Chapter 19

Dante never thought much about the palace; it was simply a place to stay when he was in London. His steward made certain of its upkeep and the captain of the guard made certain of its defenses, but he did not consider this his home. That title would always belong to the palazzo in Venice. Still, he had accumulated the usual types of rewards for a man in his position, meaning they were not at all usual since the king rarely paid in coin. There were jewel-encrusted weapons, goblets and plates made of solid gold, exotic silks and spices, along with even more unusual items. Most were stored in the treasury, but some of the best pieces had found their way to his apartments. He appreciated beautiful things.

Now he tried to view his quarters through Avalene's eyes as he led her from the hallway into the large solar, wondering if the comforts he had acquired and the trinkets that were scattered about would please her. His apartments encompassed half a dozen spacious rooms. There were doors that led to the other chambers from the solar, but only the solar had access to the main hallway. He explained that Oliver and Armand would stay in two of the chambers, and then passed through an antechamber on the opposite side of the solar where a small bed was made up and Rami-sized clothing hung from pegs on one wall, and then he showed her into his bedchamber.

All the while Avalene wandered silently in his wake, her hand tracing over the surfaces of tables and the objects placed there, her slender fingers touching the brocade of cushions and window hangings, her wide gaze taking in an intricately wrought set of silver candlesticks. His eyes lost their focus when she trailed her hand up one of the smooth wooden posters of his bed and then back down again.

Something about the innocent movement was so erotic that his body turned instantly hard. How often had he pictured her here, in his bedchamber? He wanted to take her right then and there. Instead he closed his eyes and took a deep, cleansing breath. Later. For now, she would want time to settle into her new quarters and refresh herself. Tonight he wanted everything to be perfect. Throwing her onto the bed and then tossing up her skirts would hardly be considered perfect. Well, not in her mind.

He smiled to himself at the thought. She would probably surprise him on that score as well. He had never been with a virgin before, but he was fairly certain most were not as…enthusiastic as Avalene had been last night. She kept her emotions buried very deep, but drawing them to the surface was like opening Pandora's box; once opened, there was no stopping what poured forth. And yet she worried that she wouldn't please him. She seemed oblivious to the fact that she was as close to perfection as he could imagine, while he was far from it. Fate was, indeed, a kind mistress.

However, her silence since they reached the palace was beginning to bother him. Was it just his imagination, or was she unusually quiet? Her eyes were thoughtful as she examined his bedchamber and then followed him back to the solar, but there were no more questions. He wanted to ask what she was thinking but decided to wait until they were alone. Rami had followed them as far as the solar, and soon the servants arrived with a large wooden tub and then countless buckets of hot water. He directed them to place the tub in his bedchamber, and then motioned for Avalene to go with the tirewoman.

"There is a bathhouse near the river where my men and I will clean up while you are taking your bath," he told her. The look of apprehension on her face made him hesitate. She just needed time to get settled. He pressed a kiss to her forehead. "You are safe here. No one will bother you while we are away."

She lifted her chin in that regal way of hers and gave him a stiff nod. "Of course, my lord. Thank you for arranging a private bath for me. I am sure we will all feel better once we have bathed."

He managed to give her a reassuring smile that lasted until she disappeared into his bedchamber, and then unease unfurled in his belly. Her words seemed to imply that she was not feeling better now, but what was she feeling worse about? He stared stupidly at the closed door to his chamber and wondered if it was significant that this was the first time she had addressed him as "my lord."

The lack of sleep was catching up with him, he decided. He was reading too much into a few polite words. He tucked a bundle of clean clothing under his arm and gave Rami a curt order to guard the door. The look in Avalene's eyes when he told her he was leaving the solar hastened his steps, and he completed his bath in record time.

It worried him, this growing power she held over him, but he no longer had the will or wish to see it ended. The initial attraction that had built from the moment they met had crystallized into something else entirely when she had blithely told him, I am in love with you . His whole world had shifted in that moment. Those words still shook something deep inside him. He had never dreamed she would say them, and couldn't help but wonder when she would come to her senses and realize they were a mistake. She still seemed completely unaware that he was the single most dangerous thing she had ever encountered in her life. And yet somehow she had known that she was completely and utterly safe with him before he knew it himself.

She was right, of course. He would never be able to harm her now, no matter the cost to himself. He would do whatever was necessary to keep her safe. She trusted him. She knew who and what he was, and still she looked at him with that same intoxicating mixture of innocence and desire. How could he not love her?

It was as if Fate had fashioned her just for him. Her breathtaking beauty had been the first thing to catch his eye, but he had known other beautiful women and that alone was not enough to hold his interest. Her true beauty lay within, in her courage and bravery, in the ways she took care of everyone in Lady Margaret's household without even realizing she was doing the job of her incompetent aunt and doing it without complaint, in the ways she cared for her family even when they had abandoned and betrayed her. Then, of course, there was the way she treated him . He had never before been the subject of such unabashed adoration.

