“I shall take the floor.”

Louisa folded her arms and lifted her chin. Knight groaned inwardly. He’d seen that stance many a time, usually when she was in the process of facing a drunken chap who was begging for another ale. Of course, the drunken chap never won.

But he’d be damned if he’d lose to her. Sharing a room with the woman was enough to addle him as it was. He needed to stay strong. Curse the highwaymen who took up too much time. If they’d arrived earlier, they would not have been forced to share a room. But Louisa was drained by the day—he could see it in her eyes even if she claimed she could travel many more hours—and she needed rest. No doubt their encounter with those blackguards had taken its toll.

“First you are going to take off your shirt so I can look at your wound. Then you are going to lie on the bed and you are going to stay there.” She met his gaze head on.

“Like hell.” He bit the words out.

Taking several steps toward him, she kept her gaze fixed firmly on his. The journey and their brief clash with those crooks had left her a little rumpled. The curl of fair hair that kept sliding across her forehead made his fingers itch with the need to push it back and steal a fleeting feel of her smooth skin. Her eyes were bright with determination, however, and he could not rely on her fatigue to help him win this battle. He stared into green eyes flecked with hazel and inhaled.

“Let me look,” she demanded, taking another pace forward and reaching for his jacket.

He jumped back as her fingers skimmed the garment.

Her lips tilted. “Am I really going to have to chase you around the room?”

It was ridiculous running away from this diminutive woman but it was bad enough they had to share a room. If he removed his shirt, there would be several things that would happen. Firstly, she would see the full extent of his scars up close, and he was not certain he could bear the horrified look on her face when she saw him displayed in his full state of repulsiveness. Secondly, if she touched him, he was doubtful he’d survive it. Even now, if he closed his eyes he could picture her fingers travelling across his skin and it made him ache with need.

“I am well enough,” he muttered.

It was true. In a way. The sting from the slice made his skin itch and it needed cleaning but it would not kill him. It took more than a graze to end him or else he’d have died long ago.

“Knight.” She reached for him again, moving quickly, and snagged the lapel of his jacket. Louisa used the opportunity to grab the other one and effectively trap him.

When he tried to pull back, she stumbled with him, falling against him. He froze, his breaths laboring in his lungs. The flame in the lantern behind him protested all the movement and flickered and danced, the amber light caressing Louisa’s features. It highlighted her lips, the smooth curve of her cheeks, and the warmth in her eyes. It made him weaker with every second.

He swallowed hard. “You will not leave me in peace on this, will you?”

Her lips curved. “You are learning.”

Closing his eyes briefly, he removed her hands from his jacket, all too aware of how perfect her dainty hands felt against his large ones. He shrugged out of his jacket and hesitated. Louisa had seen him shirtless only a day ago, but he hadn’t given her time to peruse him, and he had not had time to view her reaction to him. Would he horrify her?

He rotated and undid his cuffs then the button at his neck. Muscles tight, he hauled the shirt over his head and tossed it onto the armoire in front of him. He stared sightlessly out of the window. Her steady breaths and the slight rustle of fabric echoed in his ears as she stepped closer.

Cool fingers touched his back. He inhaled sharply.

“Forgive me.”

He couldn’t tell her it wasn’t the temperature of her fingers that made him shake but the feel of them. As a hard-working woman, they were slightly rough but still about the softest thing to touch his skin in a long time. Her fingers danced a path down his spine and lingered around where the sting of the slice was. He felt her breath following that path and he clenched his palms at his sides.

He closed his eyes again. His muscles quivered with tension. This needed to be over—with haste. How much longer could he survive her sweet touch? It made his gut ache and reminded him of the years spent lusting after her. In all that time, he’d avoided ever being in an intimate situation like this with her. And this was why. It was pure. Damn. Torture.

“It is not too terrible. A little water will do the job.”

Jaw clenched, he listened to her pad over to the washbowl and pour some water.

“This will be cold,” she warned.

Knight said nothing. He focused on drawing each breath in and out and bracing again for her touch. He shuddered when her fingers framed the cut and hissed at the feel of the cold cloth on his skin. The cool water trickling down his back was at least a welcome distraction from her tender touches.

Mere moments passed but it felt like an eternity. Her fingers left his skin, and he cursed himself inwardly for instantly missing her touch. He reached for his shirt before she could murmur that she was done.

Thrusting it over his head, he twisted back to face her and tugged it down over his abdomen. “Thank you,” he said gruffly. He fumbled with the buttons at the cuffs and spotted color in her cheeks.

