A Knight's Persuasion (4 page)

How kind of you, Nara
, a bitter voice cried inside Juliana.
Are you pleased that you managed to push my sketchbook into the water? Was destroying my drawings—something so important to me—your way of showing off for Edouard?

Juliana’s teeth chattered. The coldness seeped to her bones. Why wasn’t Edouard lowering the bucket to pull her out? Or, if that wouldn’t work, sending down a rope?

Frantic activity seemed to be taking place at the surface: heated discussion, a squeaking noise, shouts. Panic shivered through her as she continued to tread water. She must stay calm. Be patient. But what if the pulley for the bucket was broken? Father had planned to replace it, because it kept jamming. That might have happened now. How, then, would she get out?

She didn’t want to die. Not today. Not when Mother needed her help to recover.

Not like
this
.

“Help m-me.” Juliana drew upon all of the fear coalescing inside her. “
Help. Meee!
”

“Juliana!” Edouard shouted down.

“Get m-me out!” she screamed, not caring if she sounded like a frightened child. Terror pounded at her temples. She didn’t want to die. She didn’t want to die!

“Stay calm,” Edouard said, his soothing voice floating down to her. “I imagine ’tis dark and frightening—”

“Aye!”

“But we will rescue you. We will not leave you down there, I promise. I give you my word.”

The word of a rogue who’d tempted her with a kiss and pushed her into this dangerous place? She didn’t want his help. Yet he seemed to be leading efforts to get her out. “W-what is wrong? Why is it t-taking so l-long?”

“The pulley was stuck, but we fixed it. Listen, now. We are going to lower the bucket. ’Twill be easier than you trying to hold on to a rope while we draw you all the way to the surface. Stand in the bucket. We will pull you up.”

What if the pulley jammed again? What if the bucket couldn’t hold her weight and broke? She might perish before they could find another way rescue her. “Edouard!”

“I am here, Juliana. You will be all right,” he said. “Trust me.”

A muffled
creak
came from above. He’d started lowering the bucket.

Hurry.
Hurry!

She waited, treading with her tiring legs. Her harsh breaths echoed.

“The bucket will reach you soon,” Edouard said.

Holding her breath, she tried to discern its arrival. The air stirred close to her face. An object splashed nearby.

She reached out and touched the rough-hewn side of the bucket.

“I have it!” she called, relief soaring inside her. She reached higher to grab hold of the connecting rope. The bucket shifted, sloshed, but she managed to slide one leg over the side, then the other, and set her feet on the bottom.

“I am in!” she cried.

Tucking her sketchbook under her arm, she held tight to the coarse rope with numb hands. One shuddered breath. Two. The rope tautened under her grip, and then she felt herself slowly rising. A joyous sob rattled in her throat.

Little by little, she rose. The bucket swung gently with each tug from above, while water trickled from her gown, hanging over the bucket’s side, to the surface below. Her teeth were still chattering, but hope glowed inside her. Soon, she’d be on solid ground.

Long moments seemed to pass before the sunlit stones of the well’s rim came into view. A crowd of servants and guests had gathered around the opening, many of the men assisting with the rope.

One more tug and her head cleared the well. Edouard and Kaine reached in to catch hold of her arms. They pulled her up to the well’s edge.

Clutching her sketchbook before her like a shield, she swung her trembling legs over the well’s side and stood.

The crowd cheered and clapped. “Lady Juliana is safe!”

“Well done, milords,” one of the men cried.

“What heroes!” another man shouted.

Juliana sucked in a breath of fresh air, all too aware of the water dripping from her ruined gown to puddle in the dirt. Her bodice stuck to her skin; the wet silk had turned indecently sheer, but at least the sketchbook hid her bosom from the crowd’s view.

Most importantly, though, she was safe.

“Thank you,” she said to the helpers by the well, to Kaine, and at last, to Edouard.

He no longer looked the arrogant rogue. His expression grim, he dipped his head in reply. Dirt streaked his right cheek and grubby patches marked his tunic. He’d taken off his mantle. It lay in a heap on the edge of the well.

As conversation spread through the crowd, Edouard touched her arm. “Are you hurt?”

“Nay.” Juliana jerked from his gentle grip.

“Are you certain—?”

