Tori Phillips

Praise for Tori Phillips’ previous books

SILENT KNIGHT

“Superb, magnificent, marvelous, woderful and electrifying are only a few of the adjectives to describe this book.”

—
Rendezvous

FOLL’S PARADISE

“A delightful Elizabethan romp.”

—Ruth Ryan Langan

“A great read!”

—Dixie Browning

“A delight to read...charming.”

—Suzanne Barclay

“...packed with love, adventure, history...I enjoyed it immensely.”

—Rebecca Hagan Lee

“I loved this story!...Tarleton (the hero) is pure magic!”

—Martha Hix

Praise for Tori Phillips’ previous books
“What do I owe you this time?” he murmured.
Letter to Reader
Title Page
Books by Tori Phillips
About the Author
Dedication
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Epilogue
Author Note
Copyright

“What do I owe you this time?” he murmured.

“The golden ribbon from your left sleeve, to match the others I have already won,” Kat replied with a smile.

“If we continue, all my clothes will fall to your feet” Untying the satin ribbon, he held it out to her. “You would not wish to see me so...at one with nature, would you?” he murmured as he drew closer still.

The idea of him standing stark naked before her both startled and fascinated Kat. Their fingers touched, and a dizzying current raced through her as if her blood had suddenly begun to boil.

“Perish the thought, sire! Our weather here is most unpredictable. You might find you’d catch a sudden chill.”

He took the ribbon from her shaking fingers, tied it in a love knot over her pulse point, then sealed the knot with a feather-light kiss. “Then perchance you might find it in your heart to keep me warm?” he whispered, the gleam in his eye turning to blue flames.

Dear Reader,

It’s June, so start thinking about your summer reading! Whether you’re going to the beach or simply going to relax on the porch, don’t forget to bring along a Harlequin Historical
^®
novel. And speaking of summer, we are thrilled to present
Midsummer’s Knight
from award-winning author Tori Phillips. Critics have described Tori’s books as “superb,” “electrifying” and “not to be missed!” In this delightfully mischievous sequel to
Silent Knight,
which earned 4½
Affaire
de
Coeur,
a confirmed bachelor and a reluctant widow betrothed against their will switch identities with their friends to spy on the other, and fall in love in the process!

When a young woman kills her stepfather in self-defense, she flees, only to be discovered by a kind cowboy who takes her back to his parents’ Missouri home as his “wife,” in
Runaway
by the popular Carolyn Davidson. And in
Widow Woman,
a compelling Western by longtime Silhouette author Patricia McLinn, a beautiful rancher must win back the heart of her ex-foreman—the man she once refused to marry and the unknowing father of her child.

Laurel Ames returns with
Infamous,
her eighth book for us. In this fun and frothy Regency, a dashing nobleman and spy, having put up with a very silly and snobbish mother and sister all his life, Finally meets a woman he feels is worth pursuing—much to his family’s chagrin!

Whatever your tastes in reading, you’ll be sure to find a romantic journey back to the past between the covers of a Harlequin Historical
^®
novel

Sincerely,

Tracy Farrell

Senior Editor

Please address questions and book requests to:
Silhouette Reader Service
U.S.: 3010 Walden Ave., P.O. Box 1325, Buffalo, NY 14269
Canadian: P.O. Box 609. Fort Erie, Ont. L2A 5X3

Midsummer’s Knight

TORI PHILLIPS

TORONTO • NEW YORK • LONDON
AMSTERDAM • PARIS • SYDNEY • HAMBURG
STOCKHOLM • ATHENS • TOKYO • MILAN • MADRID
PRAGUE • WARSAW • BUDAPEST • AUCKLAND

Books by Tori Phillips

Harlequin Historicals

Fool’s Paradise
#307

Silent Knight
#343

Midsummer’s Knight
#415

TORI PHILLIPS

After receiving her degree in theater arts from the University of San Diego, Tori worked at MGM Studios, acted in numerous summer stock musicals and appeared in Paramount Pictures’
The Great Gatsby.
Her plays, published by Dramatic Publishing Co., have been produced in the U.S. and Canada, and her poetry is included in several anthologies. She has directed over forty plays, including twenty-one Shakespearean productions. Currently she is a first-person, Living History actress at the Folger Shakespeare Library in Washington, D.C. She lives with her husband in Burke, Virginia.

“There was a star danced, and under that was I born.”

—
Much Ado About Nothing

This book is dedicated with a great deal of love to our first grandchild, Konrad Martin Schaller, born March 22, 1997. He rode to earth on the tail of a comet and decided to stay.

Chapter One

Why, this is very midsummer madness.

—Twelfth Night

Hampton Court, England

May
1530

“M
a...marriage?” Sir Brandon Cavendish, gentleman of the king’s bedchamber, stammered out the loathsome word. His stomach twisted into a hard knot.

Even though he was winning the set, Brandon lowered his racket. A tennis ball whipped by him, missing his ear by inches. He barely noticed its passing. “Me, your grace?”

