The Dark Knight (21 page)

The question no longer mattered. He had made a decision during the long night as he held her in his arms and watched her sleep, the beast inside him always plotting, always planning.

“Please, do not let me keep you from your meal,” she said, pulling him from his thoughts. Her fingers worked at the ribbon that bound her braid. “I would like to comb and replait my hair before I join the others, if you do not mind?”

Mind seeing her hair unbound? He wouldn’t miss this for the world. “I will wait.”

She pursed her lips, but did not argue. He stretched out again on their makeshift bed and propped his hands behind his head, content to linger. He had never watched a woman comb out her hair. He was soon fascinated by the way her slender fingers loosened the plaits, the graceful sweep of her comb through the long, golden strands. Such a simple pleasure, an intimacy he had never known before he met Avalene. Just watching her made him feel relaxed and at ease in a way that no one else had ever managed. He felt like a different man when he was with her.

His sister complained that he tended to brood too
much and view life too seriously, even though she was well aware of the reasons for his views. Brooding was the last thing on his mind when he was with Avalene. When she wasn’t busy clouding his mind with lust she made him feel downright cheerful. He just couldn’t quite pinpoint the reasons why.

“Let me plait your hair.” Where had that idea come from?

She arched one brow. “Do you often plait ladies’ hair?”

“Nay, but I would like to plait yours.” He would like to feel the silky strands between his fingers, wrap it around his hands, let her hair—

“Another time, perhaps.”

He couldn’t believe she had refused him. What she saw in his face made her smile, the serene Madonna smile that always made him want to smile back at her.

“I can do this much faster than you can.” She divided the locks into three strands, and then began to braid with practiced efficiency. “This is also the one thing I might be better at than you.”

Why that innocent remark should send his thoughts in lewd directions was a mystery, but away they went. She was all softness and curves from the swell of her cheek to the shapely lines of her ankles. Her skin was so flawless and translucent that nearly every emotion could be gauged by her coloring; her moods ranged from wool white, to shell pink, to the deepest flush of scarlet. He was arrogant enough to be certain that he was the source of most of her blushes.

It was the tension between them that flustered her most and caused the most delightful reactions to even the smallest lures he sent her way. It didn’t take him long to realize that she’d never been courted. Not in the innocent, acceptable ways that all young maidens were
courted in every household the size of Coleway, and certainly not in more clandestine ways. Was that part or all of the reason she responded so readily to him now, because this was the first time she was made aware of a man’s desire for her?

He felt a new emotion stir to life as his gaze moved over her. Possessiveness. Jealousy. Or a mixture of both. The feelings were so foreign to him that it was impossible to tell.

He watched her finish her braid and take the mirror out of her rucksack to examine her reflection. She looked up at him from beneath her sweep of lashes, found his gaze upon her, and blushed shell pink. No, those blushes belonged to him alone. She was his now, just as Mordecai had promised—his to do with as he pleased. The possibilities that came to mind were endless and all most pleasing. There were remarkable depths of passion locked beneath her cool exterior. He could not wait to wade deeper.

Mordecai had warned him of this lure, and perhaps the magician had even cast some love spell over them both to hurry along the inevitable. There was no longer any doubt in his mind that he would do just as Mordecai had suggested and take full advantage of this time with Avalene. He could pretend to be the gallant knight for a few more weeks. As long as she remained blind to the beast that lurked beneath his disguise, this could well be the most enjoyable journey of his lifetime. He only wished it could last a lifetime.

It was a childish wish, but a part of him yearned to be the man she thought him to be; she made him want to be worthy of her. Unfortunately, the die was set long ago and it was far too late to redeem himself. He was not an honorable knight. He was not worthy of her. When she learned the truth, this masquerade would be at an end.

He watched her bite her lower lip, stared helplessly as she let it slide out slowly from beneath her teeth, the thoughtful lip-bite rather than the nervous lip-bite, or the embarrassed lip-bite, or the
I’m not going to laugh aloud
lip-bite. He recognized the differences already.

