Sword for His Lady by Mary Wine Read Free Book Online Page B

swift motion.
    â€œYou will learn that I am a man who enjoys doing some things himself.” He dropped his tunic over the stool he’d refused to sit on.
    â€œOr one that cannot stomach doing anything a woman suggests he do.”
    He snorted, but the corners of his lips rose into a grin. “You truly have been without a master.”
    Her temper flared and her hands went back on her hips. This would have earned her a slap from her husband, but Ramon de Segrave only chuckled.
    â€œGo on, lady, I dare you to argue with me while we have no one to witness where our passions might take us.”
    â€œTemper has naught to do with passion.”
    â€œI disagree.” His voice came out in a sultry tone that sent a ripple of emotion through her. “Dare you proceed and test which of us will prevail as the victor in this subject?”
    He was trying to bait her once again. Isabel ordered herself to maintain her dignity and grant him no response. Reaching up, she leaned closer to him in order to reach the ties that closed the collar of his under robe. She caught a hint of his scent, and even before his bath it was clear he was not a man who allowed himself to stink.
    â€œWhy do you insist that every guest who comes to Thistle Hill bathe before entering your keep?”
    â€œSuch keeps the fleas out of our beds. I banned rushes on the floors for the same reason. The rats find the keep less comfortable than the marshes now.”
    She reached for the cuff of one sleeve and untied the laces. Her eyes traced the calluses on his palms that proved he was a master of his sword.
    â€œThat must make lying in bed, in only your skin, a pleasant experience.”
    She gasped and pulled too hard on the laces of the second cuff. They knotted and she had to pick at them while he chuckled at her.
    In naught but skin? She’d never… Yet…
    â€œYou’re thinking about it, are you not?” he teased her.
    She jumped and bit back a curse. The cuff came loose at last.
    â€œI might accuse you of enjoying toying with me, but I believe you would consider it a compliment,” she said boldly.
    She was surprised. A tingle went through her, and she enjoyed it. Bechard had never teased her. A claimed wife was nothing a man had to bother teasing.
    â€œThere, lady. Admit you are enjoying my company.”
    â€œPerhaps.”
    His chest rumbled with a chuckle that bounced off the walls of the bathhouse. His fingers touched her chin, raising her face so their eyes met again. It was a gentle touch, just a soft contact that wouldn’t have woken a baby, but her heart hammered inside her chest.
    â€œThe idea of you in naught but skin is a pleasant one.”
    â€œA sinful one,” she corrected.
    â€œNot so.” He slid his fingers beneath the tie that held the wimple closed. With a swift jerk, he snapped it.
    She jumped back, but her braids were falling down her back, the wimple no longer secure. His lips curled up with victory.
    â€œSince I have asked you to wed, it is not sinful to contemplate knowing you, Isabel.”
    His dark eyes dared her to continue. She reached up and pulled the ruined wimple off her head. It would be wiser to refuse him her hospitality, but part of her could not stomach the idea of retreating.
    In fact, it was intolerable.
    She was not a mouse.
    She reached up and dug her hands into the shoulders of his shirt. With a short jerk she pulled the under tunic off him, baring him from neck to waist.
    He was nothing like her husband at all.

Two
    Isabel pulled in a deep breath and swallowed the lump that formed in her throat. Ramon de Segrave was muscular, his shoulders wider than his waist. He didn’t have a round belly that spoke of too many fine meals and indulgence. No, he didn’t resemble her husband at all.
    â€œThe look on your face is truly a compliment, Isabel.”
    There was heat in his tone that sent a curl of desire through her belly.
    He sat down and