A Knight's Persuasion (22 page)

“Juliana—”

A sob wrenched from her.

“You are crying.” Surprise, and a hint of dismay, echoed in his voice.

She dried her eyes on the edge of her blanket. “I d-do not know why.” She sniffled. “That s-sound . . .”

Ooooo
. . .

Straw crackled in the near darkness. “Come here.”

Blinking hard, she glanced in his direction. Foolish. In the inkiness, she couldn’t see him. Yet the thought of being close to him during this grim night was very tempting.

“Come to me, Juliana.” How tenderly he spoke. “I cannot cross to you.”

A shudder rippled its way through her lower body, while she stifled another sob. “I do n-not think . . . You are b-betrothed.”

“Aye,” he said, his tone strained, “but I can still comfort you.”

What would it be like to be in his embrace? Part of her yearned for it; part of her shrilled that she’d be wiser to avoid temptation and stay where she was. “Edouard . . .”

“I understand your reluctance, but ’tis a cold night. In your weakened state, ’twould be easy for you to succumb to a chill and fall deathly ill.”

“T-true.” She
didn’t
want to die in this miserable cell.

“You must stay well, Juliana, and heal, so your memories will return. Our fate—indeed, that of all of Moydenshire—may depend upon what you remember.”

He was right. Her qualms were nowhere near as important as her survival. “A-all right. I w-will come to you.” She pushed to a seated position, letting her blanket slide down to her waist. Then she gathered up the blanket and tucked it under one arm.

“Follow my voice,” he said.

Ooooo
. . .

Stretching out her hand, she touched the floor. The planks felt as cold as a frozen lake against her palm. Shivering, she tugged her chemise up around her thighs so it wouldn’t hinder her progress—he wouldn’t see her bared legs in the darkness—then crawled forward on her hands and knees. Listening.

“I am here,” Edouard said.

His voice seemed to wash over her, coaxing her on. An unusual excitement flickered within her. How tantalizing, to approach him in this way. To be in total darkness, but for his voice.

Her chemise bunched at her knees. Pushing the fabric aside again, she said, “Speak again.”

“I am here, Juliana.” His tone was huskier than before. She imagined him talking to her that way while his lips brushed her cheek, and she fought a wicked tremor.

Stop it, Juliana. He is to marry Nara, remember?

Another crawl forward. Another.

Her fingers bumped the edge of his pallet.

“Almost here,” he murmured.

She sensed him very near. He didn’t reach for her, or make the slightest move, but his earthy, male scent came from the blackness ahead. Her palms started to sweat. Part of her—the rational, sensible part—screamed,
Turn back, while you still can
.

Nay. She wouldn’t retreat. She wanted to survive.

Her fingers slipped onto the pallet. As she edged forward, her hand shifted. Touched warm cloth.

“My left leg,” he said.

“Oh.” She drew a steadying breath. “Then the rest of you is—”

Metal clanked. His limb shifted beneath her hand; taut muscles and tendons slid beneath the fabric. Icy fingers nudged her, and then his broad hand settled atop hers.

His touch, while cold, sent warmth coursing through her body. His strength, reassurance, and promise of companionship were as inviting as a steaming mug of mulled wine on a winter evening.

She sighed. His fingers squeezed; heat spread from where their hands touched. Even that small contact was wonderful.

“I cannot move any closer,” he said gently. “You will have to move nearer to me.”

Nearer
. Her heart fluttered, as though she were a sparrow perched outside a window, looking in.

“Why do you hesitate?” Edouard’s chains rattled again, and she sensed him leaning closer, seeking her out in the darkness.

A thrill hastened down her spine. How breathless, light-headed, she felt, and not from her wound. “I am . . . a bit unsettled,” she admitted.

“By me?”

She rubbed her lips together. Him, aye. The odd feelings he roused in her. The fact she felt as she did, when he belonged to her sister . . . The wind moaned again, sending frigid air over her, and she shivered.

“You will no longer be cold,” he said softly, “when you are with me.”

His hand shifted. With gentle pressure, he slid his palm underneath hers to entwine their fingers, and then pulled her toward him.

Her stomach swooped. “Edouard—”

“Come to me, Juliana.”

