Shadow Dance Read Online Free Page B

lie in the sand, listen to the sound of the night birds. For a few short hours she wanted to feel free again.
    She pulled on the brown breeches beneath her voluminous shirt, not bothering with the linen binding that flattened her small breasts. She left her hose and her shoes behind, rolling up the modestly laced sleeves to her tanned elbows and letting her hair flow free.
    She’d learned to move silently in her years away from England. No one heard her as she tiptoed down the narrow, winding back stairs. The kitchen fire was banked, still sending out waves of stifling heat, and she paused long enough to cut herself a hunk of bread before she headed out into the moonlit night.
    There were stars overhead in the inky-black sky, the same stars that looked down over Egypt. When she reached the sandy beach she shoved the bread into her pocket and took off at a run, racing barefoot along the wet sand, the wind tugging at her hair, plastering the white cambric shirt against her body. She leapt over rocks, danced along the edge of the water, took deep, cleansing breaths of the clear salt air, so intent on the sheer, mindless pleasure that she didn’t realize she wasn’t alone on the beach until she slammed full force into a tall, unyielding figure.
    The tiny scream of shock that erupted from her throat was definitely girlish. She choked it back as hard, stronghands caught her arms, holding tight, and she looked up, way up in the darkness, into the face of the man she’d been afraid to dream about.
    She didn’t even know his name. Mowbray hadn’t mentioned it, and she’d been unwilling to ask. It didn’t matter. He was a member of the quality, and obviously not interested in a serving lad. Which didn’t explain why he held her arms so tightly, why his fingers seemed to caress her skin through the thin cambric shirt, why he stared down into her face so searchingly.
    “What are you doing out here at this hour?” he demanded abruptly, his voice harsh in the still night air.
    She didn’t bother to wonder why her comings and goings should interest him. “It was too hot to sleep,” she said, consciously deepening her voice. “Sir,” she added as an afterthought.
    A ghost of a smile flitted across his face, but his grip on her arms didn’t loosen. “That’s a proper lad,” he said, his voice mocking. “Remember to do the pretty to your betters.”
    Juliette wasn’t in the habit of considering anyone, particularly a man, her better, but she swallowed back her instinctive retort. She tried to squirm away, but his hands tightened painfully. “Might I go back to the inn?” She made her voice properly deferential, lowering her defiant gaze.
    “I don’t think that would be a particularly wise idea.”
    She glanced up at him again, not bothering to mask her surprise. “Why not?”
    “I’ve just come from the Fowl and Feathers,” he said in a reasonable voice. “I’ve spent the past three hours trying to drink Sir Neville under the table, and so far I’ve had absolutely no success. I was hoping a walk on the beach might clear my head so that I could approach my task with renewed energy.”
    “Why were you trying to drink him under the table?” she asked, forgetting for a moment that a proper young lad wouldn’t presume to question the quality. By the time she remembered, he was already answering her artless question.
    “Because, my dear boy, he needed distraction from his primary goal.”
    “And what was that? Sir,” she added hastily, wishing he’d release her arms.
    He did, but the result was even more unnerving. He touched her face, pushing her dark brown hair back from her brow. “You, Julian Smith.”
    She held herself very still beneath his suddenly gentle hand and his mocking gaze. He must have asked Mowbray her name, but why should he have bothered? And why should he want to protect her from a frivolous creature like Sir Neville?
    “I believe I’m capable of looking after myself,” she said.