.

How could Stephen return just when she had put all thought of him behind her? That was not quite true. Not nearly true. But
having him in Caen where she would see him every day made it so much worse.

She heard Linnet mention Stephen’s name and almost missed the step. “What was that you said?”

“That my brother and I were very wicked to Sir Stephen.”

How easy it was to be wicked with Stephen!

When she saw him coming through the crowd toward her, his smile like a swath of sunlight, her heart leapt in her chest. He
looked so pleased to see her, too. For a moment, she thought he would sweep her into his arms.

She half hoped he would.

Perhaps more than half.

But then, Stephen could play her for a fool without even knowing it. As she left the hall, she turned to see whom Marie de
Lisieux was watching so intently. It was Stephen, of course. He was already laughing and whispering with that breathtaking
courtesan. While Isobel was shaken to her soul at seeing him again, he forgot her the moment she was out of sight.

He would be making his way around the room now, adoring woman to adoring woman. Making each and every one of them believe
she was special.

Not that Isobel cared what he did.

She would think of her future. De Roche was a handsome man, every bit as attractive as Stephen Carleton. Surely she would
find his kisses just as exciting. She would. Her mind was set on it. And for once, Robert was not here to interfere.

They were at her chamber door before she realized she had not spoken a word to de Roche since they left the hall.

“Wait inside,” she whispered to the girl, giving her a gentle push inside.

She lifted de Roche’s hand to cup her cheek and looked steadily into his eyes. Seeing how quickly the irritation in his eyes
shifted to lust, she smiled, pleased with herself. It had been easy, after all. She would get her kiss now.

When he kissed her cheek, she was disappointed. Nay, annoyed. But then he began to work his way down her neck. She closed
her eyes and tried to concentrate on the soft lips and warm breath against her skin. Instead, she found herself thinking of
his heavy-handedness in trying to get her to change her mind about taking Linnet. And his utter lack of feeling for the poor
girl’s circumstances.

That Stephen had taken responsibility for the two orphans surprised her. And yet… it did not. Wastrel, womanizer, drunkard
that he was, Stephen did have a kind heart.

She’d forgotten de Roche when, suddenly, she was slammed against the door, the latch poking painfully into her back. De Roche’s
mouth was on hers, bruising her. With his tongue down her throat, choking her, she could not breathe. Panic surged through
her as she tried in vain to push him away.

She fell backward with a shriek as the door opened behind her. De Roche caught her and leveled furious gray eyes at the cause
of the interruption.

“M’lady, do you want these cleaned?” Linnet stood implacably in the doorway, holding a pair of boots in one hand. Not at all
the humble maidservant.

“Thank you for escorting me,” Isobel said before de Roche could shout at the girl. She straightened and held her hand out.

“Until tonight then,” he said in a tight voice.

The gaze he fixed on her as he brought her hand to his lips held both anger and desire. She fought the urge to jerk her hand
away when she felt his tongue on her skin.

As she watched him go, she wiped her hand against her skirts.

Claudette’s serene expression gave nothing away, but Robert saw the glint of annoyance in her crystal blue eyes as she crossed
the room toward him.

“Thank you,” he said into her ear as he helped her into the seat beside him. “A woman’s touch was needed.”

“Stephen does need a woman’s touch,” she hissed. “That is precisely the problem.”

She smiled and waved delicate fingers at an acquaintance passing by. “I tried to reason with him, but reason does not work
on a man who is thinking with his—”

“With his heart?”

Instead of laughing, she gave a faint sigh. “Let us hope not.”

Robert handed her the bowl of sugared fruit he’d taken from the table. “I must see what is taking de Roche so long to escort
Isobel to her chamber.”

“No need,” Claudette said, glancing toward the entrance. “The snake has returned.” Claudette had disliked de Roche from the
moment she laid eyes on him.

From the way de Roche stormed across the room, Isobel had fended for herself well enough. De Roche went at once to join a
small group in the corner, which included Marie de Lisieux.

“You know they are lovers?” Claudette said.

“ ’Tis a shame,” he said, popping a sugared fruit into his mouth, “that murdering him would cause political complications.”

She laughed this time—a lovely tinkling sound that always drew men’s attention.

How he would love to catch de Roche in some treachery against the king. He drummed his fingers on his knee. “Tell me, do you
think de Roche both clever and brave enough to play two sides at once?”

She turned to him and raised one perfectly shaped eyebrow. “Surely vanity and overconfidence would serve, as well?”

Claudette was right, of course. She always was about men.

“Tonight, however,” she said, “he is too absorbed with looking down the front of Marie’s gown to be conspiring about aught
else.”

Robert took a long swallow of his wine. Damn, it was too much to hope he could catch de Roche in some treachery in time.

How else could he save Isobel from this marriage? He narrowed his eyes, considering. All he had to do was stir the pot a bit.
But the risks were high. High for all of them.

He chuckled to himself. What was life without a little danger?

Y
ou are a handsome devil,” Stephen murmured, “the fastest of them all, a matchless wonder.”