From the start he had told himself that none of it was real, that she would run from him screaming when she learned the truth. But her soft gazes and the wonderment in her eyes had been impossible to resist. She made him want to be perfectly normal, to cleanse himself of his sins, to become a man worthy of her affections. He had quickly developed an obsession, a need to be the focus of her attention, to be connected to her through as many of his senses as possible; his gaze upon her face, his touch upon any part of her body, the sound of her voice, her scent, the taste of her upon his lips. All of these things were required, and yet never enough.

It helped that she felt the same irresistible pull that had initially attracted him to her, its strength such that she seemed to have forgiven him for the charade as Sir Percival. For that, she should forgive him, unless she truly had some sadistic wish to be wed to Coleway's steward. Still, there were times when he caught doubt in her eyes and knew that she still had trouble trusting him. Or times, like today, when he would give almost anything to know the truth behind her thoughtful silences.

The food had arrived in his absence and Rami had already descended upon the table like a horde of locusts, albeit a tidy horde. The boy was always careful to leave every dish arranged as carefully as when it had arrived without a crumb out of place, even if crumbs were all that remained of certain dishes. He had expected Rami's obsession with food to fade as the passing weeks proved the certainty of a full belly each day, but it was obviously going to take more time before the boy stopped stockpiling for the next famine. He sent Rami to the bathhouse with a few words and then settled down to wait for Avalene.

Oliver and Armand entered the solar not long behind him, clean-shaven and neatly groomed, and Reginald soon after. Wrapped in thoughts of the woman in his bedchamber, he had almost forgotten his order to meet here. He bid them partake of the food, although he also instructed them to join Isabel and her company for the evening meal to find out what more they could about their guests. Reginald's spies had been busy already. He listened with interest to the tale of Isabel's unexpected arrival and all Reginald had learned in the days since then.

It was as Reginald and Gerhardt had informed him earlier; Edward had a husband in mind for Isabel and she had returned to England to await the wedding. Unwed royals were rarely free of a spouse for long; most were betrothed in the cradle, or, as in Isabel's case, remarried at the close of their mourning period to form a new alliance for the king with another royal family, or as a special reward for one of his higher-ranking nobles. Royal daughters came entailed with riches and titles for their husbands and the children of such unions. Envoys from impoverished princes probably began to land on Edward's doorstep within a month of Isabel's widowhood.

No one yet knew the identity of her future husband, but the more Dante learned of the situation, the more his suspicions were aroused. Isabel's retinue was part of her dowry: a score of her dead husband's royal guards who were completely loyal to her, three score of servants who were also from her husband's household and also loyal only to their mistress, and one hundred of King Edward's royal guard who were loyal to the king. In other words, a good part of Isabel's dowry consisted of an army. And it was an army that would reside within her husband's walls, but one her husband would not control. Interesting.

Reginald struggled to find the politest words possible to call Isabel a spoiled brat. Again, not so unusual for Edward's daughters. They were richer and more powerful than most men, and virtually above the law. He supposed there would be trouble if one of them outright murdered someone in front of witnesses, but even then he would not bet on them suffering many consequences. They were part of the royal family. The rules that most of society followed did not apply to them. Power and wealth on that scale tended to breed arrogance and conceit. He did not envy Isabel's hapless new husband.

As Reginald continued his report, Dante suddenly recalled another act of arrogance, this one on his own part. He had been in a foul mood before he left for Coleway, resentful of the girl who had delayed his retirement from a craft he abhorred. He had known she would need garments upon her arrival in London. In a moment of pique, he had ordered the clothing made up in cheap fabrics and common materials. The gowns that awaited Avalene in his chamber were not fit to touch her skin. Even his servants wore finer garments.

He gave a mental groan and wondered how quickly new gowns could be made. The situation would be bad enough without Isabel's presence. To present Avalene to royalty in peasant garb? He would be lucky if she ever spoke to him again.

His gaze went to the bedchamber door. Matilda was a competent seamstress. Not capable of what he had in mind, but surely she would have Avalene's measure by this time to alter the offensive garments he had provided. Fortunately, he was in a city where anything could be made possible with the right amount of money and influence. He had both.

He gave his orders concerning the clothing to Reginald, certain they would be carried out. He also ordered a messenger sent to the Tower to request an audience with Mordecai on the morrow. He was equally certain Mordecai was already aware of his return to London, but he knew better than to show up on his doorstep uninvited and unannounced. There were a few other matters that needed his decisions and orders, and then he dismissed Reginald. Before he sent Oliver and Armand to the hall, he made certain there would be two guards posted outside the solar who would bar anyone from entering without his permission, and to accompany Avalene if she should leave his quarters without him. He didn't plan to have her out of his sight very often or for very long.

Once the others left he angled his chair toward the chamber door and settled in to wait, plotting, planning all the ways he would coax the words he most wanted to hear from her again. These niggling doubts that her silence meant she had reconsidered her feelings for him would go away as soon as he could hold her again, as soon as he could look into her eyes and see the light that shined there just for him. Once Segrave and his annoying betrothal contract were out of the way, he would ask her to marry him. He wondered how she would react to the question. Mostly he wondered what the hell was taking her so long.

