Napoleon's Woman by Samantha Saxon Read Free Book Online

and realized that she was indeed where he wanted her. He closed his eyes to purge the seductive image only to open them when he heard her scramble toward the door. He leapt, catching her arm before she reached the far side of the bed.
    Aidan rolled her over and held both wrists above her head as he lowered himself on top of the struggling woman, crushing her into the mattress. Her face relaxed with shock and he was darkly pleased to see the fear behind those aqua eyes.
    He wanted her to feel a portion of the fear her captives felt before being hanged…the fear he had felt. Only then would he turn her over to the authorities.
    He reached down and lifted her skirt, telling himself that it was necessary, crucial, that she be searched. His hand caressed her calf then drifted up the outer portion of her right leg as the lady stubbornly held his gaze. Aidan’s fingers skimmed the inner thigh of her leg until he encountered the sheath for her deadly knife.
    "Do you have any other weapons?" he asked, holding on by the fingernails to his gentlemanly ideals by giving her one last opportunity to end his search.
    She said nothing, and he cursed her stubbornness. He placed his hand on the delicate bone of her other ankle and started drifting up her thigh. Aidan looked into his enemy’s eyes and his baser instincts took over, much as they had on the peninsula, much as he feared they always would.
    He fought against it, his hand pausing on her upper thigh. "Do you have any other weapons, Lady Rivenhall? He stared at her lips.
    "No," she breathed, staring at his.
    It was more that he could take.
    "Damn you," he whispered to himself, unsure if he was cursing her or himself, then dropped his head to taste the traitor that had haunted his dreams and his nightmares. But his head snapped up when he heard feminine laughter mere feet from the mahogany door. He leapt off the bed, shoving Lady Rivenhall behind the armoire.
    His back pressed against the wood and his left shoulder fell flush to the stenciled wall. There was a good six inches of the armoire to his right. It should be enough to conceal them, provided the visitors did not venture too far into the large room.
    Aidan pulled the treacherous woman into his body, one hand splayed across her abdomen while the other clamped firmly over her mouth. Her back rested against his chest, so he was forced to bend forward and whisper.
    "If you scream--," but his threat was cut short when the inebriated couple stumbled into the bedchamber.
    "Oh, Jonathan. What a lovely room," a woman observed.
    "Do you like it?" the man asked, followed by the hiss of a silk cravat being pulled off its wearer’s neck. "My wife chose the color."
    "It’s very restive."
    Silk rustled, and the woman giggled when the man said, "Not for long. Come hear you wicked wench." More rustling. "Ahh, Fiona, you have the most superb heavers that I have ever seen."
    Aidan tried desperately to block out Lord Reynolds’ words, but it was difficult when the weight of Lady Rivenhall’s breast rested against his hand.
    Lord Reynolds moaned, obviously kissing the objects of his adoration. "You fit perfectly in my hand…and my mouth," he said, and the woman cried out in delight.
    The traitor in his arms tensed, her breathing becoming low and shallow. The back of Aidan’s thumb grazed her breast, and he pulled her closer to his body. He could feel her backside against his groin, but when her nipple hardened at his touch, Aidan forgot why they were voyeurs to this little scene.
    "Take off that damn gown," Lord Reynolds demanded, his breathing ragged. "I want to feel your skin warming mine."
    Aidan’s hand slipped from Lady Rivenhall’s mouth to her throat so that the woman might breathe, or so he told himself. But when his fingers felt the heat of her throat, his hand continued to descend until he found himself reaching beneath the bodice of her gown to cup her breast.
    Her slow intake of air was only audible to him, but it spoke as