A Warrior's Honor. Margaret Moore

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СКАЧАТЬ She retreated into a shadowed alcove, then raised her chin in defiance of his insolence.

      He cocked his head to one side and ran an admiring gaze from the top of her silk scarf to the hem of her gown.

      “Please don’t look at me in that impertinent manner, sir!” she said, her whole body warming as he continued to regard her steadily.

      “Sir? I see I am rising in your estimation. Let me assure you, my lady, I do not mean to be rude. Far from it.” He took another step closer and smiled.

      Not as Lord Cynvelin smiled, as if it were nothing more than a habit. She suddenly felt such a smile from this man was a rare thing, and very much to be prized.

      She wished she could see his face better, but it was too dark here in the shadows.

      She suddenly realized he had backed her nearly into a corner, and they were quite shielded from the view of the men on the wall walk above.

      “From the way you were acting in the hall,” he continued in a husky whisper, “I thought you enjoyed being the object of men’s admiration.”

      “Some men’s perhaps,” she answered, crossing her arms over her chest defensively, feeling far too vulnerable. “However, I have no wish to be noticed by a man who would abandon his family and leave his sister in such a perilous situation. Indeed, I was surprised to learn that Lord Cynvelin would want such a person in his company.”

      He froze, staring at her. Then his brows lowered ominously and she remembered the sense of controlled power that had seemed to emanate from him. “That is what you think of me?”

      “Yes,” she retorted.

      He stepped back. “You surprise me, my lady. I thought you had more intelligence than to believe rumors and gossip.”

      “So what I have heard is not true? You did not quarrel with your father and leave in a huff like a spoiled child? You did not stay away, even when your father lay dying? Are you telling me that contrary to everything I have heard, you returned to help your sister, who was left impoverished and had to become a servant in her own castle?”

      “Have you not heard more?” he charged. “That I am a rogue and wastrel? That my sister cast me out? That her husband, the mighty Baron DeGuerre, detests me? That I lie and cheat and steal?” He came close again. “That I have sold my soul to the devil?”

      She gasped, her eyes wide, until he chuckled scornfully.

      “Have you so little sense that you will believe everything you hear?” he said.

      “How dare you!” she cried, shocked by his criticism. “You dishonorable—”

      “No, my lady, how dare you?” he demanded quietly, his voice as cold as ice. “You know me not, yet you dare to chastise me for my past actions. You do not know why my father and I quarreled, or why I left as I did. You do not know why I stayed away, or how I felt when I learned what had happened.” His voice dropped. “You do not know how I have suffered, knowing that I was not with Gabriella when she needed me most.”

      Rhiannon flushed with guilt when she heard the remorse in his voice. She had been wrong to judge him so quickly, she thought contritely, yet before she could speak, he was suddenly directly in front of her, his face no more than a hand span from hers.

      “Who are you to stand in judgment of me?” he demanded. “I could believe, from the way you danced and smiled and laughed with more than one man in Lord Melevoir’s hall, that if I am lacking in scruples, I am not the only one. So how dare you, my lovely hypocrite? How dare you act as you have, and then upbraid me?”

      He looked at her so intently it was as if his gaze rooted her to the ground. She couldn’t speak. She couldn’t make an answer to his charges, or utter one word to excuse her own behavior.

      He came even closer, so that his body was within a hairbreadth of hers, and when he spoke again, his voice was a low, husky growl. “How dare you stand there in the shadows looking as desirable as any woman I have ever seen, yet if I were to so much as touch you, you would probably call out for the guard and denounce me for a disgraceful villain?”

      She swallowed hard, unable to take her eyes from his face. “I wouldn’t,” she said softly.

      His expression seemed to change. “You would not do that, my lady?” he whispered, shifting closer. “You would not call out the guard and condemn me for acting on my desire?”

      He reached out and gently ran his hand up her arm, his touch sending thrilling tremors of excitement through her.

      “I am glad to hear it, for you are the most tempting woman I have ever seen.”

      He put his hands on her shoulders and pulled her into his warm embrace.

      She knew she should pull away, and yet the moment his mouth touched hers, kissing him did not seem wrong, or immoral, or disgraceful. It felt absolutely, perfectly right.

      She had been kissed before, by shy boys who pecked her cheek or lips. Never like this, with power and passion and a desire that seemed to call forth an equally strong reaction from deep within her.

      Never had a man’s tongue pressed urgently to enter her mouth.

      That did not seem wrong, either, but absolutely, perfectly right, and so she opened her lips to him.

      His arms tightened about her. Slowly, languorously, she began to caress the smooth leather of his tunic. As his mouth continued to work its seductive magic, his tense muscles relaxed beneath her fingers.

      He gently pushed her back so that she was against the wall. Then his knee thrust between her legs, and her body began to throb with an unfamiliar, primitive anticipation.

      Suddenly the door to the hall opened and light spilled into the courtyard. A raucous voice called out a good-night.

      At the boisterous interruption, Lady Rhiannon DeLanyea gasped, then a horrified expression passed over her face before she pushed Bryce away from her, lifted her skirts and fled.

      Chapter Two

      

      

      Bryce Frechette muttered an oath as he watched Lady Rhiannon run away. What had just happened here?

      What more might have happened if that door had not opened?

      Then another curse sprang to his lips as he just as suddenly recalled that Lord Cynvelin ap Hywell wanted to marry her.

      God’s wounds, he was a fool. If she told him of their confrontation...

      Was he never going to learn to curb his impulses? What did it matter that she was a beautiful, intriguing woman who spoke to him frankly, as an equal. Why hadn’t he left her after he had explained what he was doing at the baggage carts?

      He had already caused no end of trouble and shame because he followed his desires first and thought afterward. Had he learned nothing in all the years since he had left home?

      Bryce. slumped against the wall. It would serve him right СКАЧАТЬ