Box Set - Knights of Passion (7 Novels) Page 2

  “I think you are afraid.” Kaine glanced past Edouard as though to find Juliana and catch her attention. “I dare you to kiss her.”

  Edouard ground his teeth. Why was Kaine so persistent?

  “On the lips.”

  “Wait just a . . .” As Edouard glowered at his grinning friend, a sudden sense of understanding crept over him. Kaine was getting Edouard back for their bet several weeks ago, which Edouard won; Kaine had to relinquish his favorite dagger as well as a nighttime stroll with the busty, blond kitchen maid they both lusted after.

  “If you leave today without kissing Juliana,”—Kaine’s grin turned sly—“you owe me that nice leather knife belt the village tanner made for you. You will also return my dagger.”

  Edouard snorted. “I do not have to heed you.”

  “True. The dare, though, has already been offered. If you refuse to accept . . .” Kaine shrugged. “Our friends will enjoy hearing how you were too much of a coward for a kiss. And from your almost betrothed.”

  Anger brought a hot flush crawling up Edouard’s neck. The blatant challenge, combined with his sire’s reasons for Edouard to attend this feast, seemed to weigh down upon him like a monstrous boulder. How Edouard yearned to haul Kaine down to a quiet part of the bailey and wrestle him into the dirt until they were both panting, exhausted, and ready to settle a truce over a pint of ale.

  But that wouldn’t resolve the matter of the dare.

  A kiss? Fine. He’d kissed many young women; he counted himself fairly skilled at such. But he’d have to be sure there were no witnesses, apart from Kaine. If Edouard was caught kissing Juliana, others could interpret that as his promise to marry her.

  One quick brush of his lips, bestowed upon Juliana in private, and he’d have met Kaine’s challenge. He’d also get to keep the knife belt, which the tanner had made exactly as Edouard desired.

  Kaine’s gaze bored into Edouard. “Well?”

  Edouard managed a reckless grin. “I accept your dare. If I win, I get sole rights to that maid for the next month.”

  Kaine’s mouth gaped.

  “What is wrong, my friend? Are you a coward?”

  A bawdy chuckle broke from Kaine. “Very well. I agree to your terms.”

  “Good.” Edouard loosened his hand from Kaine’s tunic. “Now—”

  “Get ready for that kiss, Edouard.” Kaine pushed away from the wall while running his hands over his tunic. “Lady Juliana is headed our way.”

  ***

  Weaving through the throng, Juliana suppressed a sigh. If only her sixteen-year-old sister Nara, gliding close behind, would stop chattering like an anxious bird; she’d twittered on and on for days about Geoffrey and Edouard de Lanceau’s visit. Most exhausting.

  While Nara had fussed, preened, swooned, succumbed to fits of tears, and drunk calming infusions whilst lying abed and mopping her face with cool cloths, Juliana had worked with the cook and servants to coordinate the hall decorations, seven course meal, and entertainment. She’d planned every detail to culminate in a celebration worthy of a visit from Moydenshire’s famous lord.

  How Juliana wished that she could have arranged the festivities with her mother, who loved to be part of such events, but Mother was very ill from her last stillbirth. Responsibility for the feast had fallen entirely to Juliana. She hadn’t objected; ’twas important for Mama to focus on resting and regaining her strength, so she’d be well again.

  Juliana looked for her father among the guests. She hoped he was pleased with the arrangements. Later, she must find Mayda, her dearest friend, who’d recently become betrothed and who’d be attending with her sire—

  A sharp tug almost tore Juliana’s sleeve. “Are you listening to me? I said the de Lanceaus arrived a short while ago.”

  God’s teeth, Nara. “You have told me that three times now,” Juliana said over her shoulder, and then smiled at a noblewoman she recognized from a feast last winter.

  “The two of them are in this hall somewhere. I have enormous goose bumps all over my arms. The lumps are as big as gooseberries!” Nara tittered. “Oh, how exciting.”

  For you, mayhap, chirpy nuisance of a sister. For me—?

  “I cannot wait to meet Edouard de Lanceau. He may soon be one of our relations.” Nara sighed with enough theatrics to draw the curious gazes of the nearby noblewomen. “Oh, Juliana! How incredible, that he is considering you, of all women, to be his wife.”

