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"What would you normally do?"
"What do you think I'd do?"
Her delicate brows drew together and amusement teased the corners of her generous mouth as she surveyed him, considering her answer. "Based on what I know of you, I can only assume you'd toss her over your lap and attempt to beat her into submission."
"You mean," Royce said straight-faced, "that isn't the way to handle the matter?"
Jenny saw the humor lurking in his eyes; she burst out laughing, and to Royce it seemed as if his tent were filled with music. "Ladies… that is, wellborn ladies," she clarified a minute later with a look that clearly implied his past experience had probably been with females of quite another sort, "have very definite ideas of the way they wish to be treated by the man who wins their heart."
"Just how does a wellborn lady dream of being treated?"
"Well, chivalrously, of course. But there's more to it than that," she added, a wistful light shining in her sapphire eyes. "A lady wants to think that when her knight enters a crowded room, he has eyes for no one but her. He's blind to everything but her beauty."
"In that case, he's in imminent danger of tripping over his sword," Royce pointed out before he realized Jennifer was talking about her own dreams.
She sent him an admonishing look. "And," she said emphatically, "she likes to think he's of a romantic nature—which you obviously are not!"
"Not if being romantic means I have to grope my way into rooms like a blind man," he teased. "But go on—what else do ladies like?"
"Loyalty and devotion. And words—especially words."
"What sort of words?"
"Words of love and tender admiration," Jenny said dreamily. "A lady wants to hear that her knight loves her above all else and that to him, she is beautiful. She wants him to tell her that her eyes remind him of the sea or the sky, and her lips remind him of rose petals…"
Royce studied her in appalled surprise. "You actually dream of a man saying such things to you?"
She paled as if he'd struck her, but then she seemed to dismiss the entire matter. "Even plain girls have dreams, milord," she pointed out with a smile.
"Jennifer," he said sharply, filled with remorse and amazement, "you are not plain. You're—" More attracted to her by the moment, he studied her, wondering about her allure, but it was more than just her face or her body that attracted him; Jennifer Merrick had a glowing gentleness that warmed him, a fiery spirit that challenged him—and a radiance that kept drawing him toward her with increasing power. "You're not plain."
She chuckled without rancor and shook her head. "Do not, under any circumstances, attempt to dazzle your lady fair with your glib flattery, milord, for you haven't a prayer of success!"
"If I cannot beat the lady into submission, nor cajole her with words," Royce answered, preoccupied with her rosy mouth, "I suppose I shall have to rely on my only other skill…"
He let the last word hang meaningfully in the air until Jenny, beguiled, could endure her fascinated curiosity no longer. "What skill do you mean?"
His eyes flicked to hers and he said with a wicked grin, "Modesty forbids me to name it."
"Don't be coy," Jenny chastised, so curious that she scarcely noticed his hand lifting to her shoulder. "What is it you do so very well that a lady would wish to marry you for it?"
"I believe I am quite good at"—his hand curved round her shoulder—"kissing."
"K-kissing!" she sputtered, laughing and simultaneously rearing back, dislodging his hand. " 'Tis beyond belief that you would boast of such things to me!"
" 'Twas not boasting," Royce countered, looking stung. "I've been given to believe I am quite good at it."
Jenny tried desperately to look sternly disapproving and failed miserably; her lips trembled with laughter at the idea of the "Scourge of Scotland" priding himself, not on his skill with lance or sword, but kissing!
"I gather you find that notion laughable?" Royce observed dryly.
She shook her head so emphatically that her hair came tumbling over her shoulder, but her eyes were dancing with merriment. "It—it is merely," she said on a suffocated laugh, "that I cannot quite reconcile such—such an image of you in my mind."
Without warning, his hand lifted and curved round her arm, drawing her firmly toward him. "Why don't you judge me on it then?" he suggested softly.
Jenny tried to rear back. "Don't be silly! I couldn't—I can't!" Suddenly, she could not tear her gaze from his lips. "I'll gladly take your word on it. Gladly!"
"Nay, I feel I must prove it."
"There's no need," she cried desperately. "How could I possibly judge your skill when I've never been kissed in all my life?"
That admission only made her more desirable to Royce, who was accustomed to women whose experience in bed rivaled his own. His lips curved in a smile, but his hand tightened on her arm, drawing her inexorably closer, while his other hand lifted to her shoulder.
"Nay!" Jenny said, trying ineffectually to draw away.
"I insist."
Jenny braced herself for some unknown sort of physical assault; a whimper of terror lodged in her throat, but the next moment she realized there was nothing to fear. His lips were cool on hers and surprisingly smooth as they brushed lightly against her closed mouth. Stunned into quiesce
nce, with her hands braced on either side of his shoulders, holding her rigid body away from his, she remained utterly immobile while her pulse began to race and she tried desperately to savor what it was like to be kissed and still keep her head.
Royce released the pressure of his hands just enough to let her lift her compressed lips from his. "Perhaps I'm not as good as I once thought," he said, keeping his amusement carefully hidden. "I could have sworn your mind was working the whole time."
Unnerved, alarmed, and thoroughly confused, Jenny nevertheless strove desperately not to struggle or do anything to upset the fragile balance of their tentative friendship. "W-what do you mean?" she demanded, acutely aware that his powerful body was now stretched out practically beneath and beside her in the most wanton fashion, his head upon the furs.
"I mean, would you say our kiss was the sort that wellborn ladies 'dream' about?"
"Please let go of me."
"I thought you were going to help me comport myself to the pleasure of wellbred ladies, such as yourself."
"You kiss very well! Exactly how ladies dream of being kissed!" Jenny cried desperately, but he merely regarded her with a dubious expression, refusing to let her go.
"I just don't feel confident," he teased, watching the little sparks of anger igniting in her incredibly blue eyes.
"Then practice on someone else!"
"Unfortunately, Arik does not appeal to me," Royce said, and before she could voice another objection, he swiftly switched tactics. "However," he said pleasantly, "I can see that, although threats of physical retribution have no effect on you, I've finally discovered what does."
"What," she demanded, suspicious, "do you mean?"
"I mean that, in future, when I want to bend you to my will, I'll simply kiss you into compliance. You're terrified of it."
Visions of being kissed—no doubt in front of his men—whenever she balked, rose to alarming prominence in her mind. Hoping that by speaking in a calm, reasonable voice, rather than heatedly protesting his statement, she could dissuade him from making her prove her claim, she said, " 'Tis not fear I feel, but merely lack of interest."
