Tori Phillips Read online

  Her companion regarded her with warm amusement. “Nay, sweet Kat, under the tutelage of Cupid.”

  Her mouth went dry. The man was too handsome by half. His powerful, well-muscled body was barely concealed by his remaining clothing: a pair of black-and-white-striped hose, a loose white shirt, open wide at the neck, and his codpiece. Kat tried to ignore this last article, but found it difficult. His overall appeal was devastating.

  She moistened her lips. “Cupid? Are you in love?” She held her breath for his answer.

  “Aye, my lady,” he replied, his low voice dripping with seductive invitation. “’Tis the fashion to be in love these days.”

  His words sent Kat’s spirit soaring. Patience! He had yet to confess that he was Lord Cavendish. They played a greater game than hazard, if her heart was to be the prize. “Do you think that...Sir Brandon is in love?”

  His bold gaze softened to a caress. “Aye, you have snared his heart in your golden net.”

  Her body quivered with excitement like the jingling tambourine of a jester. Lowering her gaze, she studied the treacherous dice on the table. ’Twas too easy to forget herself, considering the way he looked at her. She pulled the collar of her shift a little tighter.

  “Do you think that I love Sir Brandon in return?” she asked playfully, glancing at him through her lashes.

  He set the chair back on its four legs, then rose with a graceful motion. He came round the table in two strides and stood behind her. The heat from his body surrounded her. A shiver thrilled through her veins.

  “You bear all the marks of a woman in love,” he replied, his voice grown suddenly husky.

  Kat’s heart thudded down to her toes. Her knees felt weak. By the book! Get a hold of yourself. Looking over her shoulder, she boldly met his smoldering gaze. “Ha! How do you know what a woman in love looks like?”

  He wrapped his arms around her waist. “Give me a looking glass, and I will show you one,” he whispered in her ear.

  Her body tingled from the contact. His breath was warm and moist against her cheek as he drew her back against his chest.

  She tried to laugh, but only a nervous titter emerged from her lips. “Do you mean me?”

  “Well aimed and true.” Lifting her hair aside, he pressed his warm lips to the nape of her neck.

  She gasped at the contact, then closed her eyes to savor the heady sensation. “I?” she whispered.

  “Aye, mad in love.” Brandon’s mouth grazed her earlobe.

  A tremor began to build inside Kat, heating her thighs and the secret place between them. Her limbs trembling, she settled back against him, surrendering to the pleasure of his arms around her.

  “’Tis the season, methinks,” she murmured. “They say that midsummer brings on a certain madness, and that there is little difference between a lover and a lunatic at this time of year.”

  He turned her in the circle of his embrace. The light of desire danced in his blue eyes. “Then you must seek remedy for this sweet malady.” His deep baritone simmered with barely checked passion.

  She reveled in his open admiration of her. “What remedy have you in mind?” she asked in a fragile whisper, though her heart knew the answer already.

  Brandon traced his fingertip across her lower lip. “It begins with a kiss,” he answered as his lips slowly descended to meet hers.

  His gentle touch sent a shock wave through her entire body. The last shred of her defenses crumbled. Reaching her arms around his neck, she clung to him, arching her body against his. It was a kiss for her tired soul to melt into, sweetly draining away all the doubts and fears of her past experiences. Under his persuasive touch, Kat was drawn toward a height of passion she had never experienced.

  His kiss deepened as he parted her lips with his tongue and entered. Moaning, she clutched him for support. Her mouth burned for more.

  With laughter that mixed triumph and joy, he swept her into his arms as if she weighed nothing. Gently he eased her down onto the bed.

  “Methinks I have won the wager of your last throw,” he whispered as he untied the ribbons around the neck of her shift.

  “Aye.” She sighed as he drew the filmy garment over her head. Though his fingers were cool, his gentle touch burned her skin.

  His gaze drank her in like cold springwater on a summer’s day. “You are beautiful, sweet Katherine.”

  Her name on his tongue sang in her ear.

  After he pulled off his shirt, he lay down beside her. She purred at the sleek caress of his strong, hard body. With infinite tenderness, his finger outlined the firm mounds of her breasts. In response, the soft flesh surged at the intimacy of his touch. Bending his head, his lips stroked her nipples with a tantalizing possessiveness. She gasped as the pink tips firmed instantly under his persuasion. He kissed each taut bud in turn, enkindling a melting sweetness within her.

