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Synopsis
Renowned beauty Lady Linnet is torn between two desires: revenge on those who destroyed her family or marriage to her childhood sweetheart Sir James Rayburn. One fateful night, she makes a misguided choice: she sacrifices Jamie's love for a chance at vengeance.
Jamie Rayburn returns to England in search of a virtuous wife—only to find the lovely Linnet as bewitching as ever. Their reckless affair ignites anew, even hotter than before, although Jamie vows to never again trust her with his heart. Then just as Linnet begins to make amends, she's tempted by one last opportunity to settle old scores. But a final retribution could cost her Jamie's love—this time forever.
Release date: June 1, 2010
Publisher: Grand Central Publishing
Print pages: 416
* BingeBooks earns revenue from qualifying purchases as an Amazon Associate as well as from other retail partners.
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Knight of Passion
Margaret Mallory
KNIGHT OF PLEASURE
“4 Stars! A riveting story… Such depth and sensuality are a rare treat.”
—RT Book Reviews
“Fascinating… An excellent historical romance. Ms. Mallory gives us amazingly vivid details of the characters, romance, and
intrigue of England. You’re not just reading a novel, you are stepping into the story and feeling all the emotions of each
character… Knight of Pleasure is amazing and I highly recommend it.”
—
TheRomanceReadersConnection.com
“Marvelous… a terrific fifteenth-century romance filled with intrigue.”
—
HarrietKlausner.wwwi.com
“An absolute delight… captivating… Combining a luscious romantic story with a fascinating look at an intriguing time in history,
Mallory captures her readers’ attention… I look forward to the next book in the series, KNIGHT OF PASSION.”
—
FreshFiction.com
“If you like heated romance sprinkled liberally with royal politics, you can’t miss this book.”
—
RomanceJunkiesReviews.com
“Thrilling, romantic, and just plain good reading… an enjoyable, historically accurate, and very well written novel.”
—
RomRevToday.com
“A beautifully written tale, allowing us to spend a night or two of pleasure engrossed in the story of Isobel and Stephen…
Their romance is extremely satisfying for us to experience while the historical background makes the tale so much richer.
A fantastic job.”
—
SingleTitles.com
“Isobel almost jumps from the page as a fully developed character whose strengths and weaknesses make her seem extraordinarily
real. Readers will rally behind her.”
—
MyShelf.com
“Lovely… your own heart weeps with all the issues that are keeping [Isobel and Stephen] apart.”
—
HistoricalRomanceSociety.com
“Mallory opens readers’ eyes to the world of King Henry V… detail-enriched… bringing alive historical facts and surroundings…
I thoroughly enjoyed reading the fascinating and scintillating exchanges between Isobel and Stephen and watching as both characters
grew in both love and maturity.”
—
CoffeeTimeRomance.com
KNIGHT OF DESIRE
“Spellbinding! Few writers share Margaret Mallory’s talent for bringing history to vivid, pulsing life.”
—Virginia Henley, New York Times bestselling author of The Decadent Duke
“An impressive debut… Margaret Mallory is a star in the making.”
—Mary Balogh, New York Times bestselling author of At Last Comes Love
“5 Stars! Amazing… The fifteenth century came alive… I swear the turning pages crackled with the friction both characters
put out… Knight of Desire is the first in the All the King’s Men series and what a way to start it off.”
—
CoffeeTimeRomance.com
“A fast-paced tale of romance and intrigue that will sweep you along and have you rooting for William and his fair Catherine
to fight their way to love at last.”
—Candace Camp, New York Times bestselling author of The Courtship Dance
“4 Stars! Mallory’s debut is impressive. She breathes life into major historical characters… in a dramatic romance.”
—RT Book Reviews
“A lavish historical romance, evocative and emotionally rich. Knight of Desire will transport you.”
—Sophie Jordan, USA Today bestselling author of Sins of a Wicked Duke
“4 Hearts! A breath of fresh air… a fascinating tale, mixing emotionally complex characters with a captivating plot… I really
enjoyed following William and Catherine as they explored their growing feelings for each other.”
—
NightOwlRomance.com
“ Knight of Desire is akin to stepping into another century; Mallory has a grasp of history reminiscent of reading the great Roberta Gellis.”
—Jackie Ivie, author of A Knight Well Spent
“Stunning! Margaret Mallory writes with a freshness that dazzles.”
—Gerri Russell, author of Warrior’s Lady
“An amazing debut… I’m looking forward to the next installment of this series.”
—
TheRomanceReadersConnection.com
“Medieval romance has a refreshing new voice in Margaret Mallory!”
—Paula Quinn, author of A Highlander Never Surrenders
“Mallory spins a masterful tale, blending history and passion into a sensuous delight.”
—Sue-Ellen Welfonder, USA Today bestselling author of Seducing a Scottish Bride
“Terrific… strong… Fans will desire more deep historical romances from Ms. Mallory.”
—
HarrietKlausner.wwwi.com
“Margaret Mallory writes with intense passion and beautiful, believable emotion.”
—Lucy Monroe,bestselling author of Annabelle’s Courtship
“The story sizzles with romance and adventure.”
—
RomRevToday.com
The Louvre, Paris
December 1420
“What if we get caught?” Jamie said, glancing up and down the palace corridor.
Getting caught was precisely the point, but Linnet was not going to tell Jamie that. She looked up at him through her lashes and said, “Don’t you want to?”
The way his eyes went dark made her breath catch.
“You know I do,” he said, brushing the back of his fingers against her cheek.
Her skin tingled from his touch. If she did not take care, Jamie could make her forget her purpose.
She felt a twinge of guilt for not telling him. None of the other young men at court would care what her reasons were if she
dragged one of them into an empty bedchamber. But Jamie would refuse her if he knew. That stubborn sense of honor—misplaced
though it may be—was one of the things she liked best about him.
“Everyone is attending the celebrations,” she assured him.
