Page 82 of A Knight’s Vengeance

“Jeremy?” His narrowed eyes lit with comprehension, and he smiled. “Ah. The boy at Wode. He did not die.”

Elizabeth choked a breath. “You told me⁠—”

“Viscon caught him on his way back from your chamber, but he did not kill the lad. We locked him in a storage cupboard so he could not warn anyone else.”

Her belly hurt. Did Jeremy live? She hoped Geoffrey told her the truth, yet wariness overshadowed her relief. “I do not believe you,” she whispered.

“Believe what you will, but I speak the truth.” He released her chin, and his expression darkened. “Tell me, damsel. Did you not realize that even if your plan had worked, even if you had escaped, I would hunt you down? I would find you and make you pay for your audacity.”

“Nay.”

“Aye,” he muttered. “I will start now.”

The grim set of his jaw, the determination in his eyes, filled Elizabeth with dread. It gusted through her like a winter blizzard, threatening to destroy her last reserves of courage and send her whirling into sheer terror. “W-what do you intend?”

He released his grip on her arms. “Remove your clothes.”

“I will not!”

Geoffrey seemed to have anticipated that answer. He smiled.

The blade of a bone-handled dagger flashed in the sunlight.

Elizabeth shrieked and covered her face with her hands. She tensed, anticipating a sharp pain as the knife pierced her flesh. When cold, flat steel pressed against the side of her neck, she froze.

“When will you learn you cannot fight me and win,” Geoffrey murmured. He trailed the dagger’s icy tip across her skin, a touch that menaced but did not cut. The blade traced the leaping pulse in her neck, grazed the hollow of her collarbone, and fell to the front of her bliaut. His hand moved, once, and her gown and chemise slashed open to her waist.

Elizabeth gaped down at the rent. A deft, clean cut. The knife had left no marks on her skin, which looked as pale as snow against the green wool. Panic spiked inside her. She clutched the sides of the material, desperate to shield her exposed skin. Failing.

With a strangled cry, she ran for the door.

Before she had taken three steps, he caught her. His arm wrapped around her waist, and he threw her onto the pillow-strewn bed. Elizabeth landed on her back. Rolled over. Lunged for the opposite side. His hand snaked out and got her ankle. He hauled her back to him like a cat toying with a mouse.

Fear blinded her vision. She clawed. Struggled. Tried to free her leg and kicked out with her other foot. Her heel rammed into his stomach. Geoffrey grunted and his grip eased a fraction. With a second, well-aimed kick, she wrenched free. Breathing hard, she dove for the edge of the bed.

He was already there.

Geoffrey caught her wrists in one hand. She tried to jerk free, but he was far too strong, and far too determined that this time, she would not get away. Looming over her, he forced her back on the coverlet. He pinned her hands over her head and, with a triumphant grin, lowered his body onto hers.

Heat sparked where their bodies touched. “Get off me,” she spat.

“When I have you right where I want you? I think not.”

Elizabeth dug her nails into his skin. He cursed under his breath and exerted more pressure on her wrists, little by little, until with a gasp, she relented.

His breath warmed her temple, and he shifted his weight over her. His body fitted against her breasts, belly, and thighs in a manner that thrilled and alarmed her. His male smell flooded her nostrils. Tempted. A traitorous ache stirred low in her belly, and she shivered.

“Surrendering at last, damsel?”

“Never!” Ashamed by her weakness, she arched against him, writhed, and bucked to throw him sideways. She tossed her hair in his face like a weapon.

“I have had enough of your struggling. Cease.”

Thrashing, kicking, she got his shin twice, despite his strength and the ease with which he deflected her blows. When she continued to fight, he grabbed her hair. Twisted. Her tresses pulled taut. Panting, she fell back against the bed. Her ripped bodice gaped further open with each breath, and a whimper broke from her. “You are hurting me.”

He released her hair, but glared down at her in warning. “Lie still.”

“Let… me… go.” On the last word, her voice cracked. He planned to ravish her. He meant to shame and ruin her, and she could not stop him.