The hand cupping the back of Honore’s head drew her forward, and when their mouths met, she surely knew what so many before her knew—the lips were wonderfully sensitive, and what happened above affected all below, weakening her head to toe. But when she slid her hands around Elias’s neck, he groaned and lifted his head.

She felt his gaze but did not open her eyes, instead savored something she had thought never to experience that would not likely happen again.

Finally, Elias said, “Is this not something about which to smile?”

That too. And she did as she raised her lids.

His eyes moved from hers to her mouth. As the self-consciousness she deplored slunk back, he said, “A pretty smile. Still…”

She tensed.

“…it is more. It is beautiful.”

“Beautiful?” she exclaimed.

“Have you never looked in a mirror, Honore?”

“I have no access to such, but it is enough to catch my reflection in water, glass, upon a silver platter—and in eyes ere they scuttle away. Be assured, I know it well.”

“You do not. All those distort. Thus, if you will not take my word for how lovely your smile, I shall have to secure a mirror, else in the light of day you must dwell longer on your reflection in my eyes.”

She knew she should resist such talk, but he seemed so sincere she could not fight a bowing of lips and show of teeth only ever achieved when the weather was temperate enough to allow her foundlings to venture to the walled enclosure that had once been a neglected garden. The abbess having granted Honore’s request to transform a portion into a play area, there the children crawled, ran, jumped, sang, and laughed distant from those who might approve of Bairnwood’s commitment to saving unwanted children but did not wish to hear or see the fruits of those labors.

“Beautiful, indeed.” Elias returned her to this abbey where it was not her arms holding a contented child but his holding a woman who longed for contentment. “Granted, your smile has a mischievous slant, but it is all the more entrancing. Hence, do you unnecessarily concern yourself over this small scar…” His thumb brushed it. “…as told, you have but to smile, dear Honore.”

Dear. Might she be that to him? Or was he only being kind? Worse, what if he but sought to seduce her? Had she not overheard the young man at Gravelines complain Elias had stolen from him the favors of a serving woman she would not have considered such, but as he so soon sought intimacy following the loss of Lettice, perhaps he was even better at playing a part than believed.

Seeing he frowned, she realized she had lowered her smile. “For pity’s sake do you kiss me, Elias?”

“Had pity moved me to try your sweet lips, I would have resisted for both our sakes. Non, Honore, I wanted to kiss you—so much I put from my mind where we are and why we are here.”

Though she longed to believe him, she said, “Did you also put from your mind who we are?”

“Who?”

She drew a breath that caused her chest to brush his, quickly exhaled the excess. “You are fairly young. You are noble. You are legitimate. You are of the world. I am not young. If I am noble, likely I am just as common and illegitimate. Regardless, ever I shall remain unacknowledged because of this defect of birth. And I am of this world only insofar as I venture into it to pluck unwanted babes from dark places.”

What seemed discomfort passed over his face, and she knew he understood that whereas it had been but a kiss to him, it had moved her to expectations to which such intimacy ought not give rise to one such as she.

“Thus,” she said, “as we have no godly future and never would I be to you the same as the woman in Gravelines, I shall be glad for your one kiss and naught else.”

He released her. “The woman in Gravelines?”

She leaned back, let the wall become the support he had been. “I speak of the grumblings of a young man who, also seeking a bed in the stables, resented losing the favors of a woman to a knight. And there was only one knight in that inn, Elias.”

“You think…” A curt laugh bounded from him. “Though I told I remained behind to gain information—and I did—you believe I lay with a woman.”

“It is that over which the man complained.”

“Upon my honor, I was with her at the bar and only there. And when I gleaned from her all I could, she became cover to learn more from others. Afterward, I gave her coin, sent her away, and feigned sleeping off drunkenness so I could aid the archbishop did any disturb his sleep.”

Though she feared believing him, she was moved to do so. Determining she would, she said, “Forgive me. It was difficult to conceive you could be intimate with a woman so soon after what happened to Lettice, but…”

His face tightened.

Wishing she had not reminded him of his lost love, she said, “My only excuse is I know so little of you.”

Now eyes that had looked so kindly upon her pierced. “Do you? Then you ought not allow me to kiss you, especially as you yourself tell only forbidden intimacy is possible between us. In yielding, you risk making lie of your claim to never become that which drops coin into the palm of women like the one who kept company with me at Gravelines.”

“I would never—”

“You think she knew what desperation would make of her ere it ruined her?” His voice having risen, he snapped his teeth and momentarily closed his eyes. “I am more at fault. Though as told it was not pity or kindness that made me kiss you, nor the hope of seducing you, I know better than to yield to desire that ruins women and makes fatherless children.”

