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long, drugging strokes that moved ever lower until he had captured her bottom cheeks.
    Held against his powerful body, Jory pictured him naked and was lost, lost in a sea of desire. She was aware of his hard arousal brushing against her soft thighs and felt her mons tingle in response. She gripped his muscular shoulders and arched against him, but because of their disparate size, her woman’s center rubbed against his belly. She moaned softly with frustration.
    He lowered himself to the bench, pulled her into his lap, and took possession of her lips. Long, lingering kisses progressed to deeply sensual persuasive ones, and then his mouth became demanding as he ravished her with his tongue.
    She could feel his hard shaft beneath her, and shifted her bum to better accommodate his great size. He lifted the hem of her tunic and slid his fingers around her slim ankle. His bold hand moved up her shapely calf, fondled her knee, and then moved beyond her garter to the expanse of bare thigh above her hose. When he began to stroke her naked flesh with his calloused palm, she wanted to scream with excitement.
    He nuzzled her ear with his lips. “Open for me, chéri .”
    Jory’s eyes flew open as if she had just come out of a trance. She closed her legs tightly, trapping his seeking fingers. “You must stop! This is wrong…I should not be here like this.”
    His dark eyes searched her face. “I will stop, though you cannot deny you invited my advances.” His voice held regret. “I have no need to force a woman.”
    â€œI did invite your kisses…They held me spellbound,” she confessed breathlessly. Her breasts rose and fell with agitation over her dilemma. She craved his touch. She desired this man with every fiber of her being, yet at the same time she cursed herself for behaving like a whore. She feared the great Warwick would neither respect nor value a woman who was wanton.
    She eased the vice grip of her thighs and felt his palm slide down her leg. When his hand emerged from beneath her skirt, she was shocked to see that his cunning fingers had stolen her garter.
    He cocked a black eyebrow. “Just as I suspected. You are no serving wench. Confess the truth and shame the devil!”
    Jory was aghast. “How did you know, my lord?”
    â€œServing wenches are coarse. You are made of finer stuff. I suspect you are a gently bred tiring woman to a noble lady.” He grinned. “Does she know you have pilfered her garters?”
    Relief flooded over her. Thank heaven he thinks I’m a servant!
    â€œNo wonder you asked me to stop. You deserve better than a quick tumble in the grass. Will you come to my chamber?”
    Jory licked her lips and tasted his kisses. Desire flared up in her for the wicked Warwick, and she knew she must escape before the dangerous devil mesmerized her completely. She slid from his knee. “It’s late…I must go…I have duties…”
    â€œMy invitation is open.” He held her with his dark eyes. “Will you come to my chamber tomorrow night?”
    She gazed at him with longing. He possesses an invisible force that draws me. How can I refuse him?
    His mouth curved. “I know you will not refuse me, demoiselle.”
    Jory backed away, breaking the spell. Then she turned and ran.
    Â 
    Warwick returned to the hall. He was relieved that the dais was now empty. The queen had retired and the bride-to-be had obviously made her escape. He saw half a dozen earls conversing with the king and decided to join them. He took a tankard of ale from a server’s tray and drained it. By the time he had walked the length of the great chamber, he had received three blatant invitations and two that were more subtle from noble ladies who had accompanied their husbands to Windsor for the royal wedding. Guy de Beauchamp was accustomed to female attention. His dark, predatory looks coupled with his reputation as a fierce warrior