Page 23 of Lord of the Forest

He smiled. “Aye, in a way. Though I shall miss this soft bed.”

She shifted against him, snuggling closer into his side. “Is that all you will miss?”

“I’ll miss having someone else prepare and cook my food for me.” He was enjoying this game—he loved to tease her.

“Is there naught else?”

“I shall miss your father’s disapproving frown, your mother’s garrulity and feigned humility, and your smile.”

“At last. I feared I would never get a mention.” She clicked her tongue at him.

“I shall miss you most of all, little one. You have returned to me much that was lost.”

“And you’ll lose it all over again if you go back to the forest.”

“Perchance I shall go elsewhere. Now that I have clothes in which you tell me I am fit to be seen, I could join in with village life, bend my back in the fields, as it is a strong one, or offer my services as huntsman to some great lord.”

“Then choose somewhere close at hand, so I may visit you.”

His hand brushed a silken curl of her hair, and he twined it around his finger. “I thought you were headed for court, so the queen might take advantage of your knowledge of perfumes and potions.” He was trying to imagine Clemence there, but the world of courtiers, faction, splendor, and politics meant little to him.

“If I can escape Walter de Glanville, aye.” He could hear her chewing on her lip.

“Mayhap you could marry him, then escape him by going to court. He’d never dare refuse a royal command, I assume.” He tried not to think of her wed, and couldn’t abide the idea of another man doing the things he wanted to do with her.

“You should get back to bed now, Clemence.” He made his voice sound as stern as he could—not easy when one was whispering.

There was a moment’s silence. “Shall you not kiss me goodnight?”

If only she knew how much he hoped to do that very thing, and more. But if he were to remain safe, and undiscovered, he must make as little impact on this foreign world as possible. When it came to the matter of Mistress Clemence Fitzpayne, no matter how overwhelming his desires, he must tread lightly.

And maintain what he had now learned was a respectful distance. He began to ease away from her.

Whether she mistook his intention or deliberately ignored it, he never knew, but the very next moment, she had rolled on top of him and, somehow, his arms had enfolded her, and he was raining kisses all over her face. The instant he found her mouth, his common sense left him. He rolled them over again, so she was beneath, trapped partly by the bedclothes and partly by his body. Then, after a couple of nips at her lower lip, he kissed her properly, relishing the honey-sweetness of her mouth. She kissed him back, her hands twining around his neck, pulling him closer until he felt the pressure of her breasts against his chest, and the pounding of her heart’s rapid rhythm.

He dragged his mouth away from hers for a moment. “This is surely no way to teach a gentleman good manners.”

She huffed at that. “You started this.”

“I’m certain I did not. But now, I intend to finish it.” He lowered his head once more to plunder the bounty of her lips and felt her shift beneath him, her hips lifting and pressing against him in unwitting invitation. Suddenly, he wanted to know all of her, strip her naked, feel her flesh against his, feast his lips on her breasts, her nipples, the tender flesh where her neck met her shoulder.

By Jesu, this needed to stop! He was ready to rut with her like some beast in the fields. But with people, it was never that simple. Indeed, it was vastly complicated.

Summoning every ounce of his strength, he broke the kiss and lifted his head. “We play with fire, Clemence. Neither of us is free to pursue this—you are bound by propriety, and while I’m beneath your father’s roof, I must observe his rules. Return to your bed, my sweet. If I dream again, take no notice. You know I will come to no harm.”

He made up his mind to leave as soon as she departed the room, though he knew it was ungrateful to sneak away like some thief in the night. His gut had told him not to enter the world he’d lost, but the danger he’d encountered did not take the form he’d expected.

Now, she was in even more danger than he.

But she refused to let him go. Delicate fingers smoothed over his back, tracing intriguing circles and lines, leaving rivulets of sensuous heat in their wake. She was making this exceedingly difficult.

“Lancelot, what are these ridges on your back?”

“What do you mean?” The exploration of her fingers was weaving a compelling web about him, like an enchantress casting a spell, making him long for the touch of her lips once more, and ache for what he knew he could never have.

“On your back. In places, it feels as if you have scars.”

“I beg of you, cease touching me like that.”