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He snapped. Grasping her by the arms, he moved over to the high-backed chair and sat heavily, drawing her onto his lap like a child. He was desperately trying not to notice the silkiness of her skin, her round firm breasts just inches below his watering mouth. God, he was fighting a demon.

“Listen to me well,” he growled. “If I take you now and you do not go to the marriage bed a virgin, then all eyes will turn to me. But the blame I share will be nothing compared to the disgrace you will bring on yourself or to your family.”

Tears welled in her eyes and spilled onto her cheeks, melting his heart. Her tears cut through him faster than anything else could.

“If it ’tis blood on the sheets the earl wants, then I can arrange it,” she said softly. “ ’Tis the least of the worries. But if ye dunna want me, then I can do nothing but apologize for trying to seduce ye.”

He looked confused, softening his harshness. “What do you mean you can arrange it?”

She sniffled. “ ’Tis an old trick,” she said. “When a lass is taken into a marriage and she has been compromised, she wears a ring with a sharp edge on it. In the throes of passion, she slips her hands together, nicks her finger, and squeezes the blood on the sheets before the man even notices what she has done.”

He looked at her with amazement, surprised that someone of her naiveté would know of something such as that. He almost laughed.

“It is not that easy,” he said seriously.

“Aye, it ’tis,” she insisted. She was quiet a moment. “English, I dunna want this to be a one-night event. When I said ye had my heart, I meant for always. I dunna love the earl. I love ye. But if yer loyalty to the man is so strong that ye wouldna commit adultery with his wife, then I understand. It doesna make me happy, but ye are an honorable man and I respect that greatly. Just…try not to hate me overmuch for being so weak.”

He was relenting, inch by inch, as much as he tried to fight it. “God, I could never hate you.”

“But ye dunna love me more than yer earl,” she countered softly, with a touch of bitterness.

He sighed, torn. “I know it is difficult for you to understand, love,” he said. “The earl has been the only father I have ever known. He has been kind to me and I would not betray him.”

“How would ye be betraying him if no one knew about it but us?” she lifted her head. “Do ye think I relish being labeled an adulteress? Of course I dunna, but I am willing to risk it because I love ye.”

He stroked her cheek. “Then you are braver than I in that respect.”

She stood up and retrieved the robe, tying it on tightly. Her stiff back was to him, afraid to look at him now for the pain that was welling inside her. There was nothing more to say.

“Then I will bid ye a good night, English,” she said, then turned to him, studying his face. “Will ye at least still be my friend?”

“Until I die,” he said huskily.

He felt as if his entire life energy has been drained from his body, leaving him a shell of a man. His mind was a void. He rose slowly and went to the door.

Jordan could hear him moving. She was trying desperately to stop the wracking sobs that were clutching at her, at least until he left the room. She did not want him to see her anguish.

“English?” she called him one last time.

“Aye, my lady?” he replied dully.

“Then this is the end of it, now,” she told him, her throat tight. “No more touching, or kissing, or soft looks or sweetly spoken words. ’Twould not be right if there is to be no more between us. I would not be a whore.” She felt a certain hypocrisy at that statement.

William straightened and she could see the torment in his eyes, but he nodded after a moment. She acknowledged his nod and squared her shoulders.

“Tell me one thing, Sir William de Wolfe,” she said slowly. “Do ye indeed love me or was it simple lust?”

He didn’t hesitate. “I love you. I always will.”

The door opened and he was gone.

The sobs came then and she collapsed on the floor in a heap of white silk. She was hurting so badly she knew she would never recover. She could only see, feel, and think of William, and she knew that her life without him would be an empty, lonely existence. To never feel his touch again, to never hear the tone of his voice when he was speaking sweetly to her was nearly too much to bear. She hurt… Sweet Jesu,’ she hurt.

Jordan could not have described her torment in words. It was if something had taken her heart and squeezed it so hard that nothing was left but a limp, lifeless shell. But she knew only she was to blame. She had dared to take a chance and it had been thrown back in her face, destroyed. Her pain was her own doing, her own cross to bear.

But she hurt for William, too, her brave knight. He was righteous and chivalrous and she had no right at all to endanger his standards. He was beyond her reach and had been all along. True enough, he had kissed her and said honeyed words for her ears, but she had let him. She could have stopped him, but she didn’t. Everything was her mistake.

As she sobbed rivers, the door abruptly flew open, slamming back on the hinges so hard that it bounced off the wall and closed by itself in a shudder of racket. Jordan heard the bolt go through but didn’t look up; she didn’t care who it was and was prepared to scream at them to go away when strong arms were lifting her off the floor.