Free Dance of Desire by Catherine Kean Page A

straightened her apron while dipping in a curtsey. "Henry is looking for you. A lord arrived a short while ago. He asked to speak with you."

Dread swooshed through Rexana. Had Darwell decided to visit and ask her about last eve?

Or, God help her, had Linford come?

She forced calmness into her voice. "Who is this lord?"

The maid shook her head. "I do not know, milady. Henry did not tell me, but caught my arm and told me to find you immediately. The visitor brings word of Lord Villeaux."

Rexana's stomach twisted. Linford would certainly have news of her brother. But by now, word of Rudd's arrest could have spread through Warringham's noble households. Could this lord possibly be an ally of her father's or Rudd's, offering assistance? Could this lord provide the answer she so desperately sought? "Where is our guest?"

"In the great hall, milady. Waiting."

"Thank you." Lifting her skirt's hem, Rexana crossed the bailey. Dust stirred at her feet, and, as she neared the stables, she smoothed her hands over her snarled hair. To properly greet her honored guest, she should change her garments and rebraid her tresses . . . but she must not delay such an important meeting. She would present herself in her disheveled state. Hopefully, her guest would accept a gracious apology.

As she passed the stable, a horse raised its dripping muzzle from a water trough. A huge, magnificent destrier with a shiny gray coat and black mane and tail, no doubt worth a sizable ransom. Who in this county could afford such a magnificent animal?

Armed guards, her guest's escort, sat with their backs against the stable's far wall, their horses tethered nearby. This lord was clearly a man of authority. Mayhap his powers even exceeded Linford's. Anticipation quickened her strides.

Upon reaching the forebuilding, she yanked open the door, then hurried into the stairwell. The door boomed shut behind her. Her footfalls tapped on the stone stairs, the rustle of her silk gown unnaturally loud. Strange. She heard naught from the hall ahead but the hearth's crackling blaze. No conversation. No booted footsteps approaching to greet her.

Only silence.

Sucking in a breath, she stepped into the hall.

Squinting in the room's smoky haze, she strode past a row of trestle tables and searched for the visitor. A tall man stood with his back to her, facing the fire, one foot scratching the belly of an old dog sprawled on the warm hearth tiles. A long black mantle, trimmed in fur, skimmed over his broad shoulders and draped down to the top of his black leather boots.

Misgiving tingled through her. Why did the man not turn to greet her? Had he not heard her approach?

Clearing her throat, she started toward him. He straightened. The elegant gesture, almost deadly in its smooth precision, shot warning through her body. The hair at her nape prickled with awareness. Stunned dismay. Fear.

She stumbled to a halt. His leather boots creaked as he turned to reveal a firm, tanned profile. Curved mouth. Brown eyes that met her gaze with satisfaction and challenge.

Oh, God. Linford.

Fane watched her eyes darken with trepidation. They turned as green as the battle trappings hung alongside swords and shields on the wall behind her. Had she naively thought never to see him again? Foolish little fig.

Her fair skin, scrubbed free of kohl and darkening powders, turned as white as a fresh lily. Her lips pressed into an unsteady line before she seemed to realize her mistake and her mouth eased into a smile.

"Good day, milord." Admirably, her voice revealed only a slight quaver. Holding her head high, as though naught were amiss, she strolled toward him. Her shoes whispered on the rushes strewn over the floorboards, the sound of softly spoken secrets. Did she know he was exceptionally well versed in the art of exposing deceptions? Did she know he intended to unveil all of hers, every single one, before he finished with her?

"Good day to you, Lady Rexana Villeaux." Holding her gaze,