The feasting that began with King Henry’s triumphal entry into Paris with his French princess was continuing without pause
through Advent.
“But the guest who has this chamber could return at any time,” Jamie said.
He sucked in his breath as she ran a finger down his chest.
“If you are going to be a frightened mouse,” she said, “I can find someone else.”
Jamie’s boyish sweetness was gone. He gripped her arm and jerked open the bedchamber door. Before she knew it, she was inside
the bedchamber with her back pressed against the door. Jamie kissed her long and hard.
“Don’t ever say you will go with another man,” he said, taking her chin in his hand. “Don’t ever say it.”
“You are the only one I want.” This was the truth, but she regretted telling him. He would read more into it than he ought.
“ ’Tis the same for me,” he whispered and rested his forehead against hers.
She closed her eyes and breathed in his scent as she leaned against him. He could be such a tender boy.
But she did not know how much time she had. “Now,” she whispered in his ear. “I want to do it now.”
When she rubbed her hand up his cock for good measure, he made a sound between a growl and a moan and lifted her from the
ground. Men were so predictable, so easily managed, there was almost no challenge in it. Still, Jamie’s reaction was gratifying.
As he carried her to the bed, Linnet gave herself a moment to savor the thought of how angry Alain, her “father,” was going
to be. That man would rue the day.
From the moment Jamie laid her down and started kissing her, she forgot about Alain and her plans for revenge. This part she
could not control, did not even try. A fire had raged between them since the day he arrived in Paris with the king. No matter
how often they sneaked away to be together, the fire only burned hotter. She gave into it with abandon now, as she did every
time.
Afterward, she lay in Jamie’s arms, wishing the contentment of the moment could last. It never did.
“I’ve sent a letter to my parents,” Jamie said, rubbing his cheek against the top of her head. “I expect my father will grant
me a small estate upon our betrothal.”
Her heart began to race. “Betrothed? You haven’t spoken to me of betrothal before.”
“Did I need to?” She heard the smile in his voice. “After what we’ve being doing, I thought it obvious.”
“But you never told me. You never asked me.”
“I see I have committed a grievous error,” he said, sounding amused. “All right, let me ask it, then. My darling Linnet, love
of my heart, will you wed me and be my wife?”
“Nay, I will not.”
“What?” Jamie sat up and leaned over her. “I am sorry if I offended you by not speaking plainly before. You know I love you.”
“Men say that all the time.”
“But I mean it,” he said, rubbing his thumb across her cheek. “And I shall still love you when your beauty is no more than
a memory traced upon your face.”
They had left the bed curtains drawn. In the sunlight from the tall window, she took in the strong lines of his handsome face,
the intense expression in the violet-blue
eyes. She swallowed. She hadn’t meant to hurt him. Why did he not tell her these things before?
She reached up and cupped the side of his face with her hand. “You will always be special to me as my first lover.”
“First lover!” His fingers dug into her arm. A moment later, he released her and flopped back down on the bed. “How you enjoy
torturing me with your teasing! Sometimes you go too far.”
Why do men never believe what you say? They persist in believing “no” means “perhaps,” and “I despise you” means “I want you
to write me bad poetry.”
“I do not wish to be a wife,” she said to Jamie. “I could not bear having a man tell me what to do all my life.”
Jamie laughed. “As if I would dare try.”
“You would. It is what men do.”
He turned on his side, his dark hair falling across his eyes. “Let us pretend you are serious. What else could you do? I cannot
see you as a nun.”
She batted away his hand as he reached for her breast. “I may make a brief marriage.”
“A brief one?” he said, raising his eyebrows.
“Aye, to a very old man who will leave me a wealthy widow,” she said. “Or, I may become a famous courtesan.”
The bed shook with Jamie’s laughter.
“I am trying to be honest with you,” she said, slapping his shoulder.
“You are beautiful enough to become the most famous courtesan in all of France,” he said, pulling her on top of him. “And
you know it very well. But enough of this foolishness. We must make our plan.”
She may as well be speaking to a turnip. She pushed
away from him and sat up, wrapping her arms around her knees. In sooth, she could not imagine letting anyone else touch her
the way Jamie did. But her plans required independence and money of her own.
Whenever her resolve weakened, she thought of the men who robbed her grandfather blind when he grew feebleminded toward the
end. They were men he’d done business with for years; men he’d trusted and loaned money to in hard times. Not an hour after
he died, these same men stripped their house in Falaise of valuables. Because of them, she and her brother, Francois, were
stealing food to survive even before the English siege began.
One day, she would return to Falaise and destroy every one of those men who stole from them and left them to starve.
“Do you think your father will object to our marrying?” Jamie asked, startling her from her thoughts.
“Aye, he would,” she said absently over her shoulder, “because the devil’s spawn has already chosen a husband for me.”
Jamie jerked upright beside her. “He intends to pledge you to another?”
“After ignoring me and my brother for most of our lives, Alain thinks he can play father now and tell me what to do.” Alain
sorely underestimated her. “He only claimed us because his legitimate sons are dead.”
Jamie gripped her arm. “Who is the man he wants you to wed?”
“That snake Guy Pomeroy.”
Jamie raised his eyebrows. “Your father aims high. Sir Guy is close to the Duke of Gloucester, the king’s youngest brother.”
“ ’Tis not for my benefit, you can be sure,” she said, rolling her eyes. “I hate the way Sir Guy looks at me. I swear, I would
put a blade in his heart before I let him near me.”
“You are mine to protect now.” Jamie took her hand and kissed it. “I know you loathe your father, but he must be dealt with.
It will be awkward if he has already spoken with Sir Guy, but that cannot be helped.”
“I have taken care of it.” She had to tell Jamie now. He would be so angry he might not speak to her for days.
“Let me do this,” Jamie said. “I know what assurances must be given, what pressures can be brought to bear. Your upbringing
was… irregular. I understand these things better.”
“Think about what you are saying, Jamie,” she said, raising her hands in exasperation. “I am a bastard and a merchant’s granddaughter.
