Joanne Rock - The Knight's Return

“Secrets are dangerous,” she warned him, wishing she had listened to that counsel when her old nursemaid had bestowed it upon her long ago.

“Aye. All my life is a secret to me and it puts me in danger every day.” The heat behind his words presented an illusion of truth. He spoke like a man tormented by demons of his own.

“I owe you for helping me rejoin the world today, if only for a few hours.” She had enjoyed the intense interest he seemed to take in her. “I will keep your secret until we meet again.”

“When will that be?” he prodded, seeking answers she did not have.

“You may return to the cottage in daylight, but let us not meet under the cover of night anymore.”

There was an intimacy about it. A sense that they shared more than secrets in the darkness….

The Knight’s Return

Harlequin ®Historical

“Joanne Rock’s heroes capture and conquer in just one glance, one word, one touch. Irresistible!”

—USA TODAY bestselling author Julie Leto

A Knight Most Wicked

“Rock starts with an unusual setting—Bohemia—and makes it work. Her character-building skills give us a hero and heroine who are deeply emotional and engaging.”

—Romantic Times BOOKreviews

The Knight’s Courtship

“Joanne Rock’s historicals will sweep you away to a world so filled with passion and pageantry that you’ll never want to leave.”

—Romance Junkies

The Laird’s Lady

“Classic battle of wills plot, fiery repartee and feisty heroine.”

—Romantic Times BOOKreviews

The Knight’s Redemption

“A highly readable medieval romance with an entertaining touch of the paranormal.”

—Romantic Times BOOKreviews

The Wedding Knight

“The Wedding Knight is guaranteed to please! Joanne Rock brings a fresh, vibrant voice to this charming tale.”

—New York Times bestselling author Teresa Medeiros

TORONTO • NEW YORK • LONDON

AMSTERDAM • PARIS • SYDNEY • HAMBURG

STOCKHOLM • ATHENS • TOKYO • MILAN • MADRID

PRAGUE • WARSAW • BUDAPEST • AUCKLAND

For Dean, who ensures there is never a dull moment…

The Wedding Knight #694

The Knight’s Redemption #720

The Betrothal #749

“Highland Handfast”

My Lady’s Favor #758

The Laird’s Lady #769

The Knight’s Courtship #812

A Knight Most Wicked #890

The Knight’s Return #942

#939 HIS SUBSTITUTE BRIDE—Elizabeth Lane

Dashing but cynical Quint Seavers is unaware that independent, practical Annie Gustavson holds a secret longtime love for him. As they live together in close proximity, their attraction becomes undeniable, and suddenly Quint knows that Annie is exactly what has been missing in his life—till now….

A bride worth waiting for…

#940 HIS RELUCTANT MISTRESS—Joanna Maitland

Renowned rake Leo Aikenhead rescues Sophie Pietre, the famous “Venetian Nightingale,” from an assault. Resilient and self-reliant, Sophie has never succumbed to a man’s desires before. But dangerously attractive Leo soon becomes the only man she would risk all her secrets for!

Second in The Aikenhead Honors trilogy—

Three gentlemen spies: bound by duty, undone by women!

#941 THE RAKE’S INHERITED COURTESAN—Ann Lethbridge

Daughter of a Parisian courtesan, Sylvia Boisette thirsts for respectability. But her new guardian—wealthy, conservative Christopher Evernden—finds himself on the brink of scandal, because his body cannot ignore Sylvia’s tempting sensuality….

Let Ann Lethbridge seduce your senses when her heroine becomes

Unlaced, Undressed, Undone!

Chapter One

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

North of London, 1169

Waking proved difficult when one’s eyes were stuck shut.

The dizzy-headed man stretched the muscles in his face from his position on the hard pallet. He willed his lids to open so that he might see the world about him. The scents that assailed him were at once familiar and strange. Sheep dung. Hay. The burnt remains of some poorly cooked meal. Likewise, the sounds did not provide any clues. He heard children shouting and laughing. A woman’s voice yelling. Animals braying, naying and snorting.

The effect was unpleasant and not what he was accustomed to. Or was it?

Worry crawled along his forehead as he struggled to envision a normal morning. A normal day? He was not sure of the time let alone the place.

“The border leaves this morn, Meg,” a man’s deep voice barked nearby. “His illness is a burden on this family that robs our own children of food.”

“Have you no Christian charity, husband?” The softly sweet feminine tones sounded almost musical in the cool room.

Was he the topic of discussion? It was no leap to guess his health was poor since he could not open his eyes. His body ached with weakness, his limbs too heavy to lift.

“You are not a lord’s wife, Meg. If you want this unconscious lump of humanity to have his fill of food and broth, take him to a family who can afford him. You ken? He leaves today or I bring him to the village square to be with the other half-wits unfit to feed themselves.”

Something stung inside him. His pride, he realized. He was not a half-wit. Just a suffering man.

“But John, what if he is someone of consequence? Young Harold says he brought in a horse and he hardly looks like a stable boy…” The woman continued pleading with her husband but their conversation became muted as another voice sounded closer to his ear.

“You must leave if you do not want to become fodder for the village pigs next week,” a boy’s voice—close to his bedside—whispered.

With a last great effort, the man dragged open one eye and then the other.

He was in a small wooden cottage with a dirt floor and one large chamber. Animals walked as freely as the four humans in residence. Well, four discounting him. The man was not sure he felt quite human and the consensus seemed to put him well below both people and animals in importance.

A lad peered up at him in a small wooden cottage, his face covered in dust, his filthy hair matted against his cheeks. The eyes were lit with interest, however. As if pig fodder proved fascinating.

“My brother says that is what they do with half-wits if they provide no service,” the boy continued.

The man touched his temple and winced. The hair had been trimmed, his forehead sutured with neat stitches. He knew at once the sewing had been the work of the sweet-voiced woman. No doubt he owed his life to these strangers.

“What is your name?” the boy prodded, poking him in the shoulder.

His eyes fell shut again and he scarcely heard the conversation growing heated across the room. By the rood, he would get up and leave if he could.