by Sher Dillard
Lifting her chin, she raised an eyebrow and waited. See, she could be just as domineering as him.
He laughed and shook his head. A gentle laugh, not a condescending laugh. The kind of laugh that could make a woman melt. Deep, throaty, but not mean.
Flint called out, “Mr. Sharp, Mrs. Peabody. I am home.”
A distant door opened almost immediately. A tall, lean older man and a short, round woman stepped through the door and into the entranceway.
Both of them were dressed in gray. The color of servants. He was balder than the dining room table. With a permanent frown and wary eyes.
The woman, probably in her mid-forties, had her hair up in a tight bun. Her gray cotton dress ironed and as crisp as a board.
Laila swallowed. She could tell by the quick looks they shot her way that they agreed with her in the fact that she did not belong here.
“Sharp, Mrs. Peabody. This is Laila Mason. She will be staying with us for a time.”
Both servant’s eyes opened in surprise, but they quickly brought themselves under control. Laila was impressed. Most servants would have blanched and never been able to regain their composure.
“Laila, my butler, and housekeeper. They will help you,” Flint said.
The two of them stared at her for a moment. She stared back. No way was she backing down. Focusing every bit of strength she had. She silently let them know that she didn’t care what they thought of her.
All the while, her insides rebelled. She didn’t want this. Didn’t need this.
Your dream, she reminded herself. The castle on the hill.
“Mrs. Peabody,” Flint said. “Give her a bath, burn her clothes and then we can get started.”
“What?” Laila exclaimed. “No!”
“Sir,” Mrs. Peabody said, as she stepped forward to take Laila’s arm.
Laila’s heart fell. He was just like all the rest. What was more. Now he had people to help him. To do his bidding. The thought sickened her.
Stepping back, she pulled her knife from her belt.
“No,” she said. “I told you I couldn’t be bought.”
Mrs. Peabody gave a little squeak at the sight of the knife, and then looked her in the eye, then to her employer, then back at the young woman.
Shaking her head, the housekeeper tisked, “Don’t be silly girl. No one is going to hurt you.”
“I’m telling you, stay back,” Laila said.
“Laila,” Flint said in a firm voice. “That is enough. I told you what I would do if you ever pointed that knife at me again.”
“I didn’t point it at you. I pointed it at her,” she said without taking her eyes off the woman confronting her.
“Put the knife away,” he said sharply. His voice not allowing for any discussion or argument. “Mrs. Peabody will take you to the bath.”
“What about my clothes,” Laila demanded. “I’m not walking around your house, naked.”
Mrs. Peabody looked over at him. Laila could tell that the woman thought it a reasonable question.
Flint shrugged his shoulders. “Give her one of my robes until we can get a dressmaker over here. I do not want to see her in those rags ever again.”
“Of course, sir,” the housekeeper said. “And, where should we put her after the bath?”
Laila held her breath as she waited for Flint to answer.
The big man frowned. “The guest room of course.”
Laila mentally snatched at the idea of being a guest and not a slave to this man. She knew full well that if he wanted, he could take whatever he wanted. There was little that she could do to stop him. That didn’t mean she wouldn’t try.
“And, Laila,” Flint continued, “leave the dagger in your room. Princesses do not use such things.”
Now it was her turn to laugh. If he thought she was leaving her dagger behind, he was crazy.
“I’m not a princess yet,” she said, as she followed Mrs. Peabody up the stairs.
“And you never will be until you start acting like one,” he said after her. He then turned and walked away before she could respond.
Her hands clenched into fists. The man was insufferable.
.o0o.
Laila slowly lowered herself into the hot water. Bliss, she thought, as her shoulders sank below the water. Pure, heavenly bliss.
Leaning back, she closed her eyes and pondered all that had happened to her in such a short time. How did she get here and where was she going?
She hated not knowing what to expect. Her entire life for these last five years had depended upon her knowing what to expect. Knowing who to trust, who to avoid, and where to get her next meal.
What vendors wouldn’t chase her if she stole a fig? What days the baker might have old stale bread available.
Everything had revolved around staying hidden. Never the center of attention.
And, what of this Flint? What kind of man was he? What did he want from her? A secret thought floated just out of sight. What did she want of him?
Her mind drifted to the big man. His wide shoulders. That strong back that tapered down to a nice tight butt. Without thinking, she began to rub the soap over her skin. Slowly caressing herself as she wondered what it would be like to have Flint caress her. To run those big, powerful hands over her. To touch her down there.
She closed her eyes again and sank into the thoughts of him. Kissing him. His arms around her. The way he smelled of leather and a faint, distant mystery. The way his eyes lit up with laughter so easily. Everything about the man tore at her very soul. Driving her onward.
A sudden warmth passed through her as she grew aroused with need.
Slowly, her hands drifted to caress the insides of her legs then languorously travel up to her very core. She touched herself. Imagining it was Flint. Caressing, rubbing, seeking to give her release. She imagined his hands probing her. His long fingers teasing and pulling at her. His mouth on her breasts.
‘Yes,’ she thought as she rubbed faster and faster.