I was not raised to live the kind of life you want.”
“You are of noble birth,” Jamie said in a firm voice. “Everything is changed now that your father has claimed you.”
“I am not changed,” she said. “What you need is a dull English noblewoman who will be happy to share the boring life you are
looking forward to.”
“Linnet, you cannot—”
She lifted her hand to stop him. “I know how it will be. Each summer, you will come to France to fight with your glorious
king. Then, each winter, you will return home to get your wife with yet another child, settle disputes among your peasants,
and spend the evenings telling tiresome stories of your victories by the hearth in your hall.”
“It is a good life,” he said, laughing. “It only seems dull to you because you do not know it.”
She took his face in her hands. “You will be furious with me, but there is something I must tell you.”
“First you must promise not to speak to your father of our marriage before I do,” Jamie said.
He leaned forward to kiss her but froze at the sound of voices just outside the door. As the door scraped open, he threw the
bedclothes over Linnet and turned his body to block the view of her from the door.
She scooted up next to him and called out, “Good day, Alain. How fortunate you brought Sir Guy with you; he’s told me many
times he wished to see me naked in bed.”
Both men stared at them slack-jawed for a long moment. Then her father roared, “God’s blood, Linnet, what have you done?”
“Surely,” she said, widening her eyes, “I need not explain it to you?”
“You said she was a virgin,” Sir Guy spat out, then slapped Alain hard across the face. “I should have known a whore would
beget a whore.”
Sir Guy was a powerfully built man, and his violence startled her. When he turned to Jamie with murder in his eyes, she put
her hand on Jamie’s shoulder.
“I won’t forget this,” Sir Guy said in a voice so full of menace Linnet’s stomach tightened. “You shall pay dearly for this
one day, James Rayburn.”
Jamie threw her hand off his shoulder. For the first time since the others entered the room, she looked at him. Jamie’s eyes
were fixed on her, wild and accusing. She heard, but did not see, Sir Guy slam the door. Sir Guy and her father did not matter
anymore.
“You planned this. You wanted them to find us,” Jamie said, his voice cracking. “You only went to bed with me
to make your father angry. I thought… I thought you loved me.”
The air went out of her, and she could not speak. God have mercy, what had she done?
“You’ve ripped my heart from my chest,” Jamie said in a harsh whisper. “I am the world’s biggest fool.”
Jamie slid down from the bed, swept up his clothes from the floor in one arm, and started toward the door.
“I shall whip you within an inch of your life, girl,” Alain shouted. His face was purple, his fists clenched.
Jamie grabbed Alain by the front of his tunic and lifted him off his feet. “I am tempted to murder her myself, but I will
kill you if you lay a hand on her for this,” he said, the threat in his voice as sharp as the edge of a dagger.
Heaven above, Jamie was magnificent, stark naked and furious.
“If you were not such a horse’s arse, she would not have done it.”
Jamie was defending her, which meant he was already halfway to forgiving her. She would explain it all to him. Then they could
go on as before.
Jamie picked up his clothes again and walked to the door. He opened it and turned. “Send word if there is a child,” he said
to Alain. “I shall be in England.”
London
October 30, 1425
The stench of the Thames made Sir James Rayburn’s eyes water as he rode through the angry crowd. The “Winchester geese,” the
prostitutes who worked this side of the river under the bishop’s regulation, would not do much business today. The men filling
the street were not here to seek pleasures banned inside the City; they were spoiling for a fight.
Earlier, Jamie had crossed the river to gauge the mood within the City of London—and found it on the verge of riot.
The crowd grew thicker as he neared London Bridge. Men glared at him but moved out of the way of his warhorse. As he pushed
through them, his thoughts returned to the evening before. There had been far too many men-at-arms at the bishop’s palace.
Over supper, Jamie had tried to discern the bishop’s intent in bringing so many armed men to Winchester Palace. Under the
bishop’s watchful eye, however, none of
the other guests dared speak of it. Instead, they pressed Jamie for news of the fighting in France.
He obliged them, telling them of the recent battle against the dauphin’s forces at Verneuil. As he warmed to his tale, the
ladies leaned forward, hands pressed to their creamy bosoms. He liked to tell stories. Just when he had begun to enjoy himself,
Linnet’s words came back to him.
What you need, Jamie Rayburn, is a dull English wife who will be content to spend her evenings listening to you recite tiresome
tales of your victories.
After all these years, Linnet’s ridicule still rankled. He had brought his story to an abrupt end and left the bishop’s hall
for bed. Damn the woman. Five years since he’d seen her, and she could still ruin his evening.
Calling him boring was the least of Linnet’s crimes against him. No matter that he was three years older and she was not quite
sixteen at the time—next to her, he’d been a babe in the woods. It embarrassed him to recall how he had worn his heart on
his sleeve back then. While he professed eternal love and adoration, Linnet used him without a shred of guilt or regret.
After the debacle, he left Paris at once in the hope of reaching England before his letter. But nay. He had to suffer the
additional mortification of telling his family he and Linnet were not betrothed after all.
Someone should have told him that men value a woman’s virginity far more than women do themselves. He had mistaken the gift
of hers as a gift of her heart—and a pledge of marriage. Never again would he let a woman humiliate him like that.
That did not mean he’d sworn off women. In sooth, he had bedded any number of them in his determination to
wipe Linnet’s memory from his mind. Most of the time he succeeded.
Thinking of her now put him in a foul mood. God’s beard, he could not breathe with all these people hemming him in. Judging
by Thunder’s snorts and flattened ears, his horse felt the same.
“We’ve seen enough,” Jamie said, patting Thunder after the horse snapped at a fool who got too close.
With his untimely death, their dear and glorious King Henry had left a babe heir to two kingdoms. The Duke of Bedford, the
dead king’s eldest surviving brother, had the difficult tasks of governing the French territories and prosecuting the war
there.
