Knight of Love (24 page)

Love—or whatever it was—proved a fierce beast indeed when your lover was an imperial knight with more romance than sense driving his warrior heart.

That must be why she was engaging in such grossly uncharacteristic and lewd behavior in public view of a Dinosaurian excavation. She could think of no other reason, save the truly unthinkable one that this man had sunk his wolf-raven claws into her heart.

“You don't have to decide anything now, Lenora,” he said roughly, breaking their kiss. He sat back against the tree trunk, tucking her into his side and the picnic rug over her lap against the fresh breeze blowing off the coast. In the distance, past the quarry and where the line of the white chalk bluff fell away down to the sea, fishing boats bobbed on the gentle swells of the English Channel. He pried loose the tight knot of her hands twisting on her lap and clasped her closest hand with his.

“I fell in love with you at first sight,” he continued. “But I thought you were a delicate princess.” He cast her a sideways glance. “I was wrong. You are Freya, a German Valkyrie goddess on the warpath. Fierce and beautiful, and full of wisdom and wit. Such strong will shines in your forest-green eyes.”

She huffed out a little embarrassed laugh, still trying to get her breath back from the kiss. “So I've gone from kitten to goddess, have I?”

“You're not a kitten at all, are you?” He said it with a grin, as if delighted with his new discovery.

Her mouth quirked up, despite her roiling confusion. “I am afraid not.”

After a moment's pause as he stared out to sea, he spoke. “What if we approach this issue differently?”

“What do you mean?”

“You are not my damsel in distress. But I like what you really are even more. You won't admit it, but you also like what we are together, when you let yourself be with me.”

“And what, pray tell, is that?” She wasn't sure she wanted to know.

“You are a wild woman of power and passion.”

Her eyes widened and a fast blush bloomed at his words. “I most certainly am not! That is hardly proper!”

“You climbed trees like a hoyden. You stole turnips like a street urchin. You throw knives like a circus hustler. What care you about propriety? And when we're together, you scream your pleasure.”

Her mouth dropped open. “That is most
certainly
not proper!”

“But it's true, isn't it? I suspect it is very true to who we both really are, if we will allow it to become all it can be.” He lifted his hand, which was laced with hers, and brushed a kiss across her knuckles. “There is something good between us, Lenora,” he said gruffly.

He slipped their joined hands under the rug.

Through layers of skirts, petticoats, and shift, his knuckles found her. Through all the layers of cashmere and cotton and linen, he found her and rubbed.

Her breath caught as sensation rocked her.

“Just feel,” he said. “Let yourself feel.”

How to say no? But how to say yes?

This was wrong. They were in public.

But no one was in the vicinity. And what he was doing felt . . . oddly right. And very good.

Very, very good.

When a breathy moan escaped her throat, he paused. “Ah, yes—there,” he purred.

He pushed harder through her skirts into that magic spot of sensation. A smile curled the lips she could see only in profile, as he never took his eyes off the bucolic seaside scene in front of them.

He circled back and forth with the knuckle point of his middle finger, still holding her hand. She could stop him. It was her own hand in her lap, clasped with his. She had but to lift that hand.

Yet she didn't.

She clutched at the tree roots beside her with her free hand. “I don't understand what this is!”

“It is a good thing, Lenora—natural and loving and right. We fit. We could make this work. We could build a life together.”

His words pierced her with their promise. Here he was. Here
this
was, this snake of passion and pleasure, rising in a hot spiral. He made her feel. He made her want. He made her body crave more.

“I want you, lady. I want to serve your pleasure. I want to be your sword and shield.” He rocked his hand into that juncture of her thighs. His voice was rough. “Your courage and spirit leave me breathless. Your beauty slays me. I am at your knees.”

She climaxed hard, dug her nails into his hand, pushing him harder still against herself.

Lenora fell against his side, panting.

“Lady.” The heat in his eyes had returned. Those eyes burned again, burned with the heat of the hottest summer sun in the bluest sky. “My lady, we can be one.”

She swallowed, pushing herself upright. “Yes”—she drew a shaky breath—“I suppose we could.”

That evening Lenora decided the time had come to unlock her bedchamber door.

