Sinful Pleasures

Prologue

Chateau du étoile, outside Montivilliers, France

Darkness fast approached; there could be no further delay.

Shadowy tendrils stabbed through the crimson light creeping in at the shutters of the turret, but Lady Alissende of Surrey remained motionless, her fingers clenched and her heart rebellious under the weight of this decision she was being asked to accept.

Breathing deeply, she lifted her troubled gaze first to her widowed mother, the still beautiful Lady Blanche, then to her recently ordained second cousin and adored companion of childhood, Father Michael, seeking some berth from the emotions churning inside her.

There was naught but bleak acceptance in their expressions. That and perhaps the expectation that she should concede to the necessity of what they had placed before her.

Another burst of defiance flared in Alissende’s breast, fueled by her desperation. She shook her head, almost choking on the words. “I cannot do this, Michael! Please…there must be another way—”

“There is not, amie,” he broke in, his voice heavy with regret.

He lifted his gentle gaze to hers, his brow furrowed.

“There is no time to seek another. You know my brother. Hugh will not be content to relinquish his claim to you unless he is compelled by law to it. We were fortunate to gain these few days by fleeing to your mother’s holding here, but it is a temporary sanctuary at best.” Father Michael lowered his chin, his gaze fixing her, resolute.

“You must marry again, Alissende, and now, before we return to England—before Hugh has another opportunity to act again in his pursuit of you. Taking Sir Damien in proxy marriage is the only plausible solution.”

Damien.

Alissende closed her eyes briefly as his name stabbed through her, the sweetness and sting of it blending together.

It washed over her, along with the image of one still and hot summer afternoon long ago, of sun caressing golden skin…

of his face above hers, strong and handsome, his expression intense with the agony of pleasure.

Swallowing back the bittersweet memory, she opened her eyes.

“And what of his wishes?” she asked huskily, incapable even now of saying his name aloud. “You can be sure that he would not relish the thought of binding himself to me in any way after all that passed between us those many years ago.”

“Sir Damien de Ashby is in the hands of the Inquisition and has been for nearly half a year. Believe me when I tell you that such matters mean little to him at the moment,” Michael answered, his voice laced with some dark emotion.

Unwilling—unable for her own sanity—to think too deeply on the true meaning behind her cousin’s ominous words, Alissende glanced once more to her mother, who looked as though she would gladly take on the burden of her daughter’s pain if she could.

But no one could help her now. No one, it seemed, but the one man on earth she could not bear the thought of seeing again, much less marrying.

“Mon Dieu, but I would as soon take the veil as go forward with this,” she murmured.

“That cannot be,” Michael countered. “The king would never allow it. As it is, His Majesty will be angered that you fled to France and remarried without his consent. But praise be to God, he is a much softer man than was his sire, and he is more like to forgive an act of disobedience if the reason behind it seems to be one of the heart. The public history of youthful love you shared with Sir Damien makes him the perfect choice for a union undertaken with such haste. He is here in France and in no position to decline. You need the protection to be gained by a marriage with him. It is the only way.”

A reason of the heart. Alissende’s thoughts fixed on the phrase; if she could have called forth her voice at that moment, it would have sounded strangled at best.

“And yet even if the king’s reaction were not a concern,” Michael went on, clearly intent on persuading her, “my brother continues to remain so. You are too rich a prize for him to concede. Should we attempt to seclude you in a convent either here or in England, Hugh would take you by force, as he tried to do at your own holding at Glenheim but a month past.”

“Of that I have little doubt,” Lady Blanche murmured, her elegant mouth frowning.

“It will not come to such if we accept this boon that has been laid at our feet,” Michael reminded them.

“It has been years, it is true, but Damien is one of the few men I have seen who might be capable of defeating Hugh in combat; I have been told that after leaving England, he served as a Templar Knight within the Brotherhood’s most elite circle of warriors, and his skill with the blade is nearly unmatched.

However, the danger that he will be lost to us mounts with each hour he remains in the hands of the Inquisition.

A choice must be made.” He fixed Alissende with his gaze once more.

“Only you can decide, Cousin, for it is your welfare that rests in the balance.”

Nausea filled Alissende. That Hugh would not rest until something, or someone, made him cease his pursuit of her was indisputable.

She had known him all her life, and though he and Michael were brothers, they were as alike as innocence was to decadence.

Hugh was possessed of a violent and grasping nature, and it was clear that his ascension to the Earldom of Harwick vacated by his late father had made him bold enough to believe that he could simply take her at his will, removing all obstacles, it seemed…

including even Godfrey Claremont, Earl of Denton—the difficult man who had been her lawfully wedded husband for four years. It frightened her beyond measure.

And yet the alternative was no less frightening in its own way.

“Perhaps I am mistaken in your feelings, Alissende,” Michael murmured in response to her long silence. “If accepting Hugh has become more agreeable to you, then—”

“Nay!” she interrupted, sure in that, at least.

Michael nodded, a knowing expression in his kind eyes.

“Then you must consider Sir Damien. Through my office as a priest, I could more swiftly arrange the proxy documents. It would not be without risk, of course, but I could see them drawn up along with what will pass, pray God, for a Writ of Absolution from the Inquisition so that Sir Damien will be protected from rearrest once he arrives in England. We would need to send word to the king, declaring the marriage legitimate, and then prepare to move among your estates here and in England to avoid Hugh until Damien can take his position at your side.”

As he said the last, Alissende knew, though she was not looking directly at him, that Michael glanced away for an uncomfortable moment.