While Bedford was occupied in France, two other members of the royal family vied for control of England. The power struggle
between Bedford’s brother, the Duke of Gloucester, and their uncle, the Bishop of Winchester, had been simmering for months.
Now that their dispute had spilled over into the streets, however, it was far more dangerous. Jamie must send a message to
Bedford at once.
As Jamie turned his horse to return to the bishop’s palace, someone grabbed hold of his boot. He lifted his whip but checked
his arm when he saw it was an old man.
“Please, sir, help me!”
The old fellow’s eye was purple with a fresh bruise. From his clothing, Jamie guessed he was not a part of the rabble, but
a servant of some noble household.
Jamie leaned down. “What can I do for you?”
“The crowd separated me from my mistress,” the man said, his voice high and tremulous. “Now they’ve taken my mule, and I cannot
reach her.”
Sweet Lamb of God, a lady was alone in this mob? “Where? Where is she?”
The old man pointed toward the bridge. When Jamie turned to look, he wondered how he had missed her. London Bridge was three
hundred yards long, with shops and houses projecting off both sides. But in the gap created by the drawbridge, Jamie had a
clear view of a lady in a bright blue and yellow gown sitting astride a white palfrey. She stuck out from the horde around
her like a peacock atop a dunghill.
“Out of my way! Out of my way!” Jamie shouted, waving his whip from side to side above the heads of the crowd. Men flung themselves
aside to avoid the hooves of his horse as he forced his way forward through the throng.
As he rode up onto the bridge, he heard the familiar sound of an army on the move. He turned and saw men-at-arms marching
up the river from the bishop’s palace. God’s blood, the bishop had even sent archers.
Jamie had heard a rumor that Gloucester intended to ride to Eltham Castle to take custody of the three-year-old king. Evidently
the bishop feared Gloucester’s intent was to usurp the throne, for he had decided to stop his nephew at the bridge by force
of arms.
God help them all.
But in the meantime, Jamie needed to rescue the fool woman caught between the forces of the two feuding royals in the goddamned
middle of London Bridge.
The mass of people caught on the bridge began to panic as word spread of the men-at-arms marching toward them. As Jamie pushed
his way over the first part of the bridge, their shouts echoed off the buildings that connected overhead.
He was still twenty yards from the lady when he heard her scream. Hands were grabbing at her, attempting to pull her off the
horse. She fought back like a savage, striking at them with her whip.
Someone caught hold of her headdress. Despite the noise on the bridge, Jamie heard the gasps of the men around her as a cascade
of white-gold hair fell over her shoulders to her hips.
The air went out of him. There was only one woman in Christendom with hair like that. Linnet.
And she was in grave danger.
“Do not touch her!” he roared. He raised his sword and pulled the reins, making Thunder rear to clear his way.
He pushed forward through the seething mass. As he fought his way the last few yards, he heard Linnet’s voice over the clamor,
cursing the men in both French and English.
A burly man gripped her thigh with a filthy hand, and murder roiled through Jamie. Just as Linnet raised her whip to bring
it down on the man, she looked up and saw Jamie. Their gazes locked, and all the sounds around him faded away.
In that moment when she was diverted, the burly man caught her arm that held the whip. Another man yanked at her belt. Over
the thunder in his ears, Jamie heard her bloodcurdling scream as they pulled her off her horse.
“Hold on!” he shouted.
She was hanging off the side, clutching at her saddle with both hands. God help him, she would be trampled to death in another
moment. Her horse had remained remarkably steady until now. With its rider unsaddled, however, it was wild-eyed, tossing its
head and sidestepping into the
crowd. Jamie’s heart went to his throat as Linnet swung sideways and slammed against her horse’s side.
The men, whose hold was snapped by the horse’s movement, were grasping at Linnet’s skirts as the horse flung her from side
to side. She was hanging on by one hand when Jamie finally broke through to her. With one sweep of his sword, he slashed the
two men as he leaned down and caught Linnet around the waist with his other arm and lifted her up onto his horse.
Praise God, he had her! Now he just had to get her off this damned bridge before arrows started flying.
“My horse!” she said, twisting to look over his shoulder.
Without warning, she leaned over the side of his horse with both arms outstretched. Was the woman mad? He gripped her tighter
as she reached out to catch hold of her horse’s loose rein with her fingertips.
She sat up and gave him a triumphant grin as she held it up in her hand. Good God, she hadn’t changed a bit. She was happiest
in the midst of tumult and trouble. He wouldn’t be half surprised to discover it was she, and not Gloucester, who had caused
the riot.
“You gloat too soon,” he said through clenched teeth. “We could be killed yet.”
Her eyes flicked to the side, and she brought her whip down on an arm reaching for her horse’s bridle. He turned his horse
and shouted at the crowd, “Get off the bridge! Get off the bridge!”
The panicked mass of people surged against them like rolling swells against a ship at sea. Linnet ignored his repeated command
to “let go of the damned horse and hold on.” He had to hold her tight enough to leave bruises
on her ribs, while she slashed at people who tried to grab her horse’s reins.
She felt so slight against him. It seemed a miracle she had been able to fight off those men and stay on her horse for so
long. But anyone who touched her now would be a dead man. Jamie was a battle-hardened knight. Now that he had her, he had
no doubt he could protect her from the rabble.
Flying arrows, however, were another matter.
By a miracle, he managed to reach the end of the bridge a hairbreadth before the bishop’s men blocked the way. Then he rode
east along the river, away from the bridge and the crowd, until his heartbeat returned to normal.
They were a quarter mile down the river before he spoke. “What in God’s name were you doing on the bridge? An idiot could
see that was no place to be today.”
Linnet turned around to look at him. This time, with the danger past, his heart did a flip-flop in his chest. In addition
to everything else she was, did she have to be so beautiful? It was the curse of his life.
“ ’Tis nice to see you, too, Jamie Rayburn.” She cocked her head and raised an eyebrow. “After all this time, I expected a
better greeting.”
