Jayne Fresina (2 page)

His restless gaze darted around the room, one hand on the door latch. “The old woman sent me up here.” Finally his perusal came to rest on her in her leather mask. “What do you want with me?” he demanded.

A scratchy laugh spilled out of her dry mouth. “Well, let’s see. I’m in a whore house and I’m almost naked.” When he merely glared at her, she quipped, “I’ll give you another clue. I’m not here for a dress-fitting.” Waiting had pinched her temper, drawn her nerves very thin. He was clearly a peasant and should do as he was told.

Still his fingers played over the door latch, his brow creased in a deep frown. “Is this some sort of jest? Who put you up to this, Nathaniel Downing? Better put your clothes back on, woman. I’m flattered, but I do my own choosing and I prefer a wench with more meat on her bones.”

Lucy took umbrage immediately. She straightened her spine, head up, shoulders back, and so what if her fingers held the bedpost a little tighter? He wouldn’t notice. “Indeed, this is no jest, certainly not at these prices. I paid good coin for this chamber and I trust Mistress Comfort informed you I’m willing to pay three sovereigns for your company. Quite a bit more than the going rate for trysts in this place, I understand.” Angrier by the breath, she added, “Surely that’s inducement enough to overlook any lack of
meat
on my bones!”

“Three sovereigns?” he said in a faintly appalled tone.

“And I mean to get my money’s worth.”

Her intentions laid out in these plain terms, surely clear enough even for a peasant to understand, she turned her back and demanded he unlace her corset. Accustomed to the services of a maid, tonight she must make do with this complete stranger. If he stayed, of course, and didn’t leave her standing there looking like a fool. Should he leave, Lucy wasn’t sure she had the strength to start again and find another man. Besides, he ought to be damned grateful for what she offered him.

A moment passed. She heard the rusty bolt drawn, then his long stride echoed across the floorboards toward her, loud and menacing. Even the ill-fitting windowpanes rattled slightly in their lead casings. Her eyes flew open.

He was staying. This was it.

Another drum roll.

She flinched, expecting the cold touch of his fingers.

Nothing.

No tug on her laces.

No hands anywhere.

Had he forgotten his directions?

Swiveling impatiently, she found him very close behind her, wearing a scowl like thunder. Tripping back, she sat heavily on the edge of the bed.

“Who the hell are you?” he demanded.

“I’m afraid I can’t tell you.” She held up one hand, adding hastily, “I don’t want to know your name either, plowman. It really isn’t necessary.”

As he stood over her, hands on hips, she drew in another shallow, tense breath and swallowed his scent. Leather, horse and hay. She’d never been this close to a country peasant before, never been outside the city walls of London, in fact, and only rarely ventured far from her father’s house and grounds, until a few days ago when she’d been brought here to Norwich, for her wedding. This man, though he had the appearance of a rustic, didn’t act like a rampaging, rapacious savage, which is what she’d been raised to believe of all men who lived in the country and didn’t possess a coat of arms to their name. Her father, a stern man who ruled his household with an iron hand, terrified his daughters regularly with dire warnings about life outside his domain. It was a very effective method of keeping them under his control. At least, it was while Lucy was still a girl. But she was old enough now to understand that not everything was exactly the way her father taught her. Indeed he had a very skewed view of most things, including his eldest daughter’s worth.

She cautiously studied the man before her. He seemed much larger now they were in the same room. His shirt was stained, the cuffs hanging over his broad wrists frayed and discolored, his boots thick with mud.

“Can we proceed?” Once again, she tried to conceal her nervous tremors under a haughty tone. “Would you like the money now or later?”

Because he stood so close, looking up into his face made her feel small and vulnerable. Instead, she stared at whatever reached eye-level. This, she discovered, was a mistake, drawing her gaze to the part of him for which she went to all this trouble, and subsequently reminding her that he was still fully clothed, while she was half-naked.

“Well, farmhand? Three sovereigns are enough, surely? You may remove your breeches and begin.” She glanced dubiously at his hands where they hung at his sides. “Try not to touch me too much. Beyond the necessary, of course.”

