Warprize (Seven Brides for Seven Bastards, 5)(MFMMMMMM) by Georgia Fox Page A

for a
beginner.
    She liked him or he would not be there
in her private chamber, invited to share her dark secret. That too
was evident.
    He wanted her. Therefore he'd have
her.
    Dom began moving around the bed toward
Cedney, but she leapt over it and backed up to the door of the
chamber, still clutching the fleece around her.
    "Get out before I shout for the
guards," she hissed.
    He stopped and held out
his arms, chuckling dourly. "What will you tell them? That I raped
you? My lord ?"
    She lifted her chin. "It is possible
for a man to be taken against his will, just as it is for a woman.
I could have you hanged."
    "And I could tell them all the truth
about their lord."
    She blinked, drew a quick breath. Her
fingers tightened around the fleece. "You won't."
    "Won't I?" Dom had never seen her look
this vulnerable. Now he saw beneath her hardened shell and just
when he could have moved in, using it to his advantage, it made him
take pity. It made him hesitate. Again his father would laugh at
him for this little wrinkle of kindness and compassion.
    She must have seen it too, must have
known he would not harm her.
    "You may have that box of gold and
pearls," she said softly. "In return for your discretion, of
course. I know you are not Lady Rosamund's uncle and no doubt your
motives in bringing her here were not innocent, but I am willing to
overlook that. I don't know how you came to possess that scroll or
Redbeard's crest, and I don't want to know. It is best that you
leave now and there will be no questions asked."
    Slowly he scratched an itch on his
chest and then drew his long fingers across the thin layer of
perspiration that coated the ridges of his chest. All the way down
to his cock.
    Her gaze followed the gesture and she
licked her lips.
    "Perhaps I don't need to leave until
morning," he suggested, stroking his growing organ.
    Gradually her eyes shadowed, their
path tracking back upward to his face. "Do you think to persuade me
with these arts, d'Anzeray?"
    He grinned. "It had occurred to me
that I might try."
     
    * * * *
     
    Thus the angry mood in the chamber was
transformed again. Cedney wanted to keep her distance, but she
could not. There was an awkward charm to the man, something
mysterious, mischievous. In those moments earlier when she lay in
his strong arms she was content as she had never been, but a part
of her had suffered tremendous guilt, remembering how she once
promised her father never to give in, never to forget that she was
his "son" and heir. To be a woman meant submitting to weakness. Or
so he had taught her.
    But Cedney had not felt weakened by
her desires. In truth, when Dominigo looked at her that way she
felt a new kind of power. It lightened her spirit and made her
heart's rhythm quicken until she soared. Never had she known this
sensation before, even when racing her horse, flying over the
ground and aiming her arrow for the kill. Lying in his arms had
felt like...coming home after a long day's struggle, after a
battle.
    Could she risk anything more with him?
Could they spend a night together without raising suspicion?
Without endangering her position there?
    The answer came immediately. A
resounding "no".
    There was a rumble of noise in the
passage outside, rapid steps and the clanking of metal. A fist
banged hard against the door at her back.
    "My Lord Bloodwynne, there is trouble!
Norman soldiers are at the gate."
    Across the room, Dominigo's expression
hardened again, his jaw squared, as if he was ready to protect her
from whatever might come. She shook her head at him. As if she
needed his protection! She'd managed seven years as her own man. "I
will come at once," she shouted through the door. "What is their
business here?"
    "It is Rufus Barberousse, my lord,
found murdered in Foxhall market. And we can find no sign of the
man who claimed to be him. We have closed the gates so he will not
escape."
    Cedney dropped her fleece and reached
for the discarded breeches. The footsteps retreated