Danger's Kiss Read Online Free PDF Page B

against her will.  From the edge of her vision, she could still make out the grisly silhouettes of his tools.
    “Go to sleep,” he said wearily, releasing her wrist and easing off of her legs.  “There’s a chamberpot beside the bed.  We’ll talk on the morrow.”
    As the blood flowed back into her legs, relief coursed through her veins.  He didn’t intend to torture her, then.  At least not this eve.
    But she’d seen the vicious way he’d killed Hubert.  He was capable of great violence.  She dared not forget that.
    She watched him walk away, his hand dripping blood where she’d sliced it, his linen shirt askew from the struggle, flecked with crimson at the shoulder where she’d stabbed him with the pin.  When he reached the doorway, he hesitated but didn’t turn around.
    “He didn’t suffer long,” he muttered.  “You should know that.  ‘Twas a merciful end.”
    Then he left.
    Alone in the dim chamber, Desirée felt tears prickling at the corners of her eyes.  She silently cursed them.  Damn it all!  She wasn’t going to cry.  Crying was for the weak-hearted.  Tears were something Desirée only feigned to loosen men’s purses so Hubert could pick them.  Hubert would have given her a tongue-lashing for weeping over him.
    Was it true, what the lawman said?  Had Hubert been shown mercy?  She’d never witnessed such a horrible spectacle.  Still, she had to admit the old thief’s suffering had been brief.
    She glanced at the wall.  Surely the lawman was lying.  How could someone who owned such a gruesome array of torturous devices feel a shred of mercy?  What would someone capable of inflicting pain without batting an eye know of suffering?
    With that whole armory of malicious instruments looming over her, waiting to taste her flesh, and a brute willing to use them only a chamber away, she thought she’d never get to sleep.  But she’d had an exhausting day.
    Over the last several days, she’d sold everything she owned to pay for Hubert’s upkeep in gaol, starving herself so he might eat.  All morn she’d waited in the freezing snow for a man Hubert had invented, only to discover he’d betrayed her.  Between the trauma of watching her old mentor hang from the gallows and her fevered battle with a lawman as strong as an ox, she was overwhelmed with fatigue.  Before she’d taken a dozen breaths, the heavy fog of slumber fell over her eyes.

    Nicholas woke early, not because he was eager to rise, but because there was a cat licking his chin.  He brushed the beast aside, groaning as his backbone popped.  Lord, he felt like he’d slept on the rack.  A man his size shouldn’t have to spend the night perched on a bench.  Especially when there was a mite of a wench taking up his whole bed.
    He stretched, wincing as his joints complained, then snorted, raked the hair back from his face, and hauled himself to his feet.  It was yet dim, perhaps not even dawn, but he had one more task to do this morn before he was finished with Hubert Kabayn.
    In the kitchen, he poured water into a basin and washed his face, taking care with the gash on his cheek and the tender slice between his thumb and forefinger.  Then he carved a hunk off the bacon hanging on the wall, giving Azrael several generous bites.  He took down a pair of mismatched wooden flagons and pulled ale into them.  The maid in his bed would likely have a fierce thirst after her scathing tirade of last eve.
    He paused at the doorway to the chamber and peered in.  The damsel appeared to be deep in slumber.  He crept in quietly, then stood over her, perusing her as she slept.
    The woman was absolutely stunning when her features weren’t contorted with rage and hatred.  Her brows were finely arched, her lashes long and luxurious.  Her skin was luminous, even in the dim light, and her hair sprawled across the bed in dark, gentle waves.
    Indeed, with her prominent cheekbones and angular jaw, she looked a bit underfed.  But