tingled.
“Leave us,” he hissed at Sperville.
Icy currents of fear coursed through Golde’s veins. A pox on her wicked tongue. Staring into the venomous planes of Delamaure’s face, she prayed for deliverance. How had she managed to convince herself of his benign nature? Not only did he appear capable of murder, he seemed bent upon the deed. She wrenched her arm frantically to free herself.
“Mayhap ’twould be best, sir—” Spindleshanks began.
“Gainsay me now,” Gavarnie interrupted, his tone deadly, “and you risk your position with me.”
The chamberlain backed toward the door, his features waxen before the yellow candlelight. Golde clawed at the baron’s fingers with her free hand. “Sperville!”she pleaded, to no effect. The chamberlain continued his retreat.
She bent her head, prepared to sink her teeth in the lord’s hand, but his hold was such that she couldn’t reach. Panic seized her when the door closed behind Spindleshanks, and she kicked the baron’s shin.
“Vicious bitch,” he snarled, clutching his leg. His grasp loosened and she jerked against it with all her might. Just when she thought her escape assured, the brutal lord again tightened his grip. But instead of halting her movement, he was carried with her as she lost her balance.
She stumbled to the hard floor and the baron followed, landing beside her. Before she could roll away, he swung a leg over her hips.
Pinning her wrists above her head, he rose over her on his knees. “I have had measure in full of you, hellhag. You prey on the young and weak, stinging all with your waspish tongue that you may feed on their frailties.”
His face was a scarce hand’s span from hers and his breath fair scorched her cheek. Yet she could not look away. His black eyes held her gaze like a hangman’s noose. In them she saw the ugly truth. Deny it all she’d like, she had indeed grown accustomed to belittling others.
He shifted his weight lower on her hips, and incredibly, a pulsing ache curled like smoke through her loins. ’Twas not to be believed. How could she respond thus when the man was about to kill her?
“If you wish to leave this island with your tongue intact, you will relate in a moderate tone all my children have said.”
Golde winced. How was she to relate anything with her body demanding her attention like some wayward brat? It seemed she could feel each tiny point of contact between her body and his.
“Well?” he challenged when she made no immediate reply.
Recalling her chagrin at his critical insight regarding her waspish behavior, she licked her lips and started to apologize. But he would doubtless consider it a ploy, and she was not so certain it wasn’t. He had managed to scatter her wits until she knew not her own thoughts.
Confused and angry at his ability to so unsettle her, she taunted, “What know you of moderation? If you would cease bellowing like a bull and threatening all in your path, you might hear what goes on about you.”
Summoning all her strength, she bucked her hips in an attempt to dislodge him. But instead of falling sideways, he pitched forward. Her yelp of dismay was smothered when his chest landed against her face as he extended full-length atop her.
He raised himself on his elbows and drew his knees beneath him on either side of her ribs. Immediately she was aware of his groin where it pressed into the soft flesh just below her breasts.
In the same instant, the baron’s breath caught. Twas as if lightning cracked between them, melting them together. His grasp on her wrists tightened and his muscles grew rigid.
For a moment she could not move, so intense was the heat that surged through her. It collected in fiery pools in her breasts and between her legs. Groaning, she squeezed her knees together.
Then she realized what she’d done.
Had the lord heard her? Could he feel her desire quicken?
No sooner had she posed the last question than Delamaure slid, slow and sure, down her
“Leave us,” he hissed at Sperville.
Icy currents of fear coursed through Golde’s veins. A pox on her wicked tongue. Staring into the venomous planes of Delamaure’s face, she prayed for deliverance. How had she managed to convince herself of his benign nature? Not only did he appear capable of murder, he seemed bent upon the deed. She wrenched her arm frantically to free herself.
“Mayhap ’twould be best, sir—” Spindleshanks began.
“Gainsay me now,” Gavarnie interrupted, his tone deadly, “and you risk your position with me.”
The chamberlain backed toward the door, his features waxen before the yellow candlelight. Golde clawed at the baron’s fingers with her free hand. “Sperville!”she pleaded, to no effect. The chamberlain continued his retreat.
She bent her head, prepared to sink her teeth in the lord’s hand, but his hold was such that she couldn’t reach. Panic seized her when the door closed behind Spindleshanks, and she kicked the baron’s shin.
“Vicious bitch,” he snarled, clutching his leg. His grasp loosened and she jerked against it with all her might. Just when she thought her escape assured, the brutal lord again tightened his grip. But instead of halting her movement, he was carried with her as she lost her balance.
She stumbled to the hard floor and the baron followed, landing beside her. Before she could roll away, he swung a leg over her hips.
Pinning her wrists above her head, he rose over her on his knees. “I have had measure in full of you, hellhag. You prey on the young and weak, stinging all with your waspish tongue that you may feed on their frailties.”
His face was a scarce hand’s span from hers and his breath fair scorched her cheek. Yet she could not look away. His black eyes held her gaze like a hangman’s noose. In them she saw the ugly truth. Deny it all she’d like, she had indeed grown accustomed to belittling others.
He shifted his weight lower on her hips, and incredibly, a pulsing ache curled like smoke through her loins. ’Twas not to be believed. How could she respond thus when the man was about to kill her?
“If you wish to leave this island with your tongue intact, you will relate in a moderate tone all my children have said.”
Golde winced. How was she to relate anything with her body demanding her attention like some wayward brat? It seemed she could feel each tiny point of contact between her body and his.
“Well?” he challenged when she made no immediate reply.
Recalling her chagrin at his critical insight regarding her waspish behavior, she licked her lips and started to apologize. But he would doubtless consider it a ploy, and she was not so certain it wasn’t. He had managed to scatter her wits until she knew not her own thoughts.
Confused and angry at his ability to so unsettle her, she taunted, “What know you of moderation? If you would cease bellowing like a bull and threatening all in your path, you might hear what goes on about you.”
Summoning all her strength, she bucked her hips in an attempt to dislodge him. But instead of falling sideways, he pitched forward. Her yelp of dismay was smothered when his chest landed against her face as he extended full-length atop her.
He raised himself on his elbows and drew his knees beneath him on either side of her ribs. Immediately she was aware of his groin where it pressed into the soft flesh just below her breasts.
In the same instant, the baron’s breath caught. Twas as if lightning cracked between them, melting them together. His grasp on her wrists tightened and his muscles grew rigid.
For a moment she could not move, so intense was the heat that surged through her. It collected in fiery pools in her breasts and between her legs. Groaning, she squeezed her knees together.
Then she realized what she’d done.
Had the lord heard her? Could he feel her desire quicken?
No sooner had she posed the last question than Delamaure slid, slow and sure, down her
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