“Let me,” she offered, not giving him a chance to refuse.

Not that he could.

He lifted his arm like a puppet pulled by strings, powerless to do anything but obey.

Biting down on her lip, she pushed the button through the hole then turned her attention to the other cuff, her lashes lowered and fanned across her cheeks.

It gave him far too much unhindered time to study her. At the inn, she never stood still. The bloody woman worked too hard. He didn’t think he had ever had the chance to truly look at her.

All it did was confirm everything he’d been thinking.

She was beautiful—the most beautiful woman he’d ever known. Also, she was utterly unaware of her impact on him, which was now a hundred-fold. He tried to drag his gaze away from her and stare at something dull, like the tired-looking wallpaper or the uneven beams. He searched his mind for something tedious of which to think. An absolute void greeted him.

His gaze skipped back to her features, to her plump lips now slightly glossy from where she had bitten down on them, to the barely there freckles on her nose and skimming the sides of her forehead, to that damned curl moving with her every breath, touching her skin as he wished to.

She straightened his cuff and stepped back. “You should rest. I shall have some food sent up.”

He blinked. “No.” The word escaped him, coarse and gruff.

Louisa lifted a brow. “We both need to eat. It has been a long, tiring day.”

Obviously they did. He was used to eating as and when but his body needed plenty of fuel so he did not opt to go hungry unless necessary. 

He scowled. “You should not go down there unaccompanied.”

Her responding smile was soft. “Knight, I think you forget how I make my living. I have seen and been around far worse.” She gave his shoulder a nudge with her palm. “You rest, I shall not be long.”

She left the room whilst he was still reeling from that simple, teasing touch. He could have gone after her—after all he was not severely injured—but he could not will his legs to move. She’d meant nothing by any of it and yet he could still sense where her fingers had connected with his skin. Hell fire, he would kill Red when he returned home. If Red’s plan had been to drive him to the edge of reason, he was succeeding.

He glanced around the room and at the small bed. He’d crush the blasted thing if he tried to sleep on it. As it was, he had to duck to avoid each beam in the ceiling. Perhaps, if she fell asleep, he could sneak downstairs and sleep in the taproom. He nodded to himself. That sounded like the best way to deal with this situation.

Louisa returned with two bowls of something hot and fragrant. Steam rose from the bowls and made his stomach grumble. She chuckled as the sound cracked the silence of the room. Pushing the door shut behind her with a foot, she handed him a bowl and lowered herself onto the edge of the bed.

Peering around, Knight scowled. There were few places for him to sit in the room, and he doubted the delicate cane-work chair would support his weight or was even large enough for his broad form.

He could eat standing, but he’d look a bloody fool.

Louisa peeked up at him. “Oh. You sit on the bed, I shall sit there.”

He opened his mouth to protest but he was not certain why, so he closed it again. It made far more sense for Louisa to sit on the tiny chair. He nodded and carried his bowl over to the bed, sinking onto it and wincing when the mattress creaked. The bed held, however. Perhaps it was stronger than he had originally thought.

She settled herself into the chair and faced him. It was then he comprehended why he had no wish to sit on the bed. As he tore off a chunk of the bread that had been half-dunked into the fragrant stew, it brought to mind all the things he would do with Louisa on a bed if he had the opportunity. Images of soft curves against his hardness, of pale skin touching his sun-kissed body, of heat and need burned through his mind. He shook the images away and focused on the bowl in his palm.

He devoured the bread and finished the stew in a few quick spoonfuls. When he looked up, he found Louisa watching him with amusement while she was still finishing the bread.

“Hungry?”

He lifted a shoulder. “It’s a habit.”

“From the Army?

He eyed her. “How did you figure that out?”

“You avoided my question about how you knew how the Army operated earlier today, not to mention you eat like a man who will never eat again. Drake eats similarly. Besides, not many civilian men have scars like you.”

He stiffened. She’d noticed. Of course she’d damn well noticed. They were hardly tiny scars. One too many close encounters with the French had left him bruised, cut, and beaten. As one of the large men in his unit, he’d often been tasked with leading the run into the fray. His body made an excellent target for rifles too, and he’d even survived being struck by shrapnel from a cannon blast twice.  It would have been impossible to escape unscathed.

“Forgive me. I should not have said anything.”

Her contrite expression sent a dart of guilt through him. He shook his head. “It is well enough. War is a brutal affair, that is all.”