The bathwater was ice cold and still Avalene lingered in the tub, trying to hide her shivers from the tirewoman, Matilda, who had helped wash her hair and scrub her back. Matilda had also poured oil into the water that filled the chamber with the scents of sandalwood and flowers. It felt wonderful to be clean again, to be free of her filthy clothing, but she was not quite ready to leave the sanctuary of her bath to face Dante and his men. Oliver and Armand probably knew she and Dante had done more than just sleep together while they were on the road, but tonight they would know for certain that she intended to share Dante's bed for illicit reasons. Tonight she would become a fallen woman. Would they look at her differently? Treat her differently?

Having Matilda in the room helped calm her nerves for some reason, even though she was a silent presence as she sat on a stool near the tub, busily hemming one of the too-long new gowns while she waited for Avalene to emerge from the tub. She was perhaps a dozen years older than Avalene, her hair covered with a linen snood, her manner all brisk efficiency. She had laid out the pieces of Avalene's new wardrobe on the bed, three gowns in all, along with chemises and stockings, veils, and a pair of suede slippers. Avalene didn't know how Dante managed to purchase clothing for her but she was grateful for it. Her own belt and girdle were barely damaged by their extended wear and once cleaned they would work well enough with the new gowns, along with the circlet that would hold her new veils in place.

She did her best to keep her mind on the garments rather than on the large bed and what would eventually take place there. Tonight .

Did Matilda know that tonight was the night? Did everyone in the palace know? She forced her gaze back to the garments still spread out on the bed and decided that while the clothing would suffice for her immediate needs, the sturdy, serviceable gowns made of plain linen were hardly what she would have chosen to meet royalty. In all her imaginings, she never would have guessed that she would be sleeping under the same roof as one of the king's daughters. Tonight, of all nights.

The words tonight is the night kept growing louder in her head until she marveled that Matilda did not seem to hear them. There was nothing to fear, no reason to feel afraid, and yet her pulse raced each time she looked at the bed. She knew it would hurt the first time, it would hurt enough that she would bleed, but she also knew that Dante would be gentle with her. Indeed, after last night, she looked forward to this one. At least, she wanted to look forward to tonight. Why was she so nervous?

She made herself think of Isabel, to speculate about what the princess would look like, whether or not she would be friendly. Would she look at Avalene's plain, ill-fitting clothing and laugh? Of course, Dante might not have any intention of taking her to the midday meal tomorrow to meet the illustrious Isabel of Ascalon. Or perhaps she could delay the meeting until the seamstresses had a chance to work up a gown presentable to Isabel's company. She could also make great improvements to the current gowns if she could just find some embroidery thread and trims. Mayhap some of the fur from her ruined cloak could be salvaged.

Was it just her imagination, or did the bed really grow larger the longer she stared at it? Tonight is the night .

Nay, she was to think about Isabel, how she would look a great cow next to the dazzling royal daughter and her court. Then her conscience reminded her of another reason she would never be allowed to meet Isabel. She was a fallen woman now, or, soon would be. Tonight . She wasn't sure what the rules were regarding this predicament, having never imagined she would ever be in the situation, but she was fairly certain kings' daughters did not consort with harlots.

Ah. Problem solved. What a relief that all of her worries about the garments were unnecessary. Isabel would never see her gowns. She would never even be presented to the princess.

And that freed her mind to decide if she should be pleased or piqued over Dante's obvious influence over one aspect of her new clothing. Everything was red.

Pleased, she decided, although she intended to ask how he knew that red was the only color she wore before he had even met her. She would have to wait to ask that question until they were alone… tonight .

She sighed and then signaled to Matilda that she was ready to dress. She needed more of a distraction than a bath could provide. It was time to face Dante and the others. Sooner than seemed possible, she was back in the solar.

Dante rose to greet her almost before she entered the room, as if he could sense her approach. He stood at one end of the long trestle table that stood in the center of the room. She had meant to say something trite about feeling refreshed by the bath, but the words froze in her throat when she took a good look at him.

She hadn't realized how unkempt they had all become on their travels until the evidence of their journey was washed and shaved and combed away. He had taken clothes from his chamber before he left for the bathhouse, and he was now dressed completely in black. He was transformed, but not into the chivalrous knight who had first entered the hall at Coleway. The man who stood before her was a handsome, powerful nobleman who took her breath away.

To be fair, he always took her breath away, but this change from knight to nobleman was unexpected. It ignited new worries that had festered all afternoon in a quiet corner of her mind. Now she wondered how they had remained silent all this time.

It must be the garments, she decided, their quality far beyond anything a knight would own. His surcoat was quilted in a diamond pattern and shot through with silver thread, his leather braces and boots dyed an exact shade of black and studded with silver rivets. His belt was also studded with silver, the metal worked into the same diamond pattern as his tunic. It was the type of understated elegance that only the very wealthy could afford.

