The Dark Knight (45 page)

“Reginald has been here and gone.” His mouth quirked upward at one corner. “You were at your bath a very long time. I began to wonder if Matilda had allowed you to drown.”

“Nay, I did not drown.” For an instant she wished she had. She sounded like an idiot. Perhaps she should just keep her mouth closed. She folded her hands in her lap and lowered her gaze, trying to look calm and serene, but the lengthening silence began to feel awkward. She looked up and found him already watching her with an enigmatic expression. She blurted out the first thing that came to mind. “You look very handsome.”

“You outshine me.” He lifted her hand and pressed a light kiss to her fingertips. His words were swift and low.
“Tu siete la donna che più bella ho visto mai.”

She felt herself blush over the blatant lie, the part that she understood about outshining him, and lowered her gaze again. “ ’Tis obvious I need to expand my grasp of your language. I understood few of those words, but they sound very pretty.”

“Mm. You will have time during our journey to Venice to learn more.”

Hope lifted its head at the mention of Venice. They were not on the deck of a ship about to set sail, so she ruthlessly pushed it back down. She would live for the moment and let the morrow take care of itself. They were together today, and that was enough for now.

He handed her a goblet filled with wine and she took a few nervous sips. Here they were, warm and dry, and
a soft, comfortable bed awaited.
Tonight is the night
. She would give herself completely to the man she loved. She
wanted
to give herself to him. Would he think her too bold if she excused herself and climbed into bed to wait for him? All of this waiting around was shredding her nerves. She did not want to eat or drink. She wanted him to kiss her, to hold her, to caress her as he had last night.

Her thoughts strayed once again as she recalled some of the more intimate moments. Soon her face felt as if it were on fire and her hands began to tremble. She carefully set the goblet back on the table, thankful she had not spilled the wine all over herself.

“Would you like something to eat?” he asked, waving his hand toward the bounty before them. “Ham? Bread pudding? Fruit? I finally gave up waiting for you and fed myself, so the rest is yours. Have whatever you like.”

There was no way she would be able to swallow any of it. She shook her head. “Uhm, I am not as hungry as I thought.”

Her stomach chose that moment to make her a liar. The rumbling sound made one of his brows rise. “You have hardly eaten today. I think you should eat
something
.”

“Perhaps a piece of bread,” she conceded.

He ignored her request and piled her trencher with a sampling of almost everything on the table, then pushed it toward her. “Eat what you can. Humor me. Please.”

She bowed her head and tried, and then realized it was not as much of a chore as she had feared. Soon the trencher was almost empty. She made herself eat slowly because it was impolite to wolf down her food, and not because she was trying to delay anything. She wanted an end to this awkwardness. Dante studied her over his steepled fingers, his attention unwavering.

“Are you nervous?” he asked in a gentle voice.

She looked up at him as she swallowed the last bite of an apple. “I think ‘terrified’ is a more accurate description.”

He laughed aloud. Before she knew what he intended, he lifted her effortlessly and settled her onto his lap. She held her back stiff, resisting the urge to lean into his solid chest. “
Cara
, do you remember last night and this morn?”

Did reliving every moment in minute detail count? In that case, she remembered all too clearly. “Aye.”

“I have thought of little else all day,” he admitted. He drew his fingertip down her cheek and got the expected reaction. She closed her eyes and shivered. “There is nothing to fear. I am the same man you turn to in your sleep, the same man you kissed so passionately. Where is the greedy girl who wanted more than just kisses?”

That thoughtless girl had abandoned them somewhere on the road to London.
This
girl knew exactly what she was about to do, and with whom. She also knew he would not be pleased with her latest epiphany. She bit her lower lip. “You are not the man I thought you were this morning.”

His body stiffened and all humor fled from his expression. “What do you mean?”

She waved her hand to indicate their surroundings. “You are
rich
! You live in a palace, you consort with kings and their daughters.”

She could almost feel the tension flow out of him.