  “Mmm.” Juliana wiped her brow, throbbing from the noise in the hall, and desperately wished for a respite. Some of the cook’s soothing mint tea would be wondrous right now. Glancing through a gap in the crowd, she looked over the trestle tables—what she could see of them, anyway—arranged to accommodate the guests for the meal. All the preparations seemed to be to plan. The wine and ale were flowing, the meal’s first course would be served soon, and then—

  Another pull on her sleeve. “Do you remember what Father said about Edouard de Lanceau? What color is his hair? What about his eyes? Is he handsome? Is he tall, or—?”

  Juliana spun around. Wide-eyed, Nara halted. Her embroidered yellow gown, designed to accentuate her small waist and slender figure, floated to stillness about her ankles.

  “Nara, will you stop? Please?”

  Nara’s gaze slid to a point behind Juliana. “But . . .”

  A daisy petal drifted from the wildflowers in the nearby sconce and Juliana flicked it away. “At this moment, I do not wish to be reminded of Edouard de Lanceau.”

  Nara’s mouth dropped open. Her hand fluttered to her throat. “Juliana.”

  “Neither do I wish to be reminded of my possible betrothal. I do not care that he is here. I do not want to get married, to him or anyone else. As far as I am concerned, he can—”

  “Good day to you, fair ladies.”

  Dread skittered down Juliana’s spine. Snapping her mouth shut, she turned to see two young men standing less than three paces away. The shorter one with sparkling eyes and light brown hair dropped into a chivalrous bow. The other, slightly taller and broader of shoulder, smiled before he also bent at the waist while sweeping aside his black mantle.

  The way the man moved . . . Her breath fluttered in her ribcage, for she’d never before seen such controlled elegance. Controlled in the manner of a clever warrior who knew his weapons, including those of sexual seduction; the kind of man Mama had warned her to beware. Elegant in a way that bespoke noble breeding and years of cultured tutoring. The combination made her faintly giddy, for ’twas appealing in a most dangerous, exciting way.

  How shocked Mama would be, if she knew Juliana’s thoughts.

  Juliana tried to look away, but couldn’t. Light from the wall torches flickered on his silky, shoulder-length brown hair. As he slowly rose from his bow, sweat dampened the soles of her feet, suddenly leaden in her best leather shoes. Oh, God. Oh good God. Surely he was not—

  “Kaine Northwood,” the shorter man said before gesturing to his companion. “May I introduce my friend, Edouard de Lanceau?”

  Nara squealed and clapped her hands to her cheeks.

  Heat swept across Juliana’s face. Fighting the odd trembling deep within her, she dropped into an elegant curtsey fit for the highest courts, just as she’d been taught from girlhood.

  She sensed the men’s stares upon her, traveling over her in lazy assessment. Were they deciding if she was worthy of a great lord’s son? Especially after overhearing her words to Nara?

  Oh, Mother of God, they were probably ogling her cleavage, displayed to shocking advantage by the low-cut gown her father and Nara had insisted she wear. The fitted bodice made her breasts look enormous. Face burning, she pressed a hand to her bosom and rose as swiftly as etiquette allowed.

  “Lord de Lanceau,” Nara said with breathless delight. “Lord Northwood. What a pleasure to meet both of you.”

  When Juliana straightened, her gaze came level with Edouard’s tanned throat. Even that bit of him looked enticing. Torchlight caught the embro
idery along the neckline of his blue tunic. Magnificent work. But of course, ’twould be; his sire owned the largest and most profitable cloth empire in England. Some said Geoffrey de Lanceau was richer even than King John.

  The weight of Edouard’s stare forced her to look up. Their gazes met. His eyes were a bright, piercing blue and shadowed by thick lashes. The glint in his eyes . . . A jolt of unfamiliar sensation ran through her, and that wicked sense of danger stirred again. Her lungs suddenly felt impossibly tight, and she could scarcely draw a breath. She prayed she wasn’t going to gasp like a landed trout.

  As though attuned to her discomfort, his smile broadened, accenting his strong cheekbones. He looked even more the handsome rogue who only compromised when he knew ’twas to his benefit to do so. The careless tilt of his wide, full lips—a beautiful mouth—suggested he didn’t have to compromise very often, because he knew just how to coax a woman to do exactly as he wanted—

  Juliana blinked. God above, she must get control of her thoughts.