She looked down at her adequate yet simple clothing and felt like the proverbial ugly duckling. An extremely ungrateful duckling. If not for his thoughtfulness and foresight she would have only her own tattered, filthy clothing to don. Aye, she was an ungrateful wretch, but did he have to look so devastatingly handsome? She tried again to feel grateful. Ah, yes. At least she would not have to face the king's daughter in her plain gowns.

"What is wrong?" His brows were now drawn together in a frown and his smile had vanished.

"Nothing," she assured him, plastering an overly bright smile on her face that also faded before it fully formed. "Where is everyone?"

He looked puzzled for a moment, and then understanding dawned. "Rami is taking his bath. Oliver and Armand are meeting with the soldiers they left in charge during our absence. They will have their meal in the hall with the others."

She glanced behind her, looking for Matilda.

"She just left," he said, guessing her thoughts easily enough. "We are alone."

"Oh." She swallowed once, and then forced her feet to move forward so she could take the seat he offered next to his. A puzzled line appeared between his brows. She turned her attention to the table, which held an abundance of food that should look enticing to her empty stomach but did not. Even the smell of fresh baked bread did not tempt her. "I did not realize our meal had arrived. Will Reginald be here soon to meet with you?"

"Reginald has been here and gone." His mouth quirked upward at one corner. "You were at your bath a very long time. I began to wonder if Matilda had allowed you to drown."

"Nay, I did not drown." For an instant she wished she had. She sounded like an idiot. Perhaps she should just keep her mouth closed. She folded her hands in her lap and lowered her gaze, trying to look calm and serene, but the lengthening silence began to feel awkward. She looked up and found him already watching her with an enigmatic expression. She blurted out the first thing that came to mind. "You look very handsome."

"You outshine me." He lifted her hand and pressed a light kiss to her fingertips. His words were swift and low. "Tu siete la donna che più bella ho visto mai."

She felt herself blush over the blatant lie, the part that she understood about outshining him, and lowered her gaze again. "'Tis obvious I need to expand my grasp of your language. I understood few of those words, but they sound very pretty."

"Mm. You will have time during our journey to Venice to learn more."

Hope lifted its head at the mention of Venice. They were not on the deck of a ship about to set sail, so she ruthlessly pushed it back down. She would live for the moment and let the morrow take care of itself. They were together today, and that was enough for now.

He handed her a goblet filled with wine and she took a few nervous sips. Here they were, warm and dry, and a soft, comfortable bed awaited. Tonight is the night . She would give herself completely to the man she loved. She wanted to give herself to him. Would he think her too bold if she excused herself and climbed into bed to wait for him? All of this waiting around was shredding her nerves. She did not want to eat or drink. She wanted him to kiss her, to hold her, to caress her as he had last night.

Her thoughts strayed once again as she recalled some of the more intimate moments. Soon her face felt as if it were on fire and her hands began to tremble. She carefully set the goblet back on the table, thankful she had not spilled the wine all over herself.

"Would you like something to eat?" he asked, waving his hand toward the bounty before them. "Ham? Bread pudding? Fruit? I finally gave up waiting for you and fed myself, so the rest is yours. Have whatever you like."

There was no way she would be able to swallow any of it. She shook her head. "Uhm, I am not as hungry as I thought."

Her stomach chose that moment to make her a liar. The rumbling sound made one of his brows rise. "You have hardly eaten today. I think you should eat something ."

"Perhaps a piece of bread," she conceded.

He ignored her request and piled her trencher with a sampling of almost everything on the table, then pushed it toward her. "Eat what you can. Humor me. Please."

She bowed her head and tried, and then realized it was not as much of a chore as she had feared. Soon the trencher was almost empty. She made herself eat slowly because it was impolite to wolf down her food, and not because she was trying to delay anything. She wanted an end to this awkwardness. Dante studied her over his steepled fingers, his attention unwavering.

"Are you nervous?" he asked in a gentle voice.

She looked up at him as she swallowed the last bite of an apple. "I think ‘terrified' is a more accurate description."

He laughed aloud. Before she knew what he intended, he lifted her effortlessly and settled her onto his lap. She held her back stiff, resisting the urge to lean into his solid chest. " Cara , do you remember last night and this morn?"

Did reliving every moment in minute detail count? In that case, she remembered all too clearly. "Aye."

"I have thought of little else all day," he admitted. He drew his fingertip down her cheek and got the expected reaction. She closed her eyes and shivered. "There is nothing to fear. I am the same man you turn to in your sleep, the same man you kissed so passionately. Where is the greedy girl who wanted more than just kisses?"

That thoughtless girl had abandoned them somewhere on the road to London. This girl knew exactly what she was about to do, and with whom. She also knew he would not be pleased with her latest epiphany. She bit her lower lip. "You are not the man I thought you were this morning."

His body stiffened and all humor fled from his expression. "What do you mean?"

She waved her hand to indicate their surroundings. "You are rich ! You live in a palace, you consort with kings and their daughters."

