Unicorn Vengeance by Claire Delacroix Page B

lightning at that assertion, and she wondered again how much of her motive he had guessed. She prayed that her response had not shown in her eyes and struggled to maintain her outrage.
    â€œâ€˜Tis a sorry picture of the world you would paint with such a claim,” she retorted. “Impossible is it truly for you to concede that I might wish only to talk to you?”
    â€œUnlikely ‘tis at best.” He snorted. “But a moment past, ‘twas not conversation you pursued.” He regarded her for a long moment, his gaze flicking to the coin’s repository with undeniable interest.
    â€œKeep the coin,” he murmured in a low voice that echoed with a disgust that turned Genevieve cold, “for I have no intent of retrieving it from its sanctuary. But mind you tell no one from whom you gained it.”
    Genevieve tossed her hair defiantly. “I shall tell whoever I so choose,” she asserted brashly.
    His eyes flashed silver fire and he closed the space between them again, his voice no more than a growl when he spoke. “You shall tell no one,” he insisted vehemently, but Genevieve did not waver beneath the weight of his will. “Or I shall retrieve the coin and see that you say naught to anyone again.”
    Genevieve had no doubt that he meant what he said. She recalled the cold emptiness within him and shivered in renewed fear.
    No surprise ‘twas that he could have killed Alzeu. Indeed, this man had a heart of stone, and Genevieve wanted nothing other in this moment than to be quit of him. So, he thought she wanted only his coin? She would show him!
    â€œDo we understand each other, ma demoiselle? ” he asked silkily.
    â€œAye, we certainly do,” Genevieve muttered. He smiled thinly and turned away.
    As soon as his gaze was averted, Genevieve fumbled in her kirtle to retrieve the coin. She flicked it after him so that it hit hard against the back of his neck. He spun in time to see it dance toward the cobbles and hastened to snatch the sliver of silver out of the air.
    â€œTake your wretched coin, and welcome to it.” Genevieve tossed the words proudly over her shoulder as she turned away. “No need have I of the patronage of cynics.”
    Naught did he say, but she knew full well that he stared after her.
    He was astonished, Genevieve could feel it. Indeed, she suspected that he knew not what to do, and the awareness of that fed her pride.
    Ha! The perfect move had that been! Her confidence burned with a bright flame once more and she dared to let her hips swing provocatively as she returned to her blanket. Not a sound came from behind her, though she could feel his gaze locked upon her.
    Genevieve savored a thrill of victory and bent to pack her lute in her blanket as though she had forgotten he was there. In truth, she did not want him to catch the slightest glimpse of her triumphant smile.
    Though, of course, there was naught triumphant about having no coin to pay for food and board this night.

Chapter Three
    T he coin burned his palm. His lips itched, his heart was hammering in his chest as though he had run a hundred leagues.
    Indeed, Wolfram felt far from his logical self.
    He closed his eyes in an effort to compose himself as he passed beneath the gates of the Temple. Instead his mind flooded with the recollection of the lutenist’s soft breasts pressing against him. Never had he kissed a woman, never had he been so abruptly warm from head to toe, never had he tasted anything so sweet as her lips.
    He jammed the coin deep into his pocket in irritation, though it seemed ‘twould brand his skin even there.
    Had he not what he desired?
    Desire. There was a word ‘twas best not to dwell upon. No place had such a word in the vocabulary of a man pledged to poverty, obedience and chastity.
    He had meant to retrieve the coin, Wolfram reminded himself savagely. And he had done so. ‘Twas perfectly logical.
    Although the jumble of