It was just one of many small mannerisms that never failed to send a wave of desire through him. Sometimes it lapped at him like the warm, gentle pull of a tide. Other times it hit him with enough strength to take his breath away, like now. He had just kissed her. Could she still taste him on her lips?

“What is wrong with you?” she asked, worried by whatever she saw in his face.

“Nothing,” he answered promptly. “What is wrong with the men at Coleway?”

She tilted her head to one side as if she were trying to listen to his thoughts, trying to read the meaning of his words in his eyes. “Pardon?”

“Why were you never courted?” It was a reasonable question. Nothing on earth would have stopped him from courting her had he been a respectable squire or knight at Coleway. Any male with a pulse had to feel the same. What force or threat had stopped them?

“I was courted!” she protested hotly, and then she bit her lower lip, mostly on the left side with her mouth twisted slightly to the right. It was the same lip-bite she had used on the day they left Coleway, the one he had noticed every time she told someone a lie about the reasons for their departure. Her expression turned defensive. “I had a few admirers.”

“Yet I was the first to kiss you,” he mused, trying to contain a smug smile. “Surely I am not the first who
wanted
to kiss you.”

She mumbled something under her breath, and her face became almost as red as her gown. Interesting.

“I’m sorry, I could not hear what you said.”

She looked up at him and he was surprised to see the threat of tears in her eyes, the shimmering surface of a blue lake. She spoke each word very carefully. “You are the first.”

Did she think he did not believe her? Granted, she had a natural talent for kissing, but he had recognized her innocence soon enough. As soon as he had quashed the irrational jealousy that someone else
might
have kissed her first. He tried to keep his voice gentle. “I just said as much.”

She twisted her hands in her lap and would not look at him. “No, I meant that you are the first to kiss me as well as the first who wanted to kiss me.”

Gesù
, she actually believed what she was saying. “You expect me to believe that no other man or boy ever tried to steal a kiss from you? Or lingered in your presence for the sheer pleasure of your company?”

“I am not trying to make you believe anything,” she said, her voice curt now. “I am telling you the truth. Apparently I have a tendency to speak my mind too freely, and most men do not like to keep company with opinionated women.”

“Who told you that nonsense?” He was already sure of the answer, but she actually had to consider the question for a few moments.

“John, I suppose.” She lifted her shoulders and her lips turned upward at a forced angle, as if she were practicing how to laugh with people who made fun of her rather than let anyone know how much it hurt her to be laughed at. “My failed courtships were always a source of great amusement to him.”

They were not a source of any amusement to Dante. He wondered if he would have time to return to Coleway before they set sail for Venice. He would very much
like to show the steward
his
idea of amusement. “Did you ever consider that John was behind those failures, that he engineered them?”

She shook her head, offering a wry smile. “I have no one to blame but myself. I am hardly the type of simpering maid that most men seem to find … interesting.”

The expression in her eyes was almost apologetic, and yet strangely hopeful at the same time. Was she hoping
he
found her interesting? Mission accomplished. Yet why should his interest be so unexpected?

The proof was before him, as unbelievable as he found it. Her no-nonsense modesty and complete lack of vanity made sudden sense. She didn’t think she had anything to be vain about.

“John threatened them,” he said, picturing it in his mind. “He used some threat that made each of them run away from you, and then he made you think their defection was somehow your fault, a ploy to undermine your confidence, to keep you from encouraging them.”

She shook her head again, but it lacked confidence. “Why on earth would he do such a thing?”

“I told you he was obsessed. He wanted you all to himself with no rivals, even rivals who would be allowed no more than innocent flirtations.” He didn’t add that he probably would have done the same thing, had he been in John’s shoes. The thought of any other man touching her, kissing her, made his fists clench. “Do you really have so little understanding of your appeal?”

