Virgin Bride by Tamara Leigh Page A

eyes.
    "You are wrong about my intentions." She attempted to speak evenly, grasping at a calm she did not feel. Whether or not he chose to believe her, she decided he must know the truth.
    "By giving myself to you I forever renounced the possibility of becoming a nun. I did not do it that I might capture a husband." She blinked, then settled her eyes to his once again. "I did it so that I would not be forced to take vows I did not wish to. That I might remain at my father's side and help his people—"
    "My people," he harshly corrected her.
    Aye, they were his now. She nodded. "Their needs are great, their fields—"
    "Think you I cannot see to their needs?"
    Would he? This man who had shown no mercy to her brother?
    "Even if you speak the truth," he continued, "and I was fool enough to believe you, then you would be little better having used me to achieve that goal."
    " 'Tis true," she admitted, "and I have repented for having done such a thing, but I cannot change what has gone before." She looked at her clasped hands. "I did not wish to return to the abbey."
    "Forgive me if I do not believe you," he said, his eyes probing her face, reminding her of the mark beneath the wimple. "I have heard that life among the clergy is far preferred over the toil of everyday life ... even if it be in the comfort of a castle."
    She shook her head. "The abbey is where I have lived since the age of seven," she said, her gaze wavering beneath his harsh stare. "In all those years I knew little but unhappiness within its walls. Mayhap for others 'tis desirous, but for me it was not enviable." Self-consciously, she lifted a hand to smooth the linen about her face.
    Immediately, the baron intercepted the movement, pushing her hand away. "How touching your tale," he sneered, then reached up and fingered the chin strap of her wimple.
    "Nay," she protested, thinking he intended to snatch it from her. In a poor attempt to evade him she jerked her head back, but his hand came around the nape of her neck and pulled her face near again.
    "I was told Charwyck's daughter bore the mark of the devil," he said, his mouth near hers, his thumb stroking her jaw. "Is it this you hid from me yester-eve?"
    She swallowed, then nodded.
    "Show me." He withdrew his hand and leaned back, his eyes daring her to take advantage of the uncertain escape he afforded her.
    At first Graeye was too surprised to do anything but stare dumbly at him. "Why didn't he simply do it himself? she wondered. Was it consideration, or merely an attempt to humiliate her further?
    Reluctantly, she complied. Gripping the pieces of linen tightly in her fist, she raised her gaze back to his, waiting for the response she was certain would follow.
    "Clearer and clearer," he murmured, ignoring her distress as his gaze settled near her left brow. "'Twas a game I thought you played last night. I should have guessed...." He shifted his attention back to her light-eyed stare.
    "Necessary," she breathed, ardently wishing she might be delivered from this heart-rending confrontation. She bowed her head again, her silken curtain of hair falling between them.
    "Then you misjudged me," he said so softly, his words started her heart hammering.
    Her head snapped up, and for a moment she was allowed a glimpse of that other elusive man she had treasured. And then he was gone.
    Smoothly, he slid back into the one she now feared. "You see," he said, his lips curling as he fingered the golden strands of hair pooled upon his thigh, "I have as much belief in the devil as I do God. Nay, perhaps more." He reached up and ran rough fingertips over the faint stain.
    Graeye did not flinch, though her heart plummeted further with this new intrusion.
    "Still," he said with a weary shrug, "after your deception, I daresay there might well be something to this. " Twould seem—"
    "Enough!" The anguished cry wrenched itself from her throat. All her life she had been looked upon with suspicion, but now, with her world crashing