A Knight's Vengeance (39 page)

"Then I expect none."

"Listen to what you say! You will sacrifice your innocence for naught."

She shivered at the bite in his words, but did not look away. "I yield because I wish to. Because I want this one moment with you that may never come again."

"God's teeth," he whispered, "you are the bravest woman I have ever known." Admiration gleamed in his shocked gaze. He reached out and trailed his wine-stained thumb down her cheek. She did not realize she was crying, until she felt the wet path of his skin on hers. "Ah, damsel, how I wish you wept for me."

His words were soft, tender, and Elizabeth exhaled on a rush. She fought for words to convey the swirling emotions inside her.

He cupped her face with his hand.
"Elizabeth, my beautiful, headstrong damsel.
I want to love you."

"I am yours."

"Kiss me."

She had never seen such turmoil.
Hunger.
His need throbbed inside her.

She longed to feel his arms wrap around her, to taste him, to explore him. The yearning—a desire that surpassed the boundaries of past and future to reach pure, elemental attraction between man and woman—was stronger now than it had ever been.

He set the silver goblet on the table. His hand dropped from her face, yet he did not move closer or try to touch her, though she knelt within reach. Mayhap he feared frightening her away. Mayhap he wanted her to reconsider all that she had offered.

Whatever his reasons, they did not matter.

She would not waver.

With a shaking hand, she touched his leg. His wool hose felt smooth and warm beneath her palm, and, edging forward, she closed the space separating them. His hand settled over hers, and tingles shot up her arm. She glanced up to see if he, too, had felt them. He nodded. His gaze smoldering, he plowed his fingers into her hair.

A ragged sigh burst from him, and he leaned toward her. His breath warmed her cheek.
A caress.
An invitation.

Elizabeth lifted her mouth to his.

The kiss was sweeter than she ever imagined. Her lips feathered over his, explored his sensuous mouth. He tasted of red wine, a tangy, heady piquancy more intoxicating than a sip from the goblet. She kissed him again and drew back.

He exhaled with a gasp, a sound that expressed a deluge of sensations. As she licked her lips, savoring his essence, his mouth hovered close. He raised one eyebrow. When she flushed, he smiled. Anticipation shivered through her. Before she lost her nerve, Elizabeth leaned forward and claimed his lips.

"Damsel," he groaned. Tangled in her hair, his hand shook. She sensed his urgent need, his desire to take control, yet he did not. Instead, he coaxed her with kisses that dared her to seek more. With a sigh, Elizabeth arched forward to deepen the contact, and her belly pressed against his leg. His fingers slid from her hair and, breaking away for less than one breath, he reached down and drew her into his lap.

Awareness assailed her.
His thigh under her bottom.
His muscled arm at her back.
His familiar scent.
She trembled, overwhelmed, but his mouth found hers. His lips soothed, teased, and when his tongue eased between her teeth, she gasped. His kisses grew fiercer, more profound, until her pulse hammered and her body arched with wanting.

Breathing hard, Elizabeth drew back. She stared up into his flushed face, into his blazing eyes, and felt an inexplicable sense of incompletion.

"Elizabeth." He nuzzled the hollow of her neck and trailed kisses down her collarbone. "Lie with me now."

His hushed words were not a command, but a request, delivered with such yearning her heart almost broke in two. She snuffed a twinge of panic and regret. She would go to his bed, for she wanted him, as he desired her. If she could convince him not to plunge his sword into her father's heart, she must.

She met his ravenous gaze. "Aye," she whispered.

He answered with a tortured groan and a kiss so brazen, Elizabeth cried out when their lips parted. Cradling her in his arms, he rose and carried her to the bed, her hair brushing the floorboards. His hands gentle, he laid her down on the coverlet. The bed ropes creaked as he stretched out beside her.

His fingers stroked her tresses. He fanned her hair out over the coverlet and pulled a ringlet over her shoulder. She smiled and, spurred by a rush of boldness, pushed her hand up under his tunic.

He tensed. His eyes narrowed in warning, and she froze with her hand pressed to his warm belly. Had she displeased him? She had never lain with a man before. Dismay whirled up inside her. If she had ruined her chance to save her father—

Geoffrey covered her hand with his, and drew it to a buckled ridge along the right side of his chest.
A scar.
A long, hideous scar.
Elizabeth traced the line of marred flesh with her fingertips and bit back a horrified cry. What had happened to him? How had he survived such a wound?

Anguish shimmered in his eyes, and she felt him steel himself for her rejection. With a gentle smile, she tugged the tunic up past his navel.

"'Tis not a pleasant sight," he muttered.

