hurt yourself.”
She stilled, but her gaze spat pure fury. “I will not be hurt if you let me go.”
Her commanding voice made him want to shiver again. “That I cannot do,” he said, tamping down his inconvenient desire.
“You could if you wanted.”
He indulged in a lopsided grin. No way in hellfire was he obliging.
A frustrated growl rumbled in her throat, barely visible above the neckline of her cloak, which looked dusty and worn. “Release me,” she said, biting out each word, “and I will hand over the pendant.”
“A tempting offer.”
She arched a slender eyebrow. “A wise one. I will not abide you groping around in my garments.”
Groping around in her garments? A tantalizing mental image. He dragged his gaze down the front of her cloak and stared long enough at the swell of her breasts that she couldn’t possibly misinterpret his meaning. “Pity. A strumpet like you must enjoy a good grope.”
He caught the whisper-rustle of her garments, sensed her fist flying toward his face, and ducked. Not fast enough. Her knuckles slammed into his jaw. The deft wallop cracked his teeth together. Certainly not a punch he expected from a woman.
Where had she learned to hit like a man? Were there moments, in her service for less than favorable clients, when she had to defend herself with her fists? Had she needed to fight for her life when her two ancient bodyguards weren’t around to protect her?
With a pained grimace, Aldwin rubbed his face. At the same moment, she twisted her restrained arm and broke free, almost tripping over Sir Reginald, still unconscious.
Aldwin grabbed for her, but she scrambled backward, stumbling on her cloak’s hem. Sparing Sir Reginald a worried glance, she straightened and pushed to standing. When she rose, she reached into her boot, and he spied the glint of a knife in her right hand. Her hair snaked down her back like a silken rope as she spun and hurried toward the door.
Aldwin stood, taking the candle with him. The bitter taste of defeat tainted his mouth. Pushing the candleholder onto a nearby shelf, he fought the near blinding urge to chase her. If he pursued, she’d bolt out into the tavern crowd. For all he knew, she had many loyal friends in this tavern who’d beat him senseless before they let him capture her.
If she escaped him, he forfeited his promise to de Lanceau, as well as his chance for knighthood. Not only would Aldwin return to Branton Keep a disappointment to his lord and himself, but such failure promised dire consequences—especially if Veronique and the baron got hold of the pendant. If they sold it and used the funds to hire themselves an army of thugs, de Lanceau—indeed, all of Moydenshire—would be in terrible danger.
Stop her , his conscience screamed.
“Wait!” he called.
She held the knife in her left hand now. Her right hand on the door handle, she looked back at him. Her face tautened with defiance.
He forced himself to stand very still. If he made even the slightest threatening gesture, she’d be out the door. “We have not yet made our exchange,” he said.
Her slender fingers tightened on the handle. With a faint click , she drew the door open a fraction, letting in light and noise. She hesitated, long enough that he sensed he might still be able to barter with her. To coax her back into his arena of control. That is, if he treated her with the respectful care one gave an untamed lioness.
“I traveled a long way for that pendant.” Aldwin reached inside his cloak and withdrew the bag of coins. He shook it, causing the silver to clink . “I cannot leave without the jewel.”
“Pity. A knave like you must hate to fail.”
Insolent wench! He bit his tongue and tried to ignore the sting of her words. “Indeed,” he agreed, “I would.”
Her hand flexed again on the handle, as though to draw the door farther open. Such elegant fingers, for a woman of harsh circumstances. For one bizarre moment, he wondered how those
She stilled, but her gaze spat pure fury. “I will not be hurt if you let me go.”
Her commanding voice made him want to shiver again. “That I cannot do,” he said, tamping down his inconvenient desire.
“You could if you wanted.”
He indulged in a lopsided grin. No way in hellfire was he obliging.
A frustrated growl rumbled in her throat, barely visible above the neckline of her cloak, which looked dusty and worn. “Release me,” she said, biting out each word, “and I will hand over the pendant.”
“A tempting offer.”
She arched a slender eyebrow. “A wise one. I will not abide you groping around in my garments.”
Groping around in her garments? A tantalizing mental image. He dragged his gaze down the front of her cloak and stared long enough at the swell of her breasts that she couldn’t possibly misinterpret his meaning. “Pity. A strumpet like you must enjoy a good grope.”
He caught the whisper-rustle of her garments, sensed her fist flying toward his face, and ducked. Not fast enough. Her knuckles slammed into his jaw. The deft wallop cracked his teeth together. Certainly not a punch he expected from a woman.
Where had she learned to hit like a man? Were there moments, in her service for less than favorable clients, when she had to defend herself with her fists? Had she needed to fight for her life when her two ancient bodyguards weren’t around to protect her?
With a pained grimace, Aldwin rubbed his face. At the same moment, she twisted her restrained arm and broke free, almost tripping over Sir Reginald, still unconscious.
Aldwin grabbed for her, but she scrambled backward, stumbling on her cloak’s hem. Sparing Sir Reginald a worried glance, she straightened and pushed to standing. When she rose, she reached into her boot, and he spied the glint of a knife in her right hand. Her hair snaked down her back like a silken rope as she spun and hurried toward the door.
Aldwin stood, taking the candle with him. The bitter taste of defeat tainted his mouth. Pushing the candleholder onto a nearby shelf, he fought the near blinding urge to chase her. If he pursued, she’d bolt out into the tavern crowd. For all he knew, she had many loyal friends in this tavern who’d beat him senseless before they let him capture her.
If she escaped him, he forfeited his promise to de Lanceau, as well as his chance for knighthood. Not only would Aldwin return to Branton Keep a disappointment to his lord and himself, but such failure promised dire consequences—especially if Veronique and the baron got hold of the pendant. If they sold it and used the funds to hire themselves an army of thugs, de Lanceau—indeed, all of Moydenshire—would be in terrible danger.
Stop her , his conscience screamed.
“Wait!” he called.
She held the knife in her left hand now. Her right hand on the door handle, she looked back at him. Her face tautened with defiance.
He forced himself to stand very still. If he made even the slightest threatening gesture, she’d be out the door. “We have not yet made our exchange,” he said.
Her slender fingers tightened on the handle. With a faint click , she drew the door open a fraction, letting in light and noise. She hesitated, long enough that he sensed he might still be able to barter with her. To coax her back into his arena of control. That is, if he treated her with the respectful care one gave an untamed lioness.
“I traveled a long way for that pendant.” Aldwin reached inside his cloak and withdrew the bag of coins. He shook it, causing the silver to clink . “I cannot leave without the jewel.”
“Pity. A knave like you must hate to fail.”
Insolent wench! He bit his tongue and tried to ignore the sting of her words. “Indeed,” he agreed, “I would.”
Her hand flexed again on the handle, as though to draw the door farther open. Such elegant fingers, for a woman of harsh circumstances. For one bizarre moment, he wondered how those
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