He fixed his gaze dead ahead and grunted. God in heaven, how could she be so cool after what had just happened on the bridge?
When she leaned lightly against him, his chest prickled with sensation. Lust and longing took him like a fever. He should
put her on her own horse now. He wanted to pretend she was too distressed to ride alone, but the thought was ridiculous. This
one small weakness he would allow himself. It meant nothing.
“I heard you were with Bedford in France,” she said.
“Hmmph.”
“When did you arrive in London?”
“Yesterday.”
After a long pause, she said, “Are you going to tell me what you are doing in England?”
“Nay.”
“Or ask why I am here?”
“Nay.”
He felt her sigh against his chest. Against his will, he remembered other sighs, other times…
He had to get rid of her. “I trust your servant will make his own way back. Where shall I deliver you?”
“The bishop’s pa. . .
“4 Stars! A riveting story… Such depth and sensuality are a rare treat.”
—RT Book Reviews
“Fascinating… An excellent historical romance. Ms. Mallory gives us amazingly vivid details of the characters, romance, and
intrigue of England. You’re not just reading a novel, you are stepping into the story and feeling all the emotions of each
character… Knight of Pleasure is amazing and I highly recommend it.”
—
TheRomanceReadersConnection.com
“Marvelous… a terrific fifteenth-century romance filled with intrigue.”
—
HarrietKlausner.wwwi.com
“An absolute delight… captivating… Combining a luscious romantic story with a fascinating look at an intriguing time in history,
Mallory captures her readers’ attention… I look forward to the next book in the series, KNIGHT OF PASSION.”
—
FreshFiction.com
“If you like heated romance sprinkled liberally with royal politics, you can’t miss this book.”
—
RomanceJunkiesReviews.com
“Thrilling, romantic, and just plain good reading… an enjoyable, historically accurate, and very well written novel.”
—
RomRevToday.com
“A beautifully written tale, allowing us to spend a night or two of pleasure engrossed in the story of Isobel and Stephen…
Their romance is extremely satisfying for us to experience while the historical background makes the tale so much richer.
A fantastic job.”
—
SingleTitles.com
“Isobel almost jumps from the page as a fully developed character whose strengths and weaknesses make her seem extraordinarily
real. Readers will rally behind her.”
—
MyShelf.com
“Lovely… your own heart weeps with all the issues that are keeping [Isobel and Stephen] apart.”
—
HistoricalRomanceSociety.com
“Mallory opens readers’ eyes to the world of King Henry V… detail-enriched… bringing alive historical facts and surroundings…
I thoroughly enjoyed reading the fascinating and scintillating exchanges between Isobel and Stephen and watching as both characters
grew in both love and maturity.”
—
CoffeeTimeRomance.com
KNIGHT OF DESIRE
“Spellbinding! Few writers share Margaret Mallory’s talent for bringing history to vivid, pulsing life.”
—Virginia Henley, New York Times bestselling author of The Decadent Duke
“An impressive debut… Margaret Mallory is a star in the making.”
—Mary Balogh, New York Times bestselling author of At Last Comes Love
“5 Stars! Amazing… The fifteenth century came alive… I swear the turning pages crackled with the friction both characters
put out… Knight of Desire is the first in the All the King’s Men series and what a way to start it off.”
—
CoffeeTimeRomance.com
“A fast-paced tale of romance and intrigue that will sweep you along and have you rooting for William and his fair Catherine
to fight their way to love at last.”
—Candace Camp, New York Times bestselling author of The Courtship Dance
“4 Stars! Mallory’s debut is impressive. She breathes life into major historical characters… in a dramatic romance.”
—RT Book Reviews
“A lavish historical romance, evocative and emotionally rich. Knight of Desire will transport you.”
—Sophie Jordan, USA Today bestselling author of Sins of a Wicked Duke
“4 Hearts! A breath of fresh air… a fascinating tale, mixing emotionally complex characters with a captivating plot… I really
enjoyed following William and Catherine as they explored their growing feelings for each other.”
—
NightOwlRomance.com
“ Knight of Desire is akin to stepping into another century; Mallory has a grasp of history reminiscent of reading the great Roberta Gellis.”
—Jackie Ivie, author of A Knight Well Spent
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The Louvre, Paris
December 1420
“What if we get caught?” Jamie said, glancing up and down the palace corridor.
Getting caught was precisely the point, but Linnet was not going to tell Jamie that. She looked up at him through her lashes and said, “Don’t you want to?”
The way his eyes went dark made her breath catch.
“You know I do,” he said, brushing the back of his fingers against her cheek.
Her skin tingled from his touch. If she did not take care, Jamie could make her forget her purpose.
She felt a twinge of guilt for not telling him. None of the other young men at court would care what her reasons were if she
dragged one of them into an empty bedchamber. But Jamie would refuse her if he knew. That stubborn sense of honor—misplaced
though it may be—was one of the things she liked best about him.
“Everyone is attending the celebrations,” she assured him.
The feasting that began with King Henry’s triumphal entry into Paris with his French princess was continuing without pause
through Advent.
“But the guest who has this chamber could return at any time,” Jamie said.
He sucked in his breath as she ran a finger down his chest.
“If you are going to be a frightened mouse,” she said, “I can find someone else.”
Jamie’s boyish sweetness was gone. He gripped her arm and jerked open the bedchamber door. Before she knew it, she was inside
the bedchamber with her back pressed against the door. Jamie kissed her long and hard.
“Don’t ever say you will go with another man,” he said, taking her chin in his hand. “Don’t ever say it.”
“You are the only one I want.” This was the truth, but she regretted telling him. He would read more into it than he ought.
“ ’Tis the same for me,” he whispered and rested his forehead against hers.
She closed her eyes and breathed in his scent as she leaned against him. He could be such a tender boy.
But she did not know how much time she had. “Now,” she whispered in his ear. “I want to do it now.”
