Dark and Stormy Knight by Nina Mason Page B

passage was as dark as a coalmine and the only source of light was the candle in his hand.
    Were he the man he’d been, he’d be showing her the door instead of leading her into temptation. But he wasn’t that man anymore. He was a shade who’d been condemned to a loveless existence for betraying a queen who’d extracted his fealty against his will.
    Now, he was forced to objectify his lovers to keep from falling for them. Like always, when he grew bored with her, he’d send her back where she came from. In the meantime, he was six million pounds richer and had a willing playmate.“Are you certain about this, Miss Morland?”
    “Certain, no,” she said, her voice pinched. “But I’m willing to at least see what it’s all about.”
    * * * *
    Gwyn’s insides churned with a mixture of anticipation and dread when Leith stopped before a door constructed of heavy wooden planks. Iron strap hinges held the wood to the arched limestone threshold. “What should I call you?”
    “My lord.” He pulled an old key from his sporran and inserted the end into the lock. The latch clicked and the door swung open with a spine-chilling groan. “And you are Betty Brown, the errant abigail who’s thrown herself upon the mercy of her employer, a man with the power to indulge the wickedness that dwells in the hearts of most. Play the part as you see fit, but don’t break character without first invoking the safe word.” He looked at her as he added, “Are you clear on the parameters?”
    “Yes.”
    Moths the size of those in Silence of the Lambs fluttered in her stomach.
    “You have my word.”
    When he stepped across the threshold, she started to follow. Rounding on her abruptly, he held up his hands.
    “Wait here while I set the stage, so to speak.”
    He shut the door on her. Alone in the spooky corridor, fear whispered in her ear: Run, Gwyn. Run as fast as your legs will carry you and never look back.
    Turning a deaf ear, she stayed put and started the inner monologue exercise she’d learned in her acting classes at UCLA. Yes, she was anxious, but she could channel her angst into a deeper understanding of Miss Brown’s motivations.
    Perhaps the poor maid wasn’t the unfeeling nymphomaniac everybody supposed. Perhaps her promiscuity was a misguided search for acceptance and affection. If so, she wouldn’t be the first female in history to mistake desire for love.
    Gwyn knew only too well how easy it was to confuse the two, especially when a girl wanted to be loved so badly she’d believe anything a guy told her. Perhaps Miss Brown hadn’t yet figured out that a man with a hard-on was about as trustworthy as a used car salesman.
    Caveat emptor.
    Maybe that should be her new motto. Let the buyer beware instead of seize the day. At least Sir Leith wasn’t a liar. He’d made no bones about what he wanted from her.
    The squeal of the opening door gave her a start. When she spun around, her jaw almost hit the floor. Gone were the frockcoat, waistcoat, breeches, and boots. He wore nothing more than yards and yards of tartan belted low on his waist.
    “Wow.”
    Heat flushed through her system as her gaze drank in every glorious detail. His torso was a monument to manliness. Muscular and rippled in all the right places with the perfect amount of dark hair sprinkled across his chest. There was a ring in his left nipple and tattooed bands of Celtic knots encircling his muscular biceps.
    Holy smokes. He looked like a Celtic god.
    She swallowed to moisten her mouth, which felt as dry as Death Valley. “You wished to see me, my lord?”
    “Aye, Miss Brown.” His tone matched the sternness of his expression. “And I believe you know why.”
    “I do, my lord.” She lowered her head in deference. His legs were long, strong, and peppered with the same soft, dark hair as his chest. Her insides went molten and she started to perspire. She gave everything she had to stay in character. “Please, my lord. I know I’ve displeased