Lightning nickered his agreement.

“I think he likes me now,” François said, brushing the horse with long, firm strokes, just as Stephen had taught him. “He
only tried to kick me twice today.”

Stephen rubbed Lightning’s nose and fed him another carrot.

Sighing, he rested his head against the horse’s. “I know she is to be wed. And truly, I have tried to stay away. But she will
think me rude if I do not see her.”

Lightning munched the carrot, unpersuaded.

It was not just good intentions that kept Stephen away. He hated to see her with de Roche. He did not want Isobel to suffer
with a second husband who disgusted her, but did this Frenchman have to be so handsome?

Stephen thought of how Isobel’s breath caught when he touched her. How her head fell back as he kissed her throat. Oh, God,
how she pulled him down on top of her.

Would she do the same with de Roche?

Lightning jerked his head up as quick, light steps approached.

“Linnet, do not run or make sudden moves around a horse like Lightning,” Stephen said as he patted the horse’s neck to reassure
him.

As soon as Stephen stepped around the horse, Linnet jumped into his arms and kissed him on both cheeks. “Thank you, thank
you!” she squealed. “I love Lady Hume. She is as kind and beautiful as you said.”

Her brother emerged from the horse’s other side, and she ran to embrace and kiss him, too.

Stephen stepped between her and the horse and hauled her back to a safe distance. “Does Lady Hume know where you are?”

“She’ll not mind that I come to visit my brother.”

So, she had not told Isobel. “If I catch you going about alone again, I shall whip you until you beg for mercy.”

Linnet rolled her eyes. “How silly you are! Maids do not require escorts.”

All the same, he would speak to Isobel about it.

“I brought you a treat from the kitchen,” Linnet said, reaching into the cloth bag slung over her shoulder. “Sir Robert told
me these are your favorites.”

The smell of the warm apple tarts diverted him from his lecture, just as she intended.

He grabbed François by the shoulder and pointed to the bucket of clean water. “The tarts will taste better after you wash
the smell of horse from your hands.”

The three of them sat on a pile of clean straw in the corner to eat their tarts.

“I like Sir Robert,” Linnet said between bites and licking her fingers, “but who is this… this de Roche?” She wrinkled her
nose as though smelling dung.

Stephen liked the girl better all the time. “De Roche is the man your mistress is going to marry. He is from Rouen.”

Through a mouth stuffed full of tart, François mumbled his own speculation that de Roche came from hell. These children were
wise beyond their years.

Linnet furrowed her brows in a pretty frown. “I cannot go to Rouen and leave François. When is this marriage to take place?”

“I do not know.” Stephen suppressed a sigh. “Let us not worry about that yet.”

“We cannot wait until it is too late,” Linnet objected.

“Perhaps you could marry her instead?” François said.

Stephen laughed and shook his head. “You want me to marry to please the two of you?”

“She is very pretty,” François said, “and I know how much you like her.” The boy leaned forward, mouth hanging open like a
half-wit, in what Stephen took as an imitation of himself.

Linnet threw her head back and hooted with laughter.

Stephen rubbed his temples. What had he done to deserve these two demons? “I do wish Lady Hume a better husband, but de Roche
is the man King Henry has chosen for her.”

Linnet dismissed the king’s wishes with a very French lift of her narrow shoulder.

“Come,” Stephen said to her. “I shall take you back now.”

He expected an argument, but Linnet jumped to her feet. After bidding adieu to François and Lightning—who withstood her exuberance
with uncharacteristic calm—she was ready to go.

When they reached Isobel’s chamber in the keep, Linnet pushed the door open and ran inside. Stephen followed, intent on speaking
to Isobel about Linnet.

As he closed the door, he saw Isobel. She was standing before the basin on the table against the wall, as if about to wash
her face. Her long, dark hair was in tangles, and she wore just her shift.

The sight left Stephen dry-mouthed. When she turned and met his eyes, heat scorched between them like a fire.

He’d seen countless women rise from bed wearing less, but none stirred him as she did, covered neck to ankle in a plain white
shift. The thought came to him, unbidden and unwelcome: He could see her like this every morning and never tire of it.

He remembered the silky feel of her hair in his hands. His fingers itched to touch it, but his feet were fixed like stone
weights to the floor.

His eyes traveled down the lovely curve of her neck. He longed to run his tongue along the delicate collarbone just above
the edge of her shift. Then, shameless man that he was, he let his gaze drop precipitously to her breasts. They were round
and full, the tips pressed against the cloth.

He could not get enough air.

Still, he followed the folds of the white cloth down, pondering the sweet mysteries underneath. He was a drowning man. Down,
down, down he went, until he reached slim ankles and bare feet. He wanted to hold her delicate foot in his hand and kiss each
toe. And then move up her leg.

He dragged his gaze back up, savoring every inch in reverse. When he reached her face again, he thought his heart would stop.
Her eyes held that same look of longing he remembered from the first time they met.