Free Rexanne Becnel by My Gallant Enemy

“Although I do not relish the thought of your spinster mistress in my bed, she will nonetheless be my wife. You may reveal to her our sport and make the marriage even more difficult for her. Or you may be a better servant to her and keep your silence. Who knows?” he added. “As time goes by you may find yourself becoming more agreeably inclined toward me.”
    “That will never be!” she spat venomously. “Now let me pass.”
    When he finally did step aside, she moved cautiously toward the door. Her gown was wet from where he’d pressed against her and her head linen was loosened and falling askew. As she passed him, holding her arms self-consciously across her wet bodice, he plucked the trailing end of her headrail.
    Her hair needed no more than that to come completely unbound. In a thick curtain of chestnut and bronze it fell free about her shoulders and tumbled down to her waist. The sight drew him up short. But while he stared at the glorious cascade framing her pale face, Lilliane did not hesitate. In an instant she whipped around, pulled the door open, and fled into the hall.
    He came to the door to stare after her, but she had disappeared down the stone staircase. Echoing in the still air, however, he heard her swift footsteps.
    And a heartfelt oath wishing him cast to the devil.

4
    S HE HAD PUT OFF going down to the evening meal long enough. Ever since she had fled to the safety of her chamber, Lilliane’s anger had been festering. He was as bad—no, worse—than she’d imagined! He was arrogant, self-centered, and he had no heart whatsoever. He wanted Orrick, not her.
    No, she amended. He wanted her, just as he probably wanted any pretty little serving girl who crossed his path. But it was not Lilliane of Orrick he wanted.
    How she despised him, she fumed as she jabbed a slender wooden hairpin into the woven crespin that held the thick chestnut coils of her hair. She’d not enjoyed the bath set out for her at all, barely cognizant of the warm, rose-scented water. Only one thought had consumed her, and that was the very real need she had to put this heathen in his place. He expected his betrothed to be a skinny spinster, plain and unattractive—except for the very attractive demesne that went with her hand in marriage. Well, she was looking forward to setting him straight.
    She had decided to wear her most flattering gown and her most elaborate girdle to this, their first real meeting. After all, she reasoned spitefully, it was only natural that a bride should want to impress her future husband. Still, now that it was time to go down to the great hall she was hesitant.
    She ran her hands nervously down the skirt, smoothing away an imaginary wrinkle, then patted her coiffure. She felt elegant and important in the exquisite samite fabric. The aqua silk was shot through with gold threads, and an intricate gold braid trimmed the neckline and the tightly laced sleeves. A finely embroidered girdle of gold metal worked into a russet silk cord emphasized her small waist and dangled in two long tassels nearly to the floor. Satisfied with her appearance, she reviewed once more the several sins she would lay at his door.
    Her only hope for freeing herself from such an unacceptable marriage arrangement lay in convincing her father that Sir Corbett of Colchester would not make a suitable lord for Orrick. She would have to show him that the man was common and crude. That he was greedy and would very likely pauper Orrick.
    She took a deep breath then lifted her head a notch. She was sure her father would agree with her once he had a chance to think about it. He would have to.
    Lilliane sensed the difference even before she had reached the great hall. The gaiety of the previous evenings since the guests had started to arrive was gone, replaced now by a more subdued drone. People spoke in quieter tones with frequent glances toward the head table. When she reached the bottom step of the stone stairs, she quickly discerned