Free Juliana Garnett by The Baron Page A

wanted to take her in its stead, and held it in one hand, ignoring the fierce surge of lust that rocked him. Necessary restraint, learned in years of deprivation; a benediction and a curse.
    Her gaze was expectant, a bit curious. He sought, then found, the thread of conversation.
    “Should I summon your servant if you fall to the floor in a frothing swoon, milady?”
    “That only happens when the poison is particularly virulent.” She paused. “Or when the wine is sour.”
    An attempt at levity, hard-won from the look of strain in her eyes. He rewarded it with another smile, this one more sincere. A sip of wine, then two, and he gazed at her over the cup’s silver rim as she held her own cup in both hands, long, well-shaped fingers curved around the bowl to hold it steady. Hewanted to see her drink again, the lips to part, a glimpse into forbidden territory. He wanted it fiercely.
    “Sweet,” he murmured, and when her brow lifted: “as new wine should be.”
    She pressed the cup to her mouth; lips parted on silver to drink daintily. Her throat worked, creamy skin tantalizing above the square neck of her bliaut.
    “What will you do, my lord?”
    Pleasant reflection vanished at her words, bringing him back to the reason he was there. The brief interlude was over.
    “Arrest the outlaws when I find them. And I will find them.” Another sip of wine, a delay while she absorbed that, then a casual shrug of one shoulder. “It is inevitable. I have been charged with their apprehension by the king. I will do my duty.”
    Her tongue lapped at a drop of wine shimmering on the cup rim, riveting his attention. Distracted, it took him a moment to digest her comment: “It was told to me that you are not in the king’s good graces, my lord.”
    “Doubtless,” he said, watching her mouth while heat pooled in his groin, “you have been ill advised.”
    “Yet you have lands in the north. An estate of your own. You are a baron in your own right. The office of sheriff cannot avail you more than do rents from freedmen and vassals. Unless you are as the others, of course, enriching your own coffers at the expense of citizens—and the king.”
    “That,” said Tré softly, “would be dangerous as well as foolish to suggest. I am amazed at your temerity.”
    “And I yours, my lord.” A flush pinked her cheeks, made her eyes bright. “You visit evil acts on men of your own rank, and exhibit no shame or remorse. I should not have been surprised that you would do worse to those of lesser rank.”
    He recognized the tactic for what it was, a diversion from the topic of outlaws. “Of late, my lady, I am among those of lesser rank. My lands are at the king’s discretion, as are all of our lands. You would do well to remember that ere you find yourself in like straits.”
    “Then it is true.” She studied him with wide eyes, as blueand shadowed as woodland pools. “The king dispossessed you.”
    “Let us say that he is merely safeguarding my estates until my business in Nottinghamshire is done.” His tight hold on the stem of the silver cup loosened, and he moved to set it on the table. His fingers were cramped, and he flexed them. “I intend to conclude that business as swiftly as possible.”
    Harder now, an edge to his tone, he turned and said, “My patience has its limits, as does my generosity. I freed the outlaws. If they surrender to me, they will be shown mercy.”
    “It was not generosity that freed those men,” she said, “but the point of an arrow at your throat. I daresay your version of the tale differs from the other being told.”
    “It may.” A tight smile felt frozen on his lips. He still wanted her. Contention did not ease the need, nor did her impudent reminder of his position. Situations changed: One day he would be liberated from the hateful bonds of service he performed for the king. He was a patient man because he had to be, not because he chose to be.
    “Are you through baiting me, milady?” he