Only desire. But better that than mere pity or kindness, since it was as near she would come to what went between married men and women.

She pushed off the wall, and as she smoothed her skirts was reminded of the finery that had surely aided in tempting Elias. Come morn, she would seek the laundering of her soiled garments the sooner to return her to a semblance of one whose life was devoted to foundlings.

Remembering the lost gorget, she moved her gaze over the floor, a moment later swept it up. “As I know you must rise early to be away from Clairmarais ere those from Sandwich resume their search, I wish you Godspeed, Sir Elias.”

“For that,” he said as she turned aside, “I approached you this eve.”

She came back around. “Plans have changed?”

“Perhaps, though now…” Emotions shifted across his face, and she guessed what had led to their kiss was being reconsidered.

Hope leapt through her, and she sounded almost a girl when she said, “You will take me with you?”

“I had thought to, but only were you willing to forego the gorget and clothe yourself as I find you now.”

“Why?”

“The manner in which you wear the gorget is too memorable, as well as the simple clothes worn by one whose pretense of being a knight’s wife was made believable only by the presence of a ring. If you accompany me, you must further transform lest we are unable to avoid those from Sandwich or others who could connect our party with Thomas’s at Gravelines or on the road to Clairmarais. A fine, unwed lady you will look—”

“Unwed?”

He inclined his head. “We shall be traversing lands in which my family and I are known. Thus, better you play my English cousin whom I escort to my home to take up residence for a time.”

It made sense, but she hesitated. Mostly she believed Elias viewed the scar as of little consequence, but not all would. Many would stare and talk out the sides of their mouths. Some would cross themselves and hasten away—though perhaps not as many were she clothed in the finery of a lady. Such offense was more easily dealt a commoner than a noble.

“I know it is a fearful thing, Honore.” Elias stepped near again. “But do you eschew your cover, I believe you will be safer with me.”

Once anger had moved her to refuse to conceal her lower face, and it had been freeing. Thus, when it had been required to ensure Lady Yolande remained generous with her donations, she had resented it. She ought to be glad to accommodate Elias, especially as it would allow her to be with him when he recovered Hart, but the thought of baring her face was almost as disturbing as she imagined it would be were she to bare her body.

Ridiculous, she scorned. She was thinking not much different from wild animals of which she had heard tale that, following years of captivity, might be inclined to slay their captor given the opportunity but when provided a chance to escape their cages did not take it—either so in the habit of living inside the bars or grown fearful of what lay on the other side. She had thought it exaggeration, but here she was longing to remain behind the gorget.

She did not know how she came by a smile, but she felt it when she looked up. “I shall forego the gorget.”

Keeping his gaze from a mouth whose smile moved him, Elias stared into her blue eyes. But they were more devastating. “You are certain?”

“Gladly I shall abandon it.”

He admired her determination. “Then you shall require rest as much as I.” He strode toward the corridor, traversed it, and halted alongside her door.

She paused on the threshold and tilted up her face—one that, though not of a young woman, was far from aged as she made herself sound in listing the reasons there could be no future for them.

How old was she? He would guess one or two years younger than he, meaning at least ten years older than his father would have him wed to ensure plenty of childbearing years, but to Elias a more acceptable age than a woman hardly out of girlhood.

“You need not reconsider permitting me to remain with you, Sir Elias. Be assured, I will not seek further kisses. And henceforth, I shall not forget ours is a relationship of necessity.”

Brave words, but he sensed the hurt behind them. And hated he was responsible. “Fear not, I shall awaken you well ere dawn.”

She stepped inside.

“Honore, how many years have you?”

She slowly turned, gripped the door’s edge. “Thirty and two.”

Unable to keep surprise from his face, he said, “I believed you less than my twenty and eight.”

A small smile. “You are kind, but as told, that is a mark against me—too few years in which to give a man many children. Quite impossible, Sir Elias.” She stepped back, closed the door, and bolted it.

He eased out his breath. A mess he had made of the night. He had chosen the wrong means by which to assure her she need not hide behind the gorget. He had fallen to temptation as if unaware of the attraction between them. And when she reminded him of the impossibility of pursuing a relationship beyond forbidden intimacy, he had been offended by her assumption he had sinned with the woman at the inn. And guilt over kissing Honore so soon after Lettice’s passing had turned him cruel in placing blame on her for their kiss, warning she risked becoming a harlot and confirming they could have no future beyond sin.

His only defense—a poor one—was his response ought to discourage her from gifting him more of her heart than already she did.

And what of your heart, Elias De Morville?

He shook his head. Given more time and too little consideration, he might have been in danger of losing it, but it remained his. A good thing. Once the boy was found, Elias had amends to make and promises to keep.

The obligation owed his sire was coming due.