Rexanne Becnel (31 page)

“Marilyn did not sleep well last night, milady,” Joanna began cautiously. “Then, when I explained to her father the particulars of how I came to be at court—he had not heard the tale of how the arrogant Lord Blaecston abducted me from the priory—well, she became upset with her father’s inability to understand how a woman might feel under such distressing circumstances.”

When Isabel’s gaze remained fixed on her, clearly doubting her response, Joanna rushed on. “Evan Thorndyke followed her from the hall, however. No doubt he comforted her. If you do not object, I would seek her out now and reassure myself that she is recovered from her upset.”

“Evan Thorndyke?” the queen mused as Joanna put her stitching aside and stood up. Several of the other women shared knowing glances. “How long has Evan been widowed?” Isabel asked the room at large.

“Three years and more,” someone answered.

“And he has but the one child?”

“Yes, milady. A young son.”

A small smile curved Isabel’s full lips and she airily waved Joanna along. “Yes, do see to Marilyn. Men can be so unthinking, especially fathers. My own father would have wed me to that lummox Hugh the Brown. Go see to Marilyn and bring her back to us once her spirits are restored.”

Joanna’s own spirits were so high that she almost skipped down the shaded arcade that led to the women’s quarters. Her half-formed plan was succeeding beyond her wildest expectations! Sir Egbert was, she hoped, having second thoughts about Rylan Kempe as a son-in-law. Evan was consumed with Marilyn’s distress. But best of all, the seed she had planted in Isabel’s mind about Evan and Marilyn had clearly taken root!

She turned into a low, arched entrance and walked absently across a vacant hall and up a narrow stone stairway. Nothing was certain, of course. Sir Egbert had not renounced Rylan, and even if he had, Rylan was not likely to take such a change of plans easily. Rylan Kempe was nothing if not selfish and determined. In the matter of property and power he was as single-minded as King John, only far more crafty.

She approached the passage that led to the chamber she shared with Marilyn still lost in thought. But a sudden movement in a shallow doorway and a firm hand upon her arm brought her to an abrupt halt.

“At last you come,” Rylan Kempe said as he forced her into the sheltering door alcove. Before she could think he had her backed up against a solid wooden door, with one hand clasped on each of her upper arms.

“You!” Joanna eyed him with deliberate distaste, but it was hard, for her heart was pounding with frantic speed. So many emotions crowded her chest that she could hardly breathe. She was afraid. She was thrilled. She was completely confused.

“Yes, me, my little dove. Or were you expecting some other swain?”

Joanna stared up into his shadowed face, all the while completely aware of the heat of his hands through the linen of her gown and kirtle. His eyes were dark and glittering. His jaw was tensed and he seemed unaccountably angry with her. Could he know so soon what she was up to?

“I … I was expecting no one. And even if I were,” she added as she recovered her composure, “it would be no concern of yours.”

His eyes narrowed at that, and his gaze flicked swiftly over her. Then he sighed. “Do not push me, Joanna. I warn you, do not push me. I told you to trust me to set things right. Yet something tells me you have already begun to dabble in matters beyond your ken.”

“And I told you that I trust you only to do what’s best for you, with no regard for my wishes or my well-being.”

To her surprise, he smiled at her words and his taut grip loosened. With a sharp twist she slipped out of his grasp, but she was still backed up to the door with him squarely between her and escape.

“Joanna, hard as it may be for you to believe, I truly
do
have your well-being uppermost in my thoughts.”

“And what of my wishes? I wish to return to St. Theresa’s, but you will never allow that, will you?”

He stared down at her for a long moment, then unexpectedly reached up to finger a wayward strand of her curling hair. “That has never been possible, Joanna, though you refuse to admit it. But I promise you, you shall soon be very glad you did not take up the veil. Wait.” He placed a finger on her lips before she could argue back. “There are things I cannot tell you. At least not yet. But if you will simply be patient—”

“And trust you?” Joanna interrupted. She meant her tone to be scathing, but the unnerving touch of his finger to her sensitive lips had driven the fire from her words. Instead, there was now an unsettling coil of warmth heating in her belly.

“Yes, trust me,” he murmured in a low, husky tone.

