True Love Read Online Free Page B

the door, where she stood very
still, waiting until the person had passed by the doorway.
    The oncoming footsteps paused. An instant
later the door swung inward and Catherine heard a muffled curse.
There was absolute silence for a moment while Catherine stared at
the telltale clothing on the floor, certain the person on the other
side of the door was staring at it, too.
    Without warning the door crashed shut. In
what seemed to her the very same heartbeat Catherine was slammed
against the wall, held there by a pair of large male hands that
gripped her shoulders with painful strength. Muscular thighs
pressed against her hips, keeping her immobilized.
    “What in the name of all the saints are you
doing here?” Braedon growled at her.
    There was no answer she could make. The
excuse she had planned to use if she was discovered in Phelan's
room was meaningless in so pristine and orderly a chamber. The
out-of- place clothing plainly indicated that she was caught in the
act of searching his possessions. Knowing she was in the wrong,
Catherine trembled in Braedon's tight grasp.
    With the light from the window behind him,
his face was in shadow. It was just as well. His expression was
most likely one of outrage and Catherine was glad she couldn't see
it. His anger was entirely justified.
    “Answer me,” he said through gritted teeth.
“Why are you in my room?”
    “Release me at once,” she ordered, taking
refuge in her chatelaine's habit of command. “I will not be treated
this way.”
    “If you behave like a common thief, you ought
to expect to be treated like a thief,” he said. “Did your father
send you to search my room while he kept me talking at the banquet
table?”
    “No. He doesn't know I am here. Please don't
tell him. He will be so angry with me if he finds out.”
    “Really? Can I believe you?”
    “Of course, you can. I am an honest -” She
stopped when she saw the quick flash of his white teeth.
    “An honest woman does not enter a man's room
as you have done.” Still holding Catherine against the wall, he
glanced over his shoulder, looking toward the basket. She saw his
sharp profile against the sunlight. “Couldn't you get the knot
untied? What an inept conspirator you are.”
    “It is a most difficult knot.”
    “Deliberately so. It's as good a way as any
to be sure no one can tamper with my property without my knowing
it.”
    “What is in there that you don't want anyone
to see?” she demanded.
    “My personal belongings,” he said. “Nothing
more. I do wonder why you find my basket so interesting. What were
you looking for, Lady Catherine?”
    His hold on her tightened. She struggled but
could not break away. With every passing moment she was more and
more aware of his closeness, of the alluring woodland scent of his
body, and of his hard muscular strength.
    “Sir Braedon, you must know I am not a thief.
Let me go this instant.”
    “You have entered my bedchamber without my
permission, and you have disturbed my possessions. For that, my
lady, you owe me a forfeit.”
    “What forfeit?” she demanded, making another
futile attempt to break his grip on her. He held her securely, yet
almost carelessly, as if he was certain she could not escape him
and suddenly Catherine was no longer sure she wanted to escape. She
was discovering that there was something remarkably exciting about
being helpless in Braedon's hands.
    “Let me think, now,” he drawled. “Allow me
just a moment for reflection. What could I ask of you that you
would not otherwise give me? What prize? Have you any
suggestions?”
    “Certainly not.” She tried to sound offended
while knowing she was clearly in the wrong. “You have no right to
ask anything of me.”
    “No right? After what you have done?”
    Something in his voice told Catherine she had
misjudged his temper. A faint tendril of alarm touched her mind.
She wriggled against his strength, hoping to free herself by
sliding under his arms. Without warning he hauled