A Knight of Passion(3)

Voices intruded on the intimate moment. Riana thrashed against the need for release. The murmur grew louder. She reached for Stuart, but her fingers closed around thin air. Her eyes shot open.

The canopy over the bed in Arundel snapped into focus and grief slashed like a knife. She choked back a sob. Stuart was gone. The sound of voices in the hallway made her jerk her head in the direction of the door.

Sir Dunbar.

Riana yanked her finger from within her drenched channel and scrambled beneath the sheets. The door creaked open as the sheet settled around her. The soft click of the door being shut was followed by the clink of metal that told her the knight was removing his sword, then chain mail.

Heart racing, Riana willed her trembling body to still. She lay against the snow white pillow, dark hair fanned out around her face, sheet tucked around her full breasts, arms at her sides. She must appear the siren when he finally lifted the curtain and found her in his bed. No man had ever turned from her. Fear rushed to the surface. What if tonight was different? It couldn’t be. All she needed was these last few hours.

After Riana gave the knight the wine, she would flee Arundel. The duchess would stay to watch until certain the poison had drained his life before finally retiring for the evening. By morning, the keep would be abuzz as she played the part of the shocked patroness when the sheriff accused her ward of murdering Sir Dunbar.

When the sheriff finally knocked on Riana’s door she would be miles away, riding in the opposite direction to the one Siusan and Glen travelled. Even if they captured Riana, she would return to face charges of murder only to find the victim alive and well, with no ill after effects of the cantarella she’d used in place of the arsenic the duchess had given her.

Air wafted across Riana’s arms. Gooseflesh zipped up her arms. The knight must have lifted the curtain on the left side of the bed. A moment of silence passed before the bed shifted as he lowered himself onto the mattress beside her. He tugged the covers upwards and she tried to quiet the rampant beat of her heart when the cool linen settled back into place. Warmth radiated from him and her stomach clenched in anticipation of the weight of his large body pressing down on her. Instead, a feather-light caress wound circles down her left arm.

She shivered. He shifted and warm breath bathed her ear, then teeth gently bit down on her ear lobe. Moist lips trailed from cheek to mouth. He shifted and something brushed across her breasts. She jumped before realising he had braced an arm on the other side of her. He paused and lifted his mouth from hers. When she didn't move, he seemed satisfied and again covered her mouth with his. His tongue flicked against her lips and she opened for him.

He swept his tongue inside and Riana was surprised at the sweet taste of his breath. Too many of the men the duchess sent to her tasted of the foul world from which they came. But this man tasted of brandy and cinnamon. He must have partaken of Cook’s famous cinnamon buns. His tongue thrust in quick bursts and she wondered what that tongue would feel like on the sensitive nub between her legs. Riana jerked from the thought. How could she feel desire for a man such as Sir Dunbar…and only minutes after picturing Stuart’s face?

The knight broke the kiss and his mouth began a slow, moist slide down her jaw, neck, to the swell of her breast. When he closed his mouth around a nipple through the thin linen of the sheet, pleasure streaked through her. She gasped.

He lifted up. “I would prefer to see your beautiful eyes.”

A masculine voice, deep, rich—and not Sir Dunbar’s—caused her eyes to snap open. She gaped at the face before her. Instead of the brown eyes she had expected, emerald green eyes stared down at her.

Sir Bryant Cullen.

Her heart leapt into a furious rhythm. What was he doing here? Had the duchess changed her mind? Was it Sir Bryant she now wished murdered? No, that didn’t make sense. Yet he was here. Her mind whirled with questions. What was she supposed to do with the man? She’d seen him in the great hall, his massive body dwarfing even Sir Dunbar’s. He stood over two metres tall, and outweighed the older knight by at least three stone. Her pulse skittered at the memory of when he turned in her direction and their eyes met. She was accustomed to lust, but Sir Bryant’s expression had been one of curiosity—male curiosity, to be sure, but not the lewd lust she usually saw. That same look glinted in his eyes now.

His brows rose. “First you keep your eyes firmly shut, then you stare. Which is it to be, Lady?”

She startled at the word Lady spoken as if he truly meant the respect, as if she wasn't lying in his bed naked, a stranger to him.