The High Sheriff of Huntingdon Read Online Free PDF Page A

not quite , painfully. “Clearly everyone has failed to warn you about me. You would be wise not to cross me. I have a temper that is not a pretty sight, and I can be most lamentably r a sh . If you wish to enjoy your married life, you’d best learn to watch your tongue.”
    He did frighten her. Something about the glowing intensity in his golden eyes, the fierce strength in his hands, the w a r m t h of his fl e s h burning into hers. What would happen if he t o uc h e d her even more intimately, pulling he r against his elegant, b l a c k - cl a d body? What would happen if he kissed her?
    She lifted her head, fighting the panic, determined not t o be cowed. The man was a bully, pure and simple. “I never have,” she said in a voice that barely shook.
    His hand slid down her arm, capturing one of her strong white hands in his. “Not the hands of a lady,” he said, run n i ng his thumb over t h e palm.
    “I wasn’t a lady. I was a holy sister , ” she snapped, emotion seeping through. His touch unnerved her as no man’s had. But then, there were few who’d dared to touch h e r in her cloistered years. “I was busy with works of charity.”
    “Something I know little about.” He glanced up, and one might have thought the upturning of his wide, sen s u o u s mouth was a sweet smile. One would have been wrong. “You may reserve your charitable acts for your husband. Your clothes displease me. Have them burned.”
    “I have nothing else to wear.”
    He shrugged . “ I ’ll endeavor to see that you don’t miss them.”
    Again came that insidious trickle of fear. She tried to tug her hand away, b ut his grip tightened. “I sent you a w e dding ring,” he said abruptly, his eyes narrowing in displeasure. “Did your greedy father steal it?”
    She yanked at her hand ag a i n , but to no avail. “I had no need o f a ring,” she said. “I al re a d y have my own. I a m a bride of God.”
    “Yes, but He never consummated the union.”
    She should have been horrified a t the outright blas phemy. I n s t e a d , unfortunately, she laughed, a small, re luctant chuckle that she quickly tried to swallow.
    The effect on Alistair Darcourt was electrifying. He stared at her with something close to shock, and he dropped her hand as if it was burning him. “White , ” he mur mured in a da z e d tone. “White and black.”
    She glanced down at her snowy white habit, at the white-blonde hair trailing down to her waist, to her strange husband’s face, the darkness inherent in everything about him. “Poetic,” she said. “And not without a grain of truth. Wouldn’t you rather send me back to convent? I’m certain you c o u l d keep the dowry . That way I wouldn’t i n t e rf er e with your pleasures.”
    He pulled himself out of his momentary trance with something akin to a s n ar l . “You won’t inte rf ere with me in any way.”
    “Then s e n d me back.” She couldn’t deny the pleading in her voice, she who’d never pleaded in her life.
    But she was de a l i n g with a ma n who apparently prid e d himself on being a stranger to mercy or pity. His smile was small, cool, and savage. “Not until I’m done with you,” he said. And before she realized what he intended, he’d taken h e r shoulders and pushed her up against the stone wall, and his mouth was hot and wet and hard on h e r s .
    Shock reverberated t hrough her body, holding her still. Through the heavy folds of her habit she could feel the length of him, p re s s i n g against her, the solid strength of bone and muscle almost distracting her from the dev astation of his mouth on hers.
    This w a s nothing like the kisses she’d received from family and friends. N o t h i n g like she’d ever imagined. His h an d reached up and caught her chin, and his long fingers held her face still as plundered her mouth, forcing her lips apart, his tongue between her teeth. She t r i e d to shove him away in sudden panic, but h e was strong, much too strong,