Free Knight of Love by Catherine LaRoche Page B

nature made our bodies to feel. There is no shame in it. These are the pleasures we would share together. And there’s much more, I assure you.”
    â€œBut you’re . . . rather large in your physique. Violent in your soldiering. I imagine your passion is rather . . . demanding.” She hid her face in the crook of his neck. The warmth and smell of him were strong there. She was talking like a child, she knew, and cringed with shame at her weakness. A Trevelyan, her father often said, was not bred to be cowed by fear. She could hear his voice: What matters in life is conviction and action, despite one’s fear. But could her father have ever imagined this situation? What action was appropriate here?
    â€œMy strength is for your protection, Liebling .” He cupped her cheeks in his hands, raised her head to stare hard into her eyes. “I’d never use it against you, I swear.”
    That blue light in his open, guileless eyes shone with sincerity.
    But men lied all the time.
    He must have seen something of her struggle. “Don’t let him win, Lenora.” His hands slid down to her arms and tightened to match the intensity of his voice. “Don’t give him that power. You’re too smart to let him make you believe what he did is normal. He taught you lessons about how a bastard abuses a woman. He did it because he’s cruel and weak, not because that’s how a man treats his wife.”
    â€œHow do I know you wouldn’t be like that also?” she whispered. “Maybe not at first, but later.”
    He huffed out a breath. “I suppose there’s no absolute way to know for sure. But I take you for a good judge of character. What do your instincts tell you about me?”
    The question was an interesting one. She’d had two encounters with him: today and that day at the flogging post. Even posing as a blacksmith, he’d exuded authority. He was a leader who commanded loyalty from his men—not from fear, but out of respect and common cause. A good sign, she supposed. But surely a man could treat his comrades and horse well enough, then head home to beat his wife. He possessed an old-fashioned streak of gallantry for the nineteenth century. But hopeless romanticism could easily go sour if the damsel refused her role.
    And Lenora was no wilting flower. She decided to test him.
    â€œYou seem to be a strong leader, but I would want to be an equal partner to my husband. Input on estate dealings, business negotiations, important family decisions—I would seek to be involved in all such matters.”
    He cocked his head, considering her. “You wish to spend your time managing these affairs?”
    â€œI did so for years at Sherbrooke Abbey.” She raised her chin. “I am good at such work. My father allowed me significant authority with the stewards at the home estate.”
    He nodded. “Then you shall have such at Wolfsbach and Ravenhold as well. You don’t yet have faith in me, and rightly so. But I know me. I will make you a good and loyal husband. I will honor you all the days of my life and give you pleasure in bed.”
    Her face flamed hotly at this scandalous mention of pleasure and bed .
    He traced her blush with a finger down her cheek. Then he sighed. “We are out of time, Lenora. Were circumstances different, were we back in London, I would dance attendance on your hand all the length of the Season. I’d woo you at balls and with drives in the park. I’d fight off challengers for the right to squire you about town. Your father’s ducal mansion would overflow with my bouquets of love: asters, balsam, and thornless roses in fullest bloom.”
    He stopped, shifted her off his lap, and pushed to his feet. “But this is not London and it is not the Season. We’re caught in the midst of the German Confederation’s collapse. The revolution grows across Europe every day. In Paris,