Tori Phillips - Midsummer's Knight

“What about my Lord Cavendish?” echoed Sir John, who also regarded the pair. His eyes darkened to a deeper blue. “He seems to find your cousin...most entertaining.”

“Aye,” Kat snapped. She turned away from the loving scene before she said or did anything to betray their mse. I really must have that serious talk with Miranda tonight, ere she finds herself bedded before I am wedded!

“We were speaking of Sir Brandon,” Sir John reminded her, clipping his words, like the gardeners clipped the hedge of yew trees.

“Aye. Sir Brandon.” Kat ran her tongue across her lips. “Tell me, does he gamble much?”

Sir John lifted one brow as he smiled down at her. “Define ‘much,’ Mistress Miranda.”

Playing with the ribbons that she had so recently won, Kat twined the satin streamers through her fingers. “Does my Lord Cavendish wager large amounts of money when he is at the card table? Forgive my boldness, Sir John, but as Katherine’s cousin, I must be concerned with her welfare. Therefore I ask you plainly. Does Sir Brandon lose much in gambling?”

Behind them, Miranda’s giggle rose half an octave, accompanied by the richer tones of Sir Brandon’s laugh. Sir John glared over Kat’s head at the two. “Sir Brandon may lose his shirt and the skin under it, if he does not take more care in the future,” he muttered, more to himself than to Kat. His darker mood passed when he glanced down at her again. “But in answer to your question, Sir Brandon is an excellent player of all manner of games.” He leaned closer to her. “And, Mistress Miranda, I speak from very close association.”

His warm breath, mint scented, fanned her face. Another wave of giddiness swept over Kat. It must be the weather. Perchance the wind bore some strange pollen to make one feel giddy in the middle of the afternoon.

“Just so,” she murmured. Mayhap she needed a tonic. She must speak to Sondra about that later. “And you swear that my cousin need not fear that Sir Brandon will spend her fortune at cards and other wagers?”

Sir John placed his hand over his breast. “Upon my heart and soul, I do swear...for him, that is. My...friend comes from a wealthy family in Northumberland, and he is well provided. Cards do not hold him in their thrall, as they do many others—such as your cousin’s knavish nephew.”

Kat cocked her head. “How now? I...and my cousin have not heard this tale before. Pray, enlighten me, Sir John.”

Another giggle pierced the warm afternoon. Sir John curled his lips in disgust. “Let us walk the garden paths, Mistress Miranda. I fear that so much billing and cooing between yon lovebirds is very distracting to my thoughts.” He offered her his arm.

“Gladly, Sir John.” Kat slipped her hand around his elbow. Under his green velvet sleeve, she felt the strength of his muscles. For a moment, she imagined herself enfolded in his strong embrace. Her mouth went suddenly dry.

They passed through an opening of the yew hedge into the intricate knot garden. The crushed shells of the pathways crunched under their feet as they paced out the geometric design of the trimmed boxwood plantings.

“You spoke of Fen...young Sir Scantling, my lord?” Kat prompted, after the archery range was out of sight and sound.

“Aye, mistress. Pardon my bluntness, but he is an asshead.”

Sir John’s muscles tightened a little under Kat’s fingertips. She wondered what the young fool had done to incur the wrath of so noble a lord as Sir John.

“You may speak plainly with me, my lord. I am not being wooed for my wedding day.” Not yet, thank God!

“You should be,” Sir John muttered under his breath. Then he cleared his throat and continued in a louder tone. “Scantling plays nightly at cards, dice or any other wager the courtiers might devise. Once he even bet upon the outcome of a louse race!”

Kat missed a step. Sir John’s hand steadied her. “By the book! Do you speak of a race between bugs?” she gasped.

Sir John’s lips twitched, and his eyes twinkled azure fire. “Aye, I do. And he lost even that one! He has the most rotten luck, and poorest judgment in the entire court. Your cousin is obviously not aware of it, Mistress Miranda, but she has been taken out of pocket for a great deal of money by that king of shreds and patches. Gambling is a sickness with him, and one that he will not throw off. He will beggar Lady Katherine’s entire estate within a twelvemonth, unless I can...” Sir John pressed his lips into a thin, hard line.

Kat gripped his sleeve, bunching the rich material between her fingers. She found it extremely difficult to make disinterested conversation. God shield her! What a dithering fool she had been! How Fenton must have laughed each time she sent him yet another letter of credit to her goldsmith on London Bridge!

“Mistress Miranda?” Sir John murmured in her ear. “You have turned quite pale. Forgive me for being the bearer of bad tidings.”

Kat shook her head. “Nay, Sir John, have no fear on my account. You do not know it, but you have done me a good service. I am in your debt. ’Tis better that you tell me of Fenton’s perfidy, than to tell my cousin. She is a gentle creature, and would likely faint at the news.” Kat looked up into Sir John’s eyes, warmed by the depths of concern she saw there. “I am made of sterner stuff.”

“So I perceive, sweet Miranda.” He leaned over her, blotting out the late afternoon sun. “And I salute you for it.”

Brushing his lips against hers, he took her wholly by surprise. His kiss imparted a velvet warmth that left her mouth burning and her body quivering for more.

“Sir John,” she murmured, standing on tiptoe.

“Aye,” he growled. His lips nibbled her earlobe. “‘Tis a name I wear like a hat on a holiday, but ’twill suffice for now. Let me drink from you again, and we’ll take tomorrow when it comes.”

“Aye.” She sighed as his large hand cupped her face, holding it gently. His touch was almost unbearable in its tenderness. Not once in thirteen years of marriage had she ever been caressed like this. Closing her eyes and parting her lips, she rose to meet him.

His mouth recaptured hers, his kiss more demanding this time. His tongue traced the soft fullness of her lips, then grew bolder as it explored the recesses of her mouth. Gathering her in his arms, he held her close, gently rocking her back and forth as he deepened his kiss. Kat drank in the sweetness of his mouth with a reckless abandon she had never known before. Bright colored stars danced behind her closed eyelids. She tried to remember to breathe.

Brushing her lower lip, Sir John slowly released his hold upon her. Kat shivered as his warmth left her.

“I am fortune’s biggest fool, sweet Miranda. Pray, pardon me.” Turning on his heel, he left her standing in the middle of the path.

Squinting into the lowering sun, Kat watched his tall figure striding toward the stables. She touched the place his teeth had grazed her skin. By our larkin! What folly had she done? Her breathing slowly returned to normal, though she did not yet trust her knees to carry her back to her chambers. The memory of his kiss burned on her lips.

“Nay, Sir John, you are not the greatest fool in Bodiam today,” she whispered. “I claim that title for myself alone.”

Let tomorrow come! My betrothed may kiss like a candied carrot, but this moment with Sir John will remain mine forever.

“On such an evening as this, one might spy Cupid disguised as a firefly, flitting among your flowers, fair Katherine.” Sir Brandon gave his lady’s hand a little squeeze as he helped her settle herself on one of the stone benches in the far corner of the garden.

Miranda trembled at the sound of his rich, mellow voice. He smelled of mint, wood smoke and some other scent that was his alone. The combination made her feel quite giddy. “Perchance Cupid will attend the wedding day.” Placing her hand over her breast, she closed her fingers around the swan pendant. She clutched it as if it were a talisman.