She stumbled and he caught her automatically. Even as he lifted her, for one moment her soft body pressing against his lean one, he knew who it was. He didn’t have to see her to know. But he felt her, smelled her, and being as virile as his brothers, he responded in kind. She turned around in his arms. Seeing him, she gave a small cry of surprise, which he did not, for a moment, believe.
For one more beat he held her. Up close, she was more alluring man from afar. Her skin was tawny and dark, from Mediterranean forebears, perhaps, her brows thick black wings above her almond-shaped eyes. Her mouth was full and large, and above the right corner was a dark mole. She was very tall, her eyes almost level with his, and she had a lush, full-breasted body, which she showed to her advantage in a thin silk surcote that fit her like fine hose. Geoffrey released Adele Beaufort, the woman his brother was still officially betrothed to.
“Thank you,” she said throatily. Her scent was not just strong but musky. It brought forth images of hot nights, sweaty limbs, and sex. “You saved me from a twisted ankle.”
He did not return her smile. “Did I?”
His doubting tone brought a flush to her olive skin. “The floors are very hard, my lord. Surely I would have hurt myself if you had not caught me.”
He crossed his arms and eyed her, leaning his back against the wall. From this distance he saw that her large nipples were raised against her red silk gown. Would he never be able to control his body? But what man could when confronted by Adele Beaufort? She was the reincarnation of Eve, all that was female, unholy temptation, pure provocation to sweet, sweet sin. He said nothing, immersed in very base thoughts.
She smiled, touched his arm very briefly. “’Tis a surprise to see you here, my lord.”
He cocked a brow.
She seemed to sway closer, her smile infinitely seductive. “Are you on Church business, my lord?” She touched him again.
“Do the affairs of God interest you, Lady Beaufort?”
Her lashes fluttered. “All affairs interest me, my lord.”
He took a deep breath. How easily he could imagine her affairs. It was a very good thing that Stephen was not wedding this one. And he was determined to stay away from her, too, before he gave in to his damnable need. “If you would excuse me.” He turned abruptly. Although he fought his virility in a never-ending battle, in the end he always lost. The sooner he returned to Canterbury, the better. He would immerse himself for a single night in the ripe body of a very lusty widow. Tarn was open, honest, and kind. She was no dark seductress, she had no guile, she made no demands.
But Adele Beaufort gripped his wrist, her long nails almost but not quite clawing his skin. “Wait!”
His jaw clenched, he turned.
“Have you word, then, from Stephen?”
“How would I have word from Stephen, madame?”
“Were you not in the North?”
His smile was cold. “You appear well informed, my lady.”
She flushed. “’Tis no secret that Brand was in the North, and as the two of you arrived together … I merely thought…”
He cocked his brow again.
“In truth…” Her voice trembled, her breasts heaved. Geoffrey damned himself for not looking away. “Perhaps a private moment… You might… We might… I must repent my sins.”
Geoffrey’s smile was twisted. He knew without having to be told exactly what sins she spoke of. His loins were very thick beneath his robes. Adele was the kind of woman to kindle sinful thoughts. “You do not appear penitent, Lady Beaufort. You appear in dire need of saving.” And so was he.
“Do you—do you wish to save me?”
“Lady Beaufort, I do not think we understand one another.”
“Then we must communicate more thoroughly,” she whispered, and her hand stroked his arm from the elbow to the wrist.
He was frozen, rock-hard with lust, so close to an imminent explosion. There was no mistaking her meaning. And, dear Lord God, all women were forbidden him, but this one, a purposeful temptress, truly seeking his downfall, was far worse than any other—and far more tempting. For he could only imagine what it would be like to spend himself on her exquisite body.
His smile was twisted when he finally managed to summon it. “You know where the chapel is, and Father Gerard would be most willing, I am sure, to hear your confession if you truly wish to repent your sins.”
Her gaze locked with his. The tip of her tongue wet her lips. It was not a nervous gesture, and Geoffrey knew it. “I do. I do. Wouldyouhear my confession?”
His smile vanished. He could also imagine what her confession would be. He felt close to succumbing to her seduction. “I do not hear confessions, Lady Beaufort,” he said harshly. He was furious, with her, and as always, with himself.
She saw his anger. Her eyes gleamed wildly. Before Geoffrey could go, she moved closer, blocking his way. The hard tips of her breasts actually brushed his chest. “I was only trying to thank you for saving me from a fall, my lord.”