Joanna felt his breath against her cheek. She felt his hand curve into her hair and around her neck. His eyes were very dark, yet their midnight blue seemed lit from deep within. Then his face lowered and his lips touched hers, and everything else was lost to her.

His mouth was warm and firm, yet his kiss was gentle, no more than a questing taste of her lips. A small, rational part of her mind knew that she must end the kiss now, before it could go any further. But another stronger voice told her to kiss him back. Just kiss him back and revel in the heavenly sensations he roused in her. Then he moved nearer until his chest brushed her breasts.

At once a rush of heat washed over Joanna, and she gasped at the quick response of her body to his. Rylan deepened the kiss, slipping his tongue along the slight parting of her lips. This time Joanna let out a soft moan of desire, for the silken stroke of his tongue on her inner lips was a pleasure almost beyond bearing.

“You must stop,” she managed to whisper. But Rylan’s answer was to seek out her tongue with his own, to draw her into an erotic dance that fused their mouths as well as their bodies.

Joanna felt the demanding pressure of his hard masculine form against her legs. Chest, loins, legs—they embraced, firing her to heights that were wicked, yet wonderful. Her arms wrapped around his shoulders. Her fingers curled into his thick shoulder-length hair. When one of his knees slid between her thighs, she pressed herself wantonly against it, feeling the damp heat that had risen so suddenly in her.

“Christ and bedamned, but you are a fire in my blood,” he muttered thickly as he moved his kisses to her cheek, her ear, her throat. One of his hands slid down her side and around to cup her derriere. Then he pressed her urgently to him until she was burning as fiercely as he was.

“Rylan,” she whispered as her head tilted back to rest against the heavy door. His hungry lips searched out a heated trail down her throat and along her collarbone to where the neckline of her bodice barred him further access to her skin. But he continued anyway, pressing his kisses on the linen gown, searing the upper swells of her breasts through the fabric.

“You are mine, Joanna. No one else’s,” he murmured in her ear, breaking the pattern of his kisses.

Up to now Joanna had been too disoriented by his drugging nearness to think straight. But his words, claiming her as his and his alone, brought a welcome measure of sanity back to her—and a considerable measure of anger as she remembered his betrothal.

“Yours?” she snapped. She turned her face away as he sought to capture her lips once more.

“Yes, mine, Joanna. No matter how things may appear at court, never doubt that fact.” He cupped her face and forced her to look up at him. When he saw the fury in her eyes, however, he hesitated, and it was that moment of his bewilderment that caused her anger to explode.

“How can I be yours when you already claim another!”

No sooner were the words out than Joanna profoundly regretted them. For one thing, she sounded too much like a jealous shrew for comfort. Plus, she had broken her promise to Marilyn. But worst of all, she realized as his brows came together in a frown, she had lost the one advantage she had. Without the advantage of secretiveness, she would be hard-pressed to undermine his betrothal to Marilyn.

“What, by all that is holy, does that mean?” He began furiously. “What do you know of these things?”

“I know that King John will oppose you at every turn, both with me and the Lady Marilyn.” She glared defiantly at him, daring him to deny his betrothal to Marilyn. To her frustration, however, he ignored the subject.

“King John shall not hand you over to anyone but me.

Joanna shook her head and laughed out loud, though without any trace of mirth. “Oh, but you are truly the fool. He hates you. And I …”

“And you—despite whatever you think you know—you most obviously do not,” he finished for her.

As arrogant responses went, this was truly his worst. “You are the … the … the most odious and dishonorable wretch—”

“That you have ever kissed?” he broke in on her tirade. “Come now, Joanna. You can surely leave off this pretense of outrage after all that has passed between us.” He leaned forward, placing his palms on the door on either side of her shoulders, and ensnared her with his mocking gaze. “Let us return to our previous communion. I much prefer kissing to arguing.”

“But I do not!” She planted her hands against his chest and tried to force him back, but it was to no avail.

“What a wicked little liar you are,” he murmured as he tried to capture her lips. “You’re going to have to start telling the truth, you know. And stop interfering in things that don’t concern you.”

In frustration Joanna moved one of her hands up from his chest to clap over his mouth and glared up at him. “Why? So you can ruin that poor girl as you have ruined me?”

“Ahem.”

