A Knight's Temptation by Catherine Kean Page A

stirred in his mind, of a creature Ward had described to him one night, shortly before he’d died. Ward had called the large, catlike beast, caged by its captors and on display in an Eastern bazaar, a lion.
    Aldwin focused upon the blur of Lady L’s face. Her features became more distinct, and anticipation coiled up inside him. At last, he’d look her straight in the eyes.
    “Oh, God,” she gasped, tugging hard on her wrist and seizing advantage of his moment of gloating. He pitched forward, almost careening headfirst into her chest. Slamming his free hand against the filthy floor, he caught his balance. Scowling, he yanked her back.
    With a startled squawk and a thump , she bumped against him. Her wool-clad shoulder hit his before she wrenched away.
    A soft breath escaped him, knocked from him by their colliding bodies, but also by the stunning impact of their touch: her warm breath against his face; her sweet, honeysuckle scent; and her hair brushing his cheek. For a moment, the assault upon his senses rendered him immobile.
    He shook his head, forcing the sensations away. However enticing the contact, this wench was no lady innocent. She wore de Lanceau’s stolen pendant. Moreover, she might know the whereabouts of the baron and Veronique. If Aldwin brought about their capture, he’d be knighted for certain.
    Aldwin pulled Lady L firmly back toward him.
    Her breath rushed between her teeth. Her head wrenched sideways and she glanced once more at her unconscious comrade, while digging her fingernails—rather grubby ones, Aldwin noticed—into his hand. He ignored the pain. He wouldn’t let go even if she drew blood.
    Slowly, he pulled her forward, until her face, still turned to him in profile and wisped with streaks of hair, was a mere breath away.
    She swallowed, as though finally accepting she was caught.
    Then she looked at him.
    The weak candlelight provided less than satisfying light. What he saw, though, snatched the air from his lungs.
    Lady L was exquisite. More so than he’d ever imagined.
    Her honey-brown hair, once plaited into a braid, snarled out around her to frame her face like a mane. Her wide, almond-shaped eyes, as golden as a feline’s, sharpened in a glare that promised him all kinds of torments once she escaped. When she blinked, sparing him her outrage for the barest moment, her dark golden eyelashes swept against skin dotted with freckles.
    That defiant stare . . . His memories shot back to a distant summer and the girl he’d ordered tied to a tree. She’d looked at him with such spirit. Yet this woman couldn’t possibly be Leona Ransley; she’d died from bee stings years ago.
    Refusing to heed the wench’s threatening stare, Aldwin skimmed his gaze down the delicate line of her nose, also dusted with freckles, further proof she wasn’t of the noble class; almost all ladies of his acquaintance—with the exception of Lady Elizabeth—avoided the sun to keep their pale, unblemished complexions.
    Despite her freckles, this wench had a fetching nose, surprisingly slender and aristocratic. Was there noble blood in her, after all? She might be the illegitimate daughter of a lord who’d pleasured himself with one of the local strumpets and refused to acknowledge the resultant child as his. Aldwin had heard of such before. The likely explanation played into her amusing title, Lady L.
    Resisting a smile, he glanced lower. His gaze settled on her mouth’s rosy fullness. Her teeth were still clenched, and her breaths rasped between her slightly parted lips. A shiver of desire ran through him, for she had the fullest, most intriguing mouth he’d ever seen on a woman. Her bottom lip was plumper than the top one. It gave her a sensual pout that promised all manner of pleasurable sins.
    His groin warmed. Being a courtesan, she’d know how to deliver those sins well.
    Tossing her head back, she pulled hard on her arm.
    “Stop,” he said, surprised by the huskiness in his voice. “You will