“You say this as if they were bad things,” he teased. He lifted her hand and turned it over to expose her wrist. Rather than kiss the sensitive skin, he rubbed the tip of his nose over the line of delicate veins and inhaled, as if her skin held some addictive scent. Her breathing stopped entirely. “I told you I was a wealthy man. But I
only consort with one king, and I have not yet met his daughter.”

“I thought you were a landless knight,” she managed, as she tugged her hand away to return it to her lap. “And then I thought you were simply an assassin, a foreigner plucked from obscurity to do the king’s bidding. Now I discover that you are richer than my father, likely richer than Faulke Segrave and possibly more powerful. You are at least a baron, are you not?”

“Titles and ranking are somewhat different in Venice than they are here,” he said, “but you are correct; I am among the nobility. An English earl would be the most likely equivalent.”

Her heart beat harder. Ah, there was the familiar pain. She had been almost certain he was a nobleman, but hearing her fear confirmed made it real. And it was worse than she thought. An earl.

Ever observant, he pointed out the obvious. “You are not pleased.”

“I thought my rank was above yours.” She would never admit that she had viewed her rank as a meager sort of consolation prize for him; a noblewoman for the commoner. “Earls are expected to marry. ’Tis their duty to produce heirs. Someday you will want a wife. Even if you were so inclined, I will never be allowed to marry so long as I am betrothed to Faulke Segrave.” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “You will leave me.”

“I will not leave you,” he said, as if this were an obvious fact. His arms tightened around her and he cradled her to his chest. “How many times must I tell you? I am yours.”

“I am pledged to another.”

He pressed a kiss to her forehead. “You are meant for no other man but me.”

She waited for him to admit that he must eventually
take a wife, that the day would come when he would be forced to cast her aside, but he remained silent as she listened to the steady beat of his heart. Surely he had thought of this already? Not knowing his thoughts was worse than hearing the truth. “What are you thinking?”

“I am thinking that Faulke Segrave is more of a nuisance than I ever dreamed he would be.” He released a slow sigh and she tried to look up at him, but his grip on her tightened again and held her immobile. His voice turned thoughtful. “The man who sent me on this mission is named Mordecai. He told me about you, tried to warn me, I suppose, that you would be … not what I expected. In my arrogance, I did not hear what he was telling me.”

She wondered why this Mordecai person had felt it necessary to
warn
Dante about her. Was she really so bad? How would he even know? She had never met him. “I do not care to meet this person.”

His laugh was humorless. “Mordecai is not only one of Edward’s advisers, he is a magician. Indeed, that would be the reason Edward keeps him close. One of Mordecai’s more useful talents is his ability to see into the future, to see dangers to the king and the results of different decisions he might make, as well as the decisions of others. He saw several possible futures for us, and where our paths would lead depending upon the choices that were made.”

She waited for him to laugh. Surely this was another one of his jests? He did not even believe in the Witches’ Sabbath, and yet he believed this charlatan magician could see into the future? His expression remained deadly serious.

“Do not tell me you believe him?” She smiled indulgently. “Many magicians attended the fairs at Coleway over the years. Some of them could perform amazing
tricks, but their fortune-telling abilities proved remarkably similar. Every young man had a pretty woman about to enter his life, every old woman could expect the coming year to be one of good health. And everyone was about to experience a turn of good luck or a windfall of some sort. Health and happiness all around, but couched in vague warnings that could be interpreted to mean almost anything or serve as an excuse as to why last year’s prediction went unfulfilled. I am surprised the king was duped by such a charlatan, and I am even more surprised that you were taken in as well.”

He did not return her smile. “Mordecai is an entirely different creature from the magicians you have encountered at fairs.”

She made a sound of skepticism.

“I have known Mordecai since I was a boy and I have seen too much over the years to doubt his skills. He is no charlatan.”

The look in his eyes convinced her that he believed what he said.