Joanna jumped at the sound of someone else clearing his throat. Rylan jerked upright as well and had the presence of mind to hide her face against his shoulder in a rough, smothering embrace.

“I’ll thank you to move along,” he growled at the intruder beyond the doorway.

“This is not a wise place for a tryst, my friend.”

As quickly as Rylan had pulled Joanna against his chest did he set her free. “By Christ, Evan!” he barked as he turned to face the man. “Your timing is damned inconvenient.”

“That would be a matter of opinion,” Evan snapped back. “I wonder if the Lady Joanna feels as you do. I most certainly do not.”

With no need to hide her identity any longer, Rylan turned around to face the glowering Evan. “What has you so bedeviled?” he began.

“’Tis bad enough she fears you. Must you now dally with the one maiden she considers her friend?”

“What?” Rylan exclaimed in confusion. But Joanna understood at once.

“Dally!” she snapped. “God preserve me from all wooden-headed men. I was not dallying with him. Indeed, the truth is he lay in wait for me and accosted me even as I made my way to Marilyn’s side!” She jerked her hand from Rylan’s lingering grasp and gave him a withering glare.

As quickly as Evan had accused her, so now did he swiftly come to her defense. “My God, what ails you, Rylan? You were foolhardy enough to abduct the Lady Joanna. Then doubly so to pursue her here. Would you now bed her within hailing distance of your own betrothed? Not to mention within the confines of a holy house, and while she is a ward of the king’s!”

He gestured for Joanna to come to his side, but Rylan stopped her with a steely hand on her arm.

“There are things I have not told you, Evan.”

“How enlightening this is. It appears you keep different secrets from different people,” Joanna said sarcastically. “Evan apparently knew of your betrothal. I did not learn of it until yesterday.”

“I would you had not learned of it at all,” Rylan muttered. But he kept his eyes trained on Evan. “My plans are somewhat altered. But this is not a place to talk.” He indicated Joanna with a jerk of his head.

Evan’s initial anger seemed to cool somewhat and the hot color in his face faded. He gave Rylan a curious look, then directed his attention to Joanna.

“Perhaps you should go to Marilyn. She is calmer but nonetheless unnerved by her outburst before her father and all of the royal court.”

Joanna was more than happy to escape from Rylan’s angry presence; however, he was not quite finished with her.

“You will hold your tongue on all matters pertaining to me and the Lady Marilyn. The subject of betrothals is forbidden you, no matter who brings it up. Is that clear, Joanna?”

“What is clear,” she began with a smug smile on her lips, “is that the exalted Lord Blaecston may threaten and storm, but in the end I shall do as I see fit—”

He jerked her around so fast that she nearly fell. “Don’t force my hand, Joanna. For ’tis only you who shall suffer for it.” Then he thrust her past Evan and into the passageway beyond. “Go to Marilyn. But I warn you to do or say nothing at all.”

Despite her recent brave words, Joanna was only too willing to flee. Rylan’s threat had shaken her more than she cared to admit. She knew instinctively that he would not physically harm her. Yet the warning in his words had been distinct. He meant what he said.

But what
could
he do if she should say something to disrupt whatever new plot he had devised? she wondered as she slowed her headlong pace and strove to calm her racing pulse. And besides, Marilyn’s future depended on it. Evan was the man for Marilyn, not Rylan.

Rylan was … Rylan was …

Joanna pressed her palm flat against her stomach, trying to calm the quiver inside her and push the traitorous thought away. Yet no matter how she tried she could not deny, at least to herself, that Rylan was the man for her.

It made no sense. It went against everything she believed and wanted for her future. Yet the evidence was there. His touch, his kiss, his very presence stirred something deep within her—something she’d never even known existed. It was wicked and sinful. But it was true.

With an unhappy sigh she slumped against the cold stone wall. What a terrible mess she was in. Rylan wished to wed Marilyn for the enormous political advantages her inheritance offered. If he’d wanted to wed Joanna and gain her Yorkshire properties, he would have done so at the outset. But he did not want her for a wife. He only wanted her for
his fille de joie.

She would not be at all surprised if he wished to save her from marriage to one of the king’s followers so that he himself could have easier access to her! Perhaps his altered plan was to establish her at Oxwich, where he could freely visit her and partake of the same pleasures they’d shared at Isle Sacré.