Page 83 of A Knight’s Vengeance

The rogue looked down at her… and smiled.

As his soft, skilled lips brushed the side of her neck, Elizabeth shut her eyes. Her breaths echoed in the stillness: harsh, painful gasps. How foolish she had been to imagine lying with him in a slow, tender dance of bliss. How foolish she had been to savor his kisses.

Somehow she had to sway him. Somehow, she had to touch his tormented soul and make him see how wrong his actions were.

His fingers skimmed down to her torn bodice, and her eyes flew open. She met his dark, glittering gaze with all the anguish inside her. “Please. Do not.”

“I will not have to force you,” he said against her cheek. “Your body is willing.”

“Then let go of my wrists.”

He laughed, and the chilling sound echoed deep inside her. “I will not, damsel. Not until I have finished with you.”

Lying over her, Geoffrey felt the violent shudder that rippled through Elizabeth’s body. For all of three heartbeats, he hesitated, and looked down into her proud, ashen face.

Admiration stirred in his soul. She was brave to try and thwart him, even when she knew he would not heed her pointless words. His mind filled with thoughts of how she had deceived him with the herbal potion, how she had harmed Dominic, and what her cruel father had done years ago, and Geoffrey’s wrath blazed like a wildfire.

He had every right to take what he desired.

His palm slid beneath her slashed bodice and cupped her full, warm breast. Her lips parted on a gasp. Did she, too, feel intense sensation when their skin touched? He had never before felt such exquisite torment. No woman had held such power over his senses, thoughts, and desires. No woman had come so close to touching his soul. Fury and need roared inside Geoffrey, tinged with… guilt.

He shoved the unwelcome emotions from his mind. The lady was his hostage. His pawn. He would do with her as he wished.

His fingers skimmed lower, toward her stomach’s curve. Her flesh tensed beneath his fingertips. She turned her face away and buried her cheek in the braided tangle of her hair. Her blue eyes glittered. She blinked, but could not hide from him the watery shimmer of tears.

A ragged breath tore from him.

She lay still and silent, resigned to her fate. Her eyes were closed now, and he guessed she blocked out the experience with whatever means were left to her. He had tried to do the same when he lay in the desert hospital. Though he had battled the horrific memories with a mental sword, ’twas a far more difficult fight than he had ever imagined.

She would learn that, soon enough.

Her dark lashes fanned against her cheek. He sensed her fear. Helplessness. The shattered pride of a woman forced to compromise when she did not want to yield.

Her lips quivered.

Her desperate plea echoed in his mind. Please. Do not.

Revulsion unfurled in him with shocking force. He had never hurt a woman. He had never coerced a virgin to his bed. Never in the lowest moments of his existence had he wanted to commit such a loathsome act.

What kind of beast had he become?

He felt intense shame. Craving. Desire. His shaking fingers curled into a fist against her skin. He did not want to take her in anger. He wanted her eyes open, warm with laughter and shared passion, as she welcomed him into her body’s sweet haven.

The door to his chamber creaked open.

Elizabeth jerked beneath him. Scowling, he raised his head to yell at whoever dared to come in without first asking his permission. He had warned the guards outside that he did not want to be interrupted, unless the matter was of vital importance.

Veronique strolled out of the shadows. When she saw him lying with Elizabeth on the bed, she stiffened. Her eyes flared with shock and outrage, but quicker than he thought possible, her face eased into a smile.

He expected her to curtsey, turn around, and leave. Instead, she walked toward him, her brocaded gown rustling with each of her controlled steps.

Elizabeth squirmed beneath him. His lips thinned, and he wished he could have spared both women this moment of indignity. He glared at Veronique. “I told the guards I did not wish to be disturbed.”

The courtesan paused beside the bed. “So you did, milord.”

“Why do you ignore my orders?”

Her smile turned cool. “I bring you a missive.” She offered him the roll of wax-sealed parchment clasped in her fingers. “’Twas delivered by one of Lord Brackendale’s pages. I knew you were awaiting a response to the ransom demand. I thought you would want to see it straight away.”