Free Knight of Love by Catherine LaRoche

sure, he didn’t seem to pose the threat that Kurt did either. But he was trying to trap her into marriage, like Kurt. This challenge of a kiss might show her more of his true character.
    A sudden memory surfaced of her mother, from one of their rambles in the countryside around Sherbrooke Abbey to collect medicinal plants: “You can learn a lot from a man’s kiss, Lea.” A knowing smile had curved her mother’s lips that day. The smile had annoyed Lenora, she remembered now, along with her mother’s encouragement to spend more time with eligible gentlemen. Was she to dally with young men and encourage them to take liberties? The point of the exercise escaped her. At the time the men she knew struck her as either dull or empty-headed in their pursuit of pleasure.
    Then she’d met Kurt, whose kiss and touch taught vital lessons, indeed: Bind yourself to no man.
    The lesson of this earl was much less clear. Was the risk of a kiss worth what she might find out?
    He leaned in closer, his nose to her throat, and inhaled. “You smell delicious, Liebling . Soft and warm and very sweet.”
    When his lips first brushed her cheek, she couldn’t help the keening sound that escaped her lips. He was so big, so ridiculously strong, so unfairly in control of the situation. Yet his touch was so tender.
    She didn’t know what to make of it.
    â€œHush, lady, all is well,” he said, soothing her with words as his large hands rubbed gentle circles across her back and kneaded her shoulders. “Your back must still be sore, particularly after so long on horseback. Have all the lash strokes healed?”
    It wasn’t the lingering pain from the lashing that discomfited her. Without a corset, she could feel his touch directly through her boy’s shirt and jacket. And there was so much of him, all around her. “I’ve healed well enough,” she managed to answer.
    Few situations in life had ever confounded her. Even Kurt had taken little time to figure out. Once he’d sent her parents back to England, his true colors became immediately clear. This Wolfram von Wolfsbach-Ravensworth, however, was a puzzle. British lord and German rebel. Manhandling her into marriage while seducing her with softest kisses.
    He brushed his lips slowly back and forth across her cheek. His warm breath huffed across her skin. His scent surrounded her—dark and male in some way very foreign to her. Deep purrs rumbled from his chest as he nuzzled her and wrapped her closer in his arms.
    â€œIs this a kiss?” she gasped out the words.
    â€œYes, the most exquisite kiss of my life. Only imagine my raptures should you allow me to kiss your lips.” He rubbed his cheek in circles against hers. The smooth stroke of his flesh told of a man who had taken the time to shave.
    â€œLord Ravensworth”—she tried hard for a firm tone and to regain control of the situation—“you mock me with such nonsense.”
    â€œCall me Wolfram, I beg you.” He whispered it in her ear, a husky plea that tickled and sent shivers down her back. “And I swear I speak no nonsense. You are exquisite, so beautiful, so brave.” He nibbled her earlobe and pressed a trail of kisses down her jawline as he murmured each word. “A princess to honor and cherish.” His tongue licked at her with each soft kiss. She felt the cool wet trail of his kisses like a brand, until he rubbed his cheek across her jaw to warm her again.
    She had to admit this “kiss” was like nothing she’d ever experienced. But she still didn’t trust him and did not choose to be here with him.
    He sighed with contentment, pulled back, and smiled into her eyes. “Your turn, lady.”
    Her turn! Her choice? If she were to exercise her will in this moment, what would it be? Initially, she’d been happy enough to pursue a betrothal with Kurt. After all, a high marriage was the destiny that