“You did so once. I thought you eventually might do so again.” He came up beside her and looked down. “It appears I was correct.”

“I came here tonight looking for solitude.”

His fingertips brushed at the hair framing her face. “I think that you came here looking for me.”

“That is not true. I—”

His fingers touched her mouth, silencing her. He left them there, and she felt the quick pulse of her lips beating against his warm, firm touch. The same trembling beat took possession of her body.

He took her hand, and gently tugged her toward the bench. Her heart broke with the desire to follow. Heaven waited in the shadows.

She halted after a few steps.

He felt her resistance. “Do not give me excuses, and denials, and arguments. I know how divided your heart is. But that is for tomorrow, and for the world outside these low walls. I ask for nothing more than to have you beside me in this garden, free of our burdens.”

His words undid her. She followed, despite knowing this was madness. The worldly woman in her sighed with exasperation at the silly girl whose heart pounded because a handsome knight spoke of needing her.

He sat and drew her toward him. She found herself on his lap, and not on the bench by his side. She tried to move off him.

His arm held her firmly. “There is no danger with me. You are at least my match in this, as everything else. You have never done one thing with me that you did not want. Resting in my arms is hardly a defeat.”

She should not listen to him. She should break his hold on her, and run from this place. The daughter of Llygad should not be enticed to any intimacy with this man, let alone one of the spirit.

But the closeness, the warmth, the support of his strength, spoke to her heart more seductively than his words. Just the sound of his voice lured and excited her. She should run away, but she could not.

Her body gave up and relaxed like a physical sigh, and she laid her head on his shoulder. She touched the hand resting on her hip, and relished the small connection of skin on skin. She might have found an unexpected lull in a relentless battle, so comforting did she find their embrace.

“I hate you,” she muttered. “You have put me in an impossible place. I asked you not to. Begged you.”

“I did not have a choice, Nesta.”

“And I have no choice. So here we are, and our lack of choices makes this embrace a mockery. A prelude to each of us betraying the other.”

“There is no mockery in the contentment that I have holding you.”