Her Secret Fantasy Read Online Free

bona-fide warrior who had been sent to deal with them and knew that this sun-baked, towering savage was not going away until he got exactly what he came for.
    A magnificent specimen in full-dress cavalry uniform, Major Derek Knight stalked into the chamber, and when he passed the long table where the committee members were arrayed, they were forced to note his impressive height, for although their table sat on a raised dais, he was still on eye level with them. He stared forward as he marched in, but was not too humble to look the canny old chairman, Lord Sinclair, straight in the eyes when he passed him.
    It was a cool, metallic glance of warning—or a brief, disgusted glare. He ignored the earl’s muttered, “I say!” and prowled on, moving with controlled power and grace, all menace and rippling muscle.
    Upon reaching the smaller, lower table set up across from theirs, he stopped, pivoted with crisp precision, and did not salute them but stood at attention, his plumed cavalry helmet under his arm—rather like a Roman centurion, some thought.
    For a long moment, none of the Gentlemen knew what to say, quite how to begin. Even the aged chairman was a bit stymied. They could only stare, marveling in spite of themselves to remember that such men existed out on those distant battlefronts.
    The major’s indigo coat fitted snugly across his broad chest as he waited. Gold epaulets gleamed on his shoulders. A black silk sash girded his lean waist, the long ends brushing the side of a solid thigh encased in cream-colored breeches. His ebony knee-boots were buffed to a spotless sheen, while his shining silver dress-sword caught the light. His smooth, black hair was bound back in a queue like a horse’s silky tail. His sun-bronzed skin was tough and dark, but the small lines etched around the corners of his pale, wolflike eyes gave him the look of desert nomads used to peering out over long distances of bleak terrain. The proud angle of his chin, his unyielding stony stare, not to mention the startling girth of his biceps all proclaimed the warrior a force to be reckoned with on the battlefield.
    Or off it.
    “Ahem,” he said, jarring the Gentlemen out of their daze.
    The chairman coughed quietly while a few of the others shifted in their seats as they all began to recall with dawning uneasiness that they were accountable to men such as this, being, as they were, in charge of the money the army in India needed to function, and perhaps they had been a tad…remiss.
    Watching them with infinite patience, Derek Knight sincerely hoped they felt uncomfortable.
    These bloated slugs did not know the meaning of the word. “Uncomfortable” was going into battle knowing that you had so few bullets in your ammunition case that you’d have to load your gun with little rocks after a few shots and pray to God it worked. Or perhaps “uncomfortable” was better described as having the surgeon dig a ball out of your back without at least a swig of whisky to take the edge off the pain.
Ah, what is wrong, my dear gentlemen?
he thought, hiding his cynical amusement as he watched the subtle signs of a guilty conscience play across each haughty face.
    He could almost hear the excuses running through their greedy little minds. To be sure, it was difficult for any man to think of parting with three million pounds sterling, and after all, they were only human. No doubt urgent requests for more funding were easily misplaced, what with all the business such important gentlemen had to conduct each day.
    Now and then they received a tally of the casualties, but these were sloughed aside in favor of the mounds of treasure that British generals sent back from India, with new maps staking out the most recently conquered territories.
    For all this, Their Lordships were swift to take credit. But in fact, the consistent success of the army in India must have led them to conclude that the task of subjugating the hostile maharajahs must not be all that hard!