Lion of Languedoc Read Online Free PDF

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    â€˜Well, I’ll be damned,’ Léon said beneath his breath as he urged his own horse to catch up with her. If anyone else had told him of a mysterious nobleman visiting an obscure cottage in an even obscurer village in search of a rare poison, he would have dismissed it as moonshine. But Marietta’s words held the ring of truth. And she had insinuated that she, too, knew the secret their unknown visitor had been after. Was that why he had been so keen to capture Marietta Riccardi?
    He shook his head in an effort to clear it. He was thinking like a peasant. No doubt the old woman had been well versed in the use of herbs, and herbs could be harmful to the body as well as beneficial, and any local seigneur would count as a nobleman in the eyes of a peasant girl like Marietta. That was all there was to it. Nothing more.
    He drew alongside her, opened his mouth to assure her that her nobleman was no one more important or mysterious than a local landowner, and decided against it. Gullible she might be, but she certainly had courage and did not deserve his ridicule.
    The sunlight glinted on the copper-coloured curls that hung in a wild tangle around her face and shoulders, turning them into a fiery nebula. She rode well, and that in itself was a curiosity; barefoot village girls had no right to look at ease on a horse as powerful as Saracen. She held herself with an unconscious grace that many a lady at court would have envied. Yet not one of them would have jumped the terrifying distance from the hayloft to Saracen’s back. The mere thought of it would have given them the vapours. The girl at his side had not even murmured a protest. Her gown was muddied, her bodice so torn that even despite his cloak that she still wore round her shoulders, he could see her breasts rising and falling temptingly as Saracen cantered over the rutted path. With great difficulty he turned his head.
    Marietta noticed with relief that the countryside was unfamiliar to her, and that therefore Evray was a good distance behind. A stream crossed their path and Léon swung from his horse, taking bread and cheese from Saracen’s saddlebag and sitting on the bank. Marietta joined him, taking the bread gratefully as Léon halved it, not protesting as he gave her the larger portion of the cheese.
    Léon drank deeply from the fast-moving water, wondering how long it had been since she had last had food and wishing he had remembered the bread and cheese earlier.
    Behind him Marietta lay down, her eyes closed as she enjoyed the heat of the sun on her face.
    Léon turned, watching her through half-closed eyes. It had been ten years since he had made love to a village girl. She had been rosy-cheeked with ample breasts and square, capable hands more suited to milking than love-making. She had been his first conquest and he remembered her with affection. Since then his lady-loves had been painted and powdered and dressed in silk and satins. Francine Beauvoir bathed in milk and even her shoes were diamond-studded, yet she hadn’t half Marietta’s beauty. Or her spirit.
    Sensing his intent gaze, she opened her eyes. He lay beside her, propping himself up on his elbow as he gazed down at her. She stiffened at his nearness and he laughed. ‘Don’t worry. I’m not going to make any assaults on your virtue.’
    â€˜Then what are you going to do?’ Marietta asked, her heart pounding at the purposeful expression in the amber eyes.
    Slowly he traced the outline of her mouth with his finger.
    â€˜After risking my life twice to save you, I think the least you can do is reward me with a kiss,’ and he bent his head to hers, ignoring her initial protest, kissing her deeply. Marietta’s hand pushed vainly at him and then slid imperceptibly upwards and around his neck as his mouth seared hers. Then, all too soon, he released her, saying lightly:
    â€˜Your debts are now settled, mademoiselle.’
    No one