Bewitching in Boots Read Free

brood.”
    Tightening his jaw, he made his way across the courtyard, hating it that his former men had to see him hobbling like a cripple. Whatever Elisabeth wanted, he’d refuse. Whatever game she was playing—and it was obvious she was up to no good—he wouldn’t engage in it.
    He was going to send her and her entourage straight back to Versailles.

Chapter Two
    Elisabeth’s heart hammered in her chest as she watched Tristan approach. He wasn’t happy to see her. No surprise there. The summer wind caressed his dark hair and pressed his shirt against his strong chest. Normally in uniform, this was the first time she’d ever seen him in plain clothing.
    He looked even more dangerous and delicious.
    Elisabeth felt the usual hot quickening in her belly at the sight of him.
    He stopped, towering before her, and gave a short stiff obligatory bow. “Madame, to what do I owe this honor?” The last word was particularly weighty with sarcasm.
    Here we go, Elisabeth . . . She prayed he didn’t notice how she trembled. Schooling her features, she lifted her chin a notch. “And a good day to you, too, Tristan.” She’d never addressed him in such a familiar manner, but if she wanted a more intimate involvement, she might as well speak to him in a more intimate way. “Yes, I am well and I had a good trip. Thank you.” She kept her tone light and her gaze fixed to his, anxiety and arousal swirling through her system. Just being this close to him made her sex moisten.
    His eyes narrowed slightly. “Forgive my manners.” His reply was tightly dealt. “I should have inquired about your well-being and your trip. I’m glad all is well. The point of your visit is?”
    The man didn’t believe in mincing words, did he? He couldn’t make it more obvious he wanted her gone. Posthaste. Well, she wasn’t going anywhere.
    “Agathe, the letter, please.” She held out her hand to her maid.
    Agathe handed her the folded parchment she’d been entrusted with.
    Elisabeth held it out to Tristan. “From the King.”
    Taking the letter from her, Tristan broke open the seal with one hand, leaning heavily on his cane with the other, and scanned its contents. He snorted. “This asks that I help you secure a new fencing instructor.”
    “That’s correct.” Every so often the breeze blew just the right way and delighted her senses with his scent. He smelled wonderful. All male. Potent and virile, his leg injury diminishing him in no way in her eyes. She wanted to lean in and inhale deeply, and had to fight back the urge to lace her arms around him and brush her lips along his neck, his skin tempting her in the worst way. Too many nights she’d lain in bed, wondering how he’d feel against her, inside her. Her every instinct told her that any amorous encounter with this man would be like none she’d ever known. Behind the cold glares he gave her was a man who was naturally—deliciously—dominant in the boudoir. With a wicked blend of hot sensuality and sinful skills, he knew how to drive a woman wild. Stories of his sexual talents abounded at the palace.
    Sadly, he didn’t even need to lift a finger to affect her. She was already wild and wet for him.
    “I’ll be staying awhile. We all will.” She gestured toward the large group she’d brought. “Now if you will show me to my rooms.”
    Gripped by anger, his light blue eyes shone with such bedazzling fire.
    “Duchesse, I’ll not show you anywhere, except back to your carriage. I have no fencing instructor to suggest to you. Inform the King of my regrets. Kindly take your party and return to Versailles.”
    Where most would have stepped back when on the receiving end of one of Tristan de Tiersonnier’s fierce looks and sharp tones, boldly she took a step closer to him. A delectable rush of heat flooded over her. Her nipples tightened and pressed hard against her shirt.
    “I don’t think so. I am staying.” She forced herself to hold his regard without wavering. “You