Page 17 of Saxon Blade Norman Blood
However, she did not want to remain in her wet clothes at the risk of catching a cold. With some difficulty she pushed a heavy chest in front of the door and, safe at last, proceeded to peel the dress off her body.
No sooner had she smoothed down the folds of the new gown than she heard someone trying to open the door. William, this time, undoubtedly. No one else would have presumed to just walk in so boldly. There was a muffled oath followed by furious banging when the chest stopped him from entering.
“Open the door!” he bellowed.
Rowena suspected he was only giving her the chance to show she had not barricaded herself in for the night. A single chest would offer little resistance to a man like him. If she had managed to move it, he would have no difficulty in kicking it out of the way.
She opened the door.
Eyes sparkling in ill-contained fury, William walked in. He had changed into dry clothes as well and his velvet tunic fit him like a glove. The warm brown color made his eyes appear a shade lighter. He looked better than he had ever done, which only added to her annoyance.
He rounded on her. “What was that?”
“I did not want you to walk in on me as I undressed.” The haughty glance she threw him hopefully made it clear she thought him a fool for not having guessed as much already.
“You think I sent you the dress as a ploy to see you naked and take advantage of the fact?” His eyes narrowed.
“You have to admit it sounds like something a man like you would do.” She raised her chin. “You are no chaste monk, as we both know.”
“A man like me? What do you know of me? May I remind you that we only met yesterday?”
“That doesn’t mean I do not know what you are capable of,” she countered. Did he think her a fool? “You asked me to bare myself to you as soon as you found me in your room.”
Her cheeks burned when she remembered what that particular demand had led to. Irritatingly, her core spasmed at the memory.
His lips curled into a smile. “Do not think I have forgotten what happened last night.” All traces of annoyance vanished from his face, replaced by something altogether more worrying. “I also remember that you did not dislike it. Far from it.”
He took a step toward her, but she swiftly moved away, not wanting to find herself trapped between him and the wall. There was a predatory glint in his eyes, making them shine like amber. She gulped.
“Why am I here, then, in your room?” If he had come with the intention of bedding her she would fight him off.
“You are here so I can keep an eye on you,” he answered in much the same air she had used to show him how foolish he was for not having guessed the answer to his question. “You are going to sleep with me.”
“I don’t—”
“Not like that, no,” he cut in when she recoiled in fright. “You are going to sleep in my bed if you prefer, like you did last night. I tend to keep my enemies where I can see them.”
“Pinned under you?”
His eyes flared. Was it anger or desire that had transformed them into two golden flames? She wasn’t sure she wanted to find out.
“So far my would-be murderers have been men so I have never felt the urge to make them share my bed,” he said in a clipped voice.
Rowena’s heart skipped a beat. He truly was formidable when he wanted to be. “Why don’t you chain me somewhere and ask someone to watch over me?” She tried her best to remain calm at the dreadful prospect. “Isn’t that a more usual way of treating would-be assassins?”
He raised a brow. “Are you telling me you would prefer that fate to sharing my bed?”
“I would, if sharing your bed includes satisfying your urges.” This was the truth, even if the idea of spending the whole night chained to the wall in a dank room was enough to send shivers down her spine.
“How many times will I need to tell you that I do not intend it like that?”
His patience was running thin. In a moment he would snap. Perhaps it was unwise to provoke him so, but she was not impressed by his empty promises. Controlled though he may be, he was still a man. A strong, virile man at that.
She knew he desired her, she had felt it, many times, and he had all but admitted to it. Why would he not want to slake his lust whilst she was in his bed? Why would he try to respect the wishes of a woman who was there to kill him, who would die once he had extracted the information he wanted from her?
As his captive, she had every reason to fear him. Say what he might, he was no angel.
“I do not see why I should believe you. You asked me to your room yesterday, and we both know what you did once I was there.”
