Free Lady Fortune by Anne Stuart

household quite efficiently, according to Nicholas’s sources, and if she failed to produce an heir for her husband, she’d surely been satisfactory in all other areas or the old man would have dispensed with her.
    She scrambled away from him, but his hand shot out to capture her wrist, keeping her there beside him. He didn’t hurt her—he derived no secret pleasure from bringing pain to others—but he wasn’t about to let her run away. He was very strong—few people knew that about him— but he could keep her at his side with only minimal effort.
    She struggled for a moment, pushing at him with her other hand, and he wondered if she’d try to use her feet. He’d like that—it would ensure that she’d have to swing her legs onto the mattress to reach him, and then he’d keep her there until he was finished with her. Until he taught her to purr.
    But she remembered her dignity and abruptly stopped struggling. “Let me go,” she said. “Please.” She sounded deceptively calm. He wasn’t fooled for a minute.
    “I don’t want to. Humor the madman, Saint Julianna. One chaste kiss would heal my wounds and show me the error of my ways.”
    “I hadn’t realized that chaste kisses were what you had in mind.” She’d managed to bring a touch of asperity into her voice, and for a brief moment he wondered whether she was simply being coy. And then he saw the real shadow of fear in the depths of her warm brown eyes, and he released her.
    She was off the bed and out of his reach in a flash, so quickly that she probably assumed she was safe. She wasn’t, but for the moment he felt oddly chastened. She was afraid of something. Of him, perhaps. Or possibly men in general.
    It would be a great shame if his sainted Julianna found lovemaking repugnant. She was far too desirable to waste on unwarranted fears. Her husband must have treated her very badly indeed.
    She would have to be handled delicately, but he was capable of truly wicked subtlety. He’d have her on her back, weeping with pleasure, before she even knew what had happened to her.
    But this castle must be taken by stealth, not force. He smiled at her with beguiling sweetness. “Have I frightened you, my lady? I assure you, I mean no disrespect. I’m only a poor fool, unwise in the ways of gentle ladies.”
    “You’re far too clever for your own good,” she snapped, not the slightest bit deceived.
    He liked that about her. It was dangerous, this ability of hers to see through his machinations, but it was enchanting as well.
     
    “My lady’s wrath doth wound me deep
    In sorrow will her anger keep
    My heart is cleft, my tongue is tied
    But one fool’s needs shan’t be denied.”
     
    She looked less than thrilled, and he decided he was fortunate there was nothing close at hand in his spartan room. She would likely pitch it at him.
    “Clearly I made a mistake in coming to your aid,” she said stiffly.
    “Ah, but my lady, ‘tis a saint’s duty to tend the unworthy. Count it as penance for those uncommitted sins of yours.”
    She was standing by the door, but she hadn’t run away yet, a fact which pleased him. “I could commit a sin or two,” she said in a slow, meditative voice.
    She’d managed to astonish him. “Oh, lady, commit your sin on me,” he said, rising on his elbows. His back still hurt, but it was fast on its way to healing, and he was more than willing to ignore it if she would give him half a chance.
    Her smile was dazzling, erotic in its sweetness. “Lord Fool, I will,” she said in a husky voice full of promise. She moved toward him, her luscious hips swaying, her mouth curved in a promising smile, and he held out his hands for her, ignoring the stiffness in his shoulders.
    She slid out of his way with a graceful step, reached down for the bowl of water and rags she’d used to soak his back, and dumped the contents over his head.
    She was already out the door before he could explode in rage. By the time he reached it, she was