Free Sweet Enemy by Heather Snow Page B

emerged from the tent flap, his black hair shining almost blue in the sun. Liliana’s breath caught. She hadn’t noticed before how tightly the buckskin breeches molded to Stratford’s hips, clinging to his legs and accentuating his muscled movements. His chest was now covered in a scrap of leather, but her mind easily filled in what her eyes could no longer see, what her hands had felt beneath them last night in the library.
     
    Though the other competitors looked somewhat plain out of their formal dress, this casual guise seemed to fit Stratford. Liliana shook her head.
Fit
was perhaps not the right word so much as…
suit
. As he strode across the expanse toward her, with the hint of a roguish smile tugging at one side of his mouth, he looked strangely…unburdened. Like he was truly comfortable for the first time in a long time.
     
    Liliana huffed. How would she know that?
     
    What she did know was that he eclipsed the other men, blotting them out with his sheer presence.
     
    Some long-dormant female nerve shivered as he stopped before her, bowing low.
     
    “M’lady,” he said, his voice swirling over her. He extended his hand, helping her to rise. His eyes caught hers, staring into them for a prolonged moment before giving a cluck of his tongue. He nodded at the ribbons she still held in her hand. “I had hoped the lavender would suit, but I can see now that no man-made shade of purple could ever compare to your eyes.”
     
    Liliana felt a ridiculous urge to smile, but then firmed her jaw. What was he up to? “The ribbons are fine. Thank you, but—”
     
    “I shall have to scour the garden for a natural shade to match them,” he interrupted. “Violets? No, too dark. Freesia, perhaps? Or sweet peas.” His eyes glinted. “I have it. Globe thistle.” He smiled, his teeth white behind the slow spread of his lips. “Prickly, yet passionately purple.”
     
    Liliana stared at him, openmouthed, she feared. He was playing with her, but to what purpose? Her toes felt warm. In fact, heat was seeping into all kinds of unusual places.
     
    “I—” Liliana swallowed around a dry throat. “Thank you…I think. But I must insist—”
     
    A trumpet blare cut off her rebuttal.
     
    Stratford removed his sword from its scabbard. “While I find my mother’s entertainments frivolous”—he gave Liliana a long-suffering look—“I am ever the dutiful son. Therefore, would you do me the honor of allowing me to wear your colors into battle, m’lady?” He held an oddly decorated sword out to her, hilt first, with an exaggerated flourish.
     
    The other women in her row were dutifully tying their ribbons around the swords of the other competitors. Liliana looked behind her. Aunt Eliza raised her eyebrows in encouragement.
     
    Liliana sighed, then took one of her ribbons and tied a neat clove hitch around the hilt.
     
    He looked up at her in surprise.
     
    Perhaps she should have tied a bow.
     
    She met his questioning gaze blandly. One corner of his mouth turned up in a half smile as he spun away, strode out onto the field and took his spot across from an opponent.
     
    Liliana cast a glance over her shoulder. Sneaking away was out of the question—nor realistically possible given her highly visible position. She dropped onto the chair. She could still feel more than one glare coming from her left.
     
    Irritation burned. How had she ended up here? Not only were these foolish games keeping her from her search, but she’d now attracted the attention of a pack of jealous harpies.
     
    She took a steadying breath, willing her feet to stop fidgeting. She couldn’t change that now, at least not where this afternoon was concerned. If she were fortunateenough that Stratford did not suspect her, she needed to make the most of this debacle.
     
    She would do her level best to annoy him so badly that he would run the next time he caught even a glimpse of her. But how to do that? Liliana thought about all of the