  Thoroughly aroused by a desire she had never known before, Kat drew herself closer to Brandon. Embracing him, she trailed a tickling finger up and down the long, smooth planes of his back. Slipping under the waistband of his hose, she swirled her finger in the dimpled hollow at the base of his spine. He groaned.

  “I am much too confined, methinks,” he whispered hoarsely as he fumbled to untie the laces of his codpiece.

  Kat experienced a giddy sense of pleasure as her fingers covered his. “Let me be your handmaiden, my lord.”

  His lips touched her forehead as he whispered, “Quickly then, for I am in agony.”

  With laughter rippling in the back of her throat, she released his manhood, then peeled off his hose, sliding her palms down his taut, muscled thighs. The sight of his arousal thrilled her.

  Kat gasped as he lowered his body over hers, tucking her curves neatly into his own contours. His heat coursed the entire length of her. Her breasts tingled against his hair-roughed chest.

  “You are intoxicating, like summer wine.” Between each word, Brandon planted kisses on her shoulders, neck and face.

  His hands explored the soft lines of her back, her waist and her hips. Shivers of delight followed the path of his touch. She could not contain her outcries of pleasure. Aching for more of him. she buried her hands in his thick blond hair.

  A golden wave of new-awakened passion and love flowed between them, shattering the protective shell that Kat had erected during the torturous years with Fitzhugh. Brandon freed her in a bursting rainbow of sensations. Passion radiated from the soft core of her body, surrendering her completely to him, as he hurled them both beyond the point of no return. As gold and silver star bursts welled up within her, Kat experienced the flowing of uncontrollable joy for the first time. Together, she and Brandon soared to the lofty heights of an unutterable, shimmering ecstasy.

  Afterward, lying in his arms, their bodies still moist from lovemaking, Kat felt a comfortable peace and satisfaction. Never had she been so blissfully happy with a man. Never had she felt so fully alive within herself. Tears of joy pricked her eyelids. A cry of relief broke from her lips.

  “Did I hurt you, my sweet?” he asked, stroking a lock of her hair that trailed over her breast.

  “Nay.” She smiled into his eyes with supreme satisfaction. “’Tis pleasure, not pain, dear heart.”

  He exhaled a long sigh of contentment. “Good, for I had hoped you might consider. another roll anon.”

  She traced her finger along the muscled contour of his chest. “Do you speak of the dice or in bed?”

  He grinned. “Both, for I desire to win all the wager.” He fingered the single cream-colored stocking she still wore.

  “On one condition, my lord.”

  He pretended to groan in pain. “You drive a hard bargain, sweet Kat. Name it.”

  Her finger curled around his ear. “Since we have now lain together, I greatly desire to know your given name, my lord.”

  “’Twill be yours in a week, dearest Kat.”

  “Pronounce it now,” she whispered. “I long to hear it from your lips.”

&
nbsp; “Brandon,” he answered, as his mouth closed over hers.

  Chapter Fourteen

  The rain had finally stopped by the time Jack crawled out of bed. The late afternoon sun made valiant efforts to break through the clouds. Jack’s stomach rumbled, demanding food. After washing, shaving and putting on clean clothing, he stumbled across the courtyard to the hall.

  Oddly, no one was there, except the dogs, who greeted him with wet affection. No one tarried in the alcove or hurried down the passageways. In the kitchen, Jack discovered the entire gaggle of giggling maids, as well as some of the off-duty men-at-arms, enjoying the impromptu antics of the two squires. Mark and Christopher had decked themselves with cast-off bits of women’s clothing. Using mop heads for their hair and beets plumping their bosoms, the two pranced around the chopping table, exchanging bawdy quips and ribald pleasantries in high falsetto voices.

  Rather than disturb the merrymaking, Jack helped himself to some bread and slices of cold beef. No doubt Brandon had succeeded in his conquest, and he was occupied with his own brand of pleasant sport. Thinking of Miranda, Jack envied their joy. Slipping out the side door with his food, he wended his leisurely way to the stables.

