Page 39 of Lord of the Forest

She laughed, a rich, bubbling sound—and he had to kiss her again. How had he survived this long without a woman?

“Sir, you forget yourself.”

He chuckled. “I never remembered myself, as you are well aware.”

A giggle escaped her. “A fitting choice of words on my part. But speaking as your tutor, the one reintroducing you to the world, I’m duty-bound to tell you when you trespass too far.”

“What matters is whether or not you like it.” He stroked the curve between her exposed neck and shoulder.

“It would be forward of me to say that I do.”

“I shall have to go on instinct then.” He trailed a line of kisses down her neck, resisting the urge to lick her like a honeyed pear. He needed to encourage, not to shock. As he ran his fingers over her breasts, he heard a sharp intake of breath, but she didn’t move away, and her hands flexed on his arms, gripping him more tightly.

When he trailed his tongue over the cleft between her breasts, her head fell back as if she were offering them to him. He took full advantage, tantalizing her with his tongue, teeth, lips, and fingers, before rekindling the kiss.

“Do you want me? Tell me you want me,” he demanded, pulling away to suck in a breath.

She ran her hand down his arm, then up to cup his cheek. He turned his head and kissed her palm.

“I want you. But this is all new to me, and you are so hot, so eager.”

“I cannot help myself. You’re the only thing I want.”

“Don’t you want your name back again, your home, your status? All this?” She indicated the space around them with her free hand. She meant Emborough, but all he saw was the spacious bed. He shook his head and ran his lips over hers in one last, lingering kiss. Then he placed her kerchief around her neck, pulled her forward, trapped her, and captured her gaze.

“I understand I can only keep you if I acquire the other things you mention. Your father would have it no other way. So yes, I want those, too, but only because of you, Clemence Fitzpayne. I shall count every second until we are married, and can finish what we’ve begun. Now, put up your hair—it tempts me too much.”

He released her then and was amused when she tutted at him. “It was you who pulled it down in the first place.” When she raised her arms to push it back into her coif, her breasts rose, too, threatening his resolve.

“Mayhap we should return to the inn, where our behavior would be more constrained?” He needed to be locked in the cellar to stop him from touching her again. Or doused in the duckpond.

“Nay, we haven’t finished searching.” She set off breezily around the chamber, examining the bed, and tapping the wooden panels at its head and foot.

He groaned aloud. She had no idea how much danger he represented, how much temptation she offered him. She must never know what it cost him not to pursue what they had begun—it would scare her away.

Or would it? When they’d kissed, she’d met his demand with equal fervor.

Forcing his mind away from lecherous thoughts, he attempted to concentrate on the task at hand. Did any valuables remain in Emborough Hall, or had they been removed? Assuming Walter, the stepbrother he barely remembered, had robbed the house, he had no idea how to get the items back. Or even if he wanted to. Did one call on the man and demand their return or their worth in coin? He had a sword now, but in this strange new world he now inhabited, he imagined brute force was not the usual option.

“If you’re going to hide important items, you take extra precautions. Perchance even create a special place in which to put them.” He glanced down at the linen chest, then heaved it away from the wall, and pressed at a panel behind it. With a creak, the panel suddenly sprang outward, like a tiny door. Clemence knelt beside him, her eyes wide. “What have you found? Did you know it was there?”

He shrugged. “It might have been luck. Or deduction—I know not.”

Reaching in, Clemence pulled forth several objects and spread them out on the floor, examining them in the light of the lantern.

“A silver goblet and plate. A cross. This looks like a Bible.” None of it excited him.

Clemence had paled.

“What ails you, sweet lady? What is it?”

She picked up a necklace of beads, with a small pendant cross attached. Her hand shook. “It’s a communion set. And a rosary. If I’m not mistaken, you’ll find that is the Vulgate.” She pointed to the vellum-bound book.

“The what?” He flipped open the cover and leafed through a few pages. “It’s the Bible. In Latin, apparently.”

“Exactly.” She turned her face to him, and fear clutched at his heart.

“I don’t understand.” What could be the problem?