She looked at him with guarded eyes and he could see that she did not. Her gaze had turned wary, as if waiting for him to spring some hidden trap. In that moment he could have cheerfully slit John’s throat. Possessiveness he could understand. But to break her spirit? That, he would never understand. He was only thankful that
John had failed in that regard. She was bruised but unbroken.

Perhaps he could heal her.

The thought lodged in his head and refused to be silenced, even though it was an absurd notion with countless flaws. He was the monster that destroyed. No one would cast him in the role of a healer. Still, the idea intrigued him. He felt the most ridiculous need to make her happy, to keep her safe and protected. To truly make her his own. Not just for a few weeks, but for as long as she would have him.

He had never taken responsibility for anyone but himself. Even his sister had been left in the care of an uncle when they arrived in England. Granted, that had not turned out so well and he still carried a measure of guilt for abandoning her. Could he abandon Avalene as well, leave her fate in the hands of others? Then there was the bigger question: Would she want him to take responsibility for her?

His mind raced forward to the inevitable day when she learned he was not the gallant Sir Percival. That would be the day her smiles turned to tearful pleas, the day she would cringe whenever he touched her in the most innocent ways. Still, there was no reason she needed to learn of his deceit until they were on a ship bound for Venice. He had already intended to keep her sequestered in London and not reveal any portion of the truth until they were at sea. That part could proceed as planned. There was also a good possibility that she would never learn he was a notorious assassin. His men would not reveal the truth if he forbade it. He could tell her the king’s reasons why she had to leave England for good. He could also tell her something close to the truth about the reasons he had abducted her; that he owed
Edward a favor, that he really had saved her life. Would that be enough to regain her trust?

Even if he managed to earn forgiveness, the next hurdle would be convincing her to live with him as his mistress. He was still determined to take an Italian wife to form a political alliance and secure his family’s safety in Venice, although the idea was becoming less appealing with each day he spent with Avalene. Nevertheless, he would not give up all of his carefully laid plans because of an infatuation with a woman who did not even know his real name, whom he intended to make his mistress before she made that momentous discovery. Perhaps he would change his mind, but as things stood, he would be lucky if she did not simply run from him screaming.

She would never agree if she knew a convent was her alternative. Taking the veil was an acceptable occupation for a woman of her station. Living in sin with a man was not.

She need never know of the convent
, the beast inside him whispered. Instead he would make her understand how well he would treat her, the comfortable, even lavish lifestyle she would lead. He would install her in some monstrous palazzo where she could make use of the chatelaine skills she so cherished. He could picture her there on a balcony overlooking the canal, smiling up at him. He could picture himself there as well, just as happy with his innocent, opinionated beauty.

No, he decided, she was far too precious to be locked away in a convent. Deceit was his specialty, and he would do whatever was necessary to keep her. He would lie to her for the rest of their lives if it meant she would stay with him willingly. She was his reward for all the years he had spent in the darkness of men’s minds.

“Sir Percival?” She sounded nervous.

He smiled at her effortlessly, filled with new purpose.
“Avalene de Forshay, you are the most beautiful woman I have ever met.”

She blinked twice, very slowly, as if she expected him to disappear each time she opened her eyes. She sat in frozen silence. He was fairly certain she had stopped breathing as well.

He had lied to her about almost everything else, but in this he would be completely honest. She would know his true feelings about her. This morn he had gone too far, allowed his lust to rule his senses when he bared her shoulders and breasts. That was a lapse of control that made him feel more delight than regret, but he would be more careful with her in the future. He would show her the respect she deserved. He would court her. It might be his only hope to outweigh the lies when the time came to reveal a few.

“ ’Tis true,” he assured her. “Avalene, you could be the most opinionated woman in Christendom and I would have found a way to court you, had I been a knight at Coleway. I have wanted to kiss you from the moment we met.”

Her mouth formed a delightful little O but no sound emerged. She really was irresistible.