Page 16 of An Earl for the Archeress

John and Mariel were gone now, and he made the mistake of remembering the taste of Mariel’s lips. It didn’t matter that the two kisses he had given her had excited him more than he thought possible. It didn’t matter that even though he had surprised her both times, that her lips held promises of softness and pliancy, gentleness and sweetness he wanted to explore. Her kiss, when she finally decided to return it, would be magnificent, a light into her soul kept well-hidden in her layers of trousers, tunics, and guarded expressions. He supposed it was the mystery of this female archer who comported herself with both confidence and pretense that intrigued him the most.

He didn’t want Jonathan to swive her, God above, he didn’t. The very idea was making his stomach roil. He’d never felt such possessiveness before.

What unsettled him the most was knowing that he wanted Mariel, who distrusted him so, to believe he wasn’t out chasing skirts all the daylong. When he really thought about why he teased her with kisses, he realized how arrogant he must have seemed. He always got the attention he aimed for. Women did, in fact, fall at his feet. And he had assumed Mariel would, too. Flirting had always been a game to him, a means to an end. A tryst. And that was where the relation ended. He had never been serious.

But he was serious now. He wasn’t always a horrible tease. He wanted Mariel to see him for who he really was and he, Lord Huntington, seldom showed that to anyone.

“Anyone is welcome to my hospitality, including you. But, Charlotte, my interests have shifted. You knew this clearly. That woman”—he gestured to the empty archway—“already doesn’t trust me. I wish not to make it worse, but I fear that I have, for she’s gone off with another.”

He stood, knowing Charlotte was hurt and unable to help her. He had let Charlotte down gently months ago, so she could accept the betrothal to Charles, for he had never had serious intentions toward her. But the women chasing him for their own gain did nothing but irritate him, reminding him he was like a fattened calf at market, seen for his value, not his kindness. Charlotte was becoming one of those women, presumptuous as her stunt had been this night, no matter how innocently she had stumbled between him and Mariel. Some men might think having their pick of the ladies a manageable problem. But the arrogant approach he had used gave quite the stinging backlash.

Having eaten little, Robert excused himself to his solar and attempted to busy himself with ledgers and requests from his various castle offices. He couldn’t focus. Plucking a leather-bound fable from a coveted row of books acquired by his grandfather, he tried to rouse an interest in reading it. Yet after reading an entire page, he couldn’t recall a single word, and slapped the lid shut, shoving to his feet, and paced to a window with a clear view of the rooftop parapet. He saw no one.

“Dammit,” he cursed, turning away from the window and closing his eyes to rid his mind of the images forming there.

Jonathan’s tongue might very well be down Mariel’s throat. His hand might already be sliding underneath her tunic to fondle her beautiful breasts. She should be mine, echoed a primal voice deep in his mind as he reached in his tunic to feel the road-worn ribbon he had found at the tourney. Not John’s. What if Jonathan already had her braced to a wall or on her back beneath him? What if he was already sheathing his sword, the one Robert had heard his serving wenches liken to a prized breeding stallion’s? The thought snapped his resolve. His jealousy won. He couldn’t sit here pretending to read, knowing the mistake Mariel was making. With his imagination running wild, he tossed down the book and strode from the room.

Chapter Six

Jonathan’s kiss was sweet. Mariel had known he intended to kiss her the moment she’d felt his fingers mingle with hers under the table. And up here, in the nighttime air, overlooking the inner workings of the castle, the bright torchlights and the burning lights of the village beyond, she waited patiently for him to make his next move.

But as his kiss grew, she felt no exhilaration humming through her blood like she had when Robert kissed her. She gave herself a mental shake. Robert meant nothing to her. Why think of him when an attractive man was dallying with her right now? Robert was a philanderer, intent on amassing broken hearts. She kissed Jonathan back with further resolve, feeling his tongue touch her lips to request entry. She opened for him, holding him more tightly around his neck. He groaned his approval and pulled her flush against him so that she could make no mistake about his desire for her. And that desire was most certainly massive and straining for breathing room.

I won’t be one of Robert’s broken hearts. She felt one of Jonathan’s hands slide down to hold her rear while the other migrated toward her breasts. Which was why she would never throw herself at his feet like the others. If he wanted to trifle with an endless supply of the fairer sex, then she wanted nothing to do with it. Partaking of Jonathan’s eagerness would be her first defense against the earl, for Robert wouldn’t want the same woman his good friend had just had. And Robert’s revulsion, she thought, would give her the opportunity she needed to leave unimpeded.

Jonathan slid his hands around her waist, settling on each hip. Gripping her, he walked her backward to stand against a merlon. She felt his pelvis nudge her suggestively, no doubt creating friction that both sated and further excited his smaller man.

“Smaller man” really was a relative matter. His endowment boasted a thickness of girth and a healthy height, if she were to judge through their clothing. He was likely an exceptional lover.

“Woman,” Jonathan groaned, thrusting his tongue in for a second helping. “I’ve wanted you since that day at the tourney, and you don’t disappoint.”

Though willing enough, Mariel felt awkward. She didn’t feel much of a spark, even though Jonathan was doing nothing wrong. His seduction was well-developed with nary a complaint to be made. Except, said that foolish voice in her mind, he’s not Robert, and Robert is the one you really want. It was silly. She was with a willing man now, and it had been a few months since last she had succumbed to the desire. Except, that blasted voice said again, you do this to get back at Robert, not because you desire Jonathan. It was unfair to Jonathan, using him in such a way.

“Neither do you,” she replied, trying harder to make herself like it.

He growled his appreciation for her compliment and continued his efforts.

“Sir Naylor,” came a steely voice.

…

Jonathan pulled apart from Mariel, but the image of him enveloping her in his arms with his tongue down her throat was forever branded in Robert’s mind, causing a shadow darker than the nighttime sky to fill his eyes.

“Yes, Robert?” John replied as he wiped his lips.

“Your services are needed on the front curtain.”

“Is there something wrong?”

“Yes. The men off duty argue over a chess match,” Robert said, his eyes slicing to Mariel, who regarded him with a scowl on her face.

John furrowed his brow. “What’s the issue? Have they come to blows? Men argue over games all the time—”

“Leave.”

He folded his arms as John glanced back at Mariel, her face brewing with anger as if it were a cauldron about to boil over, her fists balled at her sides. Robert felt a wave of satisfaction. Good. Let her be as frustrated as I am.

“I’m sorry, my lady,” John apologized.