“Have you ever told Julianna about your experiences?”

He shook his head. “It is not for women to know about.”

“I know for certain she thinks differently. She is desperate to learn about what you were doing during your time apart.”

He grunted. Scrabbling to survive mostly. Once his father disinherited him, he’d travelled south looking for work and stumbled into joining the Army, starting at the very bottom. If he’d possessed any money, he could have bought a commission, but with no coin, he had to take what was offered. At the time, he didn’t much care. It gave him something to focus on, and he was hideously good at war.

“Men go to war to protect women. I would not burden Julianna with the knowledge of the reality of it.”

Her eyes crinkled, and she set the bowl aside. “I’m not certain why men go to war, but I doubt it is always to protect women.”

Knight stood and gathered up her bowl, setting them onto the armoire. “Many of the men I met fought for their women—for the coin it brought to send home or to protect them from a French invasion. Some fought for the thirst for blood. Others had little idea why they were fighting.”

“And what were you fighting for?”

He did not answer. She would probably not like his response. He did not fight for honor or to protect those he loved. After his first battle, he was one of those who was thirsty. A tiny taste of it and all he wanted to do was fight more, to unleash every ounce of anger at his father on Frenchmen who had little idea why they were fighting either.

He closed the shutters over the windows. “It is getting late. You should rest.”

“You are the one who should be resting.”

“It is a mere graze,” he insisted.

Hands to her hips, she stared him down. “If this is where you tell me you are too much of a gentleman to share the bed with me, I shall call you a liar. I am a widowed woman and hardly susceptible to ruination.”

“And I am no gentleman,” he finished for her.

“Well, you are a viscount but...”

“I can sleep on the floor.”

She shook her head vigorously. “You need proper rest after today, and I will not have you on the dirty floor with that cut.”

“Damn it, woman.”

Amusement flickered in her gaze. Why Louisa was never daunted by him, he did not know. Few women would stand up to him like she did. The only exception he could think of was Mrs. Bell from the village who invited him for tea and cake ever since he’d been forced to stop for tea when they were making enquiries a while ago. 

But the frail Mrs. Bell did not make impossible demands of him.

“Knight, we are two grown adults and I need a comfortable bed tonight, just as you do. Let us not fight over something so trivial.”

The woman had to sound so reasonable, did she not? He blew out a breath and nodded. “Very well.”

They readied themselves for bed by kicking off their boots, and Louisa removed her gown, leaving her in a modest, long chemise, but he remained pretty much clothed. Knight eased himself onto the bed and faced the window. Though he could not see her, he heard her bare feet padding across the floorboards while she did whatever it was women did before bed. With a puff, the room was blanketed in darkness. He closed his eyes and the bed dipped beside him.

He waited, body tense while she settled. Once her breaths grew steady and her body softened into his back, he let his muscles loosen.

Knight awakened to a quiet moan and a body curled up against his front. He had to take a moment to orientate himself, scanning the darkened room and noting the faint outlines of the furniture. Then the silhouette of the person in his arms.

He had little idea how, but he had fallen asleep and was now facing Louisa. An arm about her waist, he held her close and she had curled a hand around his biceps. He suspected her eyes were still closed but she wriggled closer and looped a leg around his, drawing him into her warmth. He had to bite back a groan. She could have no idea how long it had been since he’d held a woman and how ridiculously perfect she felt. Every inch of her was soft and warm and giving.

His body responded, and he failed to hold back the growl threatening to burst from his throat. However, the primitive noise was cut off when she lifted her face to his and pressed whisper soft lips to his. Every muscle in his body tight, he dared not breathe, dared not shatter the moment.

Louisa moved her mouth across his and coiled herself closer, until not a single sliver of air existed between them. His body flamed in response. By some miracle, he managed not to respond. She could not realize it was him. She was dreaming of some other man perhaps. Somehow, he would have to wake her and put an end to this madness.

He focused on the arm banding about her waist first. If he just removed that, perhaps he could widen the gap between them and ease out of her hold. But he’d be damned if he could force that arm to move. Each fiber of his being fought him on it, especially when she pressed the kiss harder and emitted a tiny moan. The sound ate deep inside him, and he knew it would haunt him for an eternity.

“Louisa,” he rasped out.

She stilled. He made out the fluttering of her eyelashes when she drew back. In the murky light of the room, her gaze met his. Moments passed, punctuated by his frenetic heartbeat in his ears. His arm was still about her, her leg remained wrapped over his. He felt her warm breaths on his skin.

