The Faithful Heart by Merry Farmer Page A

the
convent. The second Jack turned up the heat she pulled back. Well,
Lydia thought with a sly smirk, she was anything but fresh from a
convent and that was a decided advantage where Jack was concerned.
She hadn’t missed the way he’d stared down the front of her kirtle
when she’d given him something to look at. The way to Jack’s heart
was through his other head.
    She skipped back down the stairs the moment
Madeline’s door shut. Maybe it would be easy after all. She would
let the awkward little nun whip Jack into a frenzy and then she
would move in for the kill.
    She rounded a corner and stopped with a gasp
as Lord Stephen of Matlock came inches from smacking into her. He
wavered only slightly at the near collision while his two sons
stumbled over their feet not to walk into his back.
    Matlock’s glare of offense narrowed into a
sly grin of appreciation as his eyes scanned her body. “Who are
you?”
    Lydia’s racing heart didn’t slow as the shock
wore off. She’d just watched this man set down the Earl of Derby.
“Lydia Branch, my lord,” she curtsied low, glancing up at him under
her long lashes and lifting her hand to slide her fingertips along
the scooping neckline of her kirtle. “At your service.”
    The flash in Matlock’s eyes made her hot with
anticipation. “I haven’t seen you at the castle before. Where are
you from?”
    “From Kedleridge, my lord, but I’ve been away
for many years.”
    Matlock grinned. “Leave us,” he snapped to
his sons, gaze still fixed on Lydia’s lips.
    “But father,” one of them started.
    “I said go away!” The two men squirmed in
their places. Matlock pivoted to growl at them, “Do not defy
me!”
    Both of the men had to be at least thirty,
but they scrambled to leave the hall as though they were children
threatened with the rod. Lydia sucked in a breath, body tingling in
all the best places.
    Matlock turned back to her, scowling. “I’m
surrounded by idiots,” he grumbled. “Every one of them a weakling.
Only one of my children showed so much as a hint of a backbone, but
I took care of her!” His momentary look of triumph crumbled to a
violent grimace.
    The scene at the banquet rushed back to
Lydia. He meant Madeline. “Never mind about that, my lord,” she
hummed, daring to slide closer to him, lifting a hand and fondling
the thick gold chain around his neck. “I doubt anyone could resist
your power for long.” Power was exactly what she needed.
    Matlock’s grin was full of arrogance. “I have
wine in my room.”
    Lydia ached at the thought of such a powerful
man using her as Matlock surely would. “You have a room here in the
castle?”
    “Of course I do,” he growled, sliding an arm
around her back and sweeping her down the hall. “My family is of
the purest lineage. The castle has been open to us for a hundred
years and more. Buxton, the former sheriff, was a friend of mine.”
His expression hardened. “Until he got himself killed. I am
surrounded by idiots,” he repeated in a growl.
    They reached a door at the end of the hall.
He pushed it open and showed Lydia inside, shutting the door behind
her. She opened her mouth to comment on the room’s decorations but
before she could get a word out Matlock threw her against the door,
pinning her with his body and crushing his mouth over hers. She
moaned with pleasure, reaching for the bulge beneath his tunic. He
growled his appreciation, grabbing her hands and slamming them
against the door above her.
    She cried out with pain and pleasure. “My
lord, what if someone hears us?” she panted.
    “Let them.” He moved one hand to tear at the
laces of her bodice. “This should be my castle. This should all be
mine.”
    “It will all be yours,” she mewled, no idea
what he was talking about.
    “Buxton promised it all to me,” he vented his
fury in his words and in savage kisses down her neck. “Years I
worked for that sick bastard, indulging his madness.” He clamped a
hand over her