  The sun had banished the last of the clouds and now shone brightly. Jack swallowed the rest of his impromptu meal. He drew in a deep breath of the clean, fresh air. What he needed was some exercise to clear the alcoholic cobwebs from his brain. A good ride would do the trick. It had been several days since Thunder had had a proper run.

  A half hour later, Jack, astride his charger, rode through the forest that bordered the western fields. The leaves decking the oaks, elms and ashes looked new washed and bright green. Unseen birds sang amid their branches, while impudent rooks cawed to each other from the treetops. Occasionally Jack heard a scurrying sound in the underbrush to the side of his trail, as a rabbit, hedgehog or badger sought cover from the horse and rider’s intrusion. All in all, ’twas a fine afternoon for a gallop.

  Coming out on the far side of the wood, Jack slowed Thunder to a walk and let the horse pick his own course. Meanwhile, Jack turned his thoughts once again to Miranda, and to his present quandary. If Brandon had succeeded in his plan to seduce the lady of the manor, had their game of disguising now come to an end? Could Jack present himself—as he truly was—to the innocent Miranda, and beg her forgiveness for his unmannerly action? He thought back over the past few weeks. While he had been so pleasantly occupied playing Brandon, what sort of portrayal had Brandon made of roguish Jack Stafford?

  Had Brandon mentioned Jack’s activities with the ladies of the court? Jack winced inwardly. Too true, all too true. While both men enjoyed their reputations as heartbreakers, it was Jack who actually lived up to the gossip. Sudden fatherhood had made Brandon grow more wary of romantic entanglements, and he had settled down to an occasional night with a discreet married lady. Not Jack. Any woman was fair game, and a number of the noblemen at court wore the horns of a cuckold thanks to him.

  And what had ten years of wenching done for him? Nothing, but jaded his opinion of women in general. Then he had met Miranda, whom he had thought was Lady Katherine. Even as he had wooed her in Brandon’s name, Jack himself had fallen. hopelessly in love with the sweet lady. And who was Miranda Paige? No doubt the oldest living virgin in England outside a convent. What a rare jest! The Jack of Hearts of Great Harry’s court had been caught by a simple country spinster, without one conniving, conceited bone in her body.

  What was he to do now? Brandon may not want to become a loving husband to a good woman, but, by God, the prospect looked better and better to Jack with each passing day. If he could ever coax Miranda out of her sanctuary, he would go down on his knees and beg her to marry him as soon as the banns could be proclaimed. Jack grinned at the idea. By Christmas, there could be a new little Stafford on the way. Fatherhood! The idea quickened his blood. It had made Brandon a better man; why not Jack Stafford?

  Thunder whinnied and pranced sideways, nearly tossing Jack out of his saddle. Bringing the horse to a stop, he dismounted. A man huddled facedown on the side of the path. Beside him, a bundle of firewood lay scattered.

  Jack knelt by the body. “God save us, are you killed?”

  A shiver ran through the prostrated form, then the youth raised his head. “Scared the living wits out of me, sir,” he sputtered, as he spat out some dirt.

  Jack’s eyes widened when he recognized the youth. “Wonnsley! What in the devil’s name are you doing here? Methought you and your scurvy master had returned to court.”

  Sitting up, Wormsley groaned. “Nothing, my lord.” He would not meet Jack’s gaze.

  “Are you hurt?”

  “Nay, my lord.” Wormsley began to gather up his sticks.

  Jack planted one foot on the largest just as Wormsley reached for it. “Not yet, you worm’s namesake! First, explain what you are doing on Bodiam’s property.”

  Licking his lips, Wormsley looked over his shoulder into the woods. “I dare not say, my lord,” he replied hoarsely.

  Jack grabbed him. “Methinks you would answer very well to a whipping,” he threatened, though he had no intention of doing so.

  The boy blanched but held his ground. “’Tis no more than what I get now, my lord,” he muttered.

  Jack relaxed his hold on the servant. “How now? Does Scantling beat you?”

  Wormsley hung his head. “Aye, sir.” He licked his lips again.

  Stepping back, Jack observed the boy closely. He detected a light greenish tint under one eye, the mark of a bruise almost healed. “Is this abuse your master’s custom?”

  Wormsley scanned the deep-shadowed forest again. “Not until this past week, my lord. Ever since he discovered his aunt’s perfidy.”

