A Knight of Passion

chapter Eight

Bryant took in the sight of Riana sitting naked on the desk, her shocked expression as she stared at him over her shoulder—and the man who stood between her thighs. Fury raced through him like a bed of red hot coals. He reached for his sword and started forward. Strong fingers clamped down on his shoulder and pulled him back.

Sir Dunbar stepped up beside him and whispered, “He could not know.”

Blood pounded thunderously through Bryant’s head, but he forced his fingers to relax on the sword hilt.

He locked his gaze with the warden’s. “Take your hands off my betrothed.”

Shock flashed in the man’s eyes in unison with Riana’s gasp. His gaze snapped to her, and doubt flickered across his face. Bryant took three steps to where her clothes lay on the floor, scooped up the dress, and tossed it onto the desk.

“Clothe yourself.”

The warden stepped back and Bryant was surprised to see his cock wasn’t hanging from his hose. Had he arrived before it was too late?

Too late? What was too late? Even if the man had f*cked her, Bryant would bathe every inch of her, then kiss her, touch her, suck her, until she understood that anything she’d experienced with this stranger couldn’t compare to what he could do for her. Bryant shifted his gaze to her to find her staring at him. She hadn’t budged.

“Clothe yourself,” he ordered again.

Her eyes narrowed. “I have no need of another master.”

“Mayhap you should do as your future husband suggests,” the man said.

Her head jerked back in his direction, then she looked back at Bryant. “I have business here, sir.”

“I am well aware of your business,” he replied.

Her eyes widened and she jumped to her feet and faced him, marbled nipples jutting from her swollen breasts. Lust shot through Bryant.

“By God,” Dunbar burst out. “I see the attraction.”

“Did the duchess send you?” Riana demanded, heedless of her nakedness.

Bryant grabbed her cloak from the floor as she hurried around the desk towards him. Dunbar sucked in a breath. Bryant cast him a recriminating look and stepped towards her, swinging the cloak around her shoulders.

She stared up at him, eyes wide. “Is my sister well?”

Bryant paused in tying the string and his heart tightened at the fear in her eyes. “She is well, Lady, and, no, Her Grace did not send us.”

Riana frowned. “Then why are you here?”

“I came to fetch you.” Bryant grasped her wrist and started towards the door.

“Lad,” Dunbar said.

Bryant halted.

“You are likely to start a riot with her dressed like that.”

Bryant cursed, then crossed to the desk and grabbed the dress. The warden met his gaze and there was no mistaking the amusement in the man’s expression. Bryant strode back to Riana and started to pull the cloak off her, then paused and cast a warning look at the warden. He faced the hearth, back to them, and Bryant loosened the tie on her cloak.

She grasped his fingers. “What are you doing here?”

“Saving you from yourself.”

Her brow furrowed. “What?”

“Have you any notion what the duchess will do once she learns you have been here?”

She glanced at the warden, then looked back at him. Her gaze flicked to her hand, still gripping his, and she released him. “I am aware of what Her Grace is capable of. But that is none of your concern, just as this is none of your concern.”

Despite the succinct words, Bryant didn’t miss the tremor in her voice. He started to push the cloak from her shoulders, then remembered Sir Dunbar and swung his gaze to the older knight. Dunbar raised his brow, clearly hoping to enjoy the view, but Bryant didn’t break his stare. Dunbar sighed and crossed to where the warden still stood, and faced the hearth.

Bryant parted the cloak. Pebbled nipples were now only inches from him. His cock jerked in reaction and poker-hot anger flared with the realisation that those rosy areolae had been worked to hard peaks by another man. He couldn’t prevent his gaze from dropping to her curls. Had the warden filled her with his seed? Blood pounded through Bryant’s veins and he cursed at the feel of his cock thickening. Only hours had passed since his shaft had been sheathed in her velvet glove, yet the sight of her cunt glistening with another man’s cum made him want to shove her against the wall and f*ck her until she cried out his name.

He lifted his gaze to find her staring, eyes dark with indignation. He snapped the cloak from her shoulders. Her chin jerked upwards in defiance. Lust tightened his balls. He wanted—needed—to touch that fire again, soon. He tossed the cloak over his shoulder and started to fit the dress over her head.

She shoved aside his hand. “What are you doing?”

“Dressing you.”

Her eyes narrowed. “What are you doing here?”

“You wish to discuss this with an audience?”

She gave a hard laugh. “‘Tis far too late to care. I have important business, which you are interfering with.”

“Aye.” He swept a meaningful glance down her body.

Her brow scrunched in an incredulous expression. “You think to shame me?”

Bryant ignored the low laughter that emanated from the two other men and jammed the dress down over her head. “I think you would do well to obey me.”

He grasped her arm and shoved it into a sleeve. She twisted free. His control snapped, and he drove her back against the wall. Her soft contours gave way beneath his muscle. He gritted his teeth against the hardening of his shaft, but couldn’t stop his gaze from falling to her full breasts, crushed beneath him. Damn the gambeson he wore. If not for the wool-filled armour, he would be able to feel her nipples hard against his chest. He lifted his gaze. She stared through narrowed eyes devoid of fear, and ground her hips against his shaft. He sucked in a breath.

“Is that what you want, my lord?” Her voice dripped with scorn.