His opponent, Henry, the eighth of that name and king of England, roared with glee. “My point, Cavendish! Ha! Have I ruffled your fine feathers at last?”

Brandon flexed his broad shoulders. “Nay, sire! I see you are jesting to put me off my game.” At least, Brandon hoped that was the king’s only motive for introducing such a vile subject on such a lovely day.

Henry’s answering laughter reverberated around the dark green wooden walls of Hampton Court’s tennis hall. “Aye, I would put you off your game, my lord, but we do not speak of tennis. Look you, second service!” With that barked warning, the king drew back and fired another buff-colored d all at his victim.

This time Brandon managed to return the serve, but without his usual strength. God’s nightshirt! What piece of deviltry was the king up to now? His Grace seemed to be in unusually good spirits, even if he was down by two sets. Brandon mopped the perspiration out of his eyes with the loose, frilled sleeve of his shirt, then ran his fingers through his damp blond hair.

“This game is mine, sire, though I warrant you took that last point most unfairly.”

“How so, Cavendish?” The king crossed to the side gallery where a page waited with silver goblets and a pitcher of chilled wine. “I think you are growing fat with old age.”

Brandon bit the tip of his tongue lest he point out that the king was both older and more stout than he. Brandon knew just how far he dared to go when speaking to the large, perspiring man next to him. Great Harry played the part of the bluff and hearty sportsman, but underneath that smiling exterior, there lurked a vain and vicious temper. What was the loss of a game or two of tennis to the loss of one’s place in court—or worse?

Brandon drank deeply from his goblet. The crisp white wine cleared his throat of dust, and of the sour taste that the mere thought of marriage always left in his mouth. He knew he was poor husband material; his interest in wooing a woman never lasted longer than a fortnight. He wiped his lips with the back of his hand. “’Tis unfair to speak of wedded bliss to a man when he is at serious play, your grace,” he remarked mildly.

The king’s gray eyes twinkled behind the narrow folds of his lids. “Aye, but in this matter, I am serious, Cavendish.”

Taking a deep breath, Brandon tried to clear the humming in his ears. “If you speak to me of marriage, sire, I fear you toss your words into the wind.”
I would tire of a wife in a month’s time.

The king’s thin lips pursed under his red mustache. “Ha! This bachelor state does not please your father.”

Brandon groaned inwardly. What had his sire done now?

“Last week, Sir Thomas sent me a long letter, begging my assistance in a grave family matter.” Henry signaled the page to pour another round. “It seems that you have turned a deaf ear to all his entreaties concerning your future.”

A very unfilial thought crossed Brandon’s mind. Why couldn’t his well-meaning father have left him alone? “My future is to serve your pleasure here at court, your grace,” he replied, picking his words with care.

“Aye, and so you shall—but not at court.” With a roar of laughter, the king whacked Brandon between the shoulder blades.

Brandon nearly slopped his drink on the king’s brown suede shoes. He licked his dry lips. “May I know what boon my father has asked of you, your grace?”
Do not saddle me with a wife, I pray.

“Aha! Now you have hit upon the subject of my speech, you wily rogue!” He gave Brandon another bone-crunching whack. “The good Earl of Thornbury has grown tired of waiting for his firstborn to choose a bride and settle down. He has grown weary of requesting you to do so. In his wisdom, he has turned to me, his king and liege lord.” Henry’s brow furrowed and his countenance grew dark. “How well I know the yearning for an heir!”

The nearby spectators in the gallery went deathly still. Not even Brandon dared to respond to such a dangerous statement. The king’s frantic desire for a son to succeed him had sent the saintly but sonless Queen Catherine to a distant manor in the midlands. In her place, Viscount Rochford’s younger daughter, Lady Anne Boleyn, kept Henry and his court dancing to her tune with her promise to give the man she married a house full of sons. The subjects of marriage and heirs constantly played a raucous tune in the king’s besotted mind. Henry’s Great Matter, as he called it, obsessed him.

Now, thanks to the prompting of Sir Thomas Cavendish, that obsession had turned outward, and Brandon did not like the direction in which it was aimed.

“The choosing of a wife is not a thing to be taken lightly,” Brandon murmured, not daring to look the king in the eye. He twirled the handle of his racket in his hand. “And certainly not when there is still one more game to be played.” He prayed that Henry would drop the uncomfortable subject.

“You speak the truth, Cavendish.” The king’s mood brightened again. “And your last game draws apace.”

Licking his lips again, Brandon wished for a third cup of wine. The wicked gleam in Great Harry’s eyes unnerved him. “A game of tennis, your grace?” he bantered.

The courtiers in the gallery, including many of the ladies with whom Brandon had flirted over the years, leaned forward to hear the king’s reply. Lady Anne Boleyn and her companion, Lady Olivia Bardolph, smiled openly at Cavendish’s discomfort.