Claire Delacroix Read Online Free Page B

fool. “A Christian host cannot do enough for a guest.” He inclined his head slightly. “I apologize for my daughter. She is cursed to be outspoken.”
    Before the Hawk could reply—if indeed he had any intent of doing so—Blanche summoned his attention to herself. “ Bienvenue, monsieur ,” she said, offering her hand with the coy gesture Aileen so despised.
    The Hawk stepped forward to bend over Blanche’s hand, Aileen’s back chilling when his hand was lifted away. “ Enchanté ,” he murmured, his accent perfect to Aileen’s rustic ears.
    Aileen eyed him covertly, reluctantly acknowledging that he was more handsome close at hand. The hard planes of his features seemed softer when she could see the glint in his eye.
    She took a step back, hoping to ease away, but the Hawk’s hand landed upon her elbow so surely that she was halted in place.
    Blanche smiled and, typically, her accent became more evident as she sought to charm. “ S’il vous plait , you must sit with me. It is not often that we have guests from afar, and I know that I shall savor the tales of your adventures.” She patted the place to her right.
    Aileen’s father’s lips tightened with a displeasure he could not fully hide, though whether it was the prospect of being parted from his bride or the breach of protocol that troubled him more was unclear.
    “It would be more fitting if I sat further down the board,” the Hawk suggested, his tone as smooth as Blanche’s had been.
    “But...”
    “My motives could well be misinterpreted if I sat in the laird’s rightful place. And I would not cause gossip for the Lady of Abernye, not after such a gracious welcome.” The Hawk’s tone was so firm, his argument so sound, that Blanche could not have possibly protested.
    Aileen was shocked to find him express the precise objections she felt, albeit more eloquently.
    “But, of course.” Blanche smiled tightly, knowing she had lost, and Aileen felt a twinge of admiration for their guest.
    Her goodwill was not destined to last, for her father beamed. “As we are equal beneath the king’s eye, I must insist that you call me Nigel, Nigel Urquhart.”
    Aileen gaped at her father, marveling that he would put himself on such intimate terms with this man of whom he knew so little. Perhaps his wits had been addled in truth when her mother died!
    “Michael Lammergeier. You must call me Michael in your turn.”
    The men shook hands and Aileen dared linger no longer. She would say more, more that would be regretted, and she was best to depart.
    She turned to deliberately lift the Hawk’s fingertips from her elbow. “If you will excuse me,” she murmured, hoping to slip away while the trio basked in mutual—and undeserved—admiration.
    But the Hawk did not release her elbow. Indeed the grip of his fingers tightened, compelling Aileen to look at him. He was watching her again, his avid gaze all the more potent at such close range. His eyes were green, a clear piercing green, his lashes dark and thick for a man.
    Aileen could not fully draw a breath and her flesh tingled beneath his touch.
    “I fear we have not been introduced,” he murmured, that tentative smile melting her resistance.
    “I am merely Aileen,” she managed to say, feeling as lacking in graces as Blanche oft insisted she was.
    “ Enchanté, encore .” The Hawk let his hand slide down her forearm and captured her fingers. His hand was warm and gentle for all its size and strength. He fair engulfed her fingers in his, and she was not a small woman.
    His gaze locked with Aileen’s as he lifted her hand to his lips. Her heart skipped a beat. His lips were firm and dry against her knuckles, his very touch making her swallow.
    Something flickered to life within Aileen, something she had never felt before, but which she might be tempted to call desire.
    What a fool she was to respond to the Hawk’s touch!
    Her father cleared his throat. “Aileen is my daughter.”
    The Hawk remained