Claire Delacroix by The Warrior

his imagination had probably not done her justice.
    He ached to look. The shadows in the lady’s chambers had hidden her too well, to his thinking, and he was cursedly curious. A mere glance would have sated him—perhaps not, but that was what he told himself. He knew that in her current mood, though, she might despise him forever for stealing a glance.
    She doubtless thought he had stolen too much already.
    All the same, he heard the draw of every lace, even over the thunder of his heart. He heard the slide of linen against her bare flesh and believed his gallantry was hard won. He noted the flick of her hair as she pulled it from the chemise.
    “Have you a comb?”
    “A wooden one, unfit for a lady,” he said by way of apology, but retrieved it from his saddlebag all the same. He could not keep himself from watching as she shook out her golden tresses. Her hair fell to her waist and was more curly than he had expected, its tangled mass inviting his hands to trail through its length.
    His chausses fit her snugly through the buttocks, emphasizing her curves, and she had rolled the hems up for they were too long. She had pushed up the sleeves of the chemise and tied the neck lace tightly in an attempt to disguise her charms. The morning sunlight, though, silhouetted the curve of her breasts beneath the linen, and the sight tightened the Hawk’s own chausses.
    Aileen noted his glance and quirked a brow as she braided her hair, securing its glory once again. “Your garb is not so large as to be overwhelming. It has long been said that I am a woman wrought cursedly tall.”
    The Hawk snorted. “Tiny women are oft sickly or too coy in their manner.” He slanted her a telling glance. “I cannot fathom why a man would take such a creature like your step-mother to his bed.”
    Aileen froze in the midst of knotting the tether for her braid. “You did not find her alluring?”
    He arched a skeptical brow. “I would not turn my back upon such a viper, not if I had any token of value she desired.”
    The lady’s smile was all the more beguiling for being unexpected. The Hawk lifted his hand, intending to touch her cheek as he marveled, but she abruptly sobered.
    Her manner changed as if she recalled that she had no reason to smile.
    Or as if she feared his touch. He swung the cloak around her shoulders again, and deliberately fastened it at her neck. He lingered over the task, reveling in the scent of her and the softness of her so close at hand.
    She watched him with that same wariness in her eyes. “Is our match no more than a jest between you and your fellows?”
    He met her gaze in surprise. “We exchanged vows, and a vow is not to be broken. I intend this to be a marriage in truth, lady mine.”
    She licked her lips, clearly choosing her words with care, and her gaze flicked away from his. Still she voiced the question that plagued her and he admired her determination. “Will you beat me?” She swallowed. “I know a man has the right...”
    If this was her fear, he would see it dismissed this very moment!
    “Never,” the Hawk declared with such resolve that she could not doubt his intent. “No man of merit beats a woman.”
    There was a welcome glint of amusement in her eye, though stills she did not smile. “But I have heard that you are not a man of merit.”
    He chuckled despite himself. “Nonetheless, I pledge this to you.”
    She tilted her head to regard him. “And of what value is your pledge, then, if you are not a man of merit?”
    The Hawk sobered. “It is of every value, and I shall prove it to you. Indeed, lady mine, I shall prove to you that the evidence of your eyes is more compelling than the rumor gathered by your ears.”
    She studied him, her expression inscrutable, and he could not keep himself from asking. “I thought you wished to wed and be away from Abernye,” he suggested cautiously. “I thought you did not find my touch offensive.”
    “I thought a man asked a woman’s father for