Instantly defying her orders, he clasped her chin with one of those large, roughened hands, lifting it until she could no longer avoid his steady gaze. “How amusing! My sides split. Where is he, then?” His low voice rumbled all the way down his arm, through his fingertips and into her jaw.

“Where is…?” She was breathless.

“Nate Downing. He put you up to this, didn’t he?”

She tried to knock his hand away, but his wrist was strong as iron, his grip unrelenting. The more she struggled and pulled on his sleeve, the harder he held on.

“I don’t like to be made a fool.”

She snapped out, “That makes two of us.”

There was a fraught moment, when he stared down at her and she held his gaze, unblinking, furious. Finally he let her go, his fingers drifting away. It was almost a caress, shockingly gentle, despite the potent strength in his fingertips. She shivered, every pore on her body snapped awake and alert. There was a decidedly impish gleam in his eye, curiously taking her in, very thorough, as if
he
were the one paying three sovereigns.

He’d better not try mastering her, she thought. If he knew her, he’d never dare try it. But of course, he didn’t know her, did he? That was the point.

“Look, if you’re going to be difficult about this, you may as well leave now. If you want your three sovereigns you’ll get the dratted thing out of your breeches and get on with it.”

His eyes were startling, a color hovering between verjuice and azure blue. She’d noticed them immediately when spying on him through the peephole and perhaps they were the reason she’d chosen him. He’d entered the place alone that evening and was by far the quietest, most subdued of all the men she considered. This led her to think him safe. Now, observing several fierce, treacherous tides churning away behind the formerly tranquil waters of those eyes, Lucy feared she’d been deceived.

He smiled, wolfish. “You’re not one of the usual wenches.”

“How do you know?” she demanded, chin raised. “Come here often I suppose.”

When he chuckled it was almost a purr, but not of a household cat. His was the warning, heart-stopping rumble of a leopard she’d seen in the queen’s menagerie. “For one thing, you’re too damn clean.”

Lucy stood and walked away from him to the foot of the bed.

“And for another thing, most whores don’t give orders. Or pay their customers. It somewhat defeats the purpose of the job.” But despite his mocking tone, the hard lines of his face softened, his eyes brightened.

Definitely interested—despite her lack of meat.
Meat!
She still couldn’t get over his deplorable lack of manners.

But if he liked her, that was good, wasn’t it? For her purposes?

Lucy wasn’t so sure. The mischievous glint in his eye was troubling.

Better set him straight at once, before he got any ideas above his place. If he didn’t like her rules, he could damn well leave and she’d go home. Might be for the best, after all. Not that she’d lost her gumption, of course.

“Are you
questioning
me?” she exclaimed. “How dare you? Perhaps this will be more trouble than it’s worth.”

He flexed his arms, shook out his hands. His slow, heated gaze wandered, contemplative, up and down her semi-naked length. And then he cracked his knuckles. “Wouldn’t be changing your mind now would you? Looking for a way out? Looking for an excuse to withdraw the offer?”

Uh oh. She had indeed made a mistake. She’d expected anyone found in this place to do exactly as she commanded and willingly for the money, yet there was a powerful, obstinate strength oozing out of this man, like treacle from a broken pot. He now advanced a few steps toward her, not in the least discouraged by her icy frown. An expression notorious for freezing well-intentioned suitors where they stood, it seemed that tonight it held no power.

This was not going to plan. In fact, she considered abandoning her mission altogether.

As if he read her mind, his gaze slid sideways to the bolted door and then back to Lucy. Standing between her and the exit, he leveled his footing—a pre-emptive motion, the implication obvious.

“I’ve seen you before,” he said very softly, a slight uplift to the end of the sentence, making it a question as much as a statement.

The same strange idea had passed through her own mind when she first saw him.

“Have I?” he demanded.

“Certainly not,” she scoffed, although she sensed he wasn’t asking her, merely puzzling over it himself.

A little bit of a grin tugged at his lips, breeze-blown candlelight toying with his rugged features. “Must have been in my dreams, then.” There was a challenge in that smirk, daring her to make a run for the door.