Higher, quicker. Ever onward. His hands were everywhere. His lips teasing and tasting. He was inside her. Yes. Please.
The animal inside of him was taking her. Commanding her. Pushing her. Bending her to his will. Always driving her upward.
She caressed and pressed her fingers into herself. Always thinking of him. Always him.
Yes, Yes.
Her world erupted with color, and she felt a wave of pure pleasure pass through her.
Yes, she thought as she relaxed into the water.
She drifted off into that in between world and relaxed. For the first time in years, she relaxed.
As the water cooled, an embarrassed shame passed over her. She’d barely known the man for an hour. He’d been an insufferable ass for most of it. And here she was, soaking in a bath, imagining him inside of her.
The man was impossible.
Eventually, the bath grew too cold to continue. Reluctantly, she exited the water, wrapping herself in a thick towel.
Stepping into her room, she saw the white cotton shirt and robe Mrs. Peabody had lain out on the bed for her.
Rubbing her hair dry. She paced back and forth. Should she wear them? If she did, she would be taking something from him. Would he expect something in return?
Her eyes drifted to the garments. This was a turning point, she thought. Put these on and you are set on a different path.
“It's only clothing,” she mumbled to herself. “It’s not like you’re accepting a treasure.”
Laila swallowed hard. It was his shirt. Obviously to be used as her night shift. The thought sent a warm tingle through her as she flashed back to the bath only moments earlier.
The robe looked as rich as a king’s purse. Red silk with a golden collar and belt. How could a person afford such things?
Sighing to herself, she slipped the cotton shirt on over her head. Rolling up the sleeves, she buried her face in the fabric. It was his, there was no doubt in her soul. She would know his things a
nywhere. Besides. Only his shoulders could have filled out the shirt.
The pure comfort and safe feeling it gave her made her want to cry.
Oh, to be safe. To be able to rest.
Donning the robe, she had to stifle a laugh. The garment swamped her. The man was a small mountain.
Again, she had to roll up the sleeves. The fine silk kissed the back of her calves with a gentle tickle that made her smile.
“It is only temporary,” she reminded herself. “Yes, but for how long?” The thought sent a cold worry through her. He could cast her aside any time he wanted.
She hadn’t thought about that. He could decide he didn’t need the coin. Or, more likely, he could come to the realization that there was no chance of her ever marrying a prince.
No, he would come to his senses at some point.
But, Laila, she reminded herself. Until then, you’ll sleep in a warm bed and have a full stomach. What more could a person want?
Her mind drifted to the big man, and she thought of what she wanted. Deep down inside, what she really needed to be happy.
Chapter Four
Flint finished his tasks and turned for home. It had taken him most of the night to find out what he needed to know. If he was going to marry off Laila to a prince, he first had to find the prince.
His steps slowed as he approached his house. No, he hadn’t been avoiding her. He didn’t avoid women. Still, he hesitated. What was it about this woman that pulled at him?
He remembered their discussion about her new clothes. He didn’t care what she wore, as long as other men didn’t see her walking around in those pants. That ass of hers was too enticing to be displayed like that.
What had he agreed to do? It was impossible. The woman had a tongue on her that could lay a man bare, and a rebellious spirit that would make a sergeant of the guard quake in his boots.
Shaking his head, he continued home.
“Sharp,” he yelled, as he stepped through the door.
“Yes sir,” his butler responded immediately, stepping into the entrance way.
Flint handed him his gloves and coat and asked, “Our guest, how is she?”
“The dressmaker and Mrs. Peabody are with her now, sir.”
Flint nodded and accepted the glass of whiskey Sharp poured for him.
He began to pace back and forth as his mind thought over the past few years. How had he ended up here?
Exile, a burning desire to return home. Now, he had the perfect reason. All he had to do was get the coin. And to get that, all he had to do was find some stupid idiot prince to take Laila off his hands.
Finishing the whiskey, he poured himself another and continued to pace. He might very well have worn a path into his floor, but at that moment there was a slight knock at the study door.
Mrs. Peabody opened the door wide, then stepped aside.
A true beauty stood there in his doorway. Dressed in soft peach, like a cloud at sunset. Her hands demurely folded before her. Long chestnut hair in a soft wave fell around her shoulders.
It was her eyes that caught him, though. She looked at him like a frightened doe, ready to bolt at the first sign of danger.
He gulped. Laila. Who could have believed it?
Her skin, now free of dirt and grime, shone like an alabaster stone. Her red lips begged to be kissed, and her seductive curves pulled at the beast inside of him.
She was beautiful. A natural beauty that couldn’t be hidden.
Everything about this woman said female. Her long neck, her unbound breasts, and enticing hips. He wanted her. Wanted to take her here and now, and to hell with the consequences.
He continued to stare. Unable to move. Unable to find the strength to act.
The young woman blushed and looked down. Obviously, embarrassed by his scrutiny.
At last, he pulled himself together. Do not let her know the impact she is having on you, he told himself. She’ll never do what needs to be done.
She looked up and held his stare. She’s daring me, he thought. He had to fight the urge raging inside of himself. Not now, not here. The coin, remember the coin.