  “Oh, Lord de Lanceau.” Nara shoved past Juliana in a rustle of silk. “We are very honored to meet you. When Father told us you would be visiting our humble keep, Juliana and I were so thrilled. We could not stop talking about it, for we have admired your sire’s many accomplishments in these lands. That you are visiting us today is, well,” she giggled, “almost too exciting to believe.”

  “Indeed.”

  Juliana bit her lip. Even Edouard’s voice was beautiful. Smooth and rich like a sumptuous confection.

  She clasped her sweaty hands together and wondered how to excuse herself and slip away. Quite apart from being mortified, she had matters to attend—such as tasting the sauce to be served with the roasted quail, since the cook sometimes made it too spicy.

  “—and we worked many long, tiring hours on this magnificent celebration planned for you today,” Nara was saying. “A delicious feast, some fine musicians.” Her voice raised on a flirtatious laugh. “There will be dancing later.”

  “I love to dance,” Edouard said with a lop-sided smile. “And you, Lady Juliana?”

  Struggling to quell her rising anger—how could Nara claim credit for the work without a glimmer of guilt?—Juliana glanced at Edouard and, somehow, roused a smile. “I enjoy dancing.”

  “May I request a dance with you?”

  An invitation to dance. Was it a prelude to a betrothal? If so, how did she graciously decline?

  Before Juliana could reply, Nara said, “She would be delighted to dance with you.”

  Edouard’s eyes narrowed a fraction. “I am pleased to hear such. Lady Juliana?”

  After a sharp glance at Nara, who was beaming like a giddy fool, Juliana met his gaze again. She tried to formulate an appropriate reply that wouldn’t encourage his courtship. “I would—”

  “Milady.” A petite maidservant curtsied at Juliana’s side. With a twinge of alarm, she recognized the young woman she’d assigned to care for her mother that day.

  Juliana faced the maidservant. “What is wrong?”

  “Yer mama is suffering pains. I have summoned the healer, but I thought ye should know.”

  Juliana touched the woman’s arm. “Thank you.”

  With a hesitant smile and curtsey, the maidservant hurried away.

  A frown creased Nara’s brow. “Of all moments for Mama to be unwell.”

  Barely holding back the fiery words filling her mouth, Juliana clenched her hands. How could Nara be so insensitive? Would her sister ever think of aught but herself?

  Blinking away the sting of angry tears, Juliana dropped into a curtsey before Edouard. “Please excuse me, milord. I must see to my mother.”

  As she rose, he caught her right hand.

  “Oh!” Nara gasped, and then giggled.

  Juliana swallowed. Edouard’s warm, callused fingers held hers so gently. Did he clasp every woman’s hand with such tenderness?

  Of course he did. He was a rogue. He’d mastered the nuances of that gallant gesture and knew how to use it to get his way.

  Juliana sensed the stares of several esteemed guests nearby. Unease rushed through her. She didn’t want to offend Edouard, but she also didn’t want to imply interest in a relationship between them. Yet before she could discreetly draw her hand back, he pressed a light kiss to the backs of her fingers. How deliciously warm his lips felt against her skin.

  A shiver rippled through her. Beware this rogue, Juliana.

  “Until our dance, then,” he murmured.

  A KNIGHT’S PERSUASION

  CHAPTER TWO

  Edouard stood at the edge of the raised dais, sipping a goblet of red wine. Bracing his hip against the lord’s table, already cleared of the meal’s leftovers, he looked over the merry folk in the hall who waited for the last few tables to be moved away to make room for dancing.

  “Do you see Juliana?” He glanced at Kaine, also leaning against the table and watching the crowd, no doubt deciding which young woman to ask to dance first.

  Kaine shook his head. “I see many lovely ladies, but she is not among them.”

  The image of Juliana bloomed again in Edouard’s thoughts: fair, dewy skin; a willowy figure; wide eyes that assessed all around her with both intelligence and sensitivity. And her breasts . . . A silent growl tickled his throat. He’d never been so tempted by a luscious, well-displayed bosom. The fact she’d been so shy about her feminine beauty made her all the more intriguing, for if he guessed correctly, she’d had little experience with men. He’d be the first to kiss her on the lips.

