Page 5 of The Mercenary

“Kind of you to guard our conversation, Sister.”

She’d not correct him. Nor would she answer him, as he was clearly suspicious of her. Did he correctly surmise that she had heard the very dangerous words he’d spoken to Bishop Salerno?

She watched him carefully, looking for any sign that her original plan might be feasible after all.

“A woman of few words.”

There was no mistaking his meaning. Before her parents’ death, many men had come to Cottingham to seek her hand in marriage. More than one of them had spoken to her in just such a tone, though none had been quite so handsome.

But that he flirted with a woman he believed to be a nun told Sabine all she needed to know. Aye, she desperately wanted to leave Holybourne.

But not with him.

“I’ve nothing to say,” she lied. Sabine might have said quite a bit if he’d been more approachable.

“Your eyes tell a different tale.”

She sucked in a deep breath.

He smiled then. Slow, taunting. As if he were privy to a secret he’d never tell.

“They move about more quickly than they should. And you closed them a moment ago. Briefly but long enough to signify deep thought.”

It took her a moment to understand.

He spoke of her eyes. He was telling her how he knew she lied.

Sabine congratulated herself on her very accurate assessment of this man. Dangerous and cunning. Her father would have quite liked him.

He moved so quickly, Sabine hardly had time to react. If any other man had grabbed her wrist that way, she’d have done exactly what her father had taught her. And he would be bowled over just now, clutching his private area.

But she found she wanted to see what he had to say.

Firmly escorting her into the room he’d just left, this time shutting the door completely, he let go of her wrist and pinned her to the spot with his stare.

“Talk to me,” he said, his tone harder than it had been earlier. “Now.”

Chapter 4

Bloody hell.

Guy had bedded all sorts of women. But never a nun. The thought of it sickened him even as his cock grew hard looking at her. He couldn’t see her hair, but Guy could easily imagine it. In his mind, it was a glossy chestnut brown.

Her temper only made her more desirable. Although he had never once noticed a woman’s nose before, hers, like every other feature on her face, displayed her anger. Her nostrils flared, as indignant as the look in her light eyes, which had not chosen just one color. That mesmerizing collection of brown and green and blue pinned him to the spot.

Knowing he should back away but unable to do so, Guy simply stared back, waiting for an answer. Looking at her in a way no man should look at a nun.

“I must get back,” she said at last. “Sister Christine will be looking for me.”

“Sister Christine is a whey-faced prig.”

His nun gasped. And then covered her mouth with her hand. Guy supposed he should have tempered his honest response. Until he realized she was smiling. Nay, laughing. Small lines crinkled around her eyes as they danced with merriment. He’d thought her beautiful before, but he amended his opinion.

She was perfection.

“So you don’t care for her either?”

She shook her head, still laughing. “Pardon me. ’Tis unkind of me to laugh at such an insult.”