Anne Stuart's Out-of-Print Gems Read Online Free PDF

Carey lay in the center of the pallet. The bathrobe had come undone enough to expose her shapely legs. Her hair was thick and slightly curly around her shoulders. The color of sunlight, Salvatore had said. An interesting recommendation to a man who avoided sunlight.
    A stubborn chin, even in sleep, he thought, cataloging her. A soft mouth, slightly parted, a nose that was totally without character. He half wished she’d open her eyes.
    He’d been enraged when Salvatore had first told him Reese Carey had sent his daughter in his place. But the moment Ethan had set eyes on her, he’d realized this made things a great deal more interesting. Justice or revenge, he wasn’t quite sure which it was, was going to be far sweeter, and Reese Carey, in his blind cowardice, had sent the means directly into Ethan’s hands.
    Ethan Winslowe couldn’t wait for night to fall—and the games to begin.

Chapter Three
    The cold, stone room was more like a tomb than a dungeon when Meg awoke hours later. The meager candlelight wavered in darkness from some unseen breeze, and the shadows were tall around her. She lay very still, shivering beneath the scratchy blanket, and told herself she had no reason to be frightened. This was almost the twenty-first century. She wasn’t being kept prisoner in a mausoleum of a mansion by a deformed madman and his swarthy henchman. Even if it seemed like it.
    She sat up, shoving her hair away from her face, pulling the terry robe around her. If only it weren’t so dark. If only she had clean clothes and something to eat. If only…
    Thinking about it was a waste of time, something to send her into weak-minded tears. She needed to pull herself together if she was going to finally face Ethan Winslowe and bargain her way out of here with her undeserving father’s reputation intact. What meager light had come from the casement windows was now gone—surely he’d deign to see her soon.
    She was fully dressed again, sitting cross-legged on her pallet and trying to read her novel by candlelight when she heard the scrape of a key in the lock. She held her breath, her heart pounding noisily beneath her thin cotton sweater, as a huge, menacing shadow preceded her visitor into the room. When the candlelight revealed Salvatore’s impassive bulk, she breathed a sigh of relief, then wondered at it. Wasn’t she more than ready to see the infamous Ethan Winslowe? Wasn’t she more than ready to give him a piece of her mind?
    â€œHave a good rest?” Salvatore asked.
    â€œNo.” She stretched her legs out in front of her in an attitude of deliberate ease. Not for anything would she let him see how spooked she was. “I presume his highness is ready to grant me an audience by now?”
    â€œDon’t assume nothing, girly. I’m moving you to different quarters.”
    She raised an eyebrow, hoping the effect wasn’t lost in the dim light. “Don’t tell me you have other dungeons?”
    â€œThis place has so many different rooms, you could spend months and never stay in the same bed twice.”
    â€œI’m not going to be staying months,” she said, unable to keep the slight waver of panic out of her voice.
    The smile beneath Salvatore’s thick gray mustache was positively wicked. “That’s up to Ethan. At least in your new room, you’ll have a real bed. And books.” He chuckled at some private joke.
    Meg didn’t like that chuckle. “I think I’ll stay here.”
    â€œGirly, you don’t have any say in the matter. If you don’t think I could carry a little bitty thing like you, then you don’t know diddly. You’re going to get up and come with me or we’re gonna have a real undignified struggle.”
    â€œDon’t call me girly,” she said. “My name is Meg. Miss Carey to you.” She waited long enough to assuage her pride, then rose, tucking the novel into her