Lord of My Heart by Jo Beverley Read Free Book Online Page B

French.” His French was the coarse peasant tongue, but he seemed fluent.
    Madeleine realized with a chill that she had revealed her nationality and she wasn’t even sure he was her faery prince. His greasy hair was quite dark and his skin was grimy, not gold. His smile began to look wolfish to her.
    She backed away . . .
    “Don’t be afraid,” he said. “What’s your name?”
    Madeleine was poised for flight, but something held her back. She knew, however, it could be dangerous to tell him she was Madeleine de la Haute Vironge. “Dorothy,” she said.
    “Don’t run away, Dorothy. I won’t hurt you.”
    Madeleine relaxed under the influence of the same soft, soothing voice. It was him. And there was something else reassuring. Something in his smile . . .
    She realized it was his teeth. They were white and even, unlikely in a ragged peasant.
    She smiled. He was in disguise. He was her faery prince, doubtless an English noble, traveling incognito. Once she’d framed this thought, it was amazingly easy to see through the dirt and rags to the handsome face, the powerful body, and the golden hair. He had startling green eyes, she discovered, which crinkled entrancingly when he smiled.
    “I’m Edwald,” he said. She knew it was a lie but understood.
    “How is it you know French?” She made each word clear and separate. She knew how hard it was to understand a foreign tongue when spoken quickly.
    “I’ve traveled to France.”
    That argued high birth. Perhaps he was one of the sons of Harold who were trying to avenge their father. But in that case she would expect his French to be more elegant.
    He spoke again. “Do you make a habit of wandering the woods alone, Dorothy?”
    Madeleine glanced back down the stream. The real Dorothy was just visible, the guard just out of sight. “I have friends nearby.” It was a warning as well as information.
    He followed her gaze, then took her hand to draw her away from the stream and behind a thicket. Heart pounding, Madeleine knew she should run. If he tried to stop her she should scream. She did neither.
    He rested his hands on her shoulders and smiled down at her. His eyes really were very attractive. “I wanted to see you properly,” he said.
    The darkened skin and greasy hair muddied her vision. “I wish I could see you properly, too.”
    Danger flashed in his eyes, but then he laughed and shook his head. “How have you survived in this harsh world, Dorothy? Don’t worry. I won’t harm you even if you do hold my life in your hands.”
    He gathered her hands together and dropped kisses into her palms, tickling them with warm breath that stirred something hotter inside her, something she recognized as forbidden. Her conscience made her pull away, but when he tightened his hold to stop her, she did not persist.
    His hands slid along her bare forearms, and inside the loose sleeves of her kirtle to her shoulders, rough skin and callouses against her smoothness. “Your skin is like the finest silk,” he murmured. “You must know, though, my sweet Dorothy, that I cannot see you after today.”
    No one had ever touched her so intimately, and she was softening like wax on a hearth. “Why not?” she breathed.
    “How can I risk it? You would know me for an outlaw and tell your king.”
    “No,” said Madeleine with certainty, “I wouldn’t.”
    His thumbs rubbed against her collarbones. “You should. It would be your duty.”
    But they blinded traitors and rebels, or gelded them, or lopped off hands and feet, Madeleine thought, shivering. “No, I promise. I will never betray you.”
    He freed his hands of her sleeves and drew her close against his hard body. Her conscience cried the alarm. This was wrong. She should run. Now.
    But surely she could stay just a little longer. It was honey-sweet to be in his arms.
    Greatly daring, she raised her hands to his broad shoulders, remembering them wet and beautiful in the sun. Her right hand found bare flesh at the nape of