When the handsome dragon fighter knight in the castle next door returns home after a long absence, Lady Juliette Lindhurst pursues her childhood love with the determination to obtain the husband she wants before her father arranges her marriage to someone else.
Sir Kilburn Pembroke’s inconsolable mood changes the moment he sees Juliette again. When she helps him heal from the emotional pains of his past by offering him her unbridled affections, he fears he’s not worthy of this Maiden of Mercy.
EXCERPT:
Kilburn Pembroke rose unsteadily from the chair in front of the cold fireplace. On his first step, he staggered and grabbed at a table for balance. He would not call himself drunk, but he had consumed enough liquor to be light-headed.
“Sir Kilburn?” The feminine whisper disturbed him.
His housekeeper, Missus Bevy, had her instructions. No visitors. So why had she let this particular woman into his domain?
“Get out!” he snapped from his darkened corner of the Great Hall.
Kilburn Pembroke rose unsteadily from the chair in front of the cold fireplace. On his first step, he staggered and grabbed at a table for balance. He would not call himself drunk, but he had consumed enough liquor to be light-headed.
“Sir Kilburn?” The feminine whisper disturbed him.
His housekeeper, Missus Bevy, had her instructions. No visitors. So why had she let this particular woman into his domain?
“Get out!” he snapped from his darkened corner of the Great Hall.
“Sir Kilburn, I had hoped to talk to you about—”
The sweet lilt of each word threatened the tenuous hold he had on his emotions. “You weren’t invited in here,” he said, uncomfortable. Didn’t he recognize that voice? “Leave.”
“I brought Lady Rachel home.”
At the mention of his cousin, Kilburn spun around. “What do you mean, you brought Rachel home?”
His poor cousin had more than her share of problems. After she had been abducted and cruelly used by men, she’d gone mad. She wandered off if no one watched her. He had delegated the duty of looking after her to Missus Bevy, but she still slipped away.
Her affliction depressed him with a guilt he could not master. Years ago his uncle, her father, Lord Stanwyck, had given him a place in their household. He had trained him as a squire, and Kilburn earned a knighthood. He owed Lord Stanwyck a very great deal, including protecting his daughter. For that, he felt a failure.
Kilburn walked toward the doorway to confront the intruder, and his chest tightened at the sight of Juliette.
Over the years, how many times had he tried to imagine the very contours of her jaw and her nose, or the vibrant color of her golden hair? But her beauty had not been as important to him as her nature. When Juliette had been around, he knew only happiness.
Juliette gazed at him with a puzzled expression. He had asked her a question. But what had he said? All he could think of, all he could see was her alabaster skin, her perfect lips, warm and appetizing, as she spoke.
“I was riding Saran as usual this time of day and found Lady Rachel swimming in the pond.”
He remembered Saran, the Arabian stallion his brother Ware brought home from one of the Crusades and gave to him. The last Kilburn recalled, Saran had been in the stables at Stanwyck. How did Juliette come to have his horse? And how had she found his cousin?
“Swimming…?” he asked.
“Yes. Fully clothed.” Juliette’s breath floated up and caressed his face.
The warm stroke aroused his buried lust to a dangerous level. He had always wondered how her heart-shaped mouth would feel on his.
“Where is she now?” He turned from the allure of Juliette’s beauty and glanced at the closed door.
“Missus Bevy took charge of her. I would assume she’s in her chamber, changing into dry clothes.”
Kilburn looked back at Juliette. She was wet and shivering. Goose bumps dotted the bare skin on her chest to the edge of her tight bodice. The lightweight green fabric clung to her womanly curves, outlining a tempting treat for a man starved for sex. Under the sodden clothes, her breasts pointed. He licked his lips, savoring the image he formed of them exposed. She was fair-haired, and from experience, he knew her nipples would be a pale, rosy pink.
Once young and forbidden to him, Juliette had matured. Even more desirable than she had been then, she made his blood race through his veins.
“You’re very nicely packaged.” He slid his hands to her shoulders.
Her brow wrinkled as if she was puzzled, possibly frightened. He inspected her anyway, then twisted a wet lock of her sun-touched hair and tugged the tendril, making her step closer.
She stared at the scar on his face, her eyelids fluttering in apparent sympathy. He put his hand against the jagged line that ran down his cheekbone, the mark of a savage battle where a dragon’s talon had cut him.
“Afraid of what you see?” He fingered her smooth cheek. It was free of anything so ugly.
She shook her head, which he took as an invitation. Kilburn slipped his arm around her waist and hauled her body up against him.
“Let go,” she whispered. Nervously, he thought.
His gaze dropped to her tempting mouth. Memories of their past assailed him. He had always wanted her, but when he left, she had been a child. Nevertheless, he had always held close to his heart little things about her—her generous friendship, her laughter when he made a joke, and her endearing gaze of adoration. There wasn’t a single feature about
Juliette, body, heart, mind, that hadn’t attracted him in some way. He had pushed the beautifully maturing girl away so no one would see how deep his affection for her was growing.
Juliette used to watch when he practiced riding the dragon his brother had given him. She loved the creatures just as he did, and a bond formed between them he still did not understand. His friends—other squires seeking knighthoods too—hadn’t appreciated her. They thought her plain, inconsequential, and made her an object of their youthful taunts.
At times, he joined in on their teasing, but as the years passed and his love for her grew, he stopped participating. He had wanted to be her champion, but guilt over his illicit love made him to look away.
“Kil, you’re holding me too tight,” she protested.
Or did he hear a hint of surrender in her tone? Reason told him no. Desire, hard and hot, told him she wanted what he did. He lowered her to her feet, placed a hand behind her head, and kissed her soft, supple lips. They were as delicious as he had imagined all those years ago. She kissed him back with a soft moan, and his chest burned as if it were on fire. Her mouth sought his kiss, moving with his in perfect unison, pressing and twisting as if passion was the ruling force. Her fingers on his arms inched upward to his shoulders in more than surrender. In acceptance.
He drew back in disbelief. Surely she humored him with her compliance, mocked him by not putting up a fight.
