‘Very well. ‘Tis late and I would not wish your voice to waken the entire inn.’
Beatrice flushed painfully at his censure and then stepped back as he rose from the stool and came into her chamber. She closed the door and moved past him, to stand before the fire, with her back to him.
‘My lady?’ prompted Remy, hands on hips, enjoying her silhouette and knowing full well that he should not be here alone with her.
‘As you know, I am on my way to join the nuns of St Jude.’
‘Aye.’
‘I will dedicate my life to God.’
He bowed, in silent acknowledgement of her great sacrifice.
‘I…’ she hesitated ‘…of course I am…’ again she could not say the words ‘…I go…chaste. Untouched.’
Remy St Leger shifted uncomfortably, staring at his boots, wondering where this strange conversation was leading. He took a step backwards, to the door.
‘I am twenty-nine years old, Sir Remy, and I have never been kissed. Properly. By a man. Not a relative. If you know what I mean.’
He squinted a look at her, the light suddenly dawning.
‘I can expect to live twenty, maybe thirty, years as a nun. Alone. Unloved. I would like to know…that is…will you kiss me?’
He stared at her, silent.
‘So that I may know what it is like. And take that memory with me.’
He shook his head. ‘I cannot oblige you. ‘Twould be more than my life is worth. Your father—’
‘He will never know! I promise. No one will know.’
‘Nay.’ He turned to go.
‘Wait! Please. I will grant you any favour in the future, and use what influence I have with my father in granting such favour, should needs be. Please. Just a kiss, ‘tis all I ask. I hear men are most willing to kiss maids.’
With his back to her he smiled, and then wiped that smile from his face before turning round to face her, looking her up and down with a penetrating stare that made her heart beat faster. He walked slowly across the room and stopped when he was but a sword’s length away from her.
‘Mayhap you are not aware that a kiss can lead to other things. Things which you know nought of.’
‘I am aware of what a kiss can lead to.’
He controlled his surprise and met her eyes stare for stare. Of course, even though she was so small and looked so young, she was not. No shrinking violet, this maiden. Was she even truly a maiden? he wondered.
Beatrice dropped her gaze to her fingers, twisted one around to the other against her chest. ‘I shall rely upon your honour as a knight to make sure that…we…you…shall refrain from…that.’
He laughed then and closed the space between them. Boldly he laid his hands about her waist. ‘There is no need to be coy. We both know what it is you want. One last tumble before donning your habit?’
‘What!’ His hands upon her were a new experience, yet his blunt words astonished her even more.
‘Surely you do not expect me to believe that a woman of your age has never been bedded?’
‘Nay! I have not.’
His eyes challenged her, and she glared back.
‘Very well. My lady commands a kiss, so a kiss my lady shall receive.’ He closed the space between them and she gasped as his hands slid up along the curve of her ribs, slowly traced the outline of her breasts and then travelled over her delicate shoulders. His fingers lingered on the line of her collarbone, so fragile, and then he slid his hands up into her hair and cradled her head.
Beatrice felt her breath stop in her throat and she stared up at him, wide eyed. His shoulders stooped, his body solid and warm against her, and then his head descended and she closed her eyes, waiting. She felt the warmth of his breath and then the cool touch of his lips on her lips. Her hands slid between them, resting on his chest, leaning on him for support. He held her gently while his mouth moved on hers and he persuaded her lips to part for him.
A shock of surprise shivered through her body as his tongue slid into her mouth, moist and hot. He tasted her, savoured, and his jaw moved more quickly. He lifted his head and slanted his mouth the other way over hers, his kiss driving harder and deeper. Their mingled breath came in pants and Beatrice felt sheer excitement flood through her body.
With a whimper her hands moved up his chest and slid around his neck. He groaned, his own hands sliding down to her buttocks and grinding her into the hard bulk of his arousal. They kissed, again and again, and then, without releasing her mouth from the possession of his, he picked her up, swinging her feet off the floor and carrying her to the bed. He laid her down, and himself alongside her. For a long while he did nothing more than continue to kiss her, with hungry urgency.
Beatrice surrendered herself to the most wonderful sensations she had ever felt. The feel of his mouth, the taste of him, the male aroma of him, the heavy muscles of his body, all were new to her. Exciting. Intoxicating. The flood of excitement had welled up so deep within her, and expanded, straining for release in some strange way that she could not fathom, that she made a small noise in her throat, turning to him for guidance.
Hearing this familiar female sound of melting, he smiled to himself and he became bolder. His thigh slid between her knees and his hand found her nipple.
Beatrice opened her eyes and stared at him. She knew that she should not let him touch her in such a way, but it felt so glori ous, and her lashes fluttered down with a strangled moan.
Then suddenly his hand moved away from her breast and she felt a sense of loss. Her eyes snapped open again and she looked up at him, and then gasped as he found the hem of her gown and lifted it up to expose her lower body, naked to his touch.
Her cry was lost inside his mouth. She did not dare to move and held herself tensely still, but as his hand slid between her knees and travelled along the silken warmth of her slender legs she shook her head, broke their kiss, and she cried out, ‘Nay! You must stop!’
‘Why?’ he asked, in a hoarse whisper. ‘No one will know whether you are a virgin or not.’
‘I will know! God will know!’
His thumb stroked the soft curve of her outer thigh and he gazed at her with lazy amusement, his voice husky as he stated, ‘I want you.’
‘Nay, it cannot be!’
‘You could not stop me, if I wanted to take you now.’ He squeezed her thigh with his fingers, demonstrating to her his strength as the hard muscles of his arms flexed and rippled.
‘Please,’ she gasped, ‘please do not shame me.’
Suddenly he released her, withdrew, and she felt cold air as he levered himself up off the bed, the four-poster creaking at his sudden movement. Beatrice sat up, quickly pulling down the hem of her nightshift to cover her nakedness, and leapt to her feet. She rushed at him and made a move to strike his face, but he was too tall and too quick, and checked her, grabbing her wrist in mid-air.
‘You have broken your oath of honour,’ she accused in an agonised whisper.
He blinked, with surprise, ‘I have done naught, except kiss you. At your request. I see nothing dishonourable in that.’
Every line of her body was taut with tension. ‘You should not have touched me…there.’
He laughed then. ‘If I had touched you “there”, instead of just upon your lovely little thighs, you would not now be making protest but crying out your joy as I possessed you.’