When she rubbed her hand up his cock for good measure, he made a sound between a growl and a moan and lifted her from the
ground. Men were so predictable, so easily managed, there was almost no challenge in it. Still, Jamie’s reaction was gratifying.
As he carried her to the bed, Linnet gave herself a moment to savor the thought of how angry Alain, her “father,” was going
to be. That man would rue the day.
From the moment Jamie laid her down and started kissing her, she forgot about Alain and her plans for revenge. This part she
could not control, did not even try. A fire had raged between them since the day he arrived in Paris with the king. No matter
how often they sneaked away to be together, the fire only burned hotter. She gave into it with abandon now, as she did every
time.
Afterward, she lay in Jamie’s arms, wishing the contentment of the moment could last. It never did.
“I’ve sent a letter to my parents,” Jamie said, rubbing his cheek against the top of her head. “I expect my father will grant
me a small estate upon our betrothal.”
Her heart began to race. “Betrothed? You haven’t spoken to me of betrothal before.”
“Did I need to?” She heard the smile in his voice. “After what we’ve being doing, I thought it obvious.”
“But you never told me. You never asked me.”
“I see I have committed a grievous error,” he said, sounding amused. “All right, let me ask it, then. My darling Linnet, love
of my heart, will you wed me and be my wife?”
“Nay, I will not.”
“What?” Jamie sat up and leaned over her. “I am sorry if I offended you by not speaking plainly before. You know I love you.”
“Men say that all the time.”
“But I mean it,” he said, rubbing his thumb across her cheek. “And I shall still love you when your beauty is no more than
a memory traced upon your face.”
They had left the bed curtains drawn. In the sunlight from the tall window, she took in the strong lines of his handsome face,
the intense expression in the violet-blue
eyes. She swallowed. She hadn’t meant to hurt him. Why did he not tell her these things before?
She reached up and cupped the side of his face with her hand. “You will always be special to me as my first lover.”
“First lover!” His fingers dug into her arm. A moment later, he released her and flopped back down on the bed. “How you enjoy
torturing me with your teasing! Sometimes you go too far.”
Why do men never believe what you say? They persist in believing “no” means “perhaps,” and “I despise you” means “I want you
to write me bad poetry.”
“I do not wish to be a wife,” she said to Jamie. “I could not bear having a man tell me what to do all my life.”
Jamie laughed. “As if I would dare try.”
“You would. It is what men do.”
He turned on his side, his dark hair falling across his eyes. “Let us pretend you are serious. What else could you do? I cannot
see you as a nun.”
She batted away his hand as he reached for her breast. “I may make a brief marriage.”
“A brief one?” he said, raising his eyebrows.
“Aye, to a very old man who will leave me a wealthy widow,” she said. “Or, I may become a famous courtesan.”
The bed shook with Jamie’s laughter.
“I am trying to be honest with you,” she said, slapping his shoulder.
“You are beautiful enough to become the most famous courtesan in all of France,” he said, pulling her on top of him. “And
you know it very well. But enough of this foolishness. We must make our plan.”
She may as well be speaking to a turnip. She pushed
away from him and sat up, wrapping her arms around her knees. In sooth, she could not imagine letting anyone else touch her
the way Jamie did. But her plans required independence and money of her own.
Whenever her resolve weakened, she thought of the men who robbed her grandfather blind when he grew feebleminded toward the
end. They were men he’d done business with for years; men he’d trusted and loaned money to in hard times. Not an hour after
he died, these same men stripped their house in Falaise of valuables. Because of them, she and her brother, Francois, were
stealing food to survive even before the English siege began.
One day, she would return to Falaise and destroy every one of those men who stole from them and left them to starve.
“Do you think your father will object to our marrying?” Jamie asked, startling her from her thoughts.
“Aye, he would,” she said absently over her shoulder, “because the devil’s spawn has already chosen a husband for me.”
Jamie jerked upright beside her. “He intends to pledge you to another?”
“After ignoring me and my brother for most of our lives, Alain thinks he can play father now and tell me what to do.” Alain
sorely underestimated her. “He only claimed us because his legitimate sons are dead.”
Jamie gripped her arm. “Who is the man he wants you to wed?”
“That snake Guy Pomeroy.”
Jamie raised his eyebrows. “Your father aims high. Sir Guy is close to the Duke of Gloucester, the king’s youngest brother.”
“ ’Tis not for my benefit, you can be sure,” she said, rolling her eyes. “I hate the way Sir Guy looks at me. I swear, I would
put a blade in his heart before I let him near me.”
“You are mine to protect now.” Jamie took her hand and kissed it. “I know you loathe your father, but he must be dealt with.
It will be awkward if he has already spoken with Sir Guy, but that cannot be helped.”
“I have taken care of it.” She had to tell Jamie now. He would be so angry he might not speak to her for days.
“Let me do this,” Jamie said. “I know what assurances must be given, what pressures can be brought to bear. Your upbringing
was… irregular. I understand these things better.”
“Think about what you are saying, Jamie,” she said, raising her hands in exasperation. “I am a bastard and a merchant’s granddaughter.
I was not raised to live the kind of life you want.”
“You are of noble birth,” Jamie said in a firm voice. “Everything is changed now that your father has claimed you.”
“I am not changed,” she said. “What you need is a dull English noblewoman who will be happy to share the boring life you are
looking forward to.”
“Linnet, you cannot—”
She lifted her hand to stop him. “I know how it will be. Each summer, you will come to France to fight with your glorious
king. Then, each winter, you will return home to get your wife with yet another child, settle disputes among your peasants,
and spend the evenings telling tiresome stories of your victories by the hearth in your hall.”
“It is a good life,” he said, laughing. “It only seems dull to you because you do not know it.”
She took his face in her hands. “You will be furious with me, but there is something I must tell you.”
“First you must promise not to speak to your father of our marriage before I do,” Jamie said.