"Please," she said, and pushed herself up to sitting.

He
raised
up on one elbow, drew the tunic over his head and tossed it onto the floor.

Elizabeth sucked in a breath. She had expected the warrior strength of his physique, but not his godlike beauty, which the scar could never diminish. His skin gleamed like polished bronze. She smoothed her fingers over the swell of muscles and ribs, and marveled at the perfection of the human body.
His body.

Geoffrey pushed up to sit beside her. The skin across her breasts tingled, for she recognized the wicked gleam in his eyes. His fingers drifted over her bodice, down to her waist, and as she swayed against him, her eyes closed. He took her mouth in a fiery kiss, reached down and unlaced his boots. They fell to the floor with a
thud.
He did not break the kiss as he unfastened the points of his hose, removed the belt, and stripped the wool from each leg.

His thumb caressed her cheek, and Elizabeth dared to open her eyes. He was naked.
Glorious.
Her gaze traveled over his body, worshipped each gleaming swell of muscle and sinew. Her fingers burned to touch him. She reached for his thigh, but he captured her hand. His fingers linked through hers and he pressed her back on the bed.

His face taut with need, he leaned over her. His tongue slicked over the sensitive hollow of her throat, then moved to her bodice's edge. How did such pleasure exist in a simple touch? Through half-lowered lashes, she watched him unfasten her bliaut's ties. His hands moved again, down her side, down her leg, to her hem.

When his fingers grazed the inside of her leg, she quivered. His lips swept over hers. He whispered tender reassurances, and pulled her bliaut and chemise to her waist. He coaxed her to wriggle out of them, and then dropped them over the side of the bed.

Cool air kissed her skin. Elizabeth shivered. She lay naked before him, vulnerable as a hatched bird without feathers. The rough hair on his legs brushed against her, reminded her of the different textures of man and woman. With her hands, she tried to hide her nakedness, but he raised her fingers to his mouth and kissed them, one by one.

"You are beautiful," he murmured.

"And you tell a fine falsehood." She gave a shaky laugh. "My cheekbones are too high and—"

"Believe me, damsel, you are exquisite. All of you."

His eyes blazed, and a thrill of wonder and excitement coursed through her. He ran his hand over her hipbone and flat stomach. When the muscles fluttered at his touch, he grinned.

With slow, careful movements, he lowered his weight over her. As he braced his arms on either side of her shoulders, his silky hair brushed her temple. Elizabeth swallowed. Dipping his head, he distracted her with a searing kiss. He teased her desire, taunted her with his hands, lips, and tongue, until her body writhed beneath him.

"Elizabeth," he said in a thick voice. "Are you certain?"

She nodded.

His hardness pressed into her, bringing pressure and stabbing pain. She gasped. His body tensed above her, and she sensed the effort it took him to stop.

"I do not wish to hurt you."

"I know."

His face held such a tortured
expression,
she drew his head down to kiss him. His lips moved over hers. He kissed her with a soft, muffled apology, and then thrust hard and deep.

He crushed her, everywhere, inside as well as out. She thought she could bear no more, when he whispered her name and began to move. The gentle friction dimmed the pain and brought with it a delicious, slow burn. With each of his strokes, the pleasure intensified.

The smell of his sweat filled her nostrils. His stubbled jaw grazed her cheek. Need heightened, and she whimpered. Groaning, he quickened the pace. She dug her heels into the bedding, matched his thrusts.

Faster.

Faster.

The burn flared before exploding into a single, brilliant flame. She cried out as it engulfed her.

In its fiery wake, Geoffrey roared with pleasure. His breaths became shuddered gasps.

And, when he buried his head against her shoulder, she tasted the tears streaming down her cheeks.

In the hazy glow of candlelight, tears shimmered on Elizabeth's face. Geoffrey lay beside her on the coverlet and listened to her breathing slow to a normal pace. He wondered if they were tears of regret, guilt, or worry for what the future might bring.

He shifted the arm curled under his head, but left the other draped over her belly. He sensed her drawing away from him even as his fingers caressed her skin. He did not want the moment to end. Not now.
Mayhap not ever.

Leaning over, he kissed the damp curls at her temple. "Are you all right?" he whispered.

"Aye."
She wiped away the tears with the back of her hand. "I did not hurt you?"

With a faint smile, Elizabeth shook her head.

"'Twas not easy to be gentle with you," he said, his tone gruff. He remembered all too well how her sleek body had molded to him. He had not expected such pleasure when it had been her first time. The damsel had surprised him yet again.

Her soft laughter startled him. "I did not expect you to be gentle. As you once told me, you are not a patient man."

"T
rue.
"