“I am.” She could hardly bear to look at him, the man who’d told her, of all astonishing things, that she was beautiful. The man who’d almost kissed her, knocked over the tray, pushed her into the well—and then rescued her. She didn’t know how to feel about him.

Worst of all, the excitement stirred up by his desire for a kiss still simmered inside her, taunting her with what might have been.

Edouard sighed, a sound heavy with regret. “I am glad you found your sketchbook.”

Most likely a ruined sketchbook
. Unable to speak past the tightness in her throat, she nodded.

“That . . . drawing of me . . .”

Heat swept Julian’s face. She’d never intended for Edouard to see that foolish, impulsive sketch. Never should she have indulged that curious desire to draw him, and not merely so Mother could see what he looked like.

Fingering wet hair from her cheek, a gesture Juliana hoped might hide her blush, she shivered and glanced toward the keep. Somehow, she must excuse herself, make her way to her chamber, change her garments, and then tend to Mother, all without her sire learning of this mishap.

Of course, he might already know. He’d be very upset to have this incident happen on such a crucial day. She tried not to let her shoulders droop. How she’d wanted this celebration to be perfect.

Nara patted her arm. “Poor Juliana. You must feel rotten, soaked through as you are. What a shame about your new gown. And your sketchbook . . .” She wrinkled her nose. “Is
that
what smells?”

“With careful drying,” Juliana said firmly, “the odor will go away.”

“Really?” From Nara’s tone of voice, she meant, “Not likely.”

A tart retort flew to Juliana’s tongue.
Nay.
She wouldn’t speak so to her sister in front of Edouard and the other guests. Enough dramatics had already occurred, and an argument between her and Nara would only feed gossip. What she needed to say to Nara could wait till later that evening when they were alone.

Looking again at Edouard, Juliana dropped into a stiff but elegant curtsey. “Please excuse me, milord.”

His lips parted, indicating he was about to reply. Spinning on her heel, she hurried toward the keep, the torn section of her gown dragging in the dirt.

Before she had taken five steps, footfalls sounded behind her. “Here. This will help to warm you.” Edouard matched her strides, and cloth settled about her shoulders. His mantle. As she looked up at him, he reached around and drew the heavy wool about her shoulders. It smelled of horse and sunlight and . . . him. “I wanted to give this to you a moment ago,” he said, “but you rushed off.”

She wanted to still be annoyed with him, but sympathy filled his gaze. Did he guess how much effort it took for her to maintain her dignity when she was soaked and tired? Did he know how hard she’d fought not to yell at Nara?

“Thank you,” Juliana murmured.

Edouard smiled. “’Tis fine English wool.” He winked like a mischievous boy. “It comes from the estates of some rich lord. De Lanceau, I believe his name is.”

She smiled back. “I feel warmer already.”

“Good.” His expression sobered. “For all that has happened today, I am truly sorry.”

How heartfelt his apology sounded. A secret part of her sighed with pleasure. As she looked up into his handsome face, its angles brushed with sunlight, her surroundings seemed to blur away into nothingness, till there was only him.

His gaze, bright with an emotion she couldn’t quite pinpoint, held her like a tender touch. Awareness of him ran like a warm drink in her veins. Was this how a lady felt before her gallant hero swept her into his arms? Juliana’s pulse fluttered in a wild rhythm, for his stare reminded her of that instant not so long ago, when he’d said he wanted her kiss.

Never before had a man said that to her. Juliana’s gaze shifted to Edouard’s mouth, and suddenly, she wanted to know exactly what a kiss—
his
kiss—was all about.

Do not be foolish. Have you forgotten he pushed you into the well?

Juliana focused on tugging the mantle closer about her. “Thank you,” she managed to say, “for loaning me your garment.”

“Keep it as long as you like.”

A kind offer. However, others might see him as presenting her with a gift, a token of his affection. A garment as personal as a mantle likely held a certain significance between lovers. She must see the mantle returned to him as soon as she’d donned fresh clothes.

“I will get it back to you”—she resumed walking toward the keep—“later today, milord.”

“All right.”

“Juliana,” Nara called. “Does this mean you give up your dance with Edouard?”

Juliana stumbled to a halt, her back to her sister. Dance with Edouard? Was that all Nara cared about? Juliana’s grip tightened on the sketchbook until pain shot through her fingers.