  Jack nodded. “You mean her trick with the nettles and pepper?”

  Wormsley sighed. “Aye, my lord. Sir Fenton was much vexed by that, and flew into a rage.”

  “And you became his convenient whipping post,” Jack added. “Why do you stay in his employ?”

  The youth shrugged. “I’ve no place else to go, sir. And this new behavior of my master’s has come upon him like a sudden fit.” He lowered his voice. “Now there is more deviltry afoot.”

  Jack drew closer. “What do you mean?”

  Wormsley glanced around, then gulped. “Sir Fenton is much besieged by his creditors.”

  Jack shrugged his shoulders. “This is old news, and twice told.”

  “My master tried to dissuade both his aunt and my Lord Cavendish from their marriage.”

  “Aye, and he made a dog’s breakfast of that, as well. Sir Brandon and the lady have become most loving friends.” Jack allowed a small grin. Even as we speak.

  “When my master came to Bodiam, ’twas to persuade his aunt to give him the guardianship of the estate before the marriage could take place. He even had a paper for her to sign.”

  Jack uttered a curse under his breath. “Shrewd knave! For a tuppence, I’d toss him into that reeking moat.”

  Wormsley gripped Jack’s arm. “But now Sir Fenton grows worse and worse. Since Lady Katherine played that waggish trick upon us, his mind has become unhinged.”

  Jack lifted an eyebrow. “Tell me all, and spare no details.”

  Wormsley’s voice sank even lower. “He thinks upon nothing but murder, my lord.”

  “God’s death!”

  Wormsley crossed himself. “Amen to that, my lord. After we recovered from the nettles, he rode us hard back here. We now live in beggarly circumstances in a small abandoned woodcutter’s hut over yonder. My master says little, except to curse me. At night I hear him whisper ‘murder’ as he sits staring into the fire. ’Tis enough to make my blood run cold. Every day, he takes to the wood with his crossbow. And, my lord, he is a fair shot with it. Last night, I overheard him mumble something about Sir Brandon meeting with a hunting accident.”

  “Jesu!” Jack stared at Wormsley. The servant’s eyes gave no lie to his words.

 
“I have not known what do, my lord,” the youth continued. “Indeed, I am afeard for my own skin. My master is much changed.”

  Jack thought quickly. Fenton lurking in the woods with a crossbow was threat enough, but his evil intention would bear no weight in a court of law unless he acted upon it. Nor did Jack even know where he could find the vermin. Bodiam’s forest was Fenton’s home ground. He must know every nook and cranny of it. Jack scanned the silent trees as Wormsley had done earlier. The madman could be sitting on a limb within bow shot this minute. No wonder Wormsley looked like a frightened coney rabbit!

  Jack patted him on the shoulder. Under his shirt and jerkin, the youth trembled. “Take heart, Wormsley, for you have found a friend in me. Keep a good eye on your master, and send me word at Bodiam if you learn more of his plans. I know ’twill require much courage, but, I swear, all will come out right in the end.”

  Wormsley exhaled a sigh of relief. “I am your man, my lord.”

  “Aye, and so will you be in truth, when this adventure is over. My word on it.”

  The lad nodded. “Thank you, my lord.”

  “I would shake your hand, but we may be watched. Keep a good eye—and, Wormsley, sleep lightly with a knife under your pillow.”

  He nodded. “I already do so, my lord.”

  Jack gathered up Thunder’s reins, then swung himself into the saddle. “God be with you, lad,” he said quietly.

  “Aye, my lord. And you.” Wormsley glanced again at the trees.

  Jack urged Thunder into a trot, going in the same direction as before. If Scantling had observed the encounter, Jack didn’t want him to think that his servant had betrayed his evil intent. Best that he believe they had merely exchanged a few words on Wormsley’s health, and nothing more. A half mile later, Jack turned his horse into the wood where he spurred Thunder into a brisk canter back to the castle.

  “’Tis harder to put you back together, than undoing you in the first place, Kat,” Brandon remarked as he fumbled with the laces of her bodice.

  “Aye, my love,” she replied, still basking in the afterglow of his more intimate touch. “But ’twould shock my maids should I come down to supper with the back of my gown hanging open.”