Seduced by Grace Read Free

his grasp to her waist, then tightened it again as she reeled in his hold, sobbing as she gasped for air. Allowing her just enough room to draw a whistling breath, he castigated himself for a fool unable to judge his own strength. Well, or one carried away by the triumph of having this woman in his power at last.
    “What are you…doing, you great oaf?” she gasped. “Trying to murder me?”
    “Never,” he answered at his most laconic.
    She struggled upright, though without relaxing against him. “It seemed…otherwise to me!”
    To that, he made no answer.
    She swallowed, a movement he felt as much as heard above the thundering of hooves around him. “Where are you taking me?”
    “Away.” He pulled her back against him and held her firm. After a moment, she realized how unbreakable was both his hold and his resolve and ceased her struggles, though she remained stiffly upright.
    “Away from what? Away…away where?”
    She sounded enraged. Now there was gratitude for you. “Away from the strutting fool chosen as your bridegroom. As to where, how should it matter?”
    “It matters because I don’t know you!” She tried to turn her head to see his face, but her flapping veil and his helm made that impossible.
    “You will,” he said, enjoying the way her bottom fit into the apex of his thighs, jouncing against him, the feel of her flat abdomen where his arm enfolded her, and yes, even the shiver that rippled through her at his touch, there at her abdomen where it was doubtful any other had trespassed.
    She had taken his words as a threat. It was possible he had meant them that way.
    “Besides,” he said, his voice a bass rumble in his chest, “how well did you know the man you were journeying to marry?”
    “What has that to say to anything? Lord Halliwell had the favor of the king at the very least.”
    “So Henry decided it was time you were wed.”
    “’Twas certainly not my choice.”
    “You meant to be a spinster the rest of your days?”
    She tried to sit forward again. “What do you know of me, sir, that you can ask such a thing?”
    She was quick, he thought, even as he exerted pressure to bring her back against him. “I know what I see.”
    “Meaning I look the part, I suppose. In that case, I cannot imagine why you went to the trouble of taking me.”
    “You mistake me. I meant nothing of the kind.”
    “What did you—”
    He went on without pause, his voice dulcet againsther ear. “And ’twas no trouble at all to take you, Lady Marguerite. As to why, mayhap you should think on it, think long and hard.”
    If she answered, he did not hear. Nor did she speak again as the miles flowed beneath his destrier’s hooves. He did not make the mistake of thinking her resigned, however. He could almost hear the scurry of her thoughts, the half-formed plans to escape him when they were forced to stop or, at the very least, make him suffer for his daring. That she would try, given half a chance, he had no doubt. That she should succeed was something he could not permit. No, no matter how much he understood the instinct.
    With him, she was marginally safe. Freed from his grasp, she would be a tender young hare dropped among slavering hounds.
    She was, just possibly, too tender. She had commanded the men-at-arms with her to hold rather than fight him, preventing their efforts to save her. Any other lady he could name would have cowered behind their swords, though the blood of every one of them flowed to stain her skirts. Most telling of all, however, was that those hardened men-at-arms had obeyed her. He did not make the mistake of thinking it was from fear, whether of her or of Baron Braesford who paid their wage. No, it was a mark of their respect gained from watching her deal with fairness, kindness and generosity toward all who came within her reach inside her brother-in-law’s keep. He’d seen it before, long years ago.
    The thud of hooves drawing close brought his head around on the instant.