A harsh sigh welled inside her as she turned to look at her sister. Right now, the last thing Juliana wanted to do was dance. However, she couldn’t very well forfeit her dance with Edouard, one of the most important guests at the festivities, because onlookers could see this as an insult. He’d rescued her. Some would say he’d saved her life. What grateful young woman wouldn’t want to dance with her hero?

The day’s emotions squeezed down upon Juliana, threatening to crush the last of her courage. She wouldn’t yield to tears. Not before all these people. Especially not in front of Edouard.

“At this moment,” she said, “I have more pressing concerns than a dance. But thank you, Sister, for reminding me of it.”

A sensible, non-committal answer. Now, to reach the quiet of her chamber; she had no wish to face another dilemma while dripping wet and bedraggled.

“Edouard,” Kaine said, somewhere close behind. A loud
slap
echoed—the sound of a hand coming down upon a shoulder. “If you ask me, I vow you have lost our bet.”

Juliana frowned as she walked. Bet?

“Kaine! For God’s sake . . .”

She might have kept on at her steady pace, but for the frustration in Edouard’s voice. She turned, her wet gown twisting about her legs, and caught the warning glare Edouard threw at his friend an instant before his guilty stare met hers.

“Bet?” Coldness settled in her stomach. “What bet?”

***

As misgiving clouded Juliana’s expression, Edouard fought a groan. He should have known his dealings with Kaine would end in disaster. Now he might have to answer to the folly. And to the woman who, in a very short time, had become more to him than a fleeting challenge.

“What bet?” Juliana repeated, while her poignant gaze bored into Edouard. He felt that stare as though it reached inside him and wrenched his soul. Shame licked through him, becoming more intense when her attention refused to waver.

“Ah . . .” Kaine chortled and threw his hands wide. “’Twas but a private jest between lads. Not a lady’s concern.”

That’s right
, a voice inside Edouard said.
Take Kaine’s example and lie. You don’t have to admit your foolishness. Why hurt Juliana? She’s endured enough already
.

That wouldn’t be honorable
, an equally strong voice broke in.
If you respect her, care for her, you’ll be honest. Even if it means you must accept blame
.

Still holding Juliana’s stare, Edouard dragged his hand over his jaw. He wanted to make the right decision. If his sire learned of the bet, though, he wouldn’t be at all pleased. Just thinking about his father’s disapproval made sweat break out on Edouard’s forehead.

“Not a lady’s concern?” Juliana’s eyes narrowed. “Why then, Kaine, do you look so guilty?”

“Do I?” He laughed, even as his face turned red. “Well, I—”

“And you, Edouard. You have not answered me.” Her fingers tightened on her sketchbook, a gesture that drew his gaze to her bluish nails. “Do I guess correctly? This bet
does
concern me?”

“Oh, nay,” Kaine cut in. “Of course not. Right, milord?”

Another, silent groan broke inside Edouard. “Be quiet, Kaine.”

“I am only trying to help.”

Edouard barely resisted a snort. Kaine was only trying to save his wretched arse. But like a loyal friend, he’d tried to cover for Edouard, too.

Aware their conversation had drawn the attention of curious observers, Edouard smiled at Juliana. Instead of lying, or admitting the truth, he’d press his charm on her and convince her to drop the matter for now. If she insisted on the truth, he’d divulge it later, when fewer were in earshot, and when no one who overheard would take the news to his father.

Gesturing to her soaked clothes, he said, “Please, Juliana, go and put on dry garments. Then I will be pleased to—”

“I want to know now.”

She looked so miserable, he longed to cross to her, draw her into his arms, and hug her, as he’d comfort his younger sister. However, that would certainly set tongues a-wagging.

As the silence persisted, Juliana’s chin tilted higher. She wasn’t going to give in. Would she stand there, cold and dripping, until she caught a severe chill?

Her chin was quivering.

“Juliana . . .”

“Why will you not tell me? That is most puzzling of all.”

Another groan bubbled up within him, for he felt his resolve weakening. He couldn’t lie to her; he didn’t want to. In this instance, lying seemed akin to cowardice.

He closed the distance between them, ignoring Kaine shuffling a short distance behind. “Juliana,” Edouard said, near enough to her that he could lower his voice and keep their words private. “You are right. We did make a bet.”