reluctance must have been apparent, for when she stopped near his outstretched feet he grinned.
“Come closer. I’ll not bite you.”
Lilliane’s heart was racing in her chest as she edged closer. His gray eyes were steady on her, and she wondered what thoughts churned beneath their hooded surface. He did not move to make it easier for her, and it was with a frustrated sigh of resignation that she reached to loosen the silver-edged leather girdle at his waist.
She had to bite back an oath as her fingers fumbled with the buckle. Instead of acting cool and detached, she was trembling like a child and, what was worse, he was quite aware of it. When she finally had it unfastened, she pulled it from around his waist and hastily put it aside.
His tunic was next and he obligingly leaned forward to make her task easier. But if removing his belt had made her nervous, sliding the soft hide tunic over his shoulders rattled her completely. Like a living extension of him, the leather retained his body warmth. Lilliane nearly flung it away, she was so anxious to be free of the strange feelings it caused in her.
He looked up at her when she hesitated to remove his shirt, and she was sure it was amusement that sparkled in his eyes. “My shirt,” he prompted smugly. Then when she did not respond he grinned. “Remove my boots then.”
“Remove them yourself,” she snapped.
His gaze grew warning and his words were low and steady. “Lord Barton may be lax with you. But I will not.”
It took all her willpower to choke back her fury. He was no more than an arrogant fool! Yet she knew she must play this role of servant. Just do it, she told herself. It will soon be over.
Gritting her teeth, she knelt down and turned her attention to his boots. As she concentrated grimly on her task, she noted that they were of an unusual style, rising almost to his knees and hiding most of his hose. The leather was heavy and yet it was amazingly supple.
Once he was clad only in his hose, braies, and shirt, and she was faced with the choice of what to remove, Lilliane balked at last. After scrambling to her feet, she backed away.
“My shirt. Come, pull it off,” he ordered from his relaxed position on the bench.
Lilliane swallowed convulsively then shook her head.
“You’d best learn now that I demand obedience of all my servants and retainers.” His face was unreadable and his voice even, yet Lilliane felt a tremor of fear shake her. She was suddenly sorry that she had elected to play this dangerous game.
“I … I cannot,” she whispered in a cracked voice.
“You mean you will not.” Slowly he rose to stand tall and threatening before her. “Now come here and do as I say.”
How she hated him at that moment. She hated him for the strength he had, so much greater than her own. And for the arrogant manner in which he was making the castle his. But most of all she hated him for the power he would soon have over her as her husband.
Trembling as much in anger as in fear, Lilliane approached him. With both hands she lifted the hem of the fine bissyn fabric and, with extreme care so as not to actually touch him, she slid it up his back. His bare skin was covered with a light sheen of sweat, making it a gleaming bronze in the afternoon light, and she closed her eyes to the disturbing sight. In her haste to finish her loathsome task she tugged the garment free of his shoulders, then, with a final yank, pulled it over his head. His arms slid easily from it, and she stepped back from him at once, unaware that she still clutched his shirt in her arms.
She’d known he was a big man, not only of rare height but of brawny muscle as well. But having him standing before her, bare to the waist, took her completely aback. She’d not often seen a man’s naked chest, and yet she knew beyond all doubt that any man would envy him his powerful form. He was solid muscle, carved as a marble statue might be. But she knew he was warm to the
“Come closer. I’ll not bite you.”
Lilliane’s heart was racing in her chest as she edged closer. His gray eyes were steady on her, and she wondered what thoughts churned beneath their hooded surface. He did not move to make it easier for her, and it was with a frustrated sigh of resignation that she reached to loosen the silver-edged leather girdle at his waist.
She had to bite back an oath as her fingers fumbled with the buckle. Instead of acting cool and detached, she was trembling like a child and, what was worse, he was quite aware of it. When she finally had it unfastened, she pulled it from around his waist and hastily put it aside.
His tunic was next and he obligingly leaned forward to make her task easier. But if removing his belt had made her nervous, sliding the soft hide tunic over his shoulders rattled her completely. Like a living extension of him, the leather retained his body warmth. Lilliane nearly flung it away, she was so anxious to be free of the strange feelings it caused in her.
He looked up at her when she hesitated to remove his shirt, and she was sure it was amusement that sparkled in his eyes. “My shirt,” he prompted smugly. Then when she did not respond he grinned. “Remove my boots then.”
“Remove them yourself,” she snapped.
His gaze grew warning and his words were low and steady. “Lord Barton may be lax with you. But I will not.”
It took all her willpower to choke back her fury. He was no more than an arrogant fool! Yet she knew she must play this role of servant. Just do it, she told herself. It will soon be over.
Gritting her teeth, she knelt down and turned her attention to his boots. As she concentrated grimly on her task, she noted that they were of an unusual style, rising almost to his knees and hiding most of his hose. The leather was heavy and yet it was amazingly supple.
Once he was clad only in his hose, braies, and shirt, and she was faced with the choice of what to remove, Lilliane balked at last. After scrambling to her feet, she backed away.
“My shirt. Come, pull it off,” he ordered from his relaxed position on the bench.
Lilliane swallowed convulsively then shook her head.
“You’d best learn now that I demand obedience of all my servants and retainers.” His face was unreadable and his voice even, yet Lilliane felt a tremor of fear shake her. She was suddenly sorry that she had elected to play this dangerous game.
“I … I cannot,” she whispered in a cracked voice.
“You mean you will not.” Slowly he rose to stand tall and threatening before her. “Now come here and do as I say.”
How she hated him at that moment. She hated him for the strength he had, so much greater than her own. And for the arrogant manner in which he was making the castle his. But most of all she hated him for the power he would soon have over her as her husband.
Trembling as much in anger as in fear, Lilliane approached him. With both hands she lifted the hem of the fine bissyn fabric and, with extreme care so as not to actually touch him, she slid it up his back. His bare skin was covered with a light sheen of sweat, making it a gleaming bronze in the afternoon light, and she closed her eyes to the disturbing sight. In her haste to finish her loathsome task she tugged the garment free of his shoulders, then, with a final yank, pulled it over his head. His arms slid easily from it, and she stepped back from him at once, unaware that she still clutched his shirt in her arms.
She’d known he was a big man, not only of rare height but of brawny muscle as well. But having him standing before her, bare to the waist, took her completely aback. She’d not often seen a man’s naked chest, and yet she knew beyond all doubt that any man would envy him his powerful form. He was solid muscle, carved as a marble statue might be. But she knew he was warm to the
Similar Books
