Cates, Kimberly Read Online Free Page B

prisoners. What kind of a man are you? Forcing others to do vile deeds for you because you lack the courage."
    She'd called him a coward, an accusation that would have made Dunstan violent with rage, but this man didn't even have the grace to blush! She expected some reaction—an explosion of masculine outrage, a gruff denial of the charges levied against him, or at the very least, savage shame. Instead, amusement twinkled in the Glen Lyon's storm-cloud eyes.
    "Abducting ladies isn't my strong suit, I'm afraid. I would've made a disaster of it. And there's nothing more upsetting than a botched abduction. However, I trust that Adam saw to your every comfort?"
    Her mouth hung open like a fishwife's. Sweet God, was he jesting?
    No, the knave was toying with her the way a cat tormented its prey. He had her in his power—had all the time in the world to torture her. He wasn't fooling her with that solicitous smile.
    "Comfort?" she sputtered. "I was snatched from the midst of a ball, slung over a saddle like a sack of grain, and hauled off to God knows where. Then I was set upon by demons."
    "Demons?" He frowned, lifting off his spectacles and rubbing the bridge of his nose. Then his grin widened, as if lightning had struck his all-too-numb brain. "Ah. They aren't demons. They're Picts, first mentioned in Roman records toward the end of the third century. They raided what few Roman settlements there were in Scotland to loot silver to make ornaments to deck themselves out in battle."
    "I couldn't care less about ancient civilizations!" she blustered in disbelief.
    "That's obvious enough. Your attire is completely wrong."
    He'd just had her abducted and he was giving her a lesson in historical costuming? The man truly was insane. Insane people were dangerous.
    "You were attempting to wear a gown of the Grecian mode, I presume," he continued. "The beauty in classical styles comes from flowing, draped lines. The ancients believed that the gods had endowed women with their own natural beauty. They didn't believe in crushing their ladies into torture chambers of bone and steel until they couldn't breathe. So to remain true to the time period, your corset should definitely have been discarded."
    "My c-corset?" Hot blood warmed Rachel's cheeks, while the cave's coolness suddenly kissed bare skin where her robes had sagged askew. Her breasts, pushed high by the garment, were half revealed, an edge of stiff-boned silk corset visible to the Glen Lyon's eyes—eyes that were suddenly anything but vague and distracted. His gaze clung to breasts suddenly blushed with heat.
    Clenching her teeth, Rachel jerked up her robes with trembling fingers. "I suppose you're going to ravish me," she said, straining to keep him from guessing how the prospect terrified her. "I warn you, no matter what horrendous, savage, vile things you do to my body, sir, you cannot touch my soul."
    The Glen Lyon's gaze sprang away from her breasts. "Ravish you?" he echoed, blinking hard. "Mistress de Lacey, I assure you, I fully intend to see that everything possible is done to see to your comfort, but there are limits to even my hospitality."
    Rachel stared at him. Was this traitorous coward telling her that she was safe from the horrors she'd been imagining? She should have been elated, relieved. Instead, fury sizzled through her.
    The corner of his mouth ticked upward. Though he hadn't made a sound, the cur was laughing at her. No one laughed at Lord General Marcus de Lacey's daughter!
    "I doubt you would be man enough to take a woman. In fact, I'd not be surprised if you fancied boys." Even Rachel was shocked by what had slipped past her unguarded tongue—perversions she'd heard whispered about the army camp. Was she insane? She was all but daring him to prove his manhood by raping her!
    Yet for the first time since that awful moment she'd been snatched from the garden, she felt as if she'd struck a blow in her own defense. The sensation was far headier than anything