The Redeeming Read Online Free PDF

marriage.
    “‘Tis true my presence on the day past was mere happenstance, just as it is true today it was not. I came that I might see you again, Lady Gaenor.”
    “Me?” Her tone implied it was unthinkable that a man would wish to lay eyes upon her. “For what purpose?”
    Christian commanded his features to remain impassive. Was she really such a shrew? Or was his lack of experience with women responsible? Once, before leaving the monastery, he had tasted the fruit forbidden him, but even in the years since eschewing his vows, he had done so only on occasion despite the carnal ache of his body. And only then with women who required no courting or expression of emotion.
    Of course, Gaenor Wulfrith was no harlot. Her heart might be given to another, but it was not likely she knew more than the clasp of her beloved’s hand.
    He took a step toward her. “I am moved by your plight, to which I was privy on the day past.”
    Her expression slackened as if his admission surprised her, then tightened again. “On the day past when you made free with prayers not intended for your ears.”
    “Unintentionally.”
    “Perhaps.”
    Christian eyed the weapon she continued to point at him. Though it was only a meat dagger, a Wulfrith woman likely knew how to wield a blade. “You do not need that. I intend you no harm.”
    “Perhaps,” she said again.
    Beginning to regret having not revealed the truth of his identity, as it did not seem likely his deception would gain him further insight, he asked, “Would you grant me an audience, Lady Gaenor?”
    “Why?”
    “As told, I am moved by your plight.”
    Her mouth pinched. “I see no gain in discussing the intimacies of my life with a stranger.”
    “There may not be, but if you are like me, there is little else upon which to pass the next hour.”
    Her gaze faltered and something like interest crept into her eyes.
    Taking it for assent, Christian strode forward. And was nearly undone when she sprang at him. Torchlight running the silver blade she swept toward him, he felt a rush of air at his jaw that preceded its arrival. He did not know how he did it, she moved so deftly, but he caught her wrist and averted her course before she could draw blood.
    As she strained to free herself, he pulled her toward him lest she find advantage in the space between them. She stumbled and her temple struck his jaw, but despite the discomfort she surely suffered, she did not relent.
    Beneath the concealing mantle, she was not without form, Christian realized as he felt the press of her chest against his and the womanly curve of her hips. “Lady Gaenor, I vow I mean you no harm.”
    She whipped her chin up. Anger flushing her cheeks and flying from her eyes, she demanded, “Then loose me!”
    Her eyes were brown, large pools of darkness that might warm a man if ever they shone with something other than ire.
    “Loose me!”
    He looked to the dagger upon which her knuckles were white. Though he considered stipulating that first she relinquish the weapon, it occurred to him this might be the means by which he gained her trust. He released her wrist and took a step back.
    From the widening of her eyes, she was surprised. With less than a reach separating them, she searched his face, then slowly lowered the dagger. “You took me unawares, Sir Matthew.”
    Which was likely as near an apology as he would get. “Will you sit with me, Lady Gaenor?”
    She stared, but just when he thought she meant to refuse him, she said, “For a moment.”
    Christian inclined his head, crossed to the solitary bench positioned against the chapel’s left-hand wall, and lowered onto it.
    She followed and returned the dagger to its scabbard before seating herself on the far end of the bench.
    Christian looked from her face to the pale throat and bit of collarbone revealed by her parted mantle, and when his perusal caused her hands to fly up and snatch the edges of the woolen garment together, he felt like a