Free Taming the Barbarian by Lois Greiman Page A

not heard from him since. Yet he’d haunted her dreams each night. Indeed, on one occasion she’d awakened with a start, certain she’d heard the deep burr of his voice. And though she disavowed it, she could not help but remember how his chest had felt beneath her fingertips. It was hard with muscle and sinew, as if sculpted from purest stone. He was unlike any of the titled gentlemen of her acquaintance, but as she would imagine a warrior of old. Hard and lean and unyielding, with—
    “God’s wrath!” she hissed, and yanked her mind to a halt. What the devil was she thinking? She had no wish to invite a man into her life. And she certainly wasn’t interested in some overbearing barbarian who would dictate her actions, then steal her horse.
    Oh very well—if she were going to be absolutely honest, he hadn’t really stolen
la Fille de Vent
. And there was something about the way he had stroked the mare’s neck that had caused a shiver to tingle up under her hairline. His hands were large and callused, but there had been a careful gentleness to them when he’d touched
Fille’s
burnished hide, and when Fleurette lay alone in her bed she could imagine how they would feel against—
    “Damnation!” she snapped, and, snatching her reticule from beside her chair, stormed out of her office and onto the street.
    She arrived at Lucille’s home not ten minutes later.
    “Flurry.” The countess was still sleepy-eyed and dressed in a pink silk robe when she greeted Fleurette in the morning room. “Whatever are you doing here at such an ungodly hour? And wearing…” She let her gaze skim Fleurette’s ensemble with deadpan distain. Fleur’s shoes were decidedly ugly, her gown old and frayed and covered by the leather apron she had taken to wearing while at the shop. “What is that hideous garment?”
    “I came here straight from the factory” Fleurette explained.
    “And?” Lucille canted her head and took a cup of tea from the tray a prim-faced servant offered.
    “I didn’t have time to change into something suitable for your esteemed personage.”
    If Lucille recognized Fleur’s sarcasm, she failed to show it.
    “That hardly explains why you would choose to wear that disgusting thing at the outset,” she said.
    Fleurette took a cup also, though she hardly cared for it. Lucy’s tea was as strong as her personality. “The truth is,” she began, feeling fidgety and foolish now that it came to it, but wanting, nevertheless, to spill her newfound uncertainty, her doubts, her fears. Perhaps she no longer wished to live alone. Perhaps a husband would lighten her load. “I find that despite everything, I think I may want…” She paused, unable to go on.
    “What is it you want, Flurry?” Lucy asked, peering at her over her teacup.
    “I may need to find myself…” she began again, but old memories assailed her like banked storm clouds. She winced against the barrage. “A new hat,” she said finally.
    Lucille watched her for one elongated moment, then nodded thoughtfully. “Some say you have your priorities entirely askew,” she said, and, setting her cup aside, headed for her dressing room. “But as of today I shall tell them that they are most certainly incorrect.”

Chapter 7
     
    K illian’s memory had cleared a bit, yet much lay beyond the shadows of his mind, still lost in the ragged mists of his past. He remembered the River Thames glimmering in the light of morn, and there was something hauntingly familiar about the catacombs that lay not far from Lady Glendowne’s place of business. He had viewed the carriage company just the night before, for he must learn what he could of her as quickly as possible. Of that he was certain.
    The structures he remembered from days past seemed strangely decrepit, while the new buildings… The new were bedazzling… huge, elaborate edifices that must surely have taken decades to build.
    He scowled, unwilling or unable to believe the truth, to let himself