Free Vow of Seduction by Angela Johnson Page A

of wine and honey, before retreating.
    One large hand branded her left bottom cheek. He thrust the hot, hard ridge of his shaft against her stomach, a silent warning, and a relentless promise. Wet heat pooled between her thighs, drawing a moan from her lips. Then it was over. Alex stepped back, his hands holding her upright. Kat stared down; her fingers clutched his azure tunic, crumpling the material.
    Gasping, she released him. “How dare you! I did not give you leave to trespass upon my person,” she accused Alex, though her anger was turned inward at her own weakness.
    Alex stiffened. “I beg to differ. You cannot trespass upon the willing, madame.”
    After bowing mockingly, Alex turned and made his way to the waiting craft. He jumped in the boat and called out before it moved away from the stairs. “Think about that, my wife, while I’m gone this day. I shall return in time to change for supper.”
     
    When Alex’s barge pushed away from the bank, Kat turned and flounced away from the river. She had no idea where she headed, walking willy-nilly as she replayed every word of their conversation in her head.
    Kat groaned. She had behaved like a wanton, melting in his arms with just one brush of his sensual lips. She could no longer lie to herself. A traitorous part of her still yearned for his touch. Her heart raced with fear. If she were not very careful, Alex might succeed at slowly chipping away at her resolve to resist him. She did not doubt that he would besiege her until she surrendered her heart and soul, leaving only a ruined shell behind.
    Deep in thought, her brow puckered in concentration, she did not at first hear the muffled curses and shouts. A boy’s cry pierced the air.
    Kat looked around, bewildered. She stood in the middle of Lousmede, surrounded by a sea of grass and cuckoo flowers, their pale lilac petals bobbing in the breeze. Behind her to the southeast lay Westminster Palace, up ahead was an abandoned apple orchard not far from the leper hospital of St. James.
    She cocked her head. A sharp cry pierced her heart, followed by answering shouts and laughter coming from the orchard. She reacted without thinking. Hoisting the wet hem of her tunics to her knees, she crashed into the trees towards the sound of that pitiful wail.
    The orchard was deserted, its neglect revealed by the weeds and green shoots of new growth allowed to grow wild along with the rotten apples littering the ground. It appeared forlorn as nature’s bounty fought to grab hold and reclaim this forgotten, once fruitful Eden. Dashing down several rows of trees, Kat veered to the left when she spotted a splash of color in the otherwise barren orchard.
    A small boy about seven summers old was perched in a tree, trying bravely to cling onto the limb as a rotten apple pelted him. His dark head peeped out amid the flowering branches. Four boys of varying ages, all older than the lad, stood below harassing him. They were all dressed in the king’s livery.
    The oldest boy, about twelve, blond-haired and apparently the leader, hollered, “Come on down, Matthew. If I have to come up and drag you down—” he left his sentence hanging, making his threat that much more ominous.
    The others jeered and called him a coward. But the lad ignored them and sat in stoic silence.
    Kat hated bullies, no matter their age. When a child, she had been taunted and scorned for being different one too many times. The black-haired lad in the tree, smaller and outnumbered, had no way to defend himself.
    She moved stealthily closer until she had a view of the whole scene. Upon closer inspection, she recognized the blond-haired leader, knew who his father was. In this case, it was indeed true that the proverbial apple never fell far from the tree. Lord Calvert, the boy’s father, was a minor baron from the north, a petty and cruel man.
    The older bully, his threats exhausted, began to climb up the tree. Kat reacted without forethought. She removed the dagger