She gasped as her chest collided with his. “Now that’s better,” he said huskily, pushing her up against the wall of the stall. “God, you feel good.”

Joan wished she could say the same. There was nothing objectively wrong with him. His breath didn’t smell like herring, his lips weren’t too puffy or his nose too long. His neatly trimmed beard wasn’t peppered with crumbs from the midday meal. His body was hard and lean with enough well-sculpted muscle to make a woman’s heart jump.

But hers was jumping for an entirely different reason.

She didn’t understand this dread—this near panic. She’d been in this situation before and she’d never had such a problem detaching. But never before had it felt so wrong. Never before had she compared it to another. And never before had it made her feel as if she needed to dive into the loch.

Alex’s kiss had stripped her of her armor of indifference.

One glance at Sir Hugh’s face and she read his intent. Her pulse took another vicious jump. He’s going to kiss me . . .

“You never told me about your journey,” she blurted.

The slow descent of his mouth stopped. His eyes narrowed just enough for her to realize she had best be careful. Her vaunted subtlety in questioning had apparently deserted her.

“No, I didn’t.”

Her heart was hammering so loud she feared he could hear it in her voice. “It must have been important.”

His expression didn’t change. She felt a bit like a bug under a rock that had just been lifted. “It was.”

“The king must value you greatly.”

Misinterpreting her interest as she’d intended, he smiled. “He does.”

He thought she liked his power and importance—she did, but not for the reasons he imagined. Unfortunately, it appeared Sir Hugh was not a boaster. She needed to find out about his mission.

He started to lower his mouth again, and she told herself she could do this—how bad could it be?—but at the last minute she turned her face so that his mouth landed on her cheek and jaw instead. He didn’t seem to mind the detour, as his mouth descended to devour her throat and neck.

“I was bored all week,” she blurted again, trying to think about anything other than what he was doing. But the feel of his mouth on her skin made it crawl as if a jar of spiders had just been poured on her. “There was so little to do. It stormed for a few days, and then everyone was getting ready for the fair . . .” She rambled on for a few more minutes, but nothing could distract her—or him.