Mary Blayney Read Online Free Page B

works if the victim is intimidated.” He was so taken aback he spoke aloud and in English. “You do not care.” He eased his grip and then moved his hands to her shoulders. “I understand how you feel. One can only hide from despair for so long. There are times when death would be easier than going on.”
    If he had not been watching her so intently, he would have missed the flash of panic in her eyes. She twisted away from him, moved around the table, closer to the fireplace.
    “Is it so painful to be honest?” he asked, following her.
    “Honest?” She faced him, venom filling her words. “You want me to be honest?”
    He stopped moving toward her. She had spoken in English. To make that mistake she must be very upset.
    “You, who are both a traitor and a spy, want honesty?” She shook her head, speaking the last word as if it were as rare as magic. “You murdering bastard. Here is honesty. You deserve the beating that marked your back. You deserve the guillotine more than most who are sent there.”
    The anger ebbed, replaced by a scorn just as poisonous. “Someone is paying me well to save your life, and I need the money. There is more than one way for a woman to sell herself, my lord.” The last two words were as steeped with hate as any expletive she could have used.
    “Your honesty is brutal, but I find that it brings me no closer to trusting you. Tell me why you—”
    “Take your clothes off,” she said, interrupting him as she began to unlace her dress, still speaking in English.
    With her hands stretched behind her back, her breasts were displayed even more prominently.
    “I said, take off your clothes.”
    Her anger was gone, or at least banked, as quickly as it had appeared.
    “I want some answers,” Gabriel said, keeping his eyes on her as he came down the other side of the table. “Do you expect me to follow your orders with blind faith? Why do you risk your life for someone you would as soon see dead?”
    “My husband died and left me with nothing. I am doing what I do best, to support myself.”
    That could explain quite a bit. They faced each other in front of the fire as he tried to measure the truth of her words. She did not look away as she spoke. When her dress fell to the floor, she scooped it up and tossed it on a nearby chair.
    “You will do as I say, Lord Gabriel, because otherwise you will die.”
    No, he would not. He could make it on his own. He had a chance. A slim one. If he could find out who was paying her, then he could decide whether to follow her or not.
    He took off his shirt. As absurd as it sounded, bathing was the next step to freedom.
    Her corset was front-fastening and she dispensed with it as he tossed his shirt onto the chair with her dress. She raised the skirt of her chemise and stripped off her garters and stockings. Her ankles and feet were delicate. They would feel the cold of the stone floor.
    Her fine lawn chemise left little to the imagination. He could see her figure and could make out the dark circle of her nipples, the shadow of hair at the V of her legs. Why exactly was
she
undressing?
    He bided his time. This was not about sex any more than her costume was. His mind understood it, his body did not. As she began to fill the bath, he counted it wiser to look away from the display. As it was, undoing the buttons on his pantaloons was a struggle.
    Stripped down to his small clothes, he reached for one of the buckets, following her example, filling the tub. He had lost weight. Prison food would only prolong life, not fuel strength. But he could still lift the cans, and the walk through town had not exhausted him. Fear had given him the energy. Even now it kept him alert.
    “Enough,” she said. “Save some water for rinsing and shaving. Climb in.” She stood with her hands on her hips, watching him as he pulled off his drawers and tossed them into the fire.
    He stepped into the bath and stilled. The water was too hot, or was it the feel of it that