Ondine by Heather Graham, Shannon Drake

that is the greater fascination. But for anything that you might hear, trust me in this. I see the gentry come and go; lords and ladies, kings and queens, must travel. I have seldom seen a man more fair or just, ready to battle his peers for negligence to a servant or cruelty to a beast. He keeps his own council. All who serve him do so willingly, aye, ever cheerfully, for though he can be a hard taskmaster, he rewards labor well.” She stood abruptly and briskly. “Let’s see what he’s purchased for you, shall we?”
    She began tearing into a wrapped parcel by the door, the thing that had made the thud Ondine had heard when Lord Chatham entered.
    “Oh! How lovely!” Meg cried out delightedly.
    Ondine tried to smile as Meg drew out a silken shift, then an underskirt of flowing blue linen. Meg continued to gasp delightedly as she next discovered a bodice and overshirt in rich teal velvet, then a stiff petticoat in ruffled lace.
    “There’s even a pair of the loveliest shoes,” Meg muttered. “Who would have thought his mind would bend to find such fashionable garb?”
    “He probably makes purchases for his paramours,” Ondine said acidly; then she wondered instantly why she should be so bitter, why she should care. Had she not had the various warnings? She would have known that he was not a man of celibacy. There was something about him, beyond the power of his physique, even beyond the draw of his rawly masculine features; even beyond the compelling fascination of his eyes. It was something in his movement, in his occasional humor, in the sensual way his lip could curl while his eyes blazed their golden challenge.
    “Come, dear,” Meg said a little worriedly. “I’d not keep him waiting overly long when he wishes to dine.”
    Let him wait! Ondine longed to cry out. She lowered her eyes quickly, at a loss with herself. She was famished. There was no reason to keep him waiting—not when he meant to offer her a meal!
    She hurried over to Meg, dropped her towel, and mumbled out her thank-yous as Meg helped her into the clothing. He had not only done well with style, he had done remarkably well with fit. And no matter how she resented him, she couldn’t help but feel glorious in the new clothes. Gloriously alive. She was clean—and alive—by way of his curious bounty.
    “Oh, love! You’re beautiful—really beautiful!” Meg gasped out happily. Her bright blue eyes were alight with pleasure. “So very lovely. I see now what it was that so beguiled Lord Chatham to snatch you to his heart! All we need is a brush now. We won’t pin your hair. You’re a bride tonight; we’ll just brush it to a gloss. Oh, I did do marvelous work, if I must say so myself!”
    Ondine couldn’t help but smile at Meg’s sheer delight, yet as she sat for Meg as the woman lovingly worked the tangles from her hair, she gnawed her lower lip. She would be no bride tonight. One day she would find a way to repay Lord Warwick Chatham for his generosity—a generosity that had meant her life. Though he touched her temper and pride like a raw, taunting blade, she knew she owed him everything, and she meant to be entirely grateful. Yes, one day …
    But not tonight. Tonight she would escape him and run into the forest, a place where she had found refuge before. There was no reason she should have any difficulty. Who would think that a humble waif would wish to escape the company of a nobleman, one not only wealthy, but extremely fine in stature and appearance?
    Tonight, yes, she could easily be gone, ready to survey her situation once again, ready to battle the treachery that had brought her so low.
    But not until after dinner. Were the public room below peopled with all the demons of hell, she would have hurried to it anyway, such was the depth of her hunger.
    “Ahhh… copper, my dear!” Meg wasn’t calling her “my lady” at all anymore; they had somehow become very close, and the words would have been ridiculous between them. To