Her arm stretched taut, drawing her torso toward him. Losing her balance, she began to fall toward the pallet. For one panicked moment, she thought to pull away.

With a swift tug, he levered her forward. The breath rushed from her lips as she collided with the broad, solid heat of his chest.

His breath stirred her hair. “You are here,” he said. “At last.”

***

Edouard stilled, waiting for Juliana to gain her balance. Her free hand banged into his jaw.

“Oh! I—”

Her fingers were like icicles. Even as he acknowledged their coldness, her hand skated across his cheek, not a deliberate touch, but an instinctive reaction, no doubt, to her body sliding down against his, guided by his embrace.

Not such a bad way to be with a woman.

Her finger jabbed his right eyeball.

“Ah!” His eyelids clamped shut. Just what he needed, to be half blind as well as chained. Of course, she hadn’t meant to poke him.

“Sorry. Oh, goodness, w-was that—?”

“My eye.” Edouard blinked away moisture.

Her hand bumped against his shoulder. “Did I hurt y-you?”

“Nay.”

“Thank the Saints.” She laughed, a nervous warble. “This close, and I still c-cannot see you.”

Nor I you
, his mind answered, while he eased his fingers from hers to allow her to better recline.
But I can hear you breathe, feel the softness of your warm chemise, and smell the perfume of your hair. God above, Juliana, how you entice me
.

Even as he struggled to squash that thought, his hardened loins swelled further. Damnation. He’d vowed to keep control of his desire. He’d offered Juliana comfort, and he meant to honor his words. Either he regained command of his lust, or he’d spend the entire night in aroused agony.

He concentrated on quelling the fire in his groin. Straw shifted as Juliana settled beside him. He guessed that she was lying on her side, heard the faint rasp of wool as she covered herself with her blanket. When she fell quiet, he sensed she was looking at where she knew him to be.

A silent growl of pleasure unfurled inside him. He still couldn’t see her, but in the small gap separating their bodies, her heat reached out to him like a bonfire beacon in the night. How he longed to bring her flush against him, to feel her supple curves against his hardness . . .

Edouard, you wretched fool! Quit such thoughts, or you will drive yourself mad
.

He frowned, determined to conquer his disgraceful weakness.
Be gallant, Edouard, and think about her comfort
. Sliding his hand up the pallet, he found the chain running between them and pushed it closer to him. She needn’t lie on it and be uncomfortable. Then he tugged his blanket, barely large enough for one, back up over his waist, painfully aware that even the slightest movement caused the chains to make noise.

“Do they hurt?” she asked.

They
. Several answers to this question leapt to mind, the most inappropriate rising to the fore. Managing to keep his tone calm, he asked, “What do you mean?”

“The iron bands around your wrists.”

Ah. “A little,” he said. “Fetters are not designed to be pleasant. Are you comfortable enough?”

“Aye, but I am still cold.”

He settled his cheek upon his bent arm, just as her hand moved, mayhap to adjust her blanket. Her fingers knocked his chin; one fingertip touched his lips.

Purely on instinct, he turned his head and sucked that fingertip into his mouth.

Juliana gasped. “Oh!”

Cease, Edouard! You must!
Somehow, though, the shock and delight in her voice held his will captive and forced him on.

Grazing her skin with his teeth, he drew in more of her finger, until his upper lip touched the knuckle bone where her finger joined her hand. He twirled his tongue around her flesh, while savoring her shocked shivers.

Her skin tasted sweet. Deliciously so. He inhaled her alluring scent that reminded him of lavender and honey. Mmm . . . Never had he known a woman to smell so good.

“What”—Juliana breathed—“are you doing?”

He stilled, aware of the merciless throbbing of his groin. What
was
he doing? He certainly wasn’t going to seduce her, although knowing Veronique, ’twas exactly what she’d intended by returning Juliana to the drafty tower after a perfumed bath.

With a wry chuckle, he drew back, releasing her digit. “I was . . . ah . . . warming your finger.”

The air stirred between them as she snatched her hand away. “Well, I—”

“’Tis feeling warmer?”

“Aye, but . . . Do you normally warm fingers that way?”