She could almost feel the tension flow out of him.

"You say this as if they were bad things," he teased. He lifted her hand and turned it over to expose her wrist. Rather than kiss the sensitive skin, he rubbed the tip of his nose over the line of delicate veins and inhaled, as if her skin held some addictive scent. Her breathing stopped entirely. "I told you I was a wealthy man. But I only consort with one king, and I have not yet met his daughter."

"I thought you were a landless knight," she managed, as she tugged her hand away to return it to her lap. "And then I thought you were simply an assassin, a foreigner plucked from obscurity to do the king's bidding. Now I discover that you are richer than my father, likely richer than Faulke Segrave and possibly more powerful. You are at least a baron, are you not?"

"Titles and ranking are somewhat different in Venice than they are here," he said, "but you are correct; I am among the nobility. An English earl would be the most likely equivalent."

Her heart beat harder. Ah, there was the familiar pain. She had been almost certain he was a nobleman, but hearing her fear confirmed made it real. And it was worse than she thought. An earl.

Ever observant, he pointed out the obvious. "You are not pleased."

"I thought my rank was above yours." She would never admit that she had viewed her rank as a meager sort of consolation prize for him; a noblewoman for the commoner. "Earls are expected to marry. 'Tis their duty to produce heirs. Someday you will want a wife. Even if you were so inclined, I will never be allowed to marry so long as I am betrothed to Faulke Segrave." Her voice dropped to a whisper. "You will leave me."

"I will not leave you," he said, as if this were an obvious fact. His arms tightened around her and he cradled her to his chest. "How many times must I tell you? I am yours."

"I am pledged to another."

He pressed a kiss to her forehead. "You are meant for no other man but me."

She waited for him to admit that he must eventually take a wife, that the day would come when he would be forced to cast her aside, but he remained silent as she listened to the steady beat of his heart. Surely he had thought of this already? Not knowing his thoughts was worse than hearing the truth. "What are you thinking?"

"I am thinking that Faulke Segrave is more of a nuisance than I ever dreamed he would be." He released a slow sigh and she tried to look up at him, but his grip on her tightened again and held her immobile. His voice turned thoughtful. "The man who sent me on this mission is named Mordecai. He told me about you, tried to warn me, I suppose, that you would be…not what I expected. In my arrogance, I did not hear what he was telling me."

She wondered why this Mordecai person had felt it necessary to warn Dante about her. Was she really so bad? How would he even know? She had never met him. "I do not care to meet this person."

His laugh was humorless. "Mordecai is not only one of Edward's advisers, he is a magician. Indeed, that would be the reason Edward keeps him close. One of Mordecai's more useful talents is his ability to see into the future, to see dangers to the king and the results of different decisions he might make, as well as the decisions of others. He saw several possible futures for us, and where our paths would lead depending upon the choices that were made."

She waited for him to laugh. Surely this was another one of his jests? He did not even believe in the Witches' Sabbath, and yet he believed this charlatan magician could see into the future? His expression remained deadly serious.

"Do not tell me you believe him?" She smiled indulgently. "Many magicians attended the fairs at Coleway over the years. Some of them could perform amazing tricks, but their fortune-telling abilities proved remarkably similar. Every young man had a pretty woman about to enter his life, every old woman could expect the coming year to be one of good health. And everyone was about to experience a turn of good luck or a windfall of some sort. Health and happiness all around, but couched in vague warnings that could be interpreted to mean almost anything or serve as an excuse as to why last year's prediction went unfulfilled. I am surprised the king was duped by such a charlatan, and I am even more surprised that you were taken in as well."

He did not return her smile. "Mordecai is an entirely different creature from the magicians you have encountered at fairs."

She made a sound of skepticism.

"I have known Mordecai since I was a boy and I have seen too much over the years to doubt his skills. He is no charlatan."

The look in his eyes convinced her that he believed what he said.

"If you should ever meet him, promise me that you will not voice any doubts of his abilities. 'Tis unlikely he would harm you, knowing what you mean to me, but I have stood witness when he has corrected other people's mistaken beliefs or doubts about him. He has little patience for those who demand explanations and proof." His grip on her arms was almost painful. "Do not provoke Mordecai. Ever. Promise me."

"I promise," she said slowly. The look of relief in his eyes was unmistakable, but it faded into wariness at her next question. "What did he see in our future that has you worried?"

"I know that your trust in me is fragile, but I must ask you to trust me again without question, to trust that I will make certain everything will work out for us as it is meant to."

"What do—"

He pressed his fingers against her lips. "All I can tell you is that there are things I must do in the next few days and weeks, decisions I must influence, but, ultimately, they are decisions others must make that will affect our future."

Of course. He had to obtain the king's permission to take her to Italy, but what other plan was he talking about that needed to be kept secret? Whatever it was, he sounded very sure of himself, but then again, confidence was never something he lacked.

"For now," he continued, "know that we have a future. We will be together, no matter what happens."

The words were comforting and worrisome at the same time. "What do you mean, ‘no matter what happens'? What else could change our circumstances?"