He leaned forward to kiss her but froze at the sound of voices just outside the door. As the door scraped open, he threw the
bedclothes over Linnet and turned his body to block the view of her from the door.
She scooted up next to him and called out, “Good day, Alain. How fortunate you brought Sir Guy with you; he’s told me many
times he wished to see me naked in bed.”
Both men stared at them slack-jawed for a long moment. Then her father roared, “God’s blood, Linnet, what have you done?”
“Surely,” she said, widening her eyes, “I need not explain it to you?”
“You said she was a virgin,” Sir Guy spat out, then slapped Alain hard across the face. “I should have known a whore would
beget a whore.”
Sir Guy was a powerfully built man, and his violence startled her. When he turned to Jamie with murder in his eyes, she put
her hand on Jamie’s shoulder.
“I won’t forget this,” Sir Guy said in a voice so full of menace Linnet’s stomach tightened. “You shall pay dearly for this
one day, James Rayburn.”
Jamie threw her hand off his shoulder. For the first time since the others entered the room, she looked at him. Jamie’s eyes
were fixed on her, wild and accusing. She heard, but did not see, Sir Guy slam the door. Sir Guy and her father did not matter
anymore.
“You planned this. You wanted them to find us,” Jamie said, his voice cracking. “You only went to bed with me
to make your father angry. I thought… I thought you loved me.”
The air went out of her, and she could not speak. God have mercy, what had she done?
“You’ve ripped my heart from my chest,” Jamie said in a harsh whisper. “I am the world’s biggest fool.”
Jamie slid down from the bed, swept up his clothes from the floor in one arm, and started toward the door.
“I shall whip you within an inch of your life, girl,” Alain shouted. His face was purple, his fists clenched.
Jamie grabbed Alain by the front of his tunic and lifted him off his feet. “I am tempted to murder her myself, but I will
kill you if you lay a hand on her for this,” he said, the threat in his voice as sharp as the edge of a dagger.
Heaven above, Jamie was magnificent, stark naked and furious.
“If you were not such a horse’s arse, she would not have done it.”
Jamie was defending her, which meant he was already halfway to forgiving her. She would explain it all to him. Then they could
go on as before.
Jamie picked up his clothes again and walked to the door. He opened it and turned. “Send word if there is a child,” he said
to Alain. “I shall be in England.”
London
October 30, 1425
The stench of the Thames made Sir James Rayburn’s eyes water as he rode through the angry crowd. The “Winchester geese,” the
prostitutes who worked this side of the river under the bishop’s regulation, would not do much business today. The men filling
the street were not here to seek pleasures banned inside the City; they were spoiling for a fight.
Earlier, Jamie had crossed the river to gauge the mood within the City of London—and found it on the verge of riot.
The crowd grew thicker as he neared London Bridge. Men glared at him but moved out of the way of his warhorse. As he pushed
through them, his thoughts returned to the evening before. There had been far too many men-at-arms at the bishop’s palace.
Over supper, Jamie had tried to discern the bishop’s intent in bringing so many armed men to Winchester Palace. Under the
bishop’s watchful eye, however, none of
the other guests dared speak of it. Instead, they pressed Jamie for news of the fighting in France.
He obliged them, telling them of the recent battle against the dauphin’s forces at Verneuil. As he warmed to his tale, the
ladies leaned forward, hands pressed to their creamy bosoms. He liked to tell stories. Just when he had begun to enjoy himself,
Linnet’s words came back to him.
What you need, Jamie Rayburn, is a dull English wife who will be content to spend her evenings listening to you recite tiresome
tales of your victories.
After all these years, Linnet’s ridicule still rankled. He had brought his story to an abrupt end and left the bishop’s hall
for bed. Damn the woman. Five years since he’d seen her, and she could still ruin his evening.
Calling him boring was the least of Linnet’s crimes against him. No matter that he was three years older and she was not quite
sixteen at the time—next to her, he’d been a babe in the woods. It embarrassed him to recall how he had worn his heart on
his sleeve back then. While he professed eternal love and adoration, Linnet used him without a shred of guilt or regret.
After the debacle, he left Paris at once in the hope of reaching England before his letter. But nay. He had to suffer the
additional mortification of telling his family he and Linnet were not betrothed after all.
Someone should have told him that men value a woman’s virginity far more than women do themselves. He had mistaken the gift
of hers as a gift of her heart—and a pledge of marriage. Never again would he let a woman humiliate him like that.
That did not mean he’d sworn off women. In sooth, he had bedded any number of them in his determination to
wipe Linnet’s memory from his mind. Most of the time he succeeded.
Thinking of her now put him in a foul mood. God’s beard, he could not breathe with all these people hemming him in. Judging
by Thunder’s snorts and flattened ears, his horse felt the same.
“We’ve seen enough,” Jamie said, patting Thunder after the horse snapped at a fool who got too close.
With his untimely death, their dear and glorious King Henry had left a babe heir to two kingdoms. The Duke of Bedford, the
dead king’s eldest surviving brother, had the difficult tasks of governing the French territories and prosecuting the war
there.
While Bedford was occupied in France, two other members of the royal family vied for control of England. The power struggle
between Bedford’s brother, the Duke of Gloucester, and their uncle, the Bishop of Winchester, had been simmering for months.
Now that their dispute had spilled over into the streets, however, it was far more dangerous. Jamie must send a message to
Bedford at once.
As Jamie turned his horse to return to the bishop’s palace, someone grabbed hold of his boot. He lifted his whip but checked
his arm when he saw it was an old man.
“Please, sir, help me!”
The old fellow’s eye was purple with a fresh bruise. From his clothing, Jamie guessed he was not a part of the rabble, but
a servant of some noble household.
Jamie leaned down. “What can I do for you?”
“The crowd separated me from my mistress,” the man said, his voice high and tremulous. “Now they’ve taken my mule, and I cannot
reach her.”
Sweet Lamb of God, a lady was alone in this mob? “Where? Where is she?”
