Tori Phillips - Halloween Knight

She groaned. “What’s amiss?”

Mark rubbed the sleep out of his eyes. “Tis dawn,” he began, glancing over to Belle. “You were supposed to—” He stared at her naked shoulders with growing shock. “God’s teeth!” he bellowed. He leapt out of bed, the blood pounding against his temples. “Are you…naked under that?” She couldn’t be! His heartbeat quickened at the speculation.

Belle lay back against her pillow, revealing a hint of the shadow between her breasts. Mark’s breath came out in short gasps.

She folded her hands over her stomach. “Of course. What did you expect?” she replied.

God save me! Mark backed farther away, nearly stepping into the cooling ashes of last night’s fire. What did I do to her? “What happened?”

Belle’s pink lips puckered with annoyance. “Methought you would awake happier than this. After all, I gave you what you most desired…!”

Dear Reader,

In keeping with the season, this month’s Halloween Knight features a bewitching heroine, a haunted castle and an inspired cat. Widow Belle Cavendish is being held by her evil brother-in-law, and it’s up to a young knight and his companions to save the day. Maggie Award-winning author Tori Phillips is up to her old tricks with this delightful tale of rescue that culminates in a Halloween banquet full of surprises!

USA Today bestselling author Margaret Moore returns with her new Regency, The Duke’s Desire—the story of reunited lovers who must suppress the flames of passion that threaten to destroy both their reputations. For Medieval fans, Dryden’s Bride by Margo Maguire features a lively noblewoman en route to a convent who takes a detour when she falls in love with a noble knight. And for our Western readers, Liz Ireland’s Trouble in Paradise, with a pregnant heroine and a bachelor hero, is out there waiting for you to pick up and enjoy.

Whatever your taste in historicals, look for all four Harlequin Historicals at your nearby book outlet.

Sincerely,

Tracy Farrell

Senior Editor

www.millsandboon.co.uk

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Fool’s Paradise #307

*Silent Knight #343

*Midsummer’s Knight #415

*Three Dog Knight #438

*Lady of the Knight #476

*Halloween Knight #527

To five young heroines-in-training,

Rachel, Ashley & Katrina Bigelow;

Alyssia & Gillian Eiserman;

with love from

their godmother.

Chapter One The time when screech owls cry, ban dogs howl and spirits walk. —HENRY VI PART 2

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Epilogue

Afterword

The time when screech owls cry, ban dogs howl and spirits walk.

—HENRY VI PART 2

Wolf Hall, Northumberland, England

Late September 1542

“You come none too soon, Mark.” The bed ropes creaked as Sir Brandon Cavendish shifted his weight. He did not bother to mask his grimace of pain from his former squire.

Sir Mark Hayward, lately returned from Ireland after a fruitless seven years seeking riches and honor in His Majesty’s service, offered his arm to his bedridden mentor. “Your message smacked of urgency, my lord. I rode posthaste from London. Thank God the roads were dry.” He eased Brandon nearer to the bedside table. “Am I to avenge you against the blackguard who broke your hip?” he asked with a grin.

Brandon lay back against a flock of bolsters and closed his eyes for a moment. “Belle’s in trouble,” he announced without a preamble. “At least, methinks she is.”

Mark groaned inwardly. He had known Brandon’s natural daughter ever since the little minx first appeared at Wolf Hall dressed in a ragged infant’s gown. LaBelle Marie Cavendish attracted disasters like honey drew bears.

“Tis an old tale twice-told, my lord,” he muttered. He sipped his mulled cider to steady his nerves. “Methought Belle was married a few years ago. Her troubles should be her husband’s now.”Poor sot!

Opening his eyes, Brandon leveled an icy blue glare at the younger man. “She was. The boy’s dead. Thereby hangs the reason for her present distress.”

Mark squelched his impulse to ask if Belle had driven her late spouse into his early grave. Instead he took another drink of cider while his heart beat faster.

Brandon emptied his own mug before he continued. “Cuthbert Fletcher was never my idea of a husband for Belle. The boy was a weakling, though pretty in his features. Belle took one look at that milksop—God rest his soul—and declared that she must have him as a husband or else she would die. Nearly drove me stark mad with her artful wheedling.”

Mark snorted in his cup. Comes from spoiling her rotten since the age of two. “But you allowed the match,” he observed aloud.

When Mark had heard of Belle’s nuptials four months after the event, he had toasted the health of her luckless bridegroom in Irish whiskey. He had never gotten so drunk in his life as he did on that rainy night.

Brandon gave him a meaningful look. “Because Cuthbert would take her, despite her…background.” He cleared his throat. “None of the young noblemen looked twice at my Belle once they learned she was born of a French commoner on the wrong side of my blanket. Belle was the fairest maid at Great Harry’s court when we took her there two years ago, yet not one of those strutting peacocks would stoop to woo her—except that whey-faced Cuthbert—the son of a wool-merchant.”

Mark tightened his grip around his mug at the thought of pretty Belle being snubbed by a gaggle of flap-mouthed galliwags dressed in satin. The lass had more spirit in her little finger than most men possessed in their bodies—and that was usually the trouble with the headstrong vixen. He massaged his forearm where it had broken eight years ago—the last time he had seen Belle.

“Most men never bother to look beyond their own noses,” he remarked. A trickle of sweat rolled down the back of his neck despite the coolness of the twilight’s air. “So Cuthbert died?” he prodded.

“Aye,” Brandon growled. “Of a fever this past June. Belle wrote us a heartbroken letter.”

Mark blinked. “She doesn’t live nearby?”

Brandon attempted to pour himself more cider from the pitcher but splashed most of it on his nightshirt. After swearing under his breath, he replied, “Nay. My good Kat gave Bodiam Castle to the newlyweds as Belle’s jointure estate. Belle is still in Sussex.”

Mark’s eyes widened. “A most generous gift from your lady wife,” he murmured.