"I cannot answer your questions," he said quietly.

The answer fueled her frustration. "Cannot, or will not?"

"Cannot."

And, just like that, her anger deflated. "Oh."

"I have already told you more than I should," he admitted. "I just wanted to put your mind at ease, but it would seem I have only added to your fears. Is it still so impossible for you to trust me?"

That was a good question. He had already broken her trust, told her lies that she had readily believed. Did he really think she could trust him again so soon, so blindly, without question? He studied her face and found the obvious answer in her expression.

"What you cannot forget is that I lied to you about my identity," he surmised. "I could not tell you the truth when we first met, but I never lied about the way I felt about you and I will always do whatever is necessary to protect you. Can you believe that much at least?"

"Aye." She trusted him to keep her safe. What she still had trouble trusting in was his claim that he loved her, that he felt even a fraction of the love she felt for him.

She had started falling in love the first moment she laid eyes on him, the first time she heard his voice, the first time she looked into his eyes. The more time she spent with him, the deeper she fell. Even after she had learned of his deception her heart had refused to give up its claim. He could break her heart, but he could never return it. It belonged to him now.

Trust, especially blind trust, was the last small part of her heart that she held back, the part she had not already handed over to him. Once he had that piece there would be no way to recover if he deceived her again.

Don't do it , Reason warned. He will leave you defenseless and broken .

Your life does not matter without him , Hope countered. This is what you were born for, who you were born for. He loves you. He wants to spend his life with you. Trust him .

She thought about the reasons he had lied to her in the first place and came to a sudden, startling conclusion. All this time she had it backward. She had believed him as Sir Percival, and constantly doubted him as Dante Chiavari. In reality, Sir Percival was the liar while Dante had always told her the truth.

The last string of doubt drifted from her grasp and her heart felt suddenly lighter. "You can trust me, too, you know."

"I do trust you," he said.

"What I meant is that you can tell me your secrets and I will not repeat them."

"I trust you to keep my secrets," he said, "but I am bound by my oath to keep the secrets of others."

She could not ask him to forsake his oath in favor of her curiosity. She could wait a few days or weeks until the decisions were made that he must influence.

"At least you do not appear ‘terrified' anymore," he observed, trying to lighten her mood.

"Terror holds hands with uncertainty." She placed her hand on the side of his face and looked deep into his eyes. "I am no longer uncertain. I trust you."

She wasn't sure he understood what she was telling him until he closed his eyes, his expression one of silent thanks.

"This time I will hold close your trust," he pledged. "I do not intend to lose it again."

And he claimed to have no honor? He had assumed the disguise of the King's Assassin as completely as he had assumed the disguise of Sir Percival. Beneath both cloaks was the most honorable man she had ever known. Did anyone ever see this side of him? Did he even see this side of himself?

She wound her arms around his neck and pressed her lips to his, sealing both their vows. He returned the kiss gently at first, rediscovering her lips as if it had been days rather than hours since they last kissed, and then she molded her body to his and the kisses began to burn with an urgency that went beyond physical need. He kissed her as he never had before, fierce, demanding, without hesitation or restraint. Tonight there was nothing to stop him.

"Whatever my future holds, you are a part of it," she murmured, as his lips trailed down her neck. Even if he left her someday to take a wife and all that was left was a heartbreaking memory, the pain would be worth this happiness. She could probably live without him, but without him there would be nothing to live for. The ledge beckoned. She had to make this leap of faith.

"Come to bed with me," he whispered, and then she was on her feet. He took her hand and led her into the bedchamber.

She had expected more kisses once the door closed behind them, more urgency that would drive them toward the massive bed. Instead he moved methodically around the room, finding a flint and then lighting a brace of candles that was placed on a table near the bed. As there was still enough light coming through the window to see by, she assumed he meant to still be awake when it would be too dark to easily find the flint. Her muddled mind never would have thought that far ahead.

Next he went past her cold bath to put more charcoal in the brazier, and then he sat down on the bench at the end of the bed and calmly removed his boots. The braces and belt came off next. She watched in dumbfounded silence as, slowly and surely, his tunic and shirt followed.

"Oh, thank goodness." She breathed a sigh of relief that he had stopped undressing, although it turned into a series of long sighs when her gaze lingered on his chest. The beautiful lines of his body never failed to fascinate her. If she didn't stop breathing so fast, she was going to faint.

"What makes you say that?" he asked, his expression amused.

She had to think a moment to remember what she had said and why, and then she blurted out the answer. "For a moment there I thought you intended to take off all of your clothes."

"I do intend exactly that." He studied her face and then added, "Eventually."

Her eyes widened. "Why?"

"Why?" he echoed, clearly baffled.

"You are going to be…naked?"

"Of course," he said, with a note of gentleness in his voice that she found out of place.

Oh, she was definitely going to faint. "Avalene?" He was at her side in an instant. "People do this naked ?!"

"It would appear you are not as knowledgeable as I thought," he muttered. He made it sound as if her lack of knowledge was a disappointment.

