Page 8 of A Knight for Gwenllian

Eventually, she decided to go to the room and the bath he had asked to be prepared for her. It should be ready by now, and she didn’t want the water to go cold.

The spiral staircase took her up one level, to the gallery above the hall she had just left. A few low-burning torches lit the way along the rather narrow corridor. She walked on, wishing Alexander, or at least one of the servants, had accompanied her, because suddenly his very simple instruction seemed to leave much room for error. Was this a door? she wondered, staring at the wooden panel in front of her. Surely not, it was too small to count as anything; it was more than likely a storeroom of some sort. She carried on. There, a proper door, then another and another. One more. Four, just as he’d said. This had to be it.

She entered the room—and froze.

Alexander was standing in front of the fire of what had to be his personal bedchamber. He had not seen or heard her come in because his face was covered by the piece of linen he was using to rub his hair dry. He had taken his bath then. She knew it because there was a wooden tub just behind him, and because, well, he was naked.

Fully, gloriously, scandalously naked.

Gwenllian swallowed, knowing she should leave before she was seen. She stayed where she was, too fascinated to move.

He lifted the piece of cloth from his head and saw her.

Their gazes locked, green against black. Her heart started drumming, and everything in her body, blood, breath and sensations, rushed down to the place between her legs. Slowly, without a word, Alexander wrapped the wet piece of cloth around his loins. It was not big enough to cover much more than his member, and somehow it only served to emphasize his state of undress. He did not appear ill at ease, which only increased Gwenllian’s agitation. It was as if he were daring her to come closer and touch his hair-matted chest or his taut, well-defined stomach. And in that moment, she very much wanted to dare.

Finally, when it became clear that she would not speak, he did.

“Fourth door, not fifth,” was all he said.

“No, I know, b-but I thought— The first one was so…small.”

Just as she said the word, her gaze trailed downward to the part of his body hidden underneath the cloth. What she had seen there was anything but small.

Naughty as it was, Gwenllian had seen a few naked men in the last few years. None compared to the one she had just seen. In any way. He was taller, broader, stronger, more—everything.

“A door is a door. Size doesn’t matter,” Alexander said slowly, glancing at his groin in the same way she had done. A corner of his lip curled.

Did she agree? No, she did not. “I’m sorry but size does matter, because that door was too small to be the door to a room. And… Well, just look at you!”

Heat shot all the way to her skull. What had she just said?

“What about me?” The lip curled further. Soon, he would be smiling.

“I mean…” she floundered, keeping her gaze carefully away from his groin. She would not tell him what she really thought. “Had you been less tall and imposing, I doubt that my aggressors would have fled at your arrival, they would have taken their chances with you. There were two of them, they would have had every reason to think they could take you down. But they didn’t even try.”

“I see. I’m worth two men in your opinion?”

That was not at all what she was saying, but she had no choice but to agree. Because telling the truth was out of the question, as she’d just established. “Yes.”

“Well, I’m flattered.” There it was. The smile he had fought for so long. It took away what little breath Gwenllian had left.

“You should be flattered. I m-mean⁠—”

A snort, both tender and amused, interrupted her. “Go to your room, Buttercup. Your bath awaits.”

“Yes. Of course. And I’m sorry for the mistake.”

Was she sorry? No. Embarrassed, yes, sorry, no, as it had allowed her to see something she would relish in the years to come.

“There’s no harm done.”

That was far from certain, Gwenllian reflected as she closed the door behind her. She was not at all sure she would recover from the shock of walking in on a naked Alexander.

Buttercup.

Alexander stared at the door the mysterious woman had just closed behind her. He still had no idea who she was, but one thing was for sure, that silly nickname didn’t fit her at all. It was too childish and innocent by far.

And there was nothing childish or innocent about her. The way she had raked his body with her gaze before settling on his groin, causing the green in her eyes to catch fire, had, in turn, lit a fire in his loins. How long had she stared at him while he rubbed at his hair? Or rather, stared at his cock? Because there was no doubt in his mind that was where she had focused her attention. Her comment about there being nothing small about him made that clear. She had not, whatever she said, been talking about the size of his arms.