“Knight,” she murmured, the word whispering through the air and landing deep in his chest, almost painful in how welcome it was.

He could not be sure who made the first move. Any questions he had faded into obscurity when their lips met again, this time hard and frantic. He pushed a hand into her hair and clasped her to him. She gasped, opening her mouth to his, and he kissed her hungrily, drawing in the sweet taste of her.

Her body undulated into him. Knight could hardly fathom it. Were these really Louisa’s hands scrabbling across his body? Tugging at his shirt and trying to find access to his skin? Was this her mouth, sliding its way across his jaw and making his body hurt with need?

He pressed the kiss deep, forcing another moan from her. There was no doubting this was her. And by some miracle, she wanted him. He slid the hand from her hair, down her waist, and bunched up the long chemise she wore. He’d managed not to think about how close he was to skin when they went to bed.

Until now.

Now he realized he was but a slip of fabric from a soft, feminine body—a body he wished he could see better. Too many nights had been passed imagining what she would look like. But he forgot any regret when his fingers met her thigh. He flexed his hand up and around and found the curve of her rear. Her gasps between kisses drove him on, and he cupped her, drawing her closer to him.

“Knight,” she breathed.

He trailed kisses down her neck and tugged at the string bunching the neckline of her chemise free to give him better access to her body. She rolled onto her back, her hands to his shoulders, drawing him with her.

“I am too big,” he protested in a harsh whisper.

“No.”

He could not fight her. The feel of her pliable body hard against his obliterated any sensible thought. Flames licked through him, igniting the years of desire he’d been crushing. There was no going back now.

“Take me,” she begged, lifting her hips to his.

This was not how it should be. He should take it slow. Ensure her pleasure. Explore every part of her with care and reverence.

Louisa had other ideas, and he could not fight the tide. He thrust her chemise high and opened the placket of his breeches. She sifted her hands through his hair, pulling him tight against her and urging him on with scattered kisses that left little scalding points in their wake.

He drew back for the briefest moment to meet her gaze. She was but a shadowy outline but he saw enough. She wanted this as much as he. How this had come to be, he could not fathom, nor could he dwell on it any longer.

A hand to her hip, he joined them in a sharp, swift movement that had him clenching his jaw. She inhaled sharply, and her fingernails dug into his arms, the sharp bite of them assuring him this was indeed real. Her heat closed about him, and he had to remind himself to breathe.

“Kiss me.”

He relaxed a little, easing down on top of her and seeking out her mouth with his. She opened her lips to him and wrapped her legs about his hips. Louisa drew him deeper, and he clenched his eyes shut. She could have no idea what she was doing to him, how many times he’d imagined such a moment.

His imagination had not done her justice. He could never have predicted her fiery response—though he should have done. She rocked her hips up into his. He responded with a thrust, and she cried out. The noise impelled him on. He drove deep into her, relishing every tremor and stuttered breath. Her responding kisses were wild and erratic. 

Knight increased the pace, a hand under her rear, and was utterly lost to her. Kissing her hard, he buried his head into the crook of her neck and drank in the sweet, clean fragrance of her while he kept up the frantic rhythm with little finesse.

It did not seem to matter. Her nails raked down his arms and her breaths grew heavy. She tensed underneath him, her cries increased. He gritted his teeth and dragged her over the edge until her body tightened and released, making him feel a mere second away from exploding. He held on, drawing out her peak until she relaxed then withdrew quickly, and with a harsh, hot breath, his eyes clenched tightly shut, he spilled into his hand and onto her bare thigh. A wave of relief flowed over him, and he opened his eyes.

In the darkness, he could make out the satisfied shape of her, her hands sprawled on either side of her head, her fingers loose and relaxed. The inevitable prod of regret needled at him.  Louisa deserved better than a scarred, sullen bastard like him.

“I—”

A long inhale from Louisa and the sound of her rolling over cut him off. Not that he knew what he could possibly say. Forgive me, perhaps. Or some excuse for his moment of weakness. And apologize for not being softer, for not taking his time. But she saved him from any response with a heavy exhale. He allowed himself a small smile at her sleeping form.

He cleaned himself up and gingerly dabbed her thigh with a cloth, erasing any evidence of their moment together. After tucking her under the blankets, he allowed himself one last moment of weakness and swept a gentle kiss across her forehead.

Knight straightened his clothing and shook his head to himself. This had been one big, big mistake. He’d have to do better tomorrow. For her sake and for his.