Finally raising her gaze from her clenched fingers once more, Alissende locked her stare with her cousin’s, heat burning the backs of her eyes and her heart pounding with dread at the enormity of what taking this unorthodox step would mean.

She only need give her consent and it would be done.

The proxy documents would be drawn up, the Writ of Absolution would be forged, and a sum of her prodigious fortune would be set aside to pay the men who would steal Damien away from his captivity.

Eventually, he would take his place at her side as her husband.

As her husband, God help her. It would be so easy to say yes, and yet…

Michael must have sensed her wavering, for his gaze flooded with understanding before his mouth tightened as he offered the final statement that he had to know could not help but seal her doom.

“I had hoped to spare you the fullness of this, Cousin, but I can see that it must be said to aid you in making your decision,” he said, his voice low.

“You must consider that the Inquisition in France has never been known for compassion in its methods of extracting confession from accused heretics—and with King Philip the Fair’s call to prove the entire Templar Brotherhood guilty of such sins, the French inquisitors seem to have exceeded all previous bounds of cruelty. ”

Alissende’s breath caught, and a sickening sensation twisted in her belly. “I did not realize…” She shook her head, anguish filling her. “I—I had thought talk of the inquisitors’ brutality to be naught but rumor, spread by those unfaithful to the Church.”

“I only wish it were so. But I have seen the results of their interrogations with my own eyes,” Michael continued, his words raking at her without mercy, “and the difficult truth is that Damien is suffering, Alissende. More than many a man could bear and still live; he has been tortured ruthlessly by his captors. Even if we are successful in freeing him, he may not survive his rescue.”

A bubble of shock seemed to fill Alissende’s chest, blocking out all but the gasp that escaped her as she pressed her trembling fingers to her lips.

“But if he dies, then where will that leave Alissende?” Lady Blanche asked, her eyes filled with concern.

Michael frowned. “No worse than she fares right now. At the very least, creating this proxy marriage will gain us valuable time in finding another suitable protector who will be willing to stand up to Hugh and his aggressions.”

He must have realized how calculating his statement sounded, for he glanced to Alissende and added more gently, “But pray heaven it will not come to that, and we can liberate Damien in time to restore him to his former strength and vitality.”

Alissende’s eyes closed again, this time of their own accord, against the hot swell of liquid that came forth unbidden at the mere thought of the kind of torment Michael had described being applied to Damien. Oh, God.

She possessed means of stopping his pain; it was irrefutable. That Damien himself would surely despise the very thought of her mattered little in the face of that awful reality. Aye, it had to be done. When the time came, she would bear up under his scorn the best she could. If he survived….

With a jerking nod of her chin and a sharp intake of breath, Alissende opened her eyes once more and murmured her agreement in a voice almost inaudible for the tightness constricting her throat. “So be it, Michael. I give my consent to your proposition. Undertake what must be done.”

The sensation of coolness swept over Damien’s face, accompanied by the curling embrace of blessed fresh air around his body.

He struggled to open his eyes even as he felt strong hands gripping him, bearing him up.

Dimly, his mind locked onto the knowledge that he was being carried somewhere.

Somewhere away from the stench and darkness and pain of his cell. But where? And why?

That his captors saw fit to move him now after all this time spent in fetid misery could mean nothing good. Any brief respite he’d been granted before had always been followed by infliction of even greater pain.

Aye, at the other end of this little journey waited naught but more wicked cruelty, worse than what had come before. That thought twisted through him, stealing his breath. He could not imagine any agony more intense than that he had already known. He wouldn’t, lest he go mad from thinking on it.

But he need not go quietly to it, either.

And so with whatever strength he still possessed, he fought back against his oppressors’ progress.

He heard a grunt of reaction and knew the satisfaction of having imposed some discomfort on one of them.

Then he braced himself for the retribution that was sure to come, hoping that this time it would be strong enough to release him from this everlasting hell.

But nothing happened other than the same gently rocking movement as before.

Damn them.

Determined to force them to action, Damien sucked in a heady breath of air and coiled the last of his energy into one final act of defiance, lashing out with his arms and legs—demanding reprisal.

When his power was spent, he went still.

But instead of gut-wrenching punishment, he was shocked to feel the brush of warm breath against his cheek.

“Peace, man,” a low male voice murmured, close to his ear. “Cease your struggles. There will be no further harm to you with us.”

No further harm?

The phrase echoed through Damien’s brain, mocking, surely false.

He wanted to ask why…to question those who carried him away from the torment he’d lived in for so long. But he could not find means to utter the words—had not even the ability to open his eyes to look at those who bore him on through the unending night.

Perhaps he was near death, then. The thought lanced through him, bittersweet.

Aye, perhaps it was time, and they knew it, having witnessed it so oft in the plying of their wicked trade.

He wished he had the ability still to mock the sickening pride they took in such matters.

But at least he could go to his end knowing that he had never cowered to them.

Death could do naught but force him to finally lay down the burden of this once powerful body, now little more than a vessel of agony.

Someone stumbled, the movement jarring Damien painfully and reminding him that he should try to rest during this temporary reprieve he’d been granted. Taking another breath of air into his lungs, he savored its sweetness before gradually exhaling, his heart slowing and his head feeling heavier.

The rocking motion of his travel continued as they carried him onward, always onward.

Making himself remain still, Damien concentrated on conserving his ebbing strength.

For no matter what awaited him at the end of this journey, he knew he would not surrender to them.

He would resist their unholy torments no matter how they tried to break him… .

Aye, he vowed, he would fight them unto his final breath.