Free Conquering Passion by Anna Markland Page B

magnificent.
    In less than five minutes he was mounted bareback on Fortis, pursuing her. Once in the orchards, he proceeded more slowly, following her trail. It led him into the woods and he suspected she’d gone to the lake. He dismounted and edged forward stealthily.
    She was perched on an outcropping, close to where he’d first found her, feeding something to the horse, crooning soft words. He froze. She looked peaceful and happy, her tangled tresses covering her cloaked shoulders. He longed to bury his face in her hair, inhale the intoxicating scent that was peculiarly Mabelle.
    She tucked a stray lock behind her ear and he imagined running his fingertips along the edge of that dainty ear, taking her head in his hands and drawing her lips to his. He stilled, afraid her horse would sense him. She pulled the cloak tighter around her shoulders and glanced around, peering into the trees. Had she felt his presence? Did she know his scent as he knew hers?
    What is she thinking? How to be free of me?
    Why was he intent on denying her this simple pleasure? Why did he feel such need for control?
    She sat for a good while, laughing as the horse nudged her, begging another morsel. Ram wished he could make her laugh. He became rapt in his gazing and when she stood abruptly, it took him off guard. She saw him. He hated the flicker of fear that flashed across her face as she stopped, looking to escape him.
    “Don’t be afraid, Mabelle,” he said softly as he stood, holding out his hands to her. “I’ll never hurt you.”
    “ Milord .” She bowed her head briefly and then looked directly at him. “You have a habit of watching me in the woods.” Her eyes raked over his linen shirt and tight breeches and her mouth fell open. He was being devoured and it excited him. Slowly, he rolled the loose sleeves of his shirt to his elbows, braced his legs, pulled the thong from his hair, and put his hands on his hips.
    “I asked you not to ride, Mabelle.”
    She looked at the ground. “You did.”
    “Yet here you are, wilfully disobeying me.”
    She shrugged then looked right at him. “I am wilful, as you’ve often said. I’m not suited to be a comtesse . You should free me from our betrothal so I can seek another husband who will think my dowry is suitable.”
    My father was right. She’s wily and knows her worth.
    He strode towards her. She still looked nervous but obviously determined not to let it show. She raised her hand and tucked the errant strand behind her ear again, never averting her eyes from his. Her courage excited him. He wanted to touch her, to gather her up in his arms but that might alarm her. He put his hands on her shoulders and felt her shudder. Her lashes fluttered and she closed her eyes but didn’t pull away as he’d feared.
    “Mabelle, you infuriate me, yet I find myself longing for your company, for the touch of your hand in mine. I want to know how your lips will feel as they open to me.” Her face reddened and the heat rolled through his own body. He could feel her trembling.
    “Please don’t make fun of me, milord .”
    “My name is Ram,” he breathed, pulling her body to his. Her spine went rigid. Her sensuous mouth enticed him. Would her lips be warm or cold? How would she taste?
    “You rouse me, Mabelle. You are my betrothed, yet we’ve never kissed.”
    He brushed his lips over hers. The moist warmth made his skin tingle. She moved her mouth away from his lips, but he held her against him, his arms now around her shoulders.
    “Please don’t tease me—Ram.”
    She seemed more afraid now than when she thought he was angry. He held her away from his body and rasped, “Are you wishing it was Antoine and not me kissing you?”
    “ Non ,” she murmured, shaking her head, tears welling. “Why do you torment me with this?”
    He kissed her again, more deeply, his tongue coaxing her to open to him. He sucked her lower lip, bit it gently, then darted his tongue once more over her lips,