“If you should ever meet him, promise me that you will not voice any doubts of his abilities. ’Tis unlikely he would harm you, knowing what you mean to me, but I have stood witness when he has corrected other people’s mistaken beliefs or doubts about him. He has little patience for those who demand explanations and proof.” His grip on her arms was almost painful. “Do not provoke Mordecai. Ever. Promise me.”

“I promise,” she said slowly. The look of relief in his eyes was unmistakable, but it faded into wariness at her next question. “What did he see in our future that has you worried?”

“I know that your trust in me is fragile, but I must ask you to trust me again without question, to trust that I
will make certain everything will work out for us as it is meant to.”

“What do—”

He pressed his fingers against her lips. “All I can tell you is that there are things I must do in the next few days and weeks, decisions I must influence, but, ultimately, they are decisions others must make that will affect our future.”

Of course. He had to obtain the king’s permission to take her to Italy, but what other plan was he talking about that needed to be kept secret? Whatever it was, he sounded very sure of himself, but then again, confidence was never something he lacked.

“For now,” he continued, “know that we have a future. We will be together, no matter what happens.”

The words were comforting and worrisome at the same time. “What do you mean, ‘no matter what happens’? What else could change our circumstances?”

“I cannot answer your questions,” he said quietly.

The answer fueled her frustration. “Cannot, or
will
not?”

“Cannot.”

And, just like that, her anger deflated. “Oh.”

“I have already told you more than I should,” he admitted. “I just wanted to put your mind at ease, but it would seem I have only added to your fears. Is it still so impossible for you to trust me?”

That was a good question. He had already broken her trust, told her lies that she had readily believed. Did he really think she could trust him again so soon, so blindly, without question? He studied her face and found the obvious answer in her expression.

“What you cannot forget is that I lied to you about my identity,” he surmised. “I could not tell you the truth when we first met, but I never lied about the way I felt
about you and I will always do whatever is necessary to protect you. Can you believe that much at least?”

“Aye.” She trusted him to keep her safe. What she still had trouble trusting in was his claim that he loved her, that he felt even a fraction of the love she felt for him.

She had started falling in love the first moment she laid eyes on him, the first time she heard his voice, the first time she looked into his eyes. The more time she spent with him, the deeper she fell. Even after she had learned of his deception her heart had refused to give up its claim. He could break her heart, but he could never return it. It belonged to him now.

Trust, especially blind trust, was the last small part of her heart that she held back, the part she had not already handed over to him. Once he had that piece there would be no way to recover if he deceived her again.

Don’t do it
, Reason warned.
He will leave you defenseless and broken
.

Your life does not matter without him
, Hope countered.
This is what you were born for, who you were born for. He loves you. He wants to spend his life with you. Trust him
.

She thought about the reasons he had lied to her in the first place and came to a sudden, startling conclusion. All this time she had it backward. She had believed him as Sir Percival, and constantly doubted him as Dante Chiavari. In reality, Sir Percival was the liar while Dante had always told her the truth.

The last string of doubt drifted from her grasp and her heart felt suddenly lighter. “You can trust me, too, you know.”

“I do trust you,” he said.

“What I meant is that you can tell me your secrets and I will not repeat them.”

“I trust you to keep
my
secrets,” he said, “but I am bound by my oath to keep the secrets of others.”

She could not ask him to forsake his oath in favor of her curiosity. She could wait a few days or weeks until the decisions were made that he must influence.

“At least you do not appear ‘terrified’ anymore,” he observed, trying to lighten her mood.

“Terror holds hands with uncertainty.” She placed her hand on the side of his face and looked deep into his eyes. “I am no longer uncertain. I trust you.”

She wasn’t sure he understood what she was telling him until he closed his eyes, his expression one of silent thanks.

“This time I will hold close your trust,” he pledged. “I do not intend to lose it again.”

And he claimed to have no honor? He had assumed the disguise of the King’s Assassin as completely as he had assumed the disguise of Sir Percival. Beneath both cloaks was the most honorable man she had ever known. Did anyone ever see this side of him? Did
he
even see this side of himself?