She knew who’d be there first. And what would follow.

Mistake or not, the upward twist of his lips assured her it was too late to back out now; he was there, so was she, and sand already slipped through the hourglass.

Her resolve hardened again. “This arrangement is just for tonight, you understand? You’d better not get any ideas, for this is on my terms or not at all.”

He devoured her with his gaze, moving intently over her mask and then downward, leaving no part untouched. Something inside her began to melt. She was very warm, her throat tight, her breathing too scattered. Further annoyed by his silent perusal and her body’s involuntary reaction to it, she raised her voice, as if to a disobedient servant. “You’ll do as I say, no more, no less.” Though aware she was talking too much and too quickly, she couldn’t stop herself. “I need this thing done properly. I trust you know what is required? Might we begin at once? Remove your clothes and there is water over there with which to–”

“I’m not accustomed to uppity wenches making all the decisions.”

She huffed. “You surprise me.” Naturally, he was merely bothered by a woman in charge–that
she
paid the coin. Nothing else troubled him. Tonight the injustices of life wore on her temper like flint on a knife’s blade. “You can tolerate a woman’s commands, surely, for no more than a quarter of an hour. I won’t keep you long.”

His eyes gleamed, his nostrils flared. Slowly he walked around her in a full circle, taking it all in again, before he dropped to the bed, sprawled against the bolster and lifted his foot. “Boots!”

“What?”

“Take ’em off for me, wench.”

Wench
? How dare he?

When she froze, he added with the quick flare of an insolent grin, “Unless you want me to keep ’em on while we do the deed.”

She frowned at his muddy boot. “Are you cup shotten?”

“No.”

“Then you can remove your own boots, man.”

He tucked his arms behind his head. “No. You do it, wench!”

“Keep them on, then. This won’t take long in any case. You won’t be staying.”

His eyes widened, then narrowed. “I’ll have the boots off. If you’ve no objection.
Ma’am
.” It was definitely not a question this time.

She sensed he was testing the waters, deliberately prodding her temper for his own sport. But what else could she do? Go back and find another man to take his place? There was no time and she was already half-undressed.

Yet there was another matter for consideration, far and above the practicalities.

She wanted him.

Lucy realized it then, as he lay on the bed, waiting for her.

Oh yes, she wanted him.

It was almost a challenge now. He dared her, thought she wouldn’t go through with it, was ready to call her a coward.

But he didn’t know Lucy Collyer, did he?

He soon would.

Chapter 2

So he was impudent and had a saucy mouth. What did it matter? Only a temporary hire, he was not one of her father’s servants to reprimand. Besides, she rather liked his smile, not to mention that superbly carved body. Lying across the bed, seething with raw energy, he was a gift ready to be unwrapped. Simply put, she’d never seen a man quite so appealing.

She’d rolled the dice and this is where they’d fallen. It was her fault he was there, after all.

Perhaps, just this once, under the anonymity of that leather mask, she could put her hands on his filthy boots, another novel experience to be sure, but over in a few minutes. She grabbed his foot and pulled.

“The laces,” he chided her. “The laces, wench!”

He lay back against the bolster, watching her, offering no assistance whatsoever, just an amused critique.

Once she’d tossed his boots aside she moved on to his breeches, but he sat up, grabbing her hands as she leaned over his sprawling form. “This I’ll do myself,” he warned, serious again.

Walking around the bed, she watched him undress. He was stocky, his thighs were thick and powerful. Afraid to look at anything else, she carefully averted her eyes to the floor boards, but he took a knife from his discarded belt, jumped up and came toward her with a determined stride. She backed away to the wall, alarmed.

There was a small diagonal scar across his left eyebrow, an interruption of the symmetry of his face lending a slight quirk to his expression which prevented those clear, sculpted angles from looking too stern. Even so, with that knife in his hand, when he commanded, “Turn around,” she contemplated running for the window and leaping out.

“Turn around,” he repeated. When she hesitated, he held the knife in his teeth, put his hands on her shoulders and spun her to face the wall. Then he slid the knife’s blade under her corset laces and, with one ruthless motion, cut her free.