Page 88 of A Knight’s Vengeance

“Elizabeth.” His voice became a helpless groan. “You must not⁠—”

“I know you desire me. I cannot deny I… crave you also.” The truth glowed bright in her heart. She would never feel passion for another man as she felt for Geoffrey de Lanceau. “I yield not just for my father,” she said, “but for me.”

Torment and desire shivered across Geoffrey’s face, and he shook his head. “I can make you no promises for the melee.”

“Then I expect none.”

“Listen to what you say! You will sacrifice your innocence for naught.”

She shivered at the bite in his words, but did not look away. “I yield because I wish to. Because I want this one moment with you that may never come again.”

“God’s teeth,” he whispered, “you are the bravest woman I have ever known.” Admiration gleamed in his shocked gaze. He reached out and trailed his wine-stained thumb down her cheek. She did not realize she was crying, until she felt the wet path of his skin on hers. “Ah, damsel, how I wish you wept for me.”

His words were soft, tender, and Elizabeth exhaled on a rush. She fought for words to convey the emotions swirling inside her.

He cupped her face with his hand. “Elizabeth, my beautiful, headstrong damsel. I want to love you.”

“I am yours.”

“Kiss me.”

She had never seen such turmoil. Hunger. His need burned inside her.

She longed to feel his arms wrap around her, to taste him, to explore him. The yearning—a desire that surpassed the boundaries of past and future to reach pure, elemental attraction between man and woman—was stronger now than it had ever been.

He set the silver goblet on the table. His hand dropped from her face, yet he did not move closer or try to touch her, though she knelt within reach. Mayhap he feared frightening her away. Mayhap he wanted her to reconsider all that she had offered.

Whatever his reasons, they did not matter.

She would not waver.

With a shaking hand, she touched his leg. His wool hose felt smooth and warm beneath her palm, and, edging forward, she closed the space separating them. His hand settled over hers, and tingles shot up her arm. She glanced up to see if he, too, had felt them. He nodded. His gaze smoldering, he plowed his fingers into her hair.

A ragged sigh burst from him, and he leaned toward her. His breath warmed her cheek. A caress. An invitation.

Elizabeth lifted her mouth to his.

The kiss was sweeter than she ever imagined. Her lips feathered over his, explored his sensuous mouth. He tasted of red wine, a tangy, heady piquancy more intoxicating than a sip from the goblet. She kissed him again and drew back.

He exhaled with a gasp, a sound that expressed a deluge of sensations. As she licked her lips, savoring his essence, his mouth hovered close. He raised one eyebrow. When she flushed, he smiled. Anticipation shuddered through her. Before she lost her nerve, Elizabeth leaned forward and claimed his lips.

“Damsel,” he groaned. His hand, tangled in her hair, shook. She sensed his urgent need, his desire to take control, yet he did not. Instead, he coaxed her with kisses that dared her to seek more.

With a sigh, Elizabeth arched forward to deepen the contact, and her belly pressed against his leg. His fingers slid from her hair and, breaking away for less than one breath, he reached down and drew her onto his lap.

Awareness assailed her. His thigh under her bottom. His muscled arm at her back. His familiar scent. She trembled, overwhelmed, but his mouth found hers. His lips soothed, teased, and when his tongue eased between her teeth, she gasped. His kisses grew fiercer, more profound, until her pulse hammered and her body arched with wanting.

Breathing hard, Elizabeth drew back. She stared up into his flushed face, into his blazing eyes, and felt an inexplicable sense of incompletion.

“Elizabeth.” He nuzzled the hollow of her neck and trailed kisses down her collarbone. “Lie with me now.”

His hushed words were not a command, but a request, delivered with such yearning her heart almost broke in two. She snuffed a twinge of panic and regret. She would go to his bed, for she wanted him, as he desired her. If she could convince him not to plunge his sword into her father’s heart, she must.

She met Geoffrey’s ravenous gaze. “Aye,” she whispered.

He answered with a tortured groan and a kiss so brazen, Elizabeth cried out when their lips parted. Cradling her in his arms, he rose and carried her to the bed, her hair brushing the floorboards. His hands gentle, he laid her down on the coverlet. The bed ropes creaked as he stretched out beside her.

His fingers stroked her tresses. He fanned her hair out over the coverlet and pulled a ringlet over her shoulder. She smiled and, spurred by a rush of boldness, pushed her hand up under his tunic.