Fighting himself. He pulled his eyes away from hers and dipped his head, acknowledging her achievements.
“Laila,” he said with a smile. “I do believe this may be possible after all.”
She smiled and blushed. He could tell that she was pleased.
The soft peach fabric of her day dress matched well with her complexion, he was unable to believe what he was seeing. If she is this beautiful in a simple day dress, he thought, imagine what she will look like in a fancy evening gown.
Wetting his lips, he stepped forward and smiled down at her.
“You, Miss Mason, are beautiful. But, beauty alone will not catch you a prince.”
Her smile dropped for a moment as she nodded.
“Come, let us sit and talk,” he said, as he guided her to a chair. He quickly took the chair next to her, instead of going behind his desk. What was it about this woman that made him want to be close to her? To feel the energy jumping between them.
She gracefully lowered herself to sit in the chair. Flint couldn’t take his eyes off of her. What is it about a dress and a pretty hair arrangement that made a woman seem so formidable? So desirable. The transformation had been remarkable. He reminded himself that he must give Mrs. Peabody and the maids a bonus. They had worked a miracle.
“I trust you are pleased?” he asked.
She blushed and nodded. “Yes, but I can’t go back to the baker’s like this,” she said indicating her new clothes. “They wouldn’t allow me back in my hovel.”
“Laila,” he said. “I can assure you. You will never be going back there. Not unless you wish to show them what they missed. I am positive every man on that street will kick himself if they knew what they had let slip away. And, every woman will offer up a secret prayer that you are not there to tempt their man.”
She laughed and tried to hide a blush by looking down.
He felt a bolt of pain shoot into him. That blush of hers will win her a prince. The body and mind would entice him close. But that blush, would finish him off.
He sat back in his chair and studied her for a moment. Yes, she could look like a princess. Those high cheek bones, alluring eyes. That straight back and steady stare. A natural poise that could not be taught. Yes, they could do this.
“Do you have the coin?” he asked.
“Always,” she said, as she pulled the coin from a pocket sown into the dress beneath her silken belt.
He smiled to himself and nodded, as he retrieved a small golden locket from the desk and slid it across to her.
“What’s this?” she asked, her eyes narrowing in confusion.
“It is yours.”
“Mine?” she responded, as she gently took it up. She turned it front and back, examining it. Obviously, trying to understand its significance.
“A gift, for me. Why?” she continued. That curious frown of hers turned into a doubting, questioning look. As if she didn’t trust presents from men. Especially men like him.
He laughed to himself. The girl wasn’t dumb. If she knew the thoughts running through his head, she’d slap him hard and run as fast as she could.
“I want you to put the coin inside,” he said. “Wear it always. Keep it close.”
“The coin?” she asked. “Why don’t I just give it to you to hold? That would probably be safer.”
“No, I can’t take it. Not yet. At the wedding reception, after your prince has married you. Before he whisks you away to his castle. Give it to me then.”
Laila stared down at the golden locket and ran her fingers over the fine gold chain. He could tell she was searching for the trap. Trying to figure out his motives.
“Believe me, Laila, it is better this way.”
She finally shrugged her shoulders, and clicked the locket open and slid the coin into it. The small disk fit perfectly. As if the locket had been especially craft
ed for just such an object.
Looking up at him, she silently questioned him to make sure this was what he wanted.
Flint nodded his head and finally relaxed once the locket and its contents were around her neck. He watched her slip the jewelry inside the top of her dress to rest between her breasts. A brief pang of envy passed through him. Oh, to be nestled in such a place.
Shaking the thought away, he next reached for a small, clay vial sitting on the table next to him. A sudden thought halted his hand.
“Your dagger?” he asked. “You left it in your room?” His eyes roamed over her body searching for the weapon.
A small smile creased her lips as she gently shook her head. Reaching down, she slowly raised the hem of her dress to expose the weapon strapped to an exquisite calf.
“I told you,” she said. “I’m not a princess, yet.”
He laughed and shook his head. “Very well. You may keep it for now. But, keep it out of sight.”
She nodded and let her dress fall back into place.
His mind wandered for a moment, as he thought of that shapely leg and the idea of it wrapped around him.
A gentle cough brought him back to reality. A faint flush touched her cheeks, and he knew she was perfectly aware of what he was thinking.
Flustered, he reached over to his desk and grabbed a piece of paper.
“I’ve found your prince,” he said.
Her eyes shot open in surprise. Like a new born lamb seeing its first sunrise. God, she had that whole innocent look down to an art. How had she ever survived on the streets?
“A Prince Jeffery, of Caylan,” Flint said. “The seventh son of a minor king. He doesn’t have a great fortune, but he does have a castle and enough lands to support it.”
“Why would he marry me?” Laila asked with a deep frown of doubt.
“Because you have what he wants.”
Laila scoffed. “He’s a prince, he can get that anywhere.”
Flint smiled, “No, not that. Although, once he sees you … No, what he wants is to marry someone with a royal title. It would set him above his brothers. At least in his mind. They’ve all married to women of lesser birth. If he could marry a princess. Maybe even his father would be impressed.”