But her decision came too late.

As the guests assembled in the drawing room for dinner, disaster struck. Word spread like wildfire that a delegation had arrived from London: a representative from the lord chancellor's office, along with the local justice of the peace and two constables. Apparently, they'd presented duly signed paperwork authorizing the arrest of Wolfram, Lord Ravensworth, on an indictment of treason and the murder of Prince Kurt of Rotenburg-Gruselstadt of the German Confederation. Before the butler could announce the soup, Wolfram was taken into custody. They were to return to London with him, where he'd await trial in Newgate Prison.

He left her a note: under no circumstances was she to become involved in any way in the scandal or to reveal anything at all about her role in Kurt's death.

Ha!

Goodness, saving one's knight took a lot of work.

Chapter 16

T
he stench was overwhelming. Sewage, sweat, some vile soup, and the whiff of despair. The sound of a man sobbing echoed through the ancient gray stone. Despite the coal smoldering in the fireplaces they passed, the prison held a damp chill that Lenora feared never left the building. Moisture beaded the walls and dripped in puddles along the floor. Although she'd vowed earlier not to give in to the horror of the place, tremors shook her—mainly at the thought of Wolfram imprisoned in this foul place. She gripped tighter at Mr. Timmins's arm as they followed the turnkey farther into the grim hell.

The solicitor who'd served as her daily consultant during the fortnight past patted her hand. “I did warn you, Lady Ravensworth, that Newgate Prison was no place for a lady.”

He'd warned her as well that if she meant to pose as Wolfram's wife, she'd have to take up the title. Blast it, she'd be whatever was necessary to get him out of here. Once he was safe, they'd finish sorting out the rest.

“But he's not in this section of the jail, is he? You assured me he was held in a decent cell higher up, with ventilation and good light.”

“Yes, my lady, indeed Lord Ravensworth is kitted out quite well where he is. We're getting closer now.” Mr. Timmins pointed down the dimly lit passageway. “See the staircase up ahead?”

“Does he know we're on the way? Was he informed we'd be visiting this morning?”

He nodded reassuringly. “I sent a message ahead.”

She drew a deep breath, forcing her nerves to calm. “Let me thank you again, Mr. Timmins, for all your assistance in this messy affair. Lady Rexton says you performed invaluable assistance for her in the past; now I know why she thinks so very highly of you.”

He ducked his head at the praise. “It has been my honor to serve you ladies. Although I do hope,” he added, clucking his tongue, “you will have less need of me in the future. You and your friends seem to have rather a sad bent for misfortune.”

They trailed the turnkey through numerous locked doors and up three flights of rough-hewn stone steps. While Lenora was relieved to see the prison conditions improve as they rose, her heart ached for the suffering of those in the lower wards. Many, she knew, stood charged with crimes no more heinous than the theft of bread to fill a hungry belly. Once Wolfram was cleared of the accusations against him, she resolved to speak with Bea about prison reform. A social crusader such as her friend must have some scheme to help relieve the suffering of those unfortunates caught in the web of injustice. Surely the cruelty of this place did more harm than good, given the civilized progress of England today.

When they finally reached Wolfram's cell, she didn't know whether to be relieved or devastated. His back stood to her as he looked out one of the cell's two narrow and barred windows gazing onto the Newgate courtyard; he appeared unharmed, as huge and tall as ever. But to see him locked up! They had him caged like a wild animal or dangerous criminal, when his crime was simply that he'd protected her. And the people of Germany and the ideals of good government. All causes in which he believed far too passionately for his own good.

Although, in deepest truth, the prospect of Wolfram's passionate commitment to her was rapidly proving rather tolerable indeed.

What she would
not
tolerate was Wolfram's imprisonment. And woe to those who would stand in her way, including the Black Knight himself.

“Got visitors, yer lordship,” their turnkey announced.

Wolfram didn't deign to turn around. “I told you I'd see no one.”

“Ye don't get to give all the orders in here, m'lord,” the man said cheerily. “Today we've got yer lawyer and yer wife come to visit.”

“My wife!” Wolfram whirled around at that. “I have no wife!”

