“Then I shall do something I’ve not done for a long time, Miss Vale, and amble.” Lawrence took hold of the reins and led her horse along the lane.
The night air was cold and crisp. Moonlight cast a silvery sheen on the path ahead while the surrounding fields and trees shrank into the blackness. One might be fooled into thinking they were the only people alive in the world. And for some bizarre reason, that brought a sense of peace.
“Are you certain you wish to walk with me the whole way?” There was a lightness to her voice that said she knew the answer to her question but sought to break the silence.
“My conscience will keep me awake tonight unless I know you reached home safely.” Perhaps a game of fantasy would help him learn more about her secret desires and ambitions. He suspected she had no intention of forgetting about the rogue who bore the mark of the Brethren. The question was, what did she intend to do now? “But we might pass the time by playing a game.”
The demi-monde’s version amounted to lewd and lascivious scenarios—talk of erotic desires that often led to couples leaving the room, keen to turn the illusion into reality. A man did not play such games with an innocent.
“Then you begin, Mr Trent,” she said as they crossed Walton Bridge and headed north, “and you may explain the rules as you go.” She seemed more than keen to indulge him.
Now, where the hell might he begin?
“Let us start by choosing our characters. You go first, Miss Vale, and I shall select mine appropriately.” It occurred to him that he should give her more information. “You might pick Anne Boleyn, for example, and I would opt for Henry. But you have the power to alter history, to choose a different outcome for both characters.”
The demi-monde always picked counterparts eager to engage in illicit sexual relations. But who would Miss Vale choose? He glanced up at her, hidden in the depths of her lilac cloak. Seated on the white horse, she looked every bit a fairy princess, and he’d be the wicked warlock come to take her prisoner and ravish her enchanting body.
“I have always loved Arthurian legend. Might I be Guinevere?”
“If you wish.”
Blast!
Why the hell had she chosen the philandering wife? Thoughts of his own mother surfaced, and it took every effort to suppress his temper. He only hoped Miss Vale did not find adultery attractive.
“There are many versions of Guinevere’s story,” he continued. “Some cast her in an unfavourable light. I am intrigued to know which one might be more to your tastes.”
After some thought, she said, “Often, in a quest for power, a woman might make foolish mistakes. I would rather save the kingdom than bring about its downfall on a selfish whim.”
The tension relaxed from his shoulders. Only strong women made sacrifices. That said, if she wished to save the kingdom, she might wish to save other ladies from being ruined by a masked rogue.
“And what of you, Mr Trent. Whom will you select?”
Lawrence stroked the mare’s neck while they walked, while he gathered his thoughts and decided on his preferred character. “I choose Arthur.” He could never be Lancelot, could never deceive a trusted friend. “I like to think of him as a noble man, one of great courage. A man betrayed by those closest to him. Though if I were king, I should not be so naive.”
He cast a sidelong glance and their gazes locked. People said his eyes were arresting, but hers brought the calm that came from gazing out over the crystal blue waters of the Mediterranean Sea.
“You have experienced great pain in your life and believe noble actions make a man worthy.” She gestured to the crossroads ahead. “Turn left here.”
Damnation!
This game was his way of discovering more about her, not the other way around. “Make no mistake. I take no prisoners, Miss Vale. Men cross me at their peril.”
He was no longer a helpless child.
No more a dreaded inconvenience.
“Having witnessed the sheer power in your arms, sir, I imagine only a fool would rouse your temper.”
The fact she had taken notice of his physique sent hot blood racing through his veins. But he was fooling himself to think that she looked upon him with anything other than curious enquiry.
“I rarely have to hit a man twice. But everyone has their weaknesses.” Were he not careful, this lady might stir him to a feebleness of mind and morals.
“Well, it might please you to know that you will not have to hit anyone, least of all our imagined Lancelot. Had I taken marriage vows, I would be faithful to my husband.”
She might have stripped naked and offered him the use of her body, but nothing aroused him like a woman with integrity.
“And Arthur would do everything in his power to earn your love and respect.” Lawrence focused on the lane ahead, for to look at her again would surely stir these odd sensations.