The old man pointed toward the bridge. When Jamie turned to look, he wondered how he had missed her. London Bridge was three
hundred yards long, with shops and houses projecting off both sides. But in the gap created by the drawbridge, Jamie had a
clear view of a lady in a bright blue and yellow gown sitting astride a white palfrey. She stuck out from the horde around
her like a peacock atop a dunghill.
“Out of my way! Out of my way!” Jamie shouted, waving his whip from side to side above the heads of the crowd. Men flung themselves
aside to avoid the hooves of his horse as he forced his way forward through the throng.
As he rode up onto the bridge, he heard the familiar sound of an army on the move. He turned and saw men-at-arms marching
up the river from the bishop’s palace. God’s blood, the bishop had even sent archers.
Jamie had heard a rumor that Gloucester intended to ride to Eltham Castle to take custody of the three-year-old king. Evidently
the bishop feared Gloucester’s intent was to usurp the throne, for he had decided to stop his nephew at the bridge by force
of arms.
God help them all.
But in the meantime, Jamie needed to rescue the fool woman caught between the forces of the two feuding royals in the goddamned
middle of London Bridge.
The mass of people caught on the bridge began to panic as word spread of the men-at-arms marching toward them. As Jamie pushed
his way over the first part of the bridge, their shouts echoed off the buildings that connected overhead.
He was still twenty yards from the lady when he heard her scream. Hands were grabbing at her, attempting to pull her off the
horse. She fought back like a savage, striking at them with her whip.
Someone caught hold of her headdress. Despite the noise on the bridge, Jamie heard the gasps of the men around her as a cascade
of white-gold hair fell over her shoulders to her hips.
The air went out of him. There was only one woman in Christendom with hair like that. Linnet.
And she was in grave danger.
“Do not touch her!” he roared. He raised his sword and pulled the reins, making Thunder rear to clear his way.
He pushed forward through the seething mass. As he fought his way the last few yards, he heard Linnet’s voice over the clamor,
cursing the men in both French and English.
A burly man gripped her thigh with a filthy hand, and murder roiled through Jamie. Just as Linnet raised her whip to bring
it down on the man, she looked up and saw Jamie. Their gazes locked, and all the sounds around him faded away.
In that moment when she was diverted, the burly man caught her arm that held the whip. Another man yanked at her belt. Over
the thunder in his ears, Jamie heard her bloodcurdling scream as they pulled her off her horse.
“Hold on!” he shouted.
She was hanging off the side, clutching at her saddle with both hands. God help him, she would be trampled to death in another
moment. Her horse had remained remarkably steady until now. With its rider unsaddled, however, it was wild-eyed, tossing its
head and sidestepping into the
crowd. Jamie’s heart went to his throat as Linnet swung sideways and slammed against her horse’s side.
The men, whose hold was snapped by the horse’s movement, were grasping at Linnet’s skirts as the horse flung her from side
to side. She was hanging on by one hand when Jamie finally broke through to her. With one sweep of his sword, he slashed the
two men as he leaned down and caught Linnet around the waist with his other arm and lifted her up onto his horse.
Praise God, he had her! Now he just had to get her off this damned bridge before arrows started flying.
“My horse!” she said, twisting to look over his shoulder.
Without warning, she leaned over the side of his horse with both arms outstretched. Was the woman mad? He gripped her tighter
as she reached out to catch hold of her horse’s loose rein with her fingertips.
She sat up and gave him a triumphant grin as she held it up in her hand. Good God, she hadn’t changed a bit. She was happiest
in the midst of tumult and trouble. He wouldn’t be half surprised to discover it was she, and not Gloucester, who had caused
the riot.
“You gloat too soon,” he said through clenched teeth. “We could be killed yet.”
Her eyes flicked to the side, and she brought her whip down on an arm reaching for her horse’s bridle. He turned his horse
and shouted at the crowd, “Get off the bridge! Get off the bridge!”
The panicked mass of people surged against them like rolling swells against a ship at sea. Linnet ignored his repeated command
to “let go of the damned horse and hold on.” He had to hold her tight enough to leave bruises
on her ribs, while she slashed at people who tried to grab her horse’s reins.
She felt so slight against him. It seemed a miracle she had been able to fight off those men and stay on her horse for so
long. But anyone who touched her now would be a dead man. Jamie was a battle-hardened knight. Now that he had her, he had
no doubt he could protect her from the rabble.
Flying arrows, however, were another matter.
By a miracle, he managed to reach the end of the bridge a hairbreadth before the bishop’s men blocked the way. Then he rode
east along the river, away from the bridge and the crowd, until his heartbeat returned to normal.
They were a quarter mile down the river before he spoke. “What in God’s name were you doing on the bridge? An idiot could
see that was no place to be today.”
Linnet turned around to look at him. This time, with the danger past, his heart did a flip-flop in his chest. In addition
to everything else she was, did she have to be so beautiful? It was the curse of his life.
“ ’Tis nice to see you, too, Jamie Rayburn.” She cocked her head and raised an eyebrow. “After all this time, I expected a
better greeting.”
He fixed his gaze dead ahead and grunted. God in heaven, how could she be so cool after what had just happened on the bridge?
When she leaned lightly against him, his chest prickled with sensation. Lust and longing took him like a fever. He should
put her on her own horse now. He wanted to pretend she was too distressed to ride alone, but the thought was ridiculous. This
one small weakness he would allow himself. It meant nothing.
“I heard you were with Bedford in France,” she said.
“Hmmph.”
“When did you arrive in London?”
“Yesterday.”
After a long pause, she said, “Are you going to tell me what you are doing in England?”
“Nay.”
“Or ask why I am here?”
“Nay.”
He felt her sigh against his chest. Against his will, he remembered other sighs, other times…
He had to get rid of her. “I trust your servant will make his own way back. Where shall I deliver you?”
“The bishop’s pa. . .
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Knight of Passion
Margaret Mallory
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