Free Lady in Red by Máire Claremont Page B

instruction?”
    “After much practice, I have shed most societal strictures and limitations.” Another slow step forward, his long, hard legs stretching against the superfine wool of his black trousers. “I urge you to do the same.”
    She couldn’t tear her eyes from his muscled thigh. How had he become so fiercely strong when so many other lords were so incredibly weak? “Why?”
    “You will never feel as you do again.”
    Her eyes snapped up to his. The very idea that she might never feel . . . this drenching self-hate again was almost too much to contemplate. An impossible and forbidden happiness. “Never?”
    “Shame is a wasted emotion. Learn from your mistakes and take pride in the fact that you shan’t make the same mistakes again.”
    A dry laugh rattled from her throat before she could stop it. “I assume you mean I should avoid a bottle of wine and a large dose of laudanum in the same sitting?”
    He let out a small, deep sound of amusement. “I think there was more than one bottle of wine and it would seem wise to abstain from such volumes of opiates, though not for moral reasons. You care about your self-preservation, do you not?”
    Along with the crackling tension of his simply being in the chamber, she sensed something else. Something she couldn’t trust. “I do.”
    “Good.” He closed the distance quietly until the closeness of him seemed to steal the air out of the room. “Then you will tell me who gave you the laudanum that nearly killed you.”
    She fought the urge to step back. She couldn’t run. Not anymore. There was nowhere to go. Instead, she raised her chin, challenging him. “Why would I do that?”
    He towered over her, a good six inches’ height in his favor. “Because you wish to please me.”
    She cocked her head to the side, meeting those obsidian eyes, wondering what it would be to please such a man, and perhaps . . . to be pleased in turn. “I suppose the protection you offer me leads you to suppose you are entitled to such information.”
    “Yes,” he stated.
    She inhaled sharply, anger spiking through her. She had escaped a madhouse and run for her life, scratching and fighting across the country only to be standing before this man, entirely beholden to him and almost under his control.
    Being controlled was something she would never accept again. If she did, she might as well waltz back to the asylum.
    Carefully, he lifted a hand and stroked her too short hair back from her cheek, tucking it behind her ear. The very touch sent shivers over her skin. Surely, they were shivers of revulsion. But for the first time, she wasn’t sure. There was something soothing and provocative to him and his touch. Tender and hot, meant to assure rather than command. Even in her anger, she couldn’t stop the sudden wish for him to stroke her again.
    He did. His fingers danced over her cheek, so softly it was barely tangible. “As your protector—”
    “As my protector you are entitled to my body and my fidelity. Nothing more.”
    His brows drew together slightly and his touch stilled on her cheek. “A sentiment that does not presently apply.”
    “It does apply,” she countered.
    “You seem to understand a courtesan’s creed quite well.” His black eyes deepened to pitch. “Did your last lover do this to you?” His breathing remained slow and even, but tension ruled his body. “I could have him butchered into a plethora of pieces. Should you like that?”
    Mary pressed her lips together, wishing she had held her tongue. How could she tell him she’d been a whore? A whore unpaid and free for the use of any man the keepers wished to give her to? She couldn’t bear thinking of it. Speaking of it? She closed her eyes as the room swayed.
    “You needn’t fear my judgment, darling.”
    He was so strange in his relentless kindness. Hard, calculating, determined to save her and care for her, even if she’d been another man’s. None of the forces in hell or heaven could bring