Free The Bride of Windermere by Margo Maguire Page B

Gerhart and pulled at his arm, moving him away from the earl. “Come along, sir knight,” she said, then turned to Philip. “Good night, my lord.” With that, she put her arm around Gerhart’s waist to support his drunken frame and led him down the hall. A quick glance behind her verified, to her immense relief, that Philip was not following. “Pompous ass...” she muttered.
    Wolf was really too large for her to support much longer. His chamber would have to be nearby or there would be no choice but to let him crash to the floor right there in the gallery. “Which is the door to your room, Gerhart?”
    â€œThis one... No, p’rhaps...down here a bit...” He was leaning too heavily on her. They were both going to fall. “You smell like roses again, Sprout,” he said, weaving slightly. Kit was surprised he’d noticed. She always bathed with
    rose-scented soap, but thought it was too subtle to be noticed by anyone but herself.
    â€œHere. This is it.” He staggered into a door which swung into the room under his weight. By some miracle, neither one of them fell. Kit now found herself with Gerhart’s arm around her rather than her arm around his waist where she distinctly remembered having placed it. In his drunken state, he had somehow succeeded in keeping her from falling. He was holding her quite closely now, and Kit’s breath quickened. His head moved down, bringing his lips precariously close to hers, nearly touching, and Kit had no control over her body’s traitorous response to him. She knew it was insane, but she yearned for the touch of his lips again, wanted to feel—
    A drop of hot wax from the candle hit her hand, and Kit jumped. She came to her senses and pulled away from him at once.
    â€œCan you manage now, or should I call for someone to help?” she asked, somewhat breathlessly.
    â€œWhy would I need help?” he asked, all traces of drunken speech remarkably absent.
    â€œWhy would...? You’re not drunk at all, are you?” she asked, seeing the amusement in his eyes and realizing that he had been toying with her.
    â€œOf course not, Sprout. I never drink too much,” he said, puzzled by his own behavior. He had never feigned drunkenness before, nor any other condition. Wolf told himself that he’d felt compelled to follow when Philip had taken Kit from the hall only because it was his sworn duty to protect her. And after witnessing his cousin’s lecherous looks at supper, he didn’t trust that the lady would be safe with him alone in the dark gallery.
    â€œWhy, you... you... deceitful lout!” Kit cried. “Roses indeed!” She looked for something to throw at him, but seeing nothing readily at hand, Kit whirled about and tore out of his chamber, leaving him in darkness.
    When she reached her room, Kit closed the door more gently than she would have liked, in deference to Bridget, who was sleeping. Her blood was pounding in her ears. Kit wasn’t sure if her upset was from anger, annoyance or fear of what might have happened if she’d let Wolf kiss her. Would he have recognized her as the woman at the lake from one kiss?
    Standing there in the gloom, her distress simmered, but her worried lips gave way to a slow smile as she thought of Wolf feigning inebriation. The act had been contrived entirely for her benefit. If not for Wolfs interference in the corridor, Kit would either have had to submit to the earl or do something equally embarrassing. Neither option was acceptable, and Wolf had saved her from having to make the choice. She grinned. His method of rescue had been perfect Perhaps he wasn’t totally lacking a sense of humor.
    Kit pulled off her concealing veil and wondered if he had merely played the diplomat, or had the sight of the earl pawing at her given him the impetus to intervene? The thought intrigued her as she sat down on the bed next to Bridget and felt her fevered