"I am plenty knowledgeable," she argued. "I just did not realize that people removed all their clothing to…I am sure that no one mentioned it. Is this some strange Italian custom?"

"Nay." Now he was smiling. "Actually, I suppose it is an Italian custom, although the custom is just as common throughout the world."

She looked at the brace of candles, and then at the bed. Her breathing sounded as if she had just run up a very long flight of stairs.

She knew the answer to her next question before she asked it. "Do I have to be naked, too?"

Now he was wary, realizing this was all unexpected news to her. "How did you think people could make love when they were fully clothed?" He shook his head. "Never mind. I suppose that question was answered last night."

She gave him a distracted nod. The thought of standing naked next to all of his perfection made her heart do strange things in her chest. "I do not think we need the candles."

His gaze followed hers to the candles and then back to her face. The tenderness of his expression melted the edges of her fear. "Tonight is not for darkness. Avalene, do you not yet realize that you are the most beautiful thing ever to exist in my world?" His fingers slid down the curve of her neck, his touch feather-light, almost as if he were tasting her skin with his fingertips. "I do not want anything more to stand between us, not even clothing. Will you rob me of that pleasure?"

Well, put that way…She shook her head.

He leaned down and slowly kissed her ear. "I want to undress you myself, to see you reveal yourself to me one layer of clothing at a time. Will you let me?"

Never . He did something to her ear that made her knees weak. She whispered, "A-Aye."

His lips moved to her mouth while he untied the laces of her gown. His kisses had the curious effect of both soothing and exciting her, and more of the fear melted away. This was not so very different from the other times they were alone together. She knew how to fit her mouth to his, how to return the pleasure he gave her. At first she was hesitant to touch his bare chest, but soon her hands were skimming over every inch of bare skin she could reach. He was so different from her, so much larger, so much harder. His whole body was made of warm stone.

She vaguely realized that her gown had fallen away and she stood only in her chemise. He caught both her wrists in one hand and took a step away from her. His eyes locked with hers and she realized that he was breathing hard, panting between his parted lips as they stared at each other. He had already unlaced her chemise and now he reached out to brush the slender straps from her shoulders. His gaze lowered at the same moment she felt the fabric pool around her feet and she saw a tremor move through his body.

He stared so long that she began to feel self-conscious, and then he shook his head, as if physical movement was necessary to clear his thoughts. "I want to make you understand how beautiful you are to me, but I have no words."

He used his lips and hands instead, starting at her neck, moving down to her shoulders, steadily moving lower as he touched and kissed every part of her. She could hardly stand. He seemed to realize she was becoming unbalanced and he lifted her effortlessly into his arms. The feel of so much bare skin touching sent a shock of awareness through her and she knew he felt it, too, heard it in the catch of his breath. He laid her gently on top of the bed and covered her with his body, most of his weight braced above her on his arms.

"I—" Her voice broke and she had to clear her throat before she could continue. "I thought you were going to be naked, too."

"I will be." He smiled down at her. "I have waited all my life for this moment. Indulge me while I linger over it."

The things he said seemed to be plucked right from her head. "That is what I thought when I saw you enter the great hall at Coleway. I stayed at the railing because I wanted to see your face, hear your voice, but somehow even then I knew that I had been waiting for you. Was it…was it anything like that for you when we first met?"

"Not quite," he admitted, and her marvel faded a little. "I was appalled at my reaction to you. It was like nothing I had ever experienced. Long ago I learned to control my emotions, to never give away anything that might be used against me, and to always be aware of my surroundings. When I looked at you, a herd of belled cattle could have stampeded by me and I never would have known they were there. John and even Brunor knew immediately that I was besotted. It was embarrassing."

She smothered a giggle. Ah, marvel again. He felt the same.

He made a face. "I think Brunor felt sorry for me."

"Poor thing," she murmured. She stroked his cheek, and realized she was no longer self-conscious about her nudity. This was Dante. She had nothing to hide from him.

His expression was suddenly serious as the tip of his finger traced her lips. "I never understood why history is filled with stories of men who waged wars over a woman they loved. There are many women in the world, and it was beyond my grasp what made one woman special enough to go to such extremes." He pressed a kiss to her forehead. "Now I understand."

His lips found hers again and he kissed her with a passion that left her breathless, his body a welcome weight upon hers. He settled his hips between her legs and she could feel the hard proof of his arousal. His hand slid down the length of her back and then lower, pulling her closer even as he pushed against her. She arched toward him, helping his impossible quest to press her closer to his body.

He made a sound low in his chest and then moved lower, his hips no longer joined to hers, the weight of his body now pinning her down as his hands and mouth cherished her, kissing, stroking, caressing everywhere he could reach. It was shocking. It was pleasurable beyond bearing. She began to make small sounds of pleasure and impatience. And then suddenly his weight was gone.

She blinked once and saw him standing next to the bed, untying the laces on his pants. His eyes burned as he looked down at her.

