Heather Graham Read Free Page B

want you to shiver in abject fear!” he growled. And as he started toward her, she took a step backward, crying out quickly. She was an idiot; she could hang for her offense.
    “As you—command!” she gasped.
    He halted, glittering eyes still offering her no hint that his anger might abate, his temper relent. But as her cloak fell to the ground, he turned to the bed, drawing from it the soft covering of Flemish wool. He waited. She gritted her teeth and cast off her shoes and hose, tunic and chemise. His searing gaze swept contemptuously over her, and he cast the blanket her way. She quickly wrapped it around herself. He drew his own soaked cloak from his shoulders, letting it fall, and stood in simple but expensive garments that hugged his muscled frame—hose, shirt, and tunic. He was every bit as tall as their renowned Plantagenet king, as well-versed in war, grown hard and solid, muscled like steel, in its pursuit. Indeed, she had learned the strength of those muscles, and felt a quivering deep within her even now, which she fought valiantly to ignore.
    She inched her chin up, standing very still, determined not to cry out. She could explain, but he would never believe her.
    “Sweet Jesu!” he swore soundly. “Edward does not deserve this hatred on your part!”
    She forced herself to remain calm. “I wished no harm to Edward. I don’t hate him. I merely sought to warn King Jean—”
    “King Jean is well aware there will be battle, and what aids the French king injures the English one! To help Jean, lady, you do great hurt to Edward!”
    That gave her quite a tug upon her heart, for she felt for Edward as she did for Adrien. So very often, she had loathed him. Had been infuriated by him, determined to defy him, to defeat him.
    And yet …
    She loved him as well.
    “My God!” he said suddenly, his voice thick and trembling with renewed anger. “Do you know that heads have rolled, that necks have been broken, for far less than you attempted this night? Good Lord, I should strike you down, you little fool!”
    Guilt assailed her again. She could not let him see it.
    “You are Edward’s lackey,” she ventured. “You have gained everything through him.”
    “Including you?”
    “Including my lands and titles!” she whispered.
    “Would that I had been deprived! And, aye, lady! I am his lackey, I am his man, and I warn you now, don’t ever forget it again, or that you are my wife!”
    “Well, sir, you came for me. I was duly stopped in my efforts. And I know that you will judge me and sentence me as you see fit—you condemned me when I was innocent. At least this time I am guilty of hoping to see King Jean live! But as you are in such a wretched mood, I am well aware that there’s nothing else I can say to you this evening. I cannot apologize for what I meant to do. I have never lied to you about my loyalties or—emotions.” But she had lied. She’d never let him know that trying to remain loyal to old vows had slowly become harder and harder, that she had long loved him as fiercely as she fought him.
    She certainly couldn’t tell him such a thing now. And indeed, she needed to tread very carefully. She had crossed him before, and paid the price, but she had never seen him quite this angry.
    Don’t think of it! she warned herself.
    Head high, she started walking across the room. He had turned his back on her in anger once before. If only she could escape his fury now.
    He watched her for several moments, not making a move, one brow arched high with amazement.
    But she didn’t make the door.
    “Oh, no, milady! You’re not leaving tonight!” he assured her, his long strides allowing him to beat her soundly to the door. He blocked it with the formidable wall of his body.
    She stepped back, struggling anew for some dignity, pride, and control.
    And courage.
    “I should flay you to within an inch of your life!” he snapped out so suddenly that she jerked back, biting into her lip.
    “I had