His fingers tightened convulsively on her shoulders. “I do not deny it. What man would?” Bryant motioned with his head to the warden. “Did he deny it?”

Bryant slipped a hand between them and cupped her breast. The firm weight filled his palm. “Did he do this to you?” Bryant kneaded the soft flesh, grazing the tip with his palm.

Her mouth parted in a tiny gasp. He leaned in to her, gently undulating his hard length against her mound and trailed a moist kiss from the swell of her breasts to her ear.

“Did he make you feel like this?” Bryant angled his rod so that the tip rubbed her sex. “Did he take his time with you as I did…as I will again?” Bryant covered her mouth with his.

He flicked his tongue against her lips and she opened. He swept inside, tasting, learning the feel of her, then sucked her tongue into his mouth, with the silent demand she learn the feel of him. He reached between them and slipped a finger into her folds. Slick heat coated his finger.

He broke the kiss, breathing hard. “You are so wet.”

Her cheeks coloured, and his cock jumped. By God, the wench wasn’t as jaded as she would have him believe. There were things still that he could teach her, things that would take them deep into the night and past dawn.

He removed his finger and brought it to his nostrils. Eyes closed, he inhaled deeply, then opened his eyes and locked gazes with her as he inserted the finger into his mouth and slid the digit past his lips. The tang of her sweet juices coated his tongue and he swallowed. Satisfaction shot through him when the colour in her cheeks deepened.

He straightened and slipped her left arm into a sleeve, then the right arm. She let him tug the dress down over her head, then grasped the skirt and shimmied it past her breasts. Desire sent his heart into an erratic beat. If he didn’t take her away from here, he wouldn’t be able to keep himself from f*cking her while Dunbar and the warden looked on. The hem fell past her hips, then lower to drop over her feet.

Bryant turned, caught sight of her slippers near the desk and fetched them. He returned to her side and she reached for the shoes, but he dropped onto one knee and grasped one of her feet. She tried to tug free, but he looked up at her. Her brow snapped down in confusion.

“Lift your skirt,” he instructed.

She pursed her lips but did as he ordered. Bryant grasped the back of her foot and gently slid her toes into the slipper, then worked the rest of the shoe on. He did the same with the second shoe, then rose and faced the men.

“We are ready, Sir Dunbar.”

Both men turned and Dunbar strode towards them. Riana cast him a glance, then tried to step around Bryant. He grasped her elbow, pulling her to his side as his mentor reached them.

She shot Bryant a recriminating look, then said to the warden, “We have not concluded our business.”

Curiosity flickered in his eyes. “Your husband-to-be disagrees.”

She glanced at Bryant, eyes narrowed. She was clearly not impressed with his proposal of marriage.

“What is this foolishness?” she demanded.

No, she was not the least bit impressed. “Not foolishness,” he replied.

“I will not leave.”

Bryant looked at the warden. “We will return. See to her friend until then.”

The warden angled his head an inch. “As you wish.”

Bryant turned them towards the door, then stopped at a hard rap that rattled the wood.

“My lord,” came the voice of the man who had tried to stop them from entering the room. The door swung open. He pushed past Bryant and addressed the warden. “Men-at-arms are approaching the gates.”

“What is their crest?” Bryant demanded.

The man’s head snapped in Bryant’s direction, then he sent a questioning look at the warden. The warden nodded, and the man replied to Bryant, “The Duke of Arundel.”

Bryant looked at the warden. “Is there another way out of this prison?”

“Of course.”

“Where is the nearest priest?”

“In the east tower,” he replied.

“You have a priest here—now?”

“A man is dying. He requested a priest.”

Bryant glanced at Sir Dunbar. “It is now or never.”

“You have not concluded your business with the lady,” Dunbar reminded him.

Bryant silently cursed. If Riana had no incriminating knowledge against the duke or duchess, his marriage to her would be a declaration of war. He looked down at to her.

She stared, dark eyes wide with disbelief. “You are mad.”

Lust—and an unnamed emotion—surged through him. She was right. But he wouldn’t let her go. Bryant faced his mentor. “I am dedicated to the course. You may leave by a separate path.”

Sir Dunbar laughed. “You would deprive me of the fun?”

Bryant laid a hand on his friend’s shoulder. “I would not have you perish with me.”

“You will need a witness to the marriage. The warden’s word will not do.” Dunbar’s gaze shifted to the man. “You understand?”

The warden nodded. “The duchess would simply have me eliminated.”

“Aye.” Dunbar looked back at Bryant. “You will need someone who cannot be so easily…eliminated.”

He was right. Bryant had expected to present himself to the duke from an unshakeable position. Now, he risked not only his life, but Riana’s and Sir Dunbar’s.

“Bring this priest,” Dunbar said.

Riana struggled against Bryant’s hold. “Release me.”

“Hush.” He pulled her closer. “Sir Dunbar, I will not have you—”

The older knight shook his head. “Let us not forget, Her Grace contracted to kill me.”

Riana gasped. Her head swivelled in his direction. Bryant leaned towards her, and she jumped, her gaze jerking up to his.

“Do not fear,” he said. “We know the duchess was using you.”

Her eyes widened, then narrowed. “What say you, good knight? Do you plan to put me into your service as the duchess has?”

Bryant blinked—then rage pounded through him. “Indeed, Lady, you will be in my service.”