His Captive Bride Read Online Free PDF Page A

me ,” Keldan snapped. “I want a woman who will stir my heart as well as my loins. Mayhap if I were more like you, if I did not care about anything but...” He stopped himself, clearing his throat uncomfortably. “I am sorry, Hauk. I did not mean that.”
    “ Nei , it is true.” Hauk shrugged. “And I regret to tell you it is a lesson you will learn yourself eventually. When you are older. We all do.” He turned a corner into an adjoining street. “The less a man feels, the better off he— oof! ”
    An unexpected impact knocked the breath from him as he collided with someone coming around the corner in the opposite direction. The blow knocked him backward a pace and knocked the woman—for the rushing whirl of skirts and soft curves that had hit him was clearly a woman—on her derriere in the dirt.
    He bent to assist her, unnerved by an odd, dizzying sensation, as if the earth itself had tilted beneath his boots. She declined his offered hand and got to her feet without help. His head spinning, he scooped up a small object she had dropped.
    “My apologies,” she sputtered, brushing filth from her skirts. “The fault was mine. I should have been watching where I was going, but it took so long to find the toymaker and...”
    As she glanced up at him, she seemed to forget the rest of her sentence.
    Hauk could not draw a breath, could not tell whether it was from the collision, the unfamiliar sensation wreaking havoc with his mind and body—or the fact that he was gazing down at the most strikingly lovely and utterly unkempt lady he had seen in...
    In his entire memory. A silky riot of curls the color of ginger and nutmeg almost concealed a flawless, heart-shaped face, cheeks flushed with excitement, eyes a bright, vivid green. She looked as if she had just tumbled from a man’s bed. His heart missed a beat, then started to pound.
    The direct way she stared up at him was not in the least ladylike, though her fine velvet garments clearly marked her as a noblewoman. And though it seemed impossible, she even smelled of those same precious spices; he distinctly caught the scent of ginger.
    He could not reclaim his balance. Nei , the unnerving, breathless feeling only became more intense as she returned his gaze.
    Even the air around him—between them—seemed to shimmer with a heat, a brightness, as if the sun suddenly blazed hotter in this place where they stood so close together.
    She held out one slender hand, her eyes never leaving his. “I... I will need that back.”
    Her voice matched her face and figure, infinitely soft and feminine, yet strong at the same time. Hauk could not coax his tongue to form words.
    Keldan—curse him—offered no help at all.
    The lady tilted her head to the side and a single spice-colored lock of hair dipped engagingly over one eye. “ Sprechen Sie Deutsch? ” she asked him in German. “ Parla l’italiano? Spreekt u flamande —”
    “I do indeed speak those languages, demoiselle ,” he replied at last in fluent French. “But I speak yours as well.”
    For some reason, his voice seemed to render her mute. Her lips parted soundlessly and she reached out to her right, as if expecting to find something solid to steady her rather than empty air.
    Hauk took her hand in his, surprised by his own gallantry, even more surprised by the unexpected heat that seared through him, a feeling like desire yet far more powerful. Consuming. It startled him like a bolt from above.
    She withdrew her hand quickly, lips forming an O of shock, as if she too had felt something startling. She stepped back from him a pace, her gaze moving over his features, his eyes... almost as if she recognized him. “A-are you one of the wedding guests at Baron Ponthieu’s chateau, sirrah?”
    “Wedding?” Hauk could not persuade his brain to supply aught more than that one word.
    “I feel as if we have met before,” she said breathlessly.
    “Nay, that is”—he willed his heart to slow