She peered at him. He knew it. How readily he pictured her face, set in a winsome expression of both fascination and uncertainty.

“Not always.” He smiled into the darkness. Before he could stop the reckless words, he said, “Shall I continue?”

Her startled squawk brought silent laughter welling up inside him.

“Thank you, but nay. For you to heat up all of my fingers would . . . take awhile.” She sighed. “There must be better ways to get warm.”

Ah, but there were. He knew plenty that weren’t just efficient, but highly pleasurable . . .

No more bawdy thoughts
. He hadn’t coaxed her over to this pallet to spend a lusty night together, but to offer solace, and thus, persuade her to trust him. Together, they had a better chance of surviving the ordeals ahead and escaping this tower.

The pallet rustled, and he sensed her yanking on her blanket.

“I know of a way for both of us to get warm,” he said.

“I am not sucking on your fingers whilst you do so to mine.”

He chuckled. “Nay. I will put my arm around you and draw you close.”

“Is that wise?” Her voice sounded muffled by her blanket.

Probably not, considering your arousal
, his conscience answered. Ignoring the inner warning, he said, “Of course. By sharing our bodies’ heat, we will both become warm. ’Twill grow colder, I vow, before dawn breaks.”

She shuddered. Her teeth were still chattering. He rose on his elbow and set his arm around her, just as she wriggled up against him.

As he lowered his head back down onto his forearm, her breath swept against his throat. Her hair glided over his arm at her back, the softness of her tresses a stark contrast to the bite of his restraints.

Did the iron links trailing across her waist bother her? He hoped not. There wasn’t much he could do about the wretched chain.

“I feel warmer already,” she murmured.

“Good.” Gladness swirled up inside him.

She fitted her body more closely to him, an innocent gesture that, despite the blankets between them, stirred his blood and made his manhood harden all the more. How he
wanted
. If she realized the physical effect she had upon him, though, she’d likely scramble back to her pallet to spend the rest of the night freezing and alone.

Carefully shifting his weight, he raised his arm, moving the right chain up and away from her, and rolled onto his back. The links settled beside him with a muffled
thud
; the chain now trailed along his right arm.

Juliana followed his change of position to rest her head on his shoulder. With a breathy sigh, she snuggled against him. More than one of his lovers had lain that way after a satisfying coupling. He abruptly shoved the inappropriate thought aside.

As she settled to stillness, her hand shifted over the front of his tunic; she was likely trying to find a comfortable resting position for her arm. Edouard savored the warmth of her cheek seeping through his tunic to his skin . . . an instant before her fingers flitted over his groin.

Chapter Fifteen

At the feather-light touch, Edouard gasped. Shock whipped through him, and he might have heaved upright, except that Juliana lurched away from him.

Her knees rammed against his leg, while her hand pressed to the center of his chest. He sensed her sitting beside him in the blackness. A groan broke from her, a sound akin to a woman lost in ecstasy.

Before he could clear his mind of astonishment and lust and form a coherent thought, she moaned. “My head. I should not have sat up so quickly, but . . .”

But
. Aye. His face burned. Chains clinking, he dragged a hand over his jaw, very glad at that moment of the darkness. Did she realize she’d touched his privates? Or would he have to answer awkward questions about what, exactly, she’d felt hidden beneath his tunic? God’s blood, he’d better have a good explanation as to why he was aroused by her.

“Edouard,” she said softly.

“Aye?” He braced himself for the first question.

“What did I . . . touch?”

“My left thigh.”
Edouard, you are a rotten liar!

“Oh. It did not—”

“’Tis a buckled scar,” he said hastily. “A wound I got years ago while practicing swordplay.” That wasn’t entirely a lie. He did have a small scar somewhere on that thigh.

“I did not mean to cause you pain.”

A startled grunt scratched his throat. Is that what she’d assumed from his gasp?

“I was trying to get settled. I clearly touched you where it hurt, and I am sorry.”

He stifled a curse. He hurt all right, but not in the way she imagined. “’Tis all right, Juliana. Lie back down and get warm.”

She didn’t move, probably because of his gruffness. He hadn’t wanted to sound surly, but his discomfort over the situation had seeped into his tone.