The Maiden's Hand Read Online Free PDF Page A

the other on the slimy stone landing. The barge lurched. She tumbled onto the leather cushioned seat with a thud.
    Mustering courage from her bruised dignity, she glared up at Oliver. His buoyant grin flashed as he grasped the pole of the canopy and swung himself onto the seat beside her.
    Lark stared straight ahead. “I assume we are going someplace where we can speak privately.”
    Oliver nudged the oarsman in front of him. “Hear that, Leonardo? She wants to tryst with me.”
    “I do not.”
    “Hush. I was teasing. Of course I will take you to a place of privacy. Eventually.”
    “Eventually? Why not immediately?”
    “Because of the surprise,” he said with an excess of good-humored patience. “The tide’s low, Bodkin. I think it’s safe to shoot the bridge.”
    The helmsman tugged at his beard. “Upstream? We’ll get soaked.”
    Oliver laughed. “That’s half the fun. Out oars, gentlemen, to yonder bridge.”
    Lark hoped for a mutiny, but the crew obeyed him. In perfect synchrony, three sets of long oars dipped into the water. The barge glided out into the Thames.
    In spite of her annoyance with Lord Oliver de Lacey, Lark felt a thrill of excitement. Turbulence churned the waters beneath the narrow arches of London Bridge. She knew people had drowned trying to pass beneath it. Yet the smooth, swift motion of the sleek craft gliding through the water gave her the most glorious feeling of freedom. She told herself it had nothing to do with the benevolent, lusty and wholly pagan presence beside her.
    Moments later, white-tipped wavelets lifted the bow of the boat. As the barge neared London Bridge, it bucked like a wild horse over the roaring waters around the pilings.
    Lark lifted her face to the spray. She had come to London for a business transaction, and here she was in the throes of a forbidden adventure. She swirled like a leaf upon the water, buffeted, at the mercy of a whimsical man who, with sheer force of will, had turned her from her purpose and swept her up in an escapade she should not want to experience.
    “I wish you would listen to what I have to say,” she stated.
    “I might. Especially if it involves wine, women and money.”
    “It does not.”
    “Then tell me later, my dove. First we’ll have some fun.”
    “Why do you insist on surprising me?” she demanded, gripping the gunwale of the boat.
    “Because.” He swept off his hat and pressed it over his heart. He looked boyishly earnest, eyes wide, a silver-gilt lock of hair tumbling down his brow. “Because just once, Lark, I want to see you smile.”

Two
    S he did not understand him at all. That much she knew for certain. She could not fathom why he insisted on entertaining her. Nor did she know why it pleased him so to wave to strangers boating on the Thames, to call out greetings to people he’d never met, to run alongside a herring-buss to inquire about a fisherman’s catch.
    Most of all, she could not comprehend Oliver’s shouts of humor and ecstasy when they shot the bridge. The adventure was sheer terror for her.
    At first. Her senses were overcome by the rush of the water with its damp, fishy smell. Her teeth jarred with the churning sensation as the bow lifted, then slapped down. The rush of speed loosened tendrils of hair from her braid and caused her skirts to billow up above her knees.
    Terror, once faced, was actually rather exhilarating. Especially when it was over.
    “Was that my surprise?” she asked weakly once the bridge was behind them.
    “Nay. You haven’t smiled yet. You’re white as an Irish ghost.”
    She turned to him and forced up the corners of her mouth. “There,” she said through her teeth. “Will that do?”
    “It is precious. But nay, I reject that one.”
    “What is wrong with my smile?” she demanded. “We cannot all be as handsome as sun gods with beautiful mouths and perfect teeth.”
    He laughed, tossing his mist-damp hair. “You noticed.”
    “I also noticed your vast conceit.”