"You cannot know how many times I imagined you in my bed at just this moment." The knotted laces suddenly snapped in his hands and then he pushed the leather pants to the floor and stepped away from them. She had little more than a glimpse of his stiff sex before he rejoined her on the bed. "My meager imagination did not do you justice."

Again he had plucked the thoughts from her head. He found his place again between her legs, the cradle where he fit so perfectly. Her arms welcomed him as well, wrapping around his neck, pulling him closer. His hand moved lower until his palm pressed against her. She closed her eyes and let her head fall back as she gave herself over to the primitive emotions that raged inside her body, a body that no longer seemed her own but one that knew exactly how to respond to him, how to please him.

She arched her back, which thrust her chest toward him, and he accepted the offering. He leaned down to kiss first one breast and then the other, and then he started to do more amazing and shocking things with his tongue and mouth. The last shreds of her virtue fell away and her hands tangled in his hair, at times tugging hard enough to cause him pain when he tried to move on to a new torment before she had her fill of the last one. She urged him to do whatever he wanted, as long as he did not stop.

"Put your legs around my waist," he said, his voice barely recognizable. He pressed a hard line of kisses from her shoulder to her lips. There was nothing gentle about the way his mouth slanted over hers, opening her lips, and then stroking her mouth with his tongue in a blatant echo of what he planned to do to her body.

He positioned himself so the length of his sex pressed against her slick, heated flesh. She could hear his labored breathing, the small catches in his breath when he moved against her. Her hips lifted of their own accord and he returned the pressure, not penetrating, but letting her feel the length of him between her legs, his hips pressed tightly to hers. There was a sudden lack of air in the room. A tremor went through his body and the muscles in his arms and chest became even harder beneath her hands. The muscles in his neck stood out in stark relief as he began to move against her, the friction against her most sensitive skin a near unbearable pleasure.

There was a fire building inside her. Each movement of his hips seemed to move her closer to the heat. She wanted to tell him how he was making her feel but words were beyond her. Small moans were the only sounds she seemed capable of making. She had thought her body incapable of handling any more sensation until his hand cupped her breast and he roughly flicked his thumb across her nipple. She was on fire.

"Something is…" Her breath came in small gasps. "I cannot…"

"Let it happen." His voice was a dark presence against her ear, his breath scorching. "Let yourself fall. I will keep you safe, Avalene. Trust me."

He knew what was happening to her. She knew he would keep her safe. She let go of her last hold on sanity and let the flames consume her. She felt as if she were flying, soaring upward, and then floating motionless, stunned joy and a tempest's fury all at once. She barely had time for the emotions to register when she felt his teeth sink painlessly into her shoulder. He shifted his weight, then with one long, powerful thrust, he was inside her. "Oh!"

"Forgive me, cara ." The words were torn from his chest. He buried his face against her neck and thrust himself even deeper.

"Oh!" Her nails dug into his shoulders, deep and hard.

He let out a hiss of pain, but only gathered her closer.

One arm wrapped around her waist, the other above her shoulders so his hand could cradle her head. He held himself still for one long, breathless moment, then he drew back ever so slowly.

The sensations were invasive, foreign and raw, and yet she felt a strange sense of alarm that he was leaving her. A small sound of distress came from her unbidden.

"Shh, cara , I cannot stop." There was distress in his voice, but he entered her again with a smooth stroke that made her gasp again at the renewed shock of his invasion. "Not yet. Soon. Soon."

Instinctively she knew that he was trying to be gentle. His body was beyond his control now, just as hers had been only moments before. She clung to his arms, to muscles that had turned to marble. He was deep within her, his warm skin slick with his efforts to be gentle, his musk a lush blanket over her senses. He moved slowly, sometimes almost imperceptibly.

The pain was beginning to fade when he began to thrust harder, burying himself even deeper until she felt his sex swell within her body. Suddenly he stopped, a statue frozen in a moment of time, a moment of such intense pleasure that it might be pain. A low, primitive sound came from inside him and his muscles convulsed as he held her impaled. He was looking down at her with those hypnotic, intense green eyes, as if words failed him.

In that moment she discovered her whole reason for being, the entire point of being alive. She was awed, speechless with wonder. The shudder that wracked his body vibrated through her, powerful beyond anything she had ever felt, as if he were imparting some measure of his strength to her. His eyes closed and small tremors began to run along the muscles of his arms, and then he crushed her to his chest, trembling and winded.

She listened to the sound of their heartbeats, uncertain whether it was hers or his or some combination of the two. Even their labored breathing shared the same pattern, inhaling at the same time, exhaling at the same time. Nothing that she had ever heard or seen or been told could have prepared her for this…this feeling of completion, that they were two parts of the same whole, separate, and yet only truly complete when they were joined together. She had thought her feelings for him were as deep as she was capable, certain of her love for him, certain what she felt for him could not grow any stronger. Now she realized there were not any words to encompass her feelings. It went beyond her ability to describe. Words were not enough, and yet she could no longer contain the paltriest of them.

"I love you."