  Near the hearth, the musicians tuned their instruments, playing a few strains of a familiar song that wove through the chatter and laughter. Welcoming the resolve burning in his gut, Edouard took another sip of the fine Bordeaux. His chance to kiss Juliana would soon be upon him. If he didn’t seize his opportunity, he’d lose the bet.

  Losing wasn’t in Edouard’s nature—or, he vowed, in the heart of any de Lanceau.

  Where was Juliana? Had she run off, anxious about his request for a dance?

  When the maidservant had brought word of her mother’s discomfort, Edouard had wondered if Juliana’s responsibilities would keep her from the celebrations. She’d returned to the hall, however, just before the meal started, to take her assigned chair on the right side of the lord’s table beside her father and Nara—to Lord de Greyne’s obvious relief.

  Edouard and his father had sat on Lord de Greyne’s left side. The formal seating arrangement had made it impossible to converse with Juliana, but Edouard had caught glimpses of her during the meal, putting bread into her mouth, nibbling pieces of venison from her eating dagger, and drinking her wine. Several times, he’d had to remind himself not to stare.

  Glancing over the hall again, he downed more wine. Whatever Juliana’s reasons for vanishing, he wouldn’t be denied so easily. He’d find her and woo her into a meeting with him where, with Kaine as witness, Edouard would bestow upon her a kiss she’d never forget.

  Kaine tsked. “What a shame Juliana is not here. I think you will lose our bet, my friend.”

  “The day is not done yet.”

  Edouard spied Nara a short distance from the musicians, talking to two other ladies who looked of similar age. They glanced his way, gasped, and their faces turned red.

  Who better to ask about Juliana than her sister, even if speaking to Nara made him want to rip out his own hair?

  He smiled warmly at Nara, brushed past Kaine to step down from the dais, and strode to Nara’s side. Ignoring the young ladies’ breathless squeals, he said, “I am sorry to interrupt, but have you seen Juliana?”

  Nara’s pretty face clouded with a frown before she looked to the servants clearing away the last table. “She is not here in the hall?”

  “Nay.”

  “She may be with Mother.” A hard glint touched Nara’s eyes. “She had best not be outside sketching in that wretched book of hers. Father will be furious.”

  Aware of Kaine’s keen stare, Edouard sai
d, “Where, outside, might I find her?”

  Nara smoothed her hand over her fitted bodice that looked a fraction too tight. “The fish pond. But milord, mayhap you would prefer to stay with us? Juliana might return to the hall later. We can dance. Talk. Become better acquainted.” Her lashes fluttered. “Please, will you not stay?”

  “I will return soon.” He winked. “Will you ladies reserve a dance for me?”

  Nara’s friends sighed with delight.

  Her gaze shone with pleasure. “Of course, milord. We anxiously await your return.”

  Leaving the ladies’ excited chattering behind, he wove through the crowd, hurried into the torch-lit forebuilding, and pounded down the stairs to the sun-washed bailey. Servants of the noble guests, most of them drunk, were lounging on parked wagons and empty barrels, drinking and talking; some were swaying to the music drifting from the hall. Only a couple of the commoners looked his way.

  No sooner had he started toward the pond glinting a short distance past the slate-roofed kitchens, than Juliana stepped out of the kitchen doorway, carrying a wooden tray laden with food and an earthenware mug. Held tight under the silken drape of her left arm was a leather-bound book. Her face taut with concentration, she started toward the keep, seemingly oblivious to the other people in the bailey. Including him.

  As she approached the large well, situated between the kitchens at the keep, he cleared his throat.

  Her gaze flew up. She blinked, then tried to drop into a curtsey. “Milor—”

  The tray tilted. The mug slid sideways, threatening to pitch its contents onto the ground. She squawked, scrambling to right the tray. He rushed forward and snatched up the vessel.

  She blushed. “Thank you. I am glad it did not spill.”

  Her sweet lavender fragrance, distinct from the well’s earthy odor, teased him. He savored her scent before looking at the green liquid in the mug. ’Twas an unappetizing-looking brew. “What is it?”

  “An herbal infusion for Mother.”

  So her responsibilities, not a fit of nerves, had kept her away from the dancing. Triumph began to simmer inside him, even as he strategized how to garner her trust and arrange the meeting for the kiss. “Is your mother still in pain?” He hoped he sounded concerned.