A Night of Wicked Delight. Joanne Rock

      A Night of Wicked Delight

      Joanne Rock

       www.millsandboon.co.uk

      Chapter 1

       North of London, 1169

      Shoving aside her trencher of uneaten food, Lady Emma of Westleigh studied the knights seated in the great hall with a frank assessment that would have made her late mother cringe.

      Her gaze roaming over the collection of shoulders and arms, strong torsos and surcoats of assorted cleanliness, Emma pondered the thirty assembled warriors with an interest surely unbecoming to a maid. But as she lacked an honorable guardian to help her choose an appropriate male, she could not be too hard on herself.

      The meal was drawing to a close at her cousin’s keep, Edenrock, where she had been a guest since her odious relation had been made her overlord after her father’s death.

      “What about yonder knight with half his trencher stuck in his beard?” her maid, Rowena, asked. Familiar with Emma’s secret quest for this eve, Rowena pointed toward an oafish figure well past his prime whose ruddy complexion attested to his drunkenness. He gnawed the end of a thick bone with less grace than one of Edward’s smelly hounds.

      Emma hid a shiver of repulsion, knowing full well Rowena only wished to discourage her from her furtive task. The moment Edward du Bois had become her guardian, he’d made it clear he would marry her off as quickly as possible to whichever of his knavish acquaintances would overlook her lack of dowry. Then, two days later, he’d announced the match of his choice and set a wedding date for a fortnight hence. She’d been promised to a fearsome tyrant whose last wife had flung herself from his battlements the morning after their bridal night.

      Rather than suffer whatever torments that woeful maid had endured, Emma planned to thwart her nuptials by ridding herself of the sole commodity her proposed groom claimed to prize in her.

      Her virginity.

      “I believe that one is a bit too heavy for a maid’s first time,” Emma asserted calmly, knowing full well Rowena hoped to discourage her from her goal by identifying the most unappealing choices from the knights present. Fortunately, her future husband was not in attendance. “Perhaps someone who weighs less than a horse?”

      Rowena glared at her as the din in the hall grew. The wine flowed freely tonight because Edward hoped to solidify his dubious claim to Edenrock among the local nobles. Edward had usurped the keep from the absentee lord—Hugh de Montagne—a cousin Emma and Edward shared. Hugh had left the keep two moons ago and not returned. To effectively steal the lands, Edward had started rumors all over the countryside insinuating the rightful owner of Edenrock had committed crimes against his neighbors—atrocities he himself had perpetrated.

      Now, he fed his new friends like visiting royalty, providing so much roasted meat that Emma feared the forests would need replenishing. Incense burned in a far-off censer in an attempt to cover the smells of too many men in one hall. The dogs paced the edges of the meal, eager for leftover bones.

      “Any man who is not your husband is not right for your first time.” Rowena lowered her voice in deference to their subject even though they were seated at the end of a trestle table far from the dais. The closest guest in the great hall sat two arms’ lengths away.

      A year older than Emma, Rowena had been born to a wealthy family that perished in a plague, leaving naught but a bankrupt estate and debts King Henry would not forgive.

      “You would prefer I meekly concede to wed a man who is said to have made his whole village a private harem?” Emma had overheard this in jest after a particularly bloody hunting party a sennight prior.

      “I prefer you think carefully about what might happen if you go continue with this plan.” Rowena tugged at her sleeve, bending her head close as two knights nearby started to brawl. “Instead of being sent to a convent as you hope, you could be beaten mercilessly by Edward. Worse, you could be beaten by Edward and given to an even bigger brute who could show his rage on your wedding night.”

      The brawling men were separated by a third. The one held his eye and cried foul while the other toasted his victory with his friends.

      “Nay.” She could not envision such a future for herself. Her parents had taught her letters. She had been encouraged to use her wits. How could she allow herself to become target practice for a vicious man’s fists? “Edward is too proud to risk the humiliation that would bring on him. He is deceitful enough, but his conceit would not allow him to give away a ruined woman as a virgin. To do so would speak poorly of his ability to defend people under his banner.”

      She felt certain of it. But that didn’t mean he wouldn’t hurt her himself. She had yet to plot her way to a convent if and when she managed to secure her own deflowering.

      “What of the hasty-witted lout you choose to perform such a risky task as tupping another man’s betrothed?” Rowena’s gaze slid around the hall, pausing on no one in particular but grazing each man briefly. “What is to stop him from claiming you for a bride himself? Then you are no closer to the convent and you might be tying yourself to an even worse fate than before.” Emma could not deny the hint of fear that tripped down her spine in response. “I will ensure I commit the deed with a man who would never wish to wed me.” The list of risks grew the more she considered the strategy.

      “And yet, he needs to be a man too powerful for Edward to consider killing out of vengeance.”

      The words burned like a poorly brewed ale, the possibility something she had not considered. Emma had been so intent on her own goal, consumed with finding a man of chivalry who would not refuse a gentlewoman’s overture, that she had not considered the fate she might seal for him. Edward’s cruelty was legendary north of London.

      Around them, minstrels began to play, an unusually extravagant entertainment for Edward’s hall since he’d taken over Edenrock. Was this another way to woo supporters? But then, as the bells fell into a lilting rhythm, Emma saw their purpose. Camp followers and village women had been assembled to dance for the company. The sudden rumble of interest among the men assured her that the mood in the hall had just turned a bit feverish.

      Perhaps tonight, instead of locking herself in her chamber as Edward bade, she could merely linger in a shadowy corner of the courtyard and await some lusty knight.

      The notion sparked an idea.

      “I shall wear a servant’s garb.” She latched onto Rowena’s arm, lifting her friend from the bench as she stood. “That way, no man would think of wedding me, since he will believe me beneath his station.”

      “Emma, do not—”

      “For that matter, he will not have to worry about Edward seeking vengeance upon him, since my anonymous lover will be oblivious to my identity.” She hurried toward the dimly lit corridor that led to her chamber, hoping to find a maid to lend her clothes in case Rowena refused to comply. “After all, how can he be blamed for a transgression he’ll never know he committed? I will certainly not name my despoiler.”

      As loathsome as Emma suspected it would be to lose her virginity in a courtyard to a drunken knight, at least she would have some comfort that the ordeal would be quickly over. What knight lingered in the arms of a dairy maid when there was ale to be had at his lord’s table? The knave would make quick work of coupling and return to his companions, leaving her to her peace.

      Escaping into the dark passage where a staircase wound its way up to her tower chamber, Emma hastened her step. Tonight had to be the time to enact this plan for reasons she did not care to share with Rowena.

      The midwife had told her the best times to conceive a babe, believing Emma an eager future bride. In truth, Emma had been listening carefully to discover the time she would be least likely to conceive. Tonight was the last eve of the only short window left before her nuptials.

      “Hurry,” she called behind