“Wolfram, it's me.” Lenora stepped forward around the turnkey.

Wolfram stared at her stonily. “I don't know this woman. Take her away.”

She walked up to the row of iron bars separating his cell from the passageway. “Stop, Wolfram. It's too late. I've told everyone about our marriage in Germany. Mr. Timmins here”—she gestured at the gentleman, who hung discreetly back—“is serving as my solicitor in the matter. He has copies of our marriage certificate; we filed them in court yesterday.” She reached a gloved hand through the bars, palm up. “I'm claiming my rightful role as your wife.”

He walked up to grip her fingers in a painful hold. “I gave you no permission to do so, nor to come here today.”

“You insisted on pronouncing vows of marriage to me in Germany,” she replied sharply. “I need no permission from you to take up the position into which you put me through those vows. And a wife has the right to see her husband in jail.”

“No!” He threw her hand away from him and addressed Mr. Timmins, who stepped up to the bars, looking comically small next to Wolfram's warrior bulk. “Lady Lenora”—Wolfram paused, then puffed out an angry breath before beginning again—“Lady
Ravensworth
is not to get herself mixed up in any of this affair. I forbid it. She is not to be questioned or, indeed, allowed to appear in court at all. She had no involvement in the proceedings in Germany with which I am charged. If you are acting on her ladyship's behalf, it is your legal responsibility to protect her from any
headstrong overenthusiasm
”—he glared at her, drawing out the words—“that might lead her to rash action not in her own best interests.”

The solicitor blinked, digesting this angry speech. “Lord Ravensworth, do you deny that this lady is your legal wife?”

Wolfram paused. “There were . . . irregularities with the marriage ceremony, given the circumstances of the revolution. It's quite possible the marriage is not entirely valid. A quiet divorce or annulment could erase it easily enough.”

She pushed in front of her lawyer. “I am not going that route, Wolfram. Would you expose me to such gossip and shame?”

“Lenora, I will not permit you to take this course of action.” He wrapped his hands around the bars. “The gossip and shame will be much worse if you continue down this path!”

“It's too late, Wolfram.” She stuck out her chin. “I am doing it.”

Mr. Timmins cleared his throat and looked with some trepidation between the two of them. “Given that the lady is your wife, my lord, you must have some acquaintance with the force of her will in matters about which she feels strongly. Lady Ravensworth has spent the past fortnight learning all she can about the charges against you, the pertinent case law, and the personages involved in your trial.”

“I told my lawyers very specifically to block her from all such action!”

“I'm afraid it was at exactly that point when Lady Ravensworth decided to make your marriage public. A wife not only can't be asked to testify and bear witness against her husband, she also has the right to visit him in his imprisonment in order to offer aid and succor. Surely you have enjoyed the provisions, wines, and valet service that her ladyship has sent over the past two weeks?”

Temporary valets were available for hire in this section of the jail. She'd chosen one herself to send to Wolfram, a stalwart former soldier who'd fought in Bavaria and had recently rejoined family in England.

“No!” Wolfram slammed his palm against the bars of the cell. The noise echoed down the dismal hallway. “This is no place for a lady, and I will not allow her to become involved and ruin her reputation! Timmins, you will escort this lady from here immediately and you will see to it that she does not return. And, Lenora, I forbid you to involve yourself further in this sordid affair.”

She raised her chin. “Am I your wife?”

A muscle ticked in his jaw to the slow seconds that passed as he glowered at her. “You have no right to push this issue,” he finally ground out. “Not now.”

“Precisely now,” she countered, “and I have every right. You yourself saw to that in Germany. I want an answer!” She jabbed a finger at his chest through the bars. “
A
m I your wife?
”

He huffed out a long and frustrated breath. “I will not deny it, but nor do I wish you to claim it. Not now, when the connection will bring you only grief and shame.”

“You sell yourself short, my husband. And your protests come too late.” She grabbed the key from the startled jailer and opened the lock on Wolfram's barred cell door herself. She couldn't reason with the stubborn man out here. She knew him—he'd do anything to protect her and keep her safe. He'd never let her fight for him.

Well, let him try to stop her.

“Mr. Timmins.” She spoke to the lawyer over her shoulder, never taking her eyes off Wolfram's glowering face. “If you don't mind, would you please leave us for a half hour, so that my husband and I may discuss this matter in some privacy?”

“Certainly, my lady. I need to make further arrangements, in any case, with the Newgate governor about Lord Ravensworth's lodging and provisions. I'll return for you after I speak with him.” Mr. Timmins bowed and retreated with the turnkey, who cast them both a wary glance as he shut them in the locked cell.

Wolfram held his rigid stance, arms crossed, leaning one shoulder against the gray stone wall. “I never took you for such a fool, Lenora. Just what do you think to do now?”

She'd never seen him so furious at her. To be truthful, the effect produced quite a novel sensation rather low in her belly. Such a huge and powerful man, his face etched in such harsh lines of anger as he stared down at her. Yet she knew to her bones that he wouldn't lift a hand against her. Oddly, the knowledge stirred her in a most unexpected way.

How else might they channel the potent energy of that anger? Suddenly she desired very much to find out.

“Here's what I think to do.” She walked up to him, laid a hand on his chest, and shoved hard. He budged not an inch. Perhaps a simple command would be easier: “Back up against the wall.”

“Why?” His lips pulled flat into a mulish set.

“You told me once that your body was mine, to use as I saw fit. At the moment, I see fit to ascertain your health.”

“My health is fine,” he scoffed.

She cocked an eyebrow at him. “Prove it.”

The side wall of his cell sported a small alcove where the room's second barred window was cut into the thick stone. It provided a sheltered corner, out of view of the passageway outside the cells. She pulled on his hand and drew him into it.

“If I hadn't been arrested,” he said, “if we were still promenading in the gardens at Ravenhold and playing charades at the house party, would you be doing this? Would you have claimed your position as my wife? Would you be seducing me so scandalously?”

“We were doing a fairly admirable job of the scandalous seduction,” she said cheekily, trying to reach into his trousers.

He batted away her hand. “Lenora, would you have claimed your position as my wife? I want to know!”

“I was getting around to it,” she snapped. “I believe circumstances permitted me to take my own time about it. Now circumstances have changed, and I believe they allow me to take another course. I will claim you, as my husband, in the courts, and I will assist in your defense. And we will get you out of here and back home, where you belong. And meanwhile, I will take you in my hand”—she swiftly unbuttoned the fall of his trousers and matched action to word—“and you will stiffen for me”—a few quick strokes and he complied most obligingly. She placed his hand on her breast and squeezed. “And you will touch me, here.” She lifted her skirts and petticoats. “And you will pick me up. You're a strong man, aren't you? Prove it. Take me now, Wolfram!”

He rubbed his palms across her breasts and then lifted her with two hands around her waist. “God help me, I can't resist you; I never could.” A groan ripped from him as he impaled her in one long stroke.

The breath hissed from her lungs at the stab of pleasure. “Ah, Wolfram, my husband.” He held her effortlessly, his huge hands gripping her hips and kneading her buttocks. She wrapped her legs around him, braced her heels against the stone of the wall behind his back. She'd never imagined doing such things—in a prison, dressed and corseted, against a wall. Her passion spiked high as she looked down at their joined bodies.

“Don't be gentle, Wolfram—not today. I want you like this, hard and fast.”

Her husband, ever the gentleman, complied. Like a man swiving his last, he pumped. Her wetness slid down onto his fingers. She gasped at a dark new sensation as he slipped a slick finger inside her bottom. “Wolfram!”

“Open for me, lady—everywhere. Take me in. Take all from me. I am yours.” He threw his head back, shut his eyes.

She set her mouth on the pulse beating in his neck. She sucked on that strong column, felt the life coursing through him, and gloried in the pulse of life he thrust into her.

She'd not fight this man any longer.

She'd fight for him. And, by God, she'd win.

She began to shake as the coil of passion gripped her hard. He rocked into her, ground against her, twisted into her from behind. She bit his shoulder, hard, to keep from screaming as the climax slammed into her.

She dug her nails into his back.

She tasted blood.

She saw stars.

And she claimed him as hers, in her heart.