Her One Desire Read Free

arm and side, and then clung sweetly to his backside.
    He might not be able to feel his fingertips or the gashes in his back, but he definitely felt the executioner’s daughter curved around his arse. He’d yearned for only one woman in all his twenty-nine years, but this English angel seemed to heat his blood with her scent alone.
    It must be the poison.
    Clearing the unwanted lust from his head with a shake, Broc began counting the initial eight steps. His toe jammed against a stone wall when he reached four. “Ach! I thought ye said eight steps forward.”
    “Eight small steps. I was a child when last I tallied.” A scuffling of claws plucked out to his right. He followed, stumbling through the pitch. He was certain to have more success following the vermin than placing trust in Lady Ives’s directions.
    “Fourteen, fifteen, sixteen…” Numbers rolled off her lips in whispered chaos. “Eight, nine, ten … “ They came in sets of three, and no longer followed the count of her steps. Broc wondered briefly if she even knew how to count. The tunnel came to a tee. The floor disappeared under his toe. “Which way?”
    “To the right and down. You must walk through seepage before you go back up the other side. We are beneath the moat.”
    He started down slick steps and stopped. She was there. He could hear her breathing, but she was no longer attached to him. “Lady Ives, you are either going to lead or follow. Choose.”
    Soft footsteps walked slowly toward him. Her fingertips touched his elbow; then her arms curled around his with formidable strength. He dragged her into calf-deep water, her face buried in his shoulder. He continued forward, not knowing if her feet even aided her cause, and fumbled over the wet stone cautiously, searching for the way.
    “’Tis a straightaway. At least thirty more steps. Make haste before I am ill.”
    He rolled his eyes in the darkness. That comment ruined the image of a naked angel he’d been forming in his head. ‘Twas for the best. He had no business picturing her naked anyway.
    With one hand extended in front of him and one arm wrapped around her waist, Broc trudged through the seepage until he met an incline. Three steps led him out of the water. Lady Ives seemed to gather enough courage to stand, but didn’t release his arm as they purged onward. He lost count of his steps, focused as he was on the sound of her erratic breathing. The lass was certain to swoon before they reached an exit. He might have offered her an encouraging word, if he thought it would have helped. Another damned wall stopped him. A muffled drumming beat in his ear. Mayhap his pulse? Mayhap hers?
    Then came a lute and viols. The sounds of festival broke through the hollowed silence.
    “This way.” A tug on his arm pulled him left.
    Several more blind steps brought them to another barricade. He heard her pat the wall searching for what he hoped might be the exit. Her numbers were replaced with whimpers, moans, and heavy breathing. All of which made his body tighten. Then the sound of grating stone filled his vision with speckled light. Tiny rays of gold filtered through a web of vines covering the opening, making him squint. Lady Ives punched a fist through the greenery. Merriment exploded into their silence. Broc caught her arm before she dove through to the other side. “Wait. The city celebrates Eastertide. We will not go unnoticed. Lend me your mantle.” He twisted her around to face him.
    Her enchanting eyes studied him from beneath the ermine fir-trimmed hood. “You place my life in danger by asking for my assistance.”
    “I suspect your life is already in danger. Lady Ives. And I am not asking for your assistance, simply for an article of your clothing.” He couldn’t blend into the celebration half naked and beaten. He and Aiden had mingled with the aristocrats and the drunkards. Recognition was inevitable.
    Lady Ives’s head tilted, fine thin brows pinched together in thought.