Love at First Sight by Sandra Lee Page A

impressed the importance of family on my children. They have been taught to defend one another. You have near destroyed the unity I worked to achieve with one swipe of your acid tongue. Do so again, and you risk losing the poisonous appendage.”
    Golde raised a brow. His threat would have more effect were he not dressed in such ill-conceived apparel. His pale-green, moth-eaten undertunic in no way matched his short-sleeved, faded-purple tunic. The leather thongs in the tunic’s V-shaped neck were knotted to the point that only a wizard could hope to undo them. Edging nearer the table, she peeked at his lap. His braies were an odd mustard color.
    Her mouth crooked in a half smile and she glanced at the steward. In contrast, Sir Nigel was immaculately dressed in brown braies and a yellow tunic.
    “You shall care for my children until—”
    “I will what?” Golde whipped her gaze back to the lord’s face.
    The baron clenched his fists on the tabletop. “You will not interrupt when I am speaking. Nor will you walk away until I give you leave.”
    Inexplicably his mouth drew her gaze, then snatched her attention. Darkly inviting, his chiseled lips moved with the suppleness of molten gold. Would they feel as warm and smooth as they looked, or would they-—
    ’Od rot! Did she yet dream? Concentrating her efforts, she managed a glib retort. “My apologies, sir. I was distracted by your elegant choice of attire. Prithee, continue.”
    The baron frowned. “Of what do you speak?”
    Golde shifted her gaze to focus on his black eyes, anxious to avoid the absurd feelings his mouth aroused. “’Tis naught. You were saying?”
    His features grew stony. “You will tell me to what elegant attire you refer.”
    Faith, but it appeared the baron’s gaze was fixed on her breasts. Unaccountably her nipples hardened, pulling taut some invisible string attached to her woman’s core. As if she had waited too long to attend her bodily functions, she was struck by a maddening desire to cross her legs.
    “’Tis a most . . .” She licked her lips, and marshaling her thoughts, began anew. “ ’Tis quite an impressive arrangement of color you have chosen to wear.”
    There, she congratulated herself. She’d successfully affected a light tone. Confidence restored, she continued.
    “Did you select the garments yourself, or was more than one person required to coordinate such an array of shades?”
    She scarce had time to blink before the baron had seized her forearm and risen from his chair. Would that she had not edged so near to view the color of his braies. His grip was hard, his callused, dark fingers unyielding. ’Twas unsettling to have to look up to see his chilling features; doubly so, considering her height had ere given her the advantage of looking down on people, including a goodly number of men.
    “We shall continue this discussion in my chambers,” he snapped. Spinning her about, he grasped the back of her tunic and propelled her toward the dais steps, forcing her to lead the way.
    Her first thought was to drive an elbow into his belly. But as he bunched the material at the small of her back and the tunic tightened across her chest, her wits deserted her.
    Straining to acquire all possible contact with the binding material, her nipples again hardened, the treacherous louts.
    “My liege,” Sir Nigel spoke, his blue-green eyes sparkling with humor. “Do you wish me to accompany you?”
    “Nay.” The baron’s deep voice vibrated as if his mouth were pressed against her ear. “Since it appears she is the only person bold enough to point out the shortcomings of my raiment, the hag can escort me.”
    Instantly rage consumed Golde. Hag, was she?
    Shuffling forward at a pace slow enough to accommodate a snail, her thoughts ran to vengeance. A toad in his bed. No. Too childish. Fleas, then. There was an idea. She descended the first dais step. But fleas were hard to catch.
    “Should we not finish discussing preparations