Page 74 of A Knight’s Vengeance

When she levered up on one elbow, she discovered she had fallen asleep without changing into her night shift. She had slept in her gown, on top of the bedcovers.

Confusion and embarrassment raced through her. She did not remember going to bed. She could not even recall leaving the great hall.

Where was Elena this morning?

Determined to stagger to the jug of water and wash her face, Elizabeth pushed herself up to sitting. She groaned. Somehow, she would walk the five paces to the table.

As she sat with her calves dangling over the bed’s edge, summoning the willpower to step onto the cold floorboards, the door swung open. Geoffrey strode in. He looked refreshed and handsome in his black hose and knee-length russet wool tunic.

The rogue had come to take her to the gardens.

She shot him a mutinous glare.

He grinned. “Good morning.”

“Go away.”

Geoffrey chuckled, walked to the window, and drew back the shutters, admitting light and gust of cool air. “Elena will be along soon. You slept late, but ’tis a fine morning. The sky is clear, the sun hovers over the distant hills. A perfect day for weeding the garden.”

“Must I?” Elizabeth grumbled, too weary for a show of spirit.

“I gave you two days.”

Her patience smarting as much as her strained muscles, she stood. “How long must we continue this wretched charade?”

“Charade?” He raised his eyebrows.

“This… this mockery of making me work like one of your servants.” She plowed her hand through her mussed hair. “You have made your point. Now leave me be.”

His mouth tightened. “I cannot.”

She rolled her eyes heavenward. “You could, if you wished.”

“Nay, damsel. I have not finished with you.”

Her indrawn breath snagged in her lungs. He stared at her as he had last night in the hall: with a sinful hunger.

Fear, anticipation, and sheer curiosity fought to govern her. Forcing her limbs into motion, she crossed to the table, aware of his gaze upon her. Aware of the forbidden thrill snaking through her. Aware of how alone they were in this chamber.

She fumbled with the water pitcher. “Where is Mildred?”

He stepped nearer. “Dominic is escorting her to the garden, where you will soon be.”

Water splashed into the earthenware bowl. “If I refuse?”

“You will serve me in my bed.”

Her head jerked up. The jug banged down on the table. “What?!”

Geoffrey reached out and caught one of her glossy curls. His gaze scorched her like flame. “I see I must speak plainer, since you are an innocent.”

Heat seared her cheeks and throat. Gripping the edge of the table, she faced him. “I understand your coarse words, milord. I will never⁠—”

“Never?” With the barest touch, he trailed his fingers down her cheekbone toward her lips. Her skin throbbed.

She shoved his hand away. “Do not touch me.”

Anger and remorse darkened his expression. “